Lara Reznik - The Girl From Long Guyland

by Lara Reznik

  Joey and Denise lay together in her single dorm bed. Joey held his hand out to me. “We love you, Laila.”

  I glared at him. “I’m really glad to see you, Joey. But what about Angel?”

  He threw his hands up. “No problem. Uncle Donnie took care of everything. I told you he knows people.”

  Denise slipped on a T-shirt. “Joey said you saved his life.”

  Joey sat up. Drops of sweat clung to the curly black hair of his chest. “If there’s anyway I could repay you.”

  “There is something I’d like you to do.” I said.

  “Anything, you name it.”

  I sat on my bed. “You’re sure things are cool with Angel.”

  “I’m positive. So what do you want?”

  “I’d like you to talk to Ben and Chris. Tell them what really happened in Taos.”

  He rakes his hair with his fingers. “Did you say something to them?”

  “No, I wanted to talk to them together with you. When they see your toes, I’m sure they’ll understand the severity of what happened. How sick a person Angel is.”

  Joey snorted, “Nothing I say will make much difference to those guys.”

  “We’ve got to get this worked out,” I said. “They think you stole the suitcase.”

  Denise and I spent the next hour convincing Joey it was important to set the record straight. Finally, he agreed for me to set up a meeting with Chris and Ben.

  To my surprise Chris’s first reaction on the phone was that he had no interest in hearing anything the ‘lard butt’ had to say. After some cajoling he asked me to hang on. I heard muffled voices in the background.

  “You can bring him by tomorrow,” he said. “Come over by yourself tonight.”

  I couldn’t resist asking, “Is that, ah, Ben you were speaking with?” By my calculation, he’d been absent for two weeks now. No one had confirmed or denied where he’d gone.

  “Yeah, he just got back from Westport.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The Deposition

  Austin, Texas, 2012

  The next morning I enter my former boss’s office. A balding Hispanic guy from San Antonio with a well-trimmed beard, Victor has always been a mentor to me and I trust him. He sits typing at his laptop when I arrive. Pictures of his wife, grown children, and grandkids fill his desk.

  He offers me a seat. “How y’all like the new job?” Victor had long aspired to the CIO position himself.

  “I never asked for it. You deserve it, not me.”

  “I understand there’s been a lot of politics involved,” he said.

  “You do?”

  He stood and closed the door to his office. “Rumors are going around. That’s why I called this meeting.”

  I gulp. “What are people saying?”

  “That you’ve been Darlene’s stoolie. That she’s asked you to testify in her harassment case.”

  “It’s true I’ve been asked to give a deposition. We’re meeting with a mediator this afternoon.”

  He pulls the ends of his beard. “She’s crazy, you know. Don’t lie for her.”

  “I’ve been asked to lie, but not by Darlene,” I say.

  “Really. Who—?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  He nods. “You’re right.”

  “Have you filled my old job yet?”

  “We’ve got a few applicants. I haven’t started the interviewing process yet.”

  “I’d like to apply,” I say.

  He smiles. “You can’t go back from CIO to I.T. Solutions Manager.”

  I take a breath and stand. “Seems crazy, huh?”

  AT ONE O’CLOCK, I arrive downtown at the plush ceiling-to-floor glass offices of the mediator, Max Fowler. A young secretary with red-claw nails and a long French braid shuffles me to a room in the back where Darlene and her attorney, Loren Baylor, are seated at a conference table. Loren is dressed in a royal-blue business suit. Darlene, on the other hand, is wearing a low-cut red silk blouse and tight jeans. She looks sexy but spaced out, like she’s on tranquilizers.

  Loren introduces herself and explains that one of Darlene’s conditions for mediation was for me to be in attendance. “I’ve also requested that all parties are present for each other’s depositions. It should work to Darlene’s advantage since Bob E. will have to perjure himself in front of her. I can’t advise you, Laila, other than to tell you it’s imperative you tell the truth.”

  “Of course, I’ll tell the truth.” I say. But will it cost me my job?

  She turns to Darlene. “The mediation is only binding if we agree to it. Otherwise we can still go to court on sexual harassment charges. Do you understand?”

  Darlene checks out her manicure.

  Loren grasps Darlene’s hand and glowers at her. “Do you know what’s at stake here?”

  Darlene smiles. “Yes. I’m good. Let’s screw the bastard.”

  Loren rolls her eyes. “Honey, we’ve got a good case here. Don’t try to screw him or make anything up, okay?”

  Darlene salutes her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  A few minutes later a tall man with white-blonde hair sticks his head in the door. He introduces himself as Max Fowler and says he’ll be acting at the mediator. “You ladies ready?”

  We follow him to a big conference room with breathtaking views of Austin’s skyline. My friend, Steve Berman, who is representing LBJ, sits at the enormous mahogany table across from me. We both act like we don’t know each other when introduced. An in-house LBJ attorney and Bob E. sit in the back of the room.

  Max Fowler introduces the court reporter, a short Hispanic woman, and explains the session will be recorded. He also informs us that the negotiations are not binding unless all parties agree to them. Both attorneys can ask questions.

  Bob E. is called to give his deposition first. He steps up to a separate table where Fowler swears him in. The court reporter clicks on a tape machine and starts transcribing.

  Max Fowler: Mr. Berman. You may ask your client questions at this time.

  Steve Berman: Mr. Englewood, can you tell us about your relationship with Ms. McIntire?

  Bob Englewood: She worked for me as V.P. of Corporate Services. I promoted her when I became CEO three months ago.

  Steve Berman: Was the promotion made because you were receiving sexual favors from Ms. McIntire?

  Bob Englewood: No. I promoted Ms. McIntire along with a number of other managers to form my new executive team. This is common practice for a new Chief Executive Officer.

  Steve Berman: I’m going to ask you a very personal question now. Have you ever had a sexual relationship with Ms. McIntire?

  Bob Englewood: No, sir.

  Steve Berman: You are aware that Ms. McIntire has filed a charge claiming you did have a relationship that was sexual in nature?

  Bob Englewood: Yes, sir, I am.

  Steve Berman: Can you tell us why you think Ms. McIntire would lie about such a serious matter?

  Bob E. mumbles something in Steve’s ear. Steve whispers back in his.

  Bob Englewood: I believe Ms. McIntire is delusional. She’s had a crush on me and has tried her best to seduce me.

  I glance over at Darlene who is staring at him with vacant eyes. She looks mesmerized rather than angry with him. I, on the other hand, am furious.

  Steve Berman: So you’re testifying that Ms. McIntire did not succeed in seducing you, Mr. Englewood?

  Bob Englewood: Yes, I-I mean no, she did not succeed in seducing me. We had no type of relationship other than a professional one.

  Steve Berman: One last question for you, Mr. Englewood. Can you tell us the reason why Ms. McIntire’s position was eliminated?

  Bob Englewood: The LBJ board has asked me to make major budget cuts. It was a very tough decision but I’ve been working top-down to minimize the number of people that will lose their jobs.

  Steve: Berman: Thank you. That’s all I have to ask you.

  Max Fowler: Ms. Baylor. Do you hav
e any questions for the witness?

  Loren Baylor: Mr. Englewood. Did you have sexual relations with my client, Darlene McIntire?

  Bob Englewood: No ma’am. I did not.

  Loren Baylor: You realize you’re under oath, Mr. Englewood? If we prove otherwise there could be perjury charges.

  Bob Englewood: Yes, ma’am. I’m telling the truth and aware of the consequences if I weren’t.

  A few drops of sweat form on Bob E.‘s forehead. He rubs his neck with his palm.

  Loren Baylor: That’s all the questions I have for the witness.

  Max Fowler: Then you may return to your seat, Mr. Englewood.

  Fowler announces that I will be next and has me sworn in. He asks me to state my name, address, and position at LBJ, then turns to Steve. “Are you ready to question the witness, Mr. Berman?”

  Steve says he needs a moment and shuffles some paper. I swallow while he gets ready. This is it. My job. Liam’s ability to attend Stanford. Ed’s and my financial security. If there is an Ed and me. I feel so torn. My own survival versus Darlene’s. I must make a decision now.

  Steve Berman: Ms. Levin. Have you ever witnessed Mr. Englewood and Ms. McIntire having sexual relations?

  Laila Levin: No. But I did—

  Steve Berman: Just answer the question, please.

  Laila Levin: No.

  Steve Berman: That’s all the questions I have right now.

  Mr. Fowler: Ms. Baylor. Do you have questions for the witness?

  Loren nods affirmatively and steps up to where I’m seated.

  Loren Baylor: Ms. Levin, are you aware of any sexual relations occurring between the plaintiff, Ms. McIntire, and the defendant, Mr. Englewood?

  Laila Levin: Yes. I was their go-between. They did not use landline or cell phones, text, or e-mail to contact each other. I know of numerous meetings including a couples’ massage where a room was registered under an assumed name at the Four Seasons. I can provide the date and the name used. I can also testify that Bob E.’s wife called Darlene’s husband and told him about the affair. He threw her out of their house as a result.

  Loren Baylor: Thank you, Ms. Levin. That’s all I have to ask you.

  Mr. Fowler: Mr. Berman. Do you have further questions for the witness?

  “I do, sir.”

  Steve Berman: Ms. Levin. Do you know why you received your promotion from I.T. Solutions Manager to CIO? That’s an awful big leap at a company like LBJ.

  Laila Levin: I-I don’t know why Darlene promoted me.

  Steve Berman: You’re under oath, Ms. Levin.

  You’re some friend, Steve.

  Laila Levin: She wanted me to talk with Bob E., er, Mr. Englewood.

  Steve Berman: So she promoted you to try and help her seduce the new CEO.

  Laila Levin: It wasn’t like that.

  Steve Berman: Thank you, Ms. Levin. That’s all I have to ask you.

  The mediator calls Darlene to the stand. She struts from her seat in the back of the room and winks at Bob E. before sitting down and getting sworn in. Loren goes first this time.

  Loren Baylor: Ms. McIntire. Did you have a sexual relationship with Mr. Englewood.

  Darlene McIntire: Yes, but it was more than just sex.

  Loren Baylor: So Mr. Englewood led you to believe he was in love with you.

  Darlene McIntire: Yes.

  Loren Baylor: No further questions.

  Steve steps up to the front for his turn.

  Steve Berman: Ms. McIntire, can you tell us whether you have any actual proof that you had an affair with Mr. Englewood?

  Darlene McIntire: We loved each other. She turns to Bob E. Tell me we didn’t have something special. Tears spill down her cheeks along with streaks of mascara. “I can’t stop thinking about you—”

  Loren barrels up to her. “Shhh, enough, honey.”

  The court reporter stops transcribing and turns the tape recorder off. Fowler announces a short recess. He asks Steve, Loren, and the LBJ attorney to meet him in another conference room. The court reporter also heads out leaving Darlene, Bob E. and me in the conference room alone. Talk about awkward.

  Darlene eyeballs Bob E. “Tell me I’m not crazy. That you did love me.”

  He looks down at his Wingtips then back up at her. Then he whispers, “I’ll always love you, honey. We just can’t be together right now.”

  Darlene wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “But maybe later. Like when our kids are grown?”

  Bob E. smiles and winks at her.

  The mediator and lawyers return to the room. Fowler starts to speak but is interrupted by Darlene. “I’m dropping all charges.”

  Loren glares at her. “You’re making a big mistake. We have a good case.”

  “My decision’s final,” Darlene says.

  Steve picks up his briefcase and heads to the door. Darlene is certifiably crazy and I’m toast.

  An hour later, as I sit with Willow on the deck, I receive the following e-mail on my i-Phone:

  From: Bob Englewood

  To: LBJ employees < LBJ employees>

  Sent: Wed, June 14, 2012 4:29 p.m.

  Subject: Re: Staff changes

  As per the directive of the LBJ Board of Directors, effective today, Laila Levin will no longer serve as the Chief Information Officer. This position has been eliminated and current job duties will be reassigned to various I.T. staff. The board and executive team are extremely grateful for the commendable job Ms. Levin has performed in the I.T. department.

  Bob Englewood

  CEO – LBJ Electric Corp

  I want to cry but the tears won’t come. Seconds later, as I discover I’ve lost access to my Outlook account, my iPhone rings.

  EDUARDO flashes on the screen.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Angel Dust

  Bridgeport, Connecticut, May 3, 1970

  After speaking with Chris on the phone, I decided not to go over there to see him even though Ben had returned from his fling in Westport. It was time for me to take control of my life again. Call my own shots. Ef you, Chris Reynolds and Ben Franklin Jones. This power you have over me must end. Time to remove your broken record from my jukebox.

  I headed to the library to study for finals. They were only three weeks away and I needed to catch up on my classes, especially Biology. It was Saturday night and other than work-study students and a few nerds, the place was empty. While I tried to focus on the activities of chromosomes, centrioles, and microtubules in the cell cycle, my mind kept drifting back to Chris and Ben and transferring to the University of New Mexico.

  Now Katie complicated the equation by joining us on the journey to the Land of Mañana. Ultimately, she and Ben would end up together. If only I could end my fixation of him. Was there a microtubule in the cell cycle to rid one of obsessions?

  After a few hours in the library, I returned to Bodine and joined some of my dorm-mates watching television on the big Philco console in the recreation area. The girls were all dressed in pajamas or U.B. T-shirts, and fuzzy slippers. Someone had made a big bowl of popcorn.

  Hanging out with them felt safe and cozy. Mary Lou waddled from the vinyl couch to the TV and turned the channel knob until she found a show everyone wanted to watch. Casablanca was playing on channel nine’s Million Dollar Movie. Of all the movies in the world, why did it have to be about a woman choosing between two men? Everyone agreed we would have picked Humphrey Bogart, but Ingrid Bergman made the ultimate sacrifice and flew off with her war hero husband, Victor. The right thing to do. Was I capable of that?

  By the time we went to sleep it was after 2:00 a.m. I awoke late Sunday and spent the afternoon doing my laundry in the coin machines in Bodine’s basement. As always, I gathered up Denise’s dirty clothes from the bottom of her closet and washed them along with mine.

  Denise and Joey arrived back at the dorm around six. When she saw all her clean clothes in neat folded piles, she gave me a hug. Joey joked about me doing his laundr
y, too. Then he invited me to join them for dinner at the cafeteria. We took the elevator downstairs. Denise and I strolled down the street while Joey hobbled on crutches beside us.

  “Life is truly beautiful,” Joey said, as kids waved and gave him the peace sign. The hero rumor had not gone away. “After everything I’ve been through, I really appreciate this place.”

  Denise wrinkled her nose and looked up at the sky. Factory smokestacks erupted clouds of noxious gases above us. “Bridgeport’s fucking dismal if you ask me.”

  “Yeah, but I got you and Laila, and Jack and Hal,” Joey said. “The love of my life, and real friends. I’m gonna turn over a new leaf. If I study hard enough, maybe I can ace my finals and salvage the semester. I want to graduate and find me a good job. Make Mama proud.”

  Denise jerked backward as though he had thrown water in her face. “What’s happened to Joey, the Hash King?”

  “I’m done with that scene,” Joey said.

  “You and me both,” I said.

  Denise had a far away look in her eyes. If she had met people like Angel and gone through what Joey and I experienced in New Mexico, she’d understand.

  When we arrived at the cafeteria, more students patted Joey on the back or gave him a high-five. We filled our plates with meatloaf, mashed potatoes, peas, and cherry pie. Denise reprimanded Joey after he went back to get a third piece of pie. She pulled his plate away from him. “You’ll get fat.”

  Joey squeezed his love handles with his fingers. “More of me to love.”

  “You already look like a tub,” she said. There was an undertone of disgust in her voice.

  I grabbed her arm. “Denise, that’s cruel. If you knew what—”

  Joey turned to me with a bruised look in his brown eyes. “It’s okay. I get it. Everyone thinks I’m hip except her. Let’s go over to your boyfriend’s house and get this misunderstanding cleared up.”