by Teri Emory
“Okay, but I . . .”
Fawn was in my office before I could finish my thought. She looked dramatically different from when I’d last seen her, ten days earlier, before she left on a whirlwind trip through the Midwest. She was still a redhead then. One of the perks of Fawn’s job is that Joey lets her charge hotel beauty salon appointments to the company. In the last year alone, Tri-Tech has subsidized three perms, at least eight radical haircuts, and coast-to-coast tinting, streaking, and highlighting of her tresses, with mixed results. Fawn is in her late thirties, with a pear-shaped figure and leathery skin that add a good ten years to her appearance. Her hair color du jour, meant to be platinum blonde, I guess, made her look prematurely gray rather than glamorous. Her current perm (an unfortunate memento from a layover at the Sheraton in Cleveland) had fried the ends of her locks into brittle wisps.
“Thanks for staying late to see me,” she began—obviously implying that I customarily left work before she did, proof that I was less committed than she to Tri-Tech’s success. Joey promotes the idea that employees who log in the most hours at the office are somehow more valuable to Tri-Tech. He rewards those who routinely spend ridiculously long days at work—even if there is no evidence that they are accomplishing anything of value by doing so. Joey treats them to expensive lunches, makes a point of complimenting them publicly.
“It’s not too late,” I said. It was ten after five. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m trying to get reasonable airfares for the meetings coming up. Joey was saying, and I agree, that if we put you on a red-eye back from Palm Springs, we’ll save a bundle.”
“Not a good idea, Fawn. It will take me a week to recover. I don’t mind leaving here very early in the morning, or getting back late at night. But I’m too old to handle all-nighters.” I forced a smile.
“Funny, Lawrence said the same thing.”
“Lawrence is going to these meetings?”
“Maybe the one in Palm Springs. Someone Lawrence knows from Harvard is now a big shot at Savant and will be at the meeting. Joey thought it might do us some good if Lawrence was there.”
“Lawrence doesn’t want to fly all night either? Imagine that.”
“Just like you, he said he’s too old.”
“What about the meeting in DC?”
“I’ll book your plane tickets this week.”
“Flying to DC from New York is ridiculous. I live in Manhattan, remember? It’s crazy for me to go all the way to the airport, when I can get on a train at Penn Station, which is ten minutes from my house. I won’t save any time by flying, and Tri-Tech won’t save any money . . .”
“Joey feels, and I’m with him on this, that as a vice president, you should be flying down. The directors—Raymond and the others—are taking the train.”
“Tell Joey I’ll swear not to tell anyone at the meeting in DC how I got there. Then book me, please, on the Metroliner.”
Fawn pursed her lips. “I’ll have to run this by Joey. Have a good evening.”
__________
Kevin was on the phone with his son Brendan when I got home from work. I heard Kevin promising to leave a key with our doorman. “See you tomorrow, son,” he said. He hung up and leaned over to peck me on the cheek.
“Brendan’s coming?” I said.
“Yeah, a college friend of his is getting married in Brooklyn on Sunday. And there’s an old pal he wants to spend time with while he’s here. Lilly, I think. She’s going to the wedding with him. I told him we’d take them out to a nice restaurant on Saturday night. Maybe that Thai place on . . .”
I interrupted him. “The Gillians’ party is Saturday night.”
“Oh, right. Brendan and Lilly can just come along. There’s lots of room in that monster SUV you’re driving these days.”
“Violet and Grant will be here from Florida, and I promised we’d put them up in Ellie’s room for the weekend and drive them to the party with us.” I felt my jaw tighten, heard my voice starting to rise.
“Then Brendan will just sleep on the sofa in the living room. He and Lilly can take the train to Connecticut.”
“Brendan is six foot three. Our sofa is too small for him. I suppose I can ask Miriam if Violet and Grant can stay with her. But we can’t just show up at the party with two extra guests.”
“You know Beth and Jim won’t mind. What’s the big deal?”
I shook my head in exasperation.
“Why are you upset, Sarah?” he said. “This is a very small thing, really. What’s your problem?”
“My problem? My problem is that you O’Neal boys—you and Brendan—don’t mind leaving things until the last minute, and you don’t think how your lack of planning affects anyone else. Brendan must have known about this wedding for some time. Why didn’t he give us more notice?”
“My son doesn’t need a formal invitation to visit me. Elinor drops in whenever she feels like it.”
“This is Ellie’s home. And she’s a college kid, not a thirty-three-year-old adult. Besides, I wouldn’t let her impose unreasonable demands on my schedule.”
“Is it unreasonable for my son to want to visit me?”
“You know that’s not what I’m saying. But every time he comes, we don’t know his plans until the last minute, or his plans change without notice. His visits are never easy, they’re chaotic and disruptive.”
“What are you talking about? Brendan asks very little of us.”
“Except, perhaps, when he wants to see a concert. Tina Turner, maybe?”
My trump card. When Brendan was in graduate school, he once asked me to pick up tickets for him and a friend for a Tina Turner concert at Madison Square Garden. Kevin and I were both out of town on business the day of the concert, but we left a key for them so they could use our apartment while they were in town. When I got home from my trip, the key was still with the doorman, and the hundred-dollar concert tickets I had stood in line for hours to buy were still on the dining room table. There was a phone message from Brendan: He had suddenly realized, in the hours just before he was to board the train to New York, that he was behind on his dissertation, and he needed to stay in Boston to work at the library.
Kevin turned his eyes away. He didn’t want to have this conversation. “Why are you still carrying on about that? Can’t you drop it? I paid you back for the damn tickets.”
“The money is the least of it. Maybe I would have let this go if Brendan had ever apologized. Or if his father had reprimanded him for his bad manners.”
“He’s an adult, Sarah. I don’t reprimand my son anymore.”
“Adults try to be considerate of other people’s feelings. And their schedules.”
An icy silence set in.
“Do you want me to tell Brendan to find another place to stay for the weekend?” Kevin finally said.
“No, don’t be ridiculous. Just do me a favor, call him back and make sure he’s actually coming. Then I’ll see if Beth is all right with two more guests at the party. I’ll ask Miriam if she can have Violet and Grant stay at her place. If she can, I’ll have to call Violet and Grant, too, to let them know to take a cab take directly to Miriam’s from the airport.”
“I’m sure it’ll all work out,” Kevin said.
Yes, I thought as I walked to our bedroom and shut the door. It will all work out, as soon as I make ten phone calls and upend everyone’s plans for Brendan’s sake.
I heard the beeps of the telephone buttons from the other room; Kevin was calling Brendan. A few minutes later, Kevin yelled from the kitchen, “It’s definite, Sarah. Brendan will be here on Friday afternoon.”
“Fine,” I said, from my side of the closed door. I pushed the automatic dial button for Beth’s phone number.
“You sound pissed,” Beth said when I told her about Brendan and Lilly. “Really, you know it’s no problem on
our end. We’d love to have them. What’s going on there, Sarah?”
“I can’t talk now,” I said.
I called Miriam next; she was delighted to offer her place to Violet and Grant and to accompany them to the party. She, too, heard the tension in my voice.
“Let me call Violet,” Miriam said. “Sounds like you have a lot going on at your house tonight. Anything you want to talk about?”
“No, but thanks. I’ll see you Saturday.”
“Have you checked the mail?” Kevin called from the kitchen. “There’s something from Sidney Greenberg for you.”
“From Sidney, not Helen?” On the rare occasions when my in-laws communicated by mail, it was Helen who wrote. She occasionally sent clippings from the local papers in Acedia Bay, mostly social announcements or obituaries. I couldn’t remember ever receiving a letter from Sidney.
“Yes, in an envelope from some hotel.”
The letter was handwritten on stationery from the Doubletree in Nashville.
Sarah,
I’m in Nashville, meeting with Martin’s lawyers and gathering his personal effects. I’m the executor of Martin’s estate. Martin left a sizeable inheritance to Ellie, which I’m sure is no surprise to you. He invested the money his parents left him, and his investments did well. I know Ellie is an adult now, but before the money is disbursed, you should make sure she has reliable financial advice. As soon as things are settled I will let Ellie know what’s going on. You may want to talk to her before I do.
Martin’s girlfriend Pauline found a key to a safe deposit box in Atlanta, and a letter, undated, in which Martin makes reference to another lawyer. I think the letter was written years ago, when Martin wasn’t at his best. It’s a little confusing, but I’m trying to sort it all out. I’m going to Atlanta when I finish here.
The good news is that there seems to be at least half a million dollars, maybe more, for Ellie. But it may take a while before we know what’s what. I’ll be in touch.
Love, Sidney.
I hadn’t even considered the possibility that Martin had money to leave Ellie. So much money, too. Enough for law school, for whatever she needs to start her life.
Ellie would be at her moot court class tonight. I called her apartment anyway, left a message with Doug. “Tell her to call me tonight, no matter how late,” I told him. “I have great news for her.” I made a mental note to talk to Jim Gillian, get the name of a financial advisor. But to Kevin, I didn’t intend to say a word. For the first time since we’ve been together, I found myself deliberately hiding something important from him. And I was thinking, You’re not the only one who knows how to hold things back, Kevin.
__________
Doc interrupted our French lesson to tell me that Savant had chosen his replacement and would reveal the name soon, probably after the weekend.
“This is going to be a surprise to Joey,” Doc said.
“A pleasant surprise?”
“That’s a good question. I’m sworn to secrecy, but I can tell you this much: Joey wouldn’t have picked this person.”
I wasn’t sure what else to say on the topic. I knew that Joey would want me to press for more information, but I had no desire to play Twenty Questions with Doc Shortland.
“Let’s just get back to our lesson, shall we?” I said. “We were at the train station, buying tickets for a trip through the Alps. Alors, à quelle heure voudriez-vous partir, monsieur?”
__________
I asked Sally to schedule a few minutes for me with Joey.
“What’s the subject of the meeting?” she asked, flipping through Joey’s appointment book, which she keeps open on her desk.
“Shortland’s replacement.”
“I can give you fifteen minutes at four-thirty.” The palace guard, protecting the king.
“I think he’ll want to know about this before then. I only need about five minutes.”
“I’ll check with him and let you know. He’s tied up with Lawrence now and can’t be disturbed until late in the afternoon.”
Tied up with Lawrence for hours? I’ve never known the two of them to spend so much time together without a referee.
“You know where to find me,” I said.
On my desk were itineraries for the meetings coming up and a note from Fawn: “I’ve got the travel agent holding these flights for you. Please initial each page if you approve.” She had spelled “approve” with one p. As if we had never spoken, Fawn had booked me on the red-eye for my return flight from the Palm Springs meeting, which would get me back to New York around dawn. I was also scheduled to fly to Washington.
I dialed Fawn’s extension.
“Fawn, about my itineraries . . .?” I began.
“Um, Joey wants me to get the best prices on airfares.”
“If he’s so concerned about costs, why is he insisting that I fly to DC?”
“I’m just following his orders. He’s the boss. Oh, and Rebecca is scheduled on the same flights as you for the Palm Springs meeting.”
“Did Joey tell you to book Rebecca’s flight?” I asked, surprised.
“I never do anything without Joey’s permission, Sarah.”
I dialed Sally’s extension.
“Sally, as it turns out, I will need fifteen or twenty minutes with Joey after all.”
“He’s still in conference with Lawrence Zimmerman,” she said. As if I wouldn’t know which Lawrence she meant. Sally is especially irritating when she gets formal and officious, which she’s been doing with more frequency lately.
“Let me know when he’s free. I need to speak to him today.”
Raymond appeared as I was reaching for the phone to call home. I wanted to check on whether Brendan was in yet.
“Should I come back later, Sarah?”
“No problem. Have a seat.”
“Joey says you’re working on some project with Pushpa Rao at Savant.”
“Yes, a focus group connected to the Repoze launch.”
“Joey thought you might need some help, what with having to be away from work so much to give those French lessons.”
Something struck me as odd. It sounded as if Raymond had rehearsed what he was saying.
“Those French lessons are work. And so far, I’m not having any trouble staying on deadline with my other projects.” I realized I sounded defensive. Why defend myself to him?
“Yeah, I know. Maybe Joey just wanted to make sure you have the necessary support for this Repoze thing. I mean, my pharmacy expertise may come in handy. If you like, I can take a look at what you’ve put together so far and orientate you to some of the pharmacy issues with this class of drugs.”
Orientate? Now I was sure that Joey had coached him.
“Thanks so much for offering,” I gushed. “I’ll let you know if I need help.”
I reached for my phone to signal him that our meeting was over. Raymond slithered out of the room.
A familiar wave of anxiety swept over me. I’ve been a casualty of corporate shakeups often enough to know the signs. Lawrence could be wrong; perhaps the Savant restructuring didn’t bode well for Tri-Tech after all. I thought about all that had been amiss lately, or was just different somehow, trying to figure out how the pieces connected. Shortland’s French lessons—a way to keep me out of the office for a few hours every day? But, why? Joey and Lawrence sequestered all afternoon today. Fawn’s absurd travel arrangements for me. Rebecca scheduled to go to Palm Springs without my knowledge. And Raymond: Why the hell did Joey send him around?
It occurred to me that, except for the Repoze program and Shortland’s French lessons, all projects in my department were team activities. I prefer it that way. Writing is a lonely business, and I think corporate writers do better by working cooperatively. My three junior editors research and fact-check all our manuscripts. Rebecca creates
new copy and collaborates with Raymond to make certain the scientific information is accurate. Dana fine-tunes every paragraph—scrutinizing content and layout, ferreting out inconsistencies and errors in punctuation and grammar. The last edit is mine. I sign off on every piece—proposals for new business, Joey’s presentations, handouts for the conferences. Of course, I supervise at every stage, though I don’t hover. I trust everyone who works for me to do a good job. Without me, Joey could pull my staff together and get a clear picture of where each project stands.
Not everyone likes the group editing process I’ve set up. Rebecca, especially, is sensitive about Dana’s changes to her writing. Dana and Rebecca don’t like each other much, anyway. Dana’s polish and confidence—bred into the bone of high-achieving families like hers, and nurtured at Dalton and Yale—don’t mix well with Rebecca’s raw ambition and bachelor’s degree from Fairleigh Dickinson, the college famously known in the Northeast as Fairly Ridiculous. And Dana appreciates the friendship of other women. She and I see each other from time to time outside of work, and I know she’s made overtures to Rebecca, asking her out to lunch and such, though not lately.
Rebecca operates more the way I’ve seen men behave at their jobs: reflexively defensive, competitive, and territorial. Dana has lately described Rebecca as someone who would shoot her own grandmother if Granny stood in Rebecca’s path to the corner office. Nonetheless, old-fashioned feminist that I am, I had consistently lobbied on Rebecca’s behalf, kept her insulated from Joey. Was she trying to unseat me? Didn’t she understand that women can’t survive in the workplace—certainly not in a place like Tri-Tech—without loyalty to each other?
It seemed that Joey wanted me gone, but I couldn’t tell if he was about to fire me or if he intended to marginalize me so I’d leave on my own. Was anyone else about to get the ax? I wanted to think that my presence would be missed—I’d come to the company with more writing experience than anyone else, after all, and I had managed my department and the company’s clients pretty well. And I thought I was managing Joey better than most. But I’ve been laid off, and watched others get laid off, too many times not to understand the primary operating principle of corporate life: No one is indispensable.