by Teri Emory
I figured I was safe, maybe, for at least a month. Joey wouldn’t get rid of me until Shortland left for Switzerland and the French lessons were over. Joey didn’t want Shortland—or any client—ever to get the impression that things at Tri-Tech were unstable. That would bring me close to the end of the year, and my three-year bonus, the one that was tied to the partnership Joey had teased me with from my first day at Tri-Tech. Nothing was in writing, though. All I had was Joey’s word.
At least I could count on the usual end-of-year bonus that was based on the formula in the employee handbook. Joey had completed my annual review in August, a few months early. He described my performance as “superb,” giving me a rating of 9.6 out of a possible 10. According to the Tri-Tech’s human resources policy, this excellent annual review assured me of at least a fifteen percent year-end bonus (not counting what Joey had promised me for my having agreed to schlep to New Jersey to give Shortland his French lessons), plus a ten percent raise in salary. The raise was supposed to begin at the time of the review, but Joey asked if he could defer the increase until the end of the year, and include it retroactively in my bonus check. “It will make our cash flow a little easier for now,” he had said. “I’m sure you understand—after all, you’ll be a partner soon, and you need to start thinking in terms of what’s good for Tri-Tech.” Of course I didn’t mind, I had told him.
What a team player I’d been. What a good sport. What a damn fool.
I pulled up the New Projects folder on my computer and opened my “Repoze—Focus Group” file. This was one project no one else could easily complete on time. I was the only one with the right background, the only one who had been in frequent contact with the client, the only one familiar with the product. Raymond? He knows pharmacy, but he has no idea how to design or run a focus group, though he wouldn’t let that stand in his way. Like Rebecca, he coveted the trappings of my job—the big office, the title, the travel. And he’d do Joey’s bidding without hesitation.
Maybe I’m being paranoid, I thought. God, I hope so; the last thing I need is to be unemployed. Again! But, as Beth says, even paranoiacs have real enemies. I needed to talk to Lawrence, the only person at Tri-Tech I could trust. If he knew what was going on, he’d tell me.
Lawrence was slumped over his desk, head in his hands. My knock startled him.
“You okay?” I said.
“I guess so. Come on in,” he whispered, motioning me to close his door. “I think Joey has left, but I’m not sure who else is around.”
“Lawrence, what’s going on?”
He didn’t answer for several moments.
“Have a seat, Sarah. I do have something to tell you.” He took a deep breath. “I’m leaving the company.”
“What? Why?”
“Joey is about to make some major changes here. And it doesn’t seem as if I fit in to his new plans.”
“He fired you?”
“It’s not that simple. I’m a partner. But, yes, in effect, he’s fired me.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Joey wants me to clean out my office over the weekend. He’ll probably have one of his critical announcement meetings next week to tell the staff about me. With all the appropriate four-color handouts, I’m sure.”
“What will you do? Do you have another job?”
“I’ve been in this business for a long time. I have contacts.”
“Remind me, how long have you been with Tri-Tech?”
He hesitated for a second, and then said pointedly, “Four years and seven months. Just five months short of being vested in the retirement plan.”
“Unbelievable. Is there nothing you can do?”
Lawrence sighed. “The terms of the separation agreement Joey is trying to work out with me are pretty specific about my not revealing some things to other employees.”
“I’m so sorry, Lawrence. Sorry for you, and for me, too. I can’t imagine working here without you.”
A worried look came over his face. “Sarah . . .” he began.
“Is there something more?”
“I think you can guess.”
“Am I next?”
He leaned forward and spoke deliberately. “Smart executives always keep their résumés current.”
“Thanks, Lawrence. You’ve just confirmed what I’ve been suspecting. Joey wants to cut costs, and he can get younger, less experienced people to work here for half our salaries. Am I getting warm?”
He nodded slowly. I knew he had already told me as much as he could.
“Hey,” I said, “can I help you pack your stuff or anything?”
“No, thanks anyway. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
I stood up and walked to his side of the desk.
“Give me a hug,” I said. “You’ll be fine, you know. Some great company will know they’ll be lucky to have you. Promise you’ll keep me posted on what’s happening with you?”
“Of course I will. Lucy and I will have you and Kevin over for dinner sometime soon. And Sarah, you’ll be fine, too. No matter what happens here.”
The Repoze file was still on the screen when I went back to my office. I transferred it to a floppy disk and deleted the file from my hard drive. I slipped the disk and my copy of the Tri-Tech Employee Handbook into my briefcase, turned off the light on my desk, and made my way out the door.
I was halfway home, bobbing and weaving on the Broadway uptown local, when I realized that Joey had left the office for the day without speaking to me. Not even Shortland’s replacement, which I had told Sally was the topic I wanted to discuss with him, had piqued his interest enough to make him want to see me.
__________
Brendan O’Neal had already set himself up in Ellie’s room by the time I got home. I found him lying on Ellie’s bed, watching CNN, idly flipping through an L.L. Bean catalogue. I tried to ignore the mud-caked hiking boots that he rested nonchalantly atop the white duvet. He stood to greet me, tentative as usual, awkwardly wrapping his long, bony arms around my shoulders. Brendan is skinny and pale, with dark, curly hair that has seldom been privilege to a decent haircut. His eyeglasses, hopelessly large and too rounded for current fashion, give him a goofy, bookish mien. He still looks like a grad student, though he finished at MIT a few years ago and now works for a computer software company.
Brendan looks nothing like his father, nor has he acquired any of Kevin’s social grace. Kevin is so affable, so easy with people. Stocky and athletic, with a ruddy complexion and thin, reddish hair, Kevin always looks as if he’s smiling, even when his face is in repose. He is an impeccable dresser—one of the first things I noticed about him was the way he was dressed the night we met at a mutual friend’s birthday party. Most of the men were in khakis and open-necked shirts. Kevin wore gray slacks, a black cashmere turtleneck, and a silk tweed blazer. In contrast, Brendan’s clothes rarely match, and he always looks as if he’s slept in them.
I steered Brendan into the kitchen and poured some wine for both of us.
“Where’s the wedding on Sunday?” I asked.
“Park Slope, wherever that is. I assume I can get there by subway?”
“Easily. Your dad said you were also planning to see an old friend while you’re here. Do you know if she’ll be coming with us to Connecticut tomorrow night?”
“Connecticut?” he said blankly.
“Didn’t your dad mention my friends’ party?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think so, though.”
Damn it, Kevin. “Major soirée at my friend Beth’s house,” I said. “She and her husband have this huge party every fall. Guaranteed great food. Gorgeous house.”
“I’ll have to ask Lilly. It may be a little weird for her. Are you sure we can just show up?”
“The hosts are already expecting you. I assumed your father would have thought to mention it,” I sa
id. My sarcastic tone was lost on Brendan.
I heard Kevin’s key in the door.
“Sushi delivery!” Kevin called from the foyer. “Futomaki, California rolls, green tea ice cream for one and all.”
I grabbed the bags of food from Kevin’s hand and we exchanged a perfunctory peck on the cheek. Kevin and Brendan embraced. Lots of backslapping, mock punches, no kissing.
“You look great, son,” Kevin beamed. “Sarah, doesn’t Brendan look great?”
In truth, Brendan appeared to me as he always did: listless, disheveled, and slightly uncomfortable.
“He looks terrific,” I said. “Listen, guys, I’m not very hungry. Maybe I’ll just leave you two alone for some male bonding.”
“Are you all right?” said Kevin.
“Tough day. I’m a little tired. And I think that glass of wine got to me.”
“What’s going on, Sarah?”
I said, “Brendan, could I speak to your dad privately for a minute? I’ll see you in the morning.”
Kevin followed me to our bedroom. I sat on our bed. Kevin remained standing, leaned his elbow on the dresser.
“Here’s the summary of my day,” I said. “Lawrence is leaving the company—Joey fired him, or did whatever you have to do to get rid of a partner. I think I’m next, though I probably have a month before anything happens to me. I’ve worn myself out just thinking about this all day today, and I don’t really want to talk about it anymore just now.”
Kevin put his arms around my shoulders. “That bastard Joey!” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m not sure what anyone can do. But for now, for this weekend, I would love to just enjoy Beth’s party and not think about my stupid job until I need to go back to it on Monday. okay?”
“Whatever you want,” Kevin said.
“And Kev,” I said pointedly, “for some reason, Brendan is clueless about the party. Can you please see to it that, if he is joining us, that he has something decent to wear, and that his friend, if she’s joining us, knows what time we’re leaving the city? You can tell them I plan to be on the road to Connecticut by six-thirty tomorrow evening, and anyone who isn’t ready can’t come with me. You might also mention that the hosts are expecting us . . .”
“Okay, Sarah. Please calm down,” Kevin said. He doesn’t care much for arguing. He grew up with an alcoholic father, and though I don’t have a complete picture of Kevin’s upbringing, I can surmise that he had his fill of confrontation at home. As a result, he does his best to keep disagreements from escalating. When I think kindly of him, I ascribe this trait to his good nature and his success at having overcome a dysfunctional childhood. When I am irritated with him, I view his reluctance to get angry as further evidence of his emotional distance from me. Sometimes I think a strong, fair fight would do our relationship some good. The closest we come is an occasional volley of peevish remarks, followed by a couple of days of silence, and then amnesia.
“I’ll talk to Brendan,” he said. No explanation for why he hadn’t talked to Brendan about the party before tonight.
I was almost asleep when Kevin crawled into bed next to me. I was on my side, turned away from him. He put his arm around me and bent his knees so he could slide his legs close, parallel to mine.
“Sarah?” he said.
“Mm?”
“I realize you don’t want to talk about what’s going on at the office, but I thought of something . . .”
“What?”
“You need to protect yourself.”
“No kidding.”
“Get a lawyer. Get some advice.”
“I don’t have money for a lawyer. And I don’t have a case, at least not yet.”
“What about Bruce Jacobs? You can talk to him at the party tomorrow night.”
“Beth’s brother? He handles copyrights and patents.”
“But he works in a huge firm. A good one. He’ll know an employment lawyer.”
I shifted around to see Kevin’s face. “I’ll think about it. But not now. I’m exhausted.”
“I just want you to play this smart. You’ve put up with Joey for three years. You should have that bonus and a share of the company. It’s what he promised you, after all. But you may need a lawyer to help you get it.”
In a crisis, no one is more reliable than Kevin. He knows how to comfort me without managing me, knows when I need to be held, or helped, or simply left alone. When my parents died—both of them of heart attacks shortly after Kevin and I met—Kevin was unfailingly dependable and loving. I’ve lost my job twice since we’ve been together—both times due to factors beyond my control—and Kevin kept me from letting my anger paralyze me. He helped me to mobilize the confidence and energy I needed to find work again. Now he was already at full battle alert, preparing to take up arms against Joey on my behalf.
So what if things weren’t perfect between us? What did it matter, really, that he tended to hold things back from me? That sometimes, even in bed, he seemed detached, walled off? If Kevin was somewhat secretive and removed by nature, I could also point to plenty of times when he was on my side, by my side. As if we were a real couple.
As I drifted to sleep, feeling the warmth of Kevin’s body nestled against mine, the flaws in our relationship seemed trivial. The last thought on my mind before I nodded off was, Things could be worse.
Late Saturday morning, I was awakened by the sound of our cappuccino-maker whipping milk into foam. Kevin had left a note taped to the bathroom mirror:
Brendan and I have gone in search of suitable duds for the party tonight.
His friend Lilly, and fresh bagels, await you in the kitchen.
K.
I smiled at his message, then saw my face in the glass. You look awfully happy for someone who is about to be unemployed, I thought.
Lilly had the Times spread out on the dining room table and was about to bite into a heavily buttered pumpernickel raisin bagel when I padded into the room.
“Hi. I hope you’re Lilly,” I said. “Otherwise, I’m going to have to insist that you leave that bagel right where it is!”
“And you must be Sarah,” she answered, smiling.
“Did you bring these bagels? Thanks,” I said, starting to make a cappuccino for myself. “What time did the boys leave?”
“Around ten, I think. Brendan told me to come early, for breakfast, but he forgot to mention that he had to go shopping for something to wear to this party tonight. Typical! He told me to wait here for him, said it shouldn’t be long. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Happy to have you,” I said. I guessed Lilly to be in her mid-twenties—not much older than Ellie—though I never would have taken her for a college student. Exceptionally pretty, Lilly had the sophisticated look that some women easily acquire as soon as they enter the work force. Her dark hair was blunt cut and styled, not just chopped, to shoulder length. Her nails were freshly manicured. She wore taupe suede pants and a beige silk turtleneck; her outfit was especially flattering to her tall, slim body. I couldn’t help wondering what attracted her to Brendan.
“Tell me about yourself,” I said. “How do you and Brendan know each other?”
“I met Brendan in Boston. One of his roommates dated one of mine.”
“I had the impression that you two were—um—involved at one point.”
“No, no,” she said emphatically. “Brendan and I are not even that close, really, but we like the same kind of music and stuff. He sometimes calls me when he’s in New York. We both know the guy who’s getting married tomorrow, so we’ll go to the wedding together.”
“You went to MIT?”
“Not me. I went to art school. I’m a fabric designer now.”
“How interesting.”
“Well, it isn’t really. I know I’m lucky to be doing anything even remotely related to art, bu
t most of the stuff I design is for cheap fabrics—the kind that wind up as sheets and curtains you’d never want in your house,” she said, her eyes wandering appreciatively over our furniture. She shrugged, as if to indicate that she was resigned to her disappointing job.
From where I sat, I could see a small tapestry suitcase on the floor near the living room sofa. “Is that yours?” I asked.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “Brendan thought it would be a good idea for me to bring my clothes for the party and just change here. I live in the Village, and I wasn’t sure I’d have time to get back there before we left for Connecticut.”
“That’s fine,” I said. So, Kevin had taken me seriously when I warned him I wanted to leave for the party on time. “I think you’ll enjoy the party. Beth and Jim, the hosts, are old friends of mine. Beth was an art history major. Wait until you see her art collection.”
“Is that your daughter?” Lilly asked, pointing to Ellie’s high school graduation photograph, which sat in a leather frame on one of the bookshelves in the living room.
“Yes. She’s a senior in college now, but she hasn’t changed much since that picture was taken.”
“She doesn’t really look like you,” Lilly said, studying my face.
From birth, Ellie has resembled her father’s family. Like all the Roth women, Ellie is a beauty, just over five feet tall and small-boned, with dark skin that tans easily; large, expressive, dark brown eyes; and wavy, almost-black hair. I’m taller than average, with auburn hair and blue eyes, and, like the women in my family, moderately attractive in an ordinary sort of way. From time to time, people say that Ellie shares my smile, and though I’d like to believe that some part of her body resembles mine, I don’t see it.
“I know. Lucky her, I guess, not to look like her old mom.”