Second Acts

by Teri Emory

  “You’ll understand as I explain. I’ve spent the week with my accountants, trying to figure out what my next move is. Business has been slow, and then with Shortland leaving, I got good and worried. But the real bullet came over the weekend. You know Lawrence is gone, right? I figured he would tell you.”

  “I know that you fired him.”

  “He was a partner, you don’t just fire a partner. Dissolving a partnership is a complex and costly process. My liability is enormous.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been talking to some attorneys, in addition to your accountants. You’ve got that lawyer-speak down just right.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Sarah. But the bottom line here—and you know I’m a bottom line kinda guy—is that it wasn’t personal with Lawrence, and it isn’t personal with you.”

  “So you’re firing me.”

  “I have no choice. I had to let Lawrence go because his salary was a killer. An experienced guy like him, well, you know, I couldn’t pay him peanuts. And he had a nice share of profits every year. Now he’s demanding that I give him a lump-sum payout, which makes our cash flow situation dicey going into the new year. Between you and me, Lawrence is playing hardball—I didn’t think he had it in him—and the result is that I had to rethink the whole company structure.”

  “Which brings you to me. Next to Lawrence’s, my salary is the highest.”

  “Yeah, again, it’s the same thing like I said about Lawrence. You’re a seasoned pro yourself, and you add a lot to Tri-Tech in terms of writing know-how and the kind of classy image I think is very important, but I’ve got to cut down on overhead, period. And remember, it’s because of Lawrence that the cash flow problem is so serious now. His payout is costing me a fortune, and he won’t even consider letting me spread the payments out over time. I’ve had to readjust the entire business plan my accountants have been mapping out for months.”

  “Months? You’ve been at this for months?”

  “I knew at the end of the second quarter of this year that we had to cut costs or we were headed for trouble.”

  “I see. But you chose not to share this information with me? A company vice president?”

  “This company is my baby, Sarah. I’m sure you understand: I’d do whatever it takes to keep it going. As I said, this is not personal. You’re a nice girl, really.”

  “Joey,” I said calmly, though I wanted to deck him, “I’m ten years older than you are. I would appreciate it if you didn’t refer to me as a girl, nice or otherwise.”

  “What is it, then, lady? No, woman. Yeah, right. Anyway, what this all comes down to is that the numbers boys—they call the shots—are saying I need less expensive employees on the payroll, even if they’re not, you know, as high level as you and Lawrence. Listen, when I started this company, I did everything myself. There isn’t any job here I can’t do on my own, so I’ll make do with employees I can afford, and I’ll fill in the gaps. These young kids, like Raymond, for instance, they have a lot to learn.”

  “Let me see if I’ve got this. Letting me go is really Lawrence’s fault, because he unreasonably demanded that you pay him what he’s owed.”

  “The part that’s unreasonable is that he won’t allow us to pay him out over time.”

  “And your business plan is now to keep only young people on staff because you can pay them less than you pay people with experience.”

  “These are the hard facts of business these days. Besides the cost of keeping people your age and Lawrence’s on the payroll, I’ve got another factor to consider. With Shortland leaving, you can bet the girl—uh, woman who’s taking over for him is going to fill the place up with young people like herself. You look great for your age, Sarah, I’m not saying you don’t, but no one would take you for twenty-six.”

  “But my advanced age didn’t prevent you from sending me to do the Dravitin presentation. And, by the way, I landed the contract.”

  “Why do you think I asked you to do it? You were the only one who could step up to the plate on this one at a moment’s notice. In the long run, though, I need someone who’s gonna fit in with the new culture at Savant. Hey, I’m no kid either. But I’m the president of this company, and that gives me—whaddaya call it?—kind of a stature, if that’s the word. In general, I think the kids at Savant want to hang out with their peers. Besides, there’s the matter of what an older employee costs a small company like Tri-Tech.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “Fawn was telling me how you’ve refused to take the redeye back from California. You said, and I quote, ‘I’m too old to fly all night.’”

  “It was a joke.”

  “It’s the kind of thing younger people would never say to a boss. You tell them what to do, they do it.”

  “I didn’t say it to my boss. I said it to Fawn. And besides,” I smiled widely, leaned forward, and whispered, “the business about being too old—it was a fucking joke.”

  Joey was speechless. He was accustomed to my using words he couldn’t understand, but I’m sure he never expected to live long enough to hear me talk that way. I took advantage of his silence to wrest control of the discussion.

  “You still haven’t explained to me what she’s doing here,” I said, pointing to, but still not looking at, Sally. “Unless, of course, you need a witness. You need a witness, Joey?”

  Joey noisily cleared his throat. “For one thing, she’s been my right hand since I ran Tri-Tech from my garage. Next to Lorraine, I trust Sally more than anyone else. And second, as part of the company re-org—”

  “Re-org, Joey? Ooh, I love it when you talk corporate.”

  “Yes, it’s a common corporate term. Oh, I get it; you were trying to be funny, right? What I started to say is that Sally has a new position here. I’m rolling out the new organizational chart on Monday. Sally’s now vice president of human resources.”

  “You can call her Marie of Rumania, but it won’t make her royalty,” I said.

  Joey and Sally exchanged a brief, confused look. “You sound a little mad, Sarah,” Joey said.

  “What did you think I’d say? Thanks for firing me?”

  “You’re a very savvy woman. I thought you’d understand that I’ve got to do what I can to save my business. Meanwhile, we have a letter for you to sign. It’s a separation agreement, just keeps everything above board and legal.”

  In my career, I’ve signed half a dozen such letters. I’ve cut good deals on severance packages for myself—continued salary, health benefits, assurances of good references and letters of recommendation—that kept me afloat until I landed the next (terrible) job. What freedom, knowing that I wasn’t dependent on Joey’s money or a testimonial from him to get another job.

  Sally opened her green folder and pulled out a letter typed on Tri-Tech’s letterhead, with its artless pink-and-blue design. Lorraine Selber’s sister had created the Tri-Tech logo as a project for her Graphics 101 class at Hackensack Community College.

  Apart from a dangling participle and a couple of comma splices, the separation agreement letter wasn’t too badly written, especially considering that Joey was the author, with some input, I guessed, from some of the numbers boys. My dismissal from Tri-Tech was effective immediately. Tri-Tech was sorry that financial considerations had forced the Company (how much did his lawyer charge to advise him to capitalize Company?) to release a talented employee like me. As founder and president of Tri-Tech, Joey Selber wanted to “personally” thank me for my many valuable contributions to the Company and wish me well in all my future endeavors. If I promised not to sue Tri-Tech for discrimination against me or for any other reason, and never to say anything disparaging about the company or its employees, I could walk away with two whole weeks’ pay and health benefits for an additional thirty days.

  I took notice of the date on the letter. We were a few weeks away from Than
ksgiving, heading into the holiday season, the worst time of year to look for a job. (At another job years ago, I had negotiated several months’ additional severance pay using this argument when the company downsized.) I responded to Joey’s offer exactly as I would have if several million dollars were not enroute to me.

  “Was there ever really a partnership in the works for me, Joey?”

  “You mean the three-year thing? Lawrence’s idea, mostly. I went along because it seemed to motivate you, and I like to motivate my employees. Obviously, the company is not in a position to offer partnerships at the moment.”

  “What about the retroactive pay raise going back to August, when I had my review? Not to mention the additional bonus I was promised for schlepping to New Jersey to teach Richard Shortland how to speak French. Now that I think to ask, why did you sign me up for those French lessons, anyway?”

  “I don’t recall anything about a retroactive pay raise. As for your work with Shortland, that falls under your normal duties, managing a client. And why did I talk Shortland into the idea? Frankly, it made Tri-Tech look good. Do you think Saylish has anyone on his payroll who could teach someone to speak French? With you out of the office every morning for a few weeks, I also got a chance to do some things with your staff, get to know them, so I could figure out how to utilize them when I re-organized the company. By the way, Shortland’s leaving for Geneva sooner than expected. He was gonna call you on Monday to tell you the French lessons are over.”

  “In any case, after the fabulous annual review you gave me, my year-end bonus should be fifteen percent of my salary.”

  “You need to read the Employee Manual. An employee has to remain with the company through at least December fifteenth in order to qualify for the bonus.”

  “That’s just a few weeks away. You think it’s ethical to fire someone in early December and then disqualify her for the year-end bonus?”

  “Ethical, that’s a matter of opinion. But legal, it is.”

  Joey nodded at Sally, who opened her second folder—yellow—and pulled out a certified check. She tried to hand it to me, but I didn’t make a move to take it from her. Joey motioned for her to put it down on the table, in front of me.

  “That’s a certified check, Sarah; three weeks’ salary—one for the week ending today, and two weeks’ severance. Considering the financial situation that Tri-Tech is in, I think it’s a very, very fair offer. Sign the letter, take the check, and we’ll part friends.”

  I smiled sweetly. “Friends, Joey? In your dreams.”

  In a way, I was tempted to sign, grab the check, and split, just to put my life at Tri-Tech behind me and never have to think about Joey Selber again. But that’s what I had done in my divorce from Martin. To make things easy in the short run, to minimize what my lawyer had called “face time” with my ex-husband, I had walked away instead of fighting for money that should have been mine and my daughter’s. The result: years of having to contend with the likes of Joey Selber in order to make a living.

  “It’s the holiday season, Joey. No one finds a new job in December. And you’re offering two weeks’ severance?”

  “I’m not required to give you any severance pay at all.”

  “Your lawyers have obviously advised you on this letter, which means I’m at a disadvantage unless someone representing me looks it over.”

  “When will you get back to me? I’d like to wrap this up quickly.”

  “Oh, would you?” I said as I left the room.

  By the time Joey and I finished our confab, the office had completely cleared out. One of the building’s security guards—an elderly Russian man in a threadbare uniform—was posted at my office door to watch me pack. (Did Joey think I was going to steal something? Trash the office? Did he believe this poor old guy could prevent me from doing either?) The guard wheeled a dolly and some empty cartons to my door, offering, in broken English, to help me get my belongings downstairs and into a taxi.

  There was more to pack than I would have guessed. Photos of Elinor, Kevin, and me. My college and graduate school diplomas (displaying them was Joey’s idea). A giant poster of the Arc de Triomphe at sunrise that hung on the wall facing my desk so that I could look up from the computer screen from time to time and be reminded that there was life beyond Tri-Tech. Coffee mugs: I packed the one I had bought at the Musée d’Orsay and left behind a dozen with names of drugs and the companies that make them. Three shelves of books—writing guides (which I packed), healthcare and corporate directories (which I didn’t). A few novels, the sort I read on the occasional warm-weather lunch hour when I could escape to a nearby park. And, of course, the book that Rebecca had so thoughtfully returned, because she knew before I did that this would be my last day at Tri-Tech.

  I left voicemail messages of farewell to my staff and a few others who might care that I was gone. I assured Dana Greene that I’d call her soon. I saved Rebecca until last. I’d always been protective of her, hoping that she’d eventually comprehend that something bigger than her own ambition was on the line at Tri-Tech. Did anything I said get through to her? Probably not. Like Joey, like Raymond, Rebecca was so self-focused that she had few allies at Tri-Tech. I bore no grudge against her. In a way, I felt sorry for her. After all, if Joey had sworn her to secrecy about his plan to fire me, what could she have done? She couldn’t afford to jeopardize her job. I also knew that sooner or later, her inability to connect to other women would cost her.

  I understood at the first syllable of Rebecca’s voicemail greeting that she had recently changed it. I was expecting the same outgoing message she’d always had: “Hi, it’s me, Rebecca; I’m not around right now . . .” I had always thought it a bit too informal for the office, but I had let it ride. Her new message revealed that I had no cause for concern about Rebecca’s prospects: “Hello, you’ve reached Rebecca Carson, vice president of the editorial department at Tri-Tech Healthcare. Sorry to be unavailable . . .”

  __________

  “Kevin, it’s Sarah. I’m leaving this message late Friday night. This is ridiculous. Where are you? You’ll probably think I’m exaggerating, but my entire life has changed this week. No kidding. For starters, I don’t work at Tri-Tech anymore. But that’s not even the really big news. Will you just call me, please? Enough!”

  I called Beth.

  “Did Miriam reach you before she left for Florida? I missed her call. Do you know what’s happening with her mother?”

  “I was out when she called, too, but I spoke to Gabe Bryant. He was with Miriam when she got word from Florida. Celeste appears to have had a stroke.”

  “Where is Miriam staying?”

  “Her aunt’s condo. Gabe says Miriam has her cell phone with her.”

  “Do you think Miriam’s brother Neil will show up?”

  “Sometimes I forget she has a brother. Hard to say.”

  “I guess we’ll put off brunch until she gets back. Too bad. I’ve got so much to tell you both. In keeping with the extraordinary week I seem to be having, I’ve had yet another life-altering experience.”

  “I’ve got a major report to give, too, but I promised myself I wouldn’t talk about it until I had both of you with me. Can you give me a hint of what’s happening with you?”

  “How’s this: I lost my job.”

  “He did fire you! You were right all along. At least you don’t have to worry about how you’re going to feed yourself. You know what? It was a job worth losing. Good riddance.”

  “Yes, yes, yes, and . . . not so fast about the good riddance part. I’m thinking of suing the bastard.”

  “Oh, God, we do have to get together and talk. Is there more?”

  “Kevin and I had a momentous fight after your party. We still haven’t made up.”

  “What are you doing, slamming cupboard doors and growling at each other?”

  “Not exactly. He stormed out
. We haven’t spoken since. I thought he was going on a business trip to Seattle this week, and I figured the distance would help cool things down. But the trip was cancelled, except he didn’t tell me. I found out from his secretary. He’s been in town all week, I don’t know where, and he’s not responding to my voicemail messages. He doesn’t even know about the money from Martin.”

  “I wasn’t aware that you had blowups like this . . .”

  “We don’t argue much. But we don’t talk much, either. Not about things that really matter. This was one of the recurring themes in the fight, which lasted most of last Sunday.”

  “You want me to come into town tomorrow?”

  “I’d love to see you, but you said that you and Jim have plans this weekend anyway.”

  “We do, and that’s connected to my big news. Jim and I are working through some things, too. I promised I’d spend as much time as possible with him this weekend. Saturdays, he’s always at the office.”

  “As he should be. I mean, if Ellie and I are going to put our fortunes in his hands, I want to know that he’s making us richer every minute of every day.”

  “I’d better warn him what a pain-in-the-neck client you’re going to be.”

  “I was a pain in the neck when I was broke, and I’ve promised myself I won’t let having money change me.” “Thank goodness. Let me know if you hear from Miriam. And give Kevin’s voicemail another shot. Don’t leave an angry message, and don’t try to be funny. Be conciliatory. Make it easy for him to call you back. Nothing good can happen until you talk with each other.”

  __________

  “Kevin, it’s Sarah again. Saturday night, around eight. Just calling to say I really wish you were here, and I hope—make that I know—we can work things out, but we have to talk to each other. I miss you, Kev.”

  Lawrence called to offer congratulations. “You’re well out of there,” he said.

  “In Joey’s bizarre version of events, it’s your fault he had to fire me,” I said. “If you hadn’t been so unreasonable, demanding that Tri-Tech pay you what you’re owed, then Joey could have kept me on the payroll. Even if I am a feeble old woman of fifty-two.”