Second Acts

by Teri Emory

  “I used to think that Joey had a certain kind of smarts—not a refined intelligence, but a caginess,” Lawrence said. “After seeing how hung up he is on appearances and how impulsive he is, I’m not sure he’ll survive. I knew my best move was to get all of my money up front. He wanted me to take a payout over two years. As soon as I threatened to get a lawyer involved, he caved. You may not have noticed, Sarah, but I’m actually a black person, and I needed to use the word ‘discrimination’ in Joey’s presence only one time. He’s probably still having nightmares about the lawsuit I might have filed.”

  “We can only hope it’s keeping him up at night. Meanwhile, he’s rolling out his new org chart this week. From what I can tell, everyone left at the company has been promoted to a vice president. Babes in Tri-Tech Land. Tell me about you. How are the job prospects?”

  “Excellent. I’ve got half a dozen lunches lined up in January. Nothing happens in the job market between now and then.”

  “I tried to make the point about how impossible it is to find a job this time of year when Joey offered me two weeks’ severance.”

  “What are you planning to do?”

  “As I told you, my financial status is about to change dramatically, so the only question is how far I’m willing to take things with Joey for the principle. It’s no small amount of money we’re talking about, but I’m now in the position of not really needing it. I’d love to get what’s coming to me, but I don’t relish the thought of having him in my life, so to speak, for several years while we pay lawyers to parry with each other.”

  “Joey won’t let this get to court.”

  “You mean he’ll settle? How can you be sure?”

  “You know the guy. He’s driven by keeping up what he imagines is the respected image of his little empire. Joey worries about losing business if someone from Tri-Tech wears the wrong color socks to a meeting. It’s going to be awkward enough for Joey to have to explain to clients why you and I have suddenly vanished. He’d be apoplectic if he thought that Savant was abuzz with talk about a messy discrimination law suit at Tri-Tech.”

  “So you think I should stand my ground with Joey?”

  “I think you should get yourself a very good lawyer.”

  __________

  “Hi, Sarah. It’s Raymond. Raymond Albano. This is the second message I’m leaving for you. I hope you’re doin’ okay. I know this is a little strange, but I was calling to ask a favor. I hope you don’t mind. Remember the Repoze stuff you were working on? I looked in your files and on your computer and I can’t seem to find any notes. The thing is, the guy who took over for Pushpa when she got promoted wants to meet with me this week. He’s not a pharmacist, just a marketing guy, and he’s gonna want to see what kind of focal groups, I mean focus groups, we were planning. Well, heh-heh, you know the number here. Call me as soon as you can, okay?”

  TO: sarahjaneroth@home.com

  FROM: Dana_Greene@nyc.net

  RE: Crazier than ever

  Think we’ll ever actually get to talk instead of leaving messages? I’m writing this from home. I don’t trust that emails at the office are confidential anymore.

  Thanks for the recommendation letter. I have a second interview at the Abbott Literary Review next week. I can’t bear having Rebecca as my boss. I’m just sticking around the place long enough to get my year-end bonus and then, new job or not, I’m outta here.

  You probably don’t give a damn about anything at Tri-Tech, but I thought you’d be happy to hear that Rebecca doesn’t have a clue how to run things. She’s not a bad writer, but she’s a disaster as a manager. She spends all day on the phone telling everyone she knows that she’s now a VP. She’s letting Joey have his way with editorial, even though he made her get rid of the “Beef: It’s what’s rotting in your colon” bumper sticker on her bulletin board. Raymond pulled an all-nighter in his office recently, cruising the Internet to learn about focus groups. He follows Joey around like a puppy waiting for instructions to roll over.

  Sally Ackroyd has taken to sending emails on the hour about new personnel forms we should be worried about—Joey’s got her taking some personnel manager’s correspondence course (HR for Idiots?)—but everyone, except for Raymond, pretty much ignores her. The evil Fawn Mardiss is a brunette again.

  Dana

  __________

  “Hi, Wendy. Kevin around?”

  “You just missed him. He’s left for Philly.”

  “Any way to reach him today?”

  “Not until he gets to the hotel tonight.”

  “Where’s he staying? I know I wrote it down somewhere, but I can’t lay my hands on it right now.”

  “The Omni, all week.”

  __________

  Kristin Traynor, the employment law maven at Bruce Jacobs’s law firm, was not immediately encouraging about the prospect of suing Tri-Tech.

  “It certainly sounds as if Joey Selber is not a very nice person, and he treated you badly, but that’s not necessarily enough for a law suit. Thanks for supplying the history of what happened to you. I’ll read it carefully and let you know what I think. You’re aware, aren’t you, that it could be several years before this case, if you have a case, actually gets to court. We could very well lose, and you’ll wind up having to pay my fees, which will be considerable.”

  I smiled. “I’ve waited all my life to be able to say this: Money is no object.”

  “You’re a rich woman now, Sarah. You don’t need Joey Selber’s money. If we get as far as a jury, they may not be sympathetic to a wealthy woman. Why are you pursuing this?”

  “I endured that lousy job, did everything I was asked to do, and took his word that I’d be appropriately compensated. To be fired was insulting enough, but to be let go because I don’t look young enough, and at the worst time of the year for job-hunting, just makes me livid. What if I really needed the money, as most people do? As I assumed I did? I’d like him to think twice before he treats anyone else this way.”

  “Again, bad behavior, but not necessarily illegal. Though it’s true that juries don’t generally approve of Scrooge-like, Christmas-eve firings, and your situation is pretty close. But juries are also unpredictable. Have you thought about what you’d accept as a settlement offer?”

  “Not yet.” I told Kristin what Lawrence had said. “He feels that if Joey thought there were even a chance of word getting out around Savant that Tri-Tech was being sued for employment discrimination, he would be livid. And very nervous.”

  “We’ll probably have to depose some Savant people. Here’s what I’ll need from you. First, the employee manual from Tri-Tech. Then, do you have a current list of Tri-Tech employees?” I nodded. “Get me a copy, and tell me the ages of all the full-time employees. Next, start thinking of all the clients you had contact with, especially at Savant. Have you been in touch with Tri-Tech or Savant people since you were let go?”

  “One editor at Tri-Tech—Dana—has called and emailed a few times. I sent a letter to Doc Shortland wishing him good luck in Switzerland.”

  “Make sure I have copies of that correspondence. From now on, you are to communicate with no one, except for me, on the subject of Tri-Tech.”

  __________

  Not having Kevin around was starting to feel normal. Naturally I missed him, but seeing his bottle of aftershave on the bathroom vanity or his Nikes on the closet floor didn’t exactly send me into paroxysms of tears. Instead, I found myself mentally listing his traits (smart, interesting, sociable, reasonably nice-looking, generous, etc.) and beginning to wonder whether I liked the idea of Kevin better than Kevin himself. I decided to try his cell once more. This time, he answered.

  “Hi, Kev. It’s Sarah.”

  “Yes, Sarah.” His voice was flat.

  “How are you?”

  “A little tired, otherwise fine.” Long pause. “Hey, I’m sorry to hear
about the job. You’re better off out of there, though.”

  So he got the message I left, but he didn’t call. “I’m okay about it, really I am. There’s more to the story than you may think. I was calling to ask if I can expect you home any time soon.”

  “I should be back in New York early next week.”

  “Will you be coming home? I mean, to our apartment?”

  “I guess you want to talk.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I don’t know. Didn’t we say enough to each other after the party?”

  “We were both very angry, but I’d like to think we have more to say to each other.” Silence. “Kevin?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Sarah, let’s face it. It’s not working.”

  “What?”

  “Us. Our relationship. It’s not what either of us wants.”

  “People say spiteful things when they’re angry. It doesn’t have to mean the end of the world. In a way, arguing isn’t all bad. It could actually be helpful, bring things to light.”

  “I’m not up to any more arguing.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I think we probably said everything we had to on Sunday. I haven’t changed my mind about anything I said. You have no right to expect me to divulge confidential information about my family to you.” His voice was getting louder.

  “Aren’t we supposed to be family to each other?” I asked.

  “That’s part of your problem, Sarah. You don’t respect boundaries.”

  “My problem? You are pathologically secretive about essential aspects of your life, and it’s my problem? And then, after all this time together, you want to end things between us over the phone?”

  “Every relationship has limits. You don’t seem to understand that. Sometimes, with you, I feel like I can’t breathe. Just because you and Beth and Miriam think nothing should go unsaid doesn’t mean everyone needs to talk about everything. I don’t want to live with someone who insists on knowing every last thing about me.”

  “Do you still not understand why I was hurt when I found out about Brendan?” My voice was getting louder now, too.

  “Everybody has secrets. Some things need to stay private,” he said. It sounded as if he were speaking through clenched teeth.

  “Is that why you’ve been so elusive? Not returning phone calls? To protect your privacy? What the hell, Kevin?”

  “I really intended to see you sometime after I got back into town.”

  “But since I called, you figured you’d just give me the news now?”

  “See what I mean? You still want to fight.”

  “I just wanted to talk. Face to face.”

  “I’ve got to go. I’ll give you a call when I get back,” he said.

  I almost believed him.

  I wandered from room to room, taking inventory. The apartment and all the furniture in it was mine long before Kevin and I lived together. He had been renting a furnished studio when we met. When we were first dating, he claimed to have some furniture and personal effects in storage at a cousin’s house, but he never spoke about them again once I told him it was fine with me if he moved into my place. He didn’t keep pictures or mementos around, nothing that spoke of the life he had before he lived with me.

  He had clothes, books, some kitchen gadgets. Little enough that he could clear out his belongings in a morning. The only household items we owned jointly were the silver wine goblets we had picked out together in Copenhagen when we went on the cruise to Scandinavia. The trip I funded with severance pay from one of my many disappearing jobs.

  And I thought, standing in the middle of the living room in the apartment that had both our names on the front door (though mine alone was on the lease): nothing much will change if he moves out. He never entirely moved in.

  __________

  Kristin Traynor filed my suit against Tri-Tech. The suit asked for all the bonus money and retroactive salary due me, plus unspecified damages.

  “We’d be in somewhat better shape if you actually needed the job,” she said. “With that money you’re about to get from your late ex-husband, you aren’t going to break any jury’s heart.”

  “What does it matter how much money I have? I’m going after what I was promised. What I’m entitled to.”

  “And it’s a good sum, but you’re less appealing to a jury, for purposes of a damage award, if you don’t actually have to work for a living. Of course, we’ve got some nice evidence of a pattern of age discrimination. You and Lawrence Zimmerman were the oldest employees, and he fired both of you. According to the list you gave me, sixty percent of the remaining employees are in their twenties; only Selber, and his part-time receptionist are over forty. In any event, we may be getting a settlement offer from Tri-Tech. Selber’s attorney let it slip that his client doesn’t relish the idea of our deposing those Savant people. You know, of course, we have to have a reason to depose them, something more substantive than simply causing embarrassment to Joey Selber. I’m scheduled to speak to his lawyer this afternoon. I’ll let you know if they make an offer.”

  __________

  TO: sarahjaneroth@home.com

  FROM: Dana_Greene@nyc.net

  RE: Just desserts

  I knew you’d want the dirt on Tri-Tech holiday festivities. The usual Selber greeting went out to us all. Joey and Lorraine, once again in their ridiculous Santa getups, remain thrilled to have us in the Tri-Tech family. Citing “somewhat uncertain times in the pharmaceutical industry,” the Selbers dispensed with the usual holiday dinner party and instead had us all to their house in Brooklyn for coffee and dessert. A Saturday-night schlep on the subway for a slice of Junior’s cheesecake and a cup of hazelnut decaf.

  Back at the office, Joey and Rebecca had a knock-down-drag-out when she showed up at work with a spiky crew cut and several new earring holes pierced in just her left ear. Now she’s banished for good from face-to-face client encounters. And just when Joey finally had her trained to wear long sleeves to hide the spotted owl tattoo! (Poor thing; all this unpleasantness at work the very same week her Starbucks beau dumped her for a model/personal trainer he met over a latte grande.) Raymond will take Rebecca’s place at client meetings, but only after Joey does a wardrobe check on him. By the way, Raymond seems to have blown the Repoze contract. Savant has thrown the project to Saylish.

  Bonuses should be in our hands before the week is out. I’m counting the hours. I start my new job at Abbott right after the new year. Hope to see you over the holidays.

  Dana

  Once Joey got a look at the list of people on our deposition list—every Tri-Tech employee and anyone I could think of at Savant—he was willing to negotiate. Though I’d had delightful visions of Joey strapped to his desk, being forced at gunpoint to sign a fat check made out to me, it turns out that businesses have insurance policies these days that cover them for discrimination suits. Joey’s insurance company will pay most of the settlement. I’ll get every cent of all the bonus money and salary I was owed, plus my lawyer’s fees, and a hefty sum for “damages” that Kristin says is probably less than I might get if we went before a jury, but I feel as if I won. I’m not allowed to breathe a word about the settlement to anyone, and both Joey and I are enjoined from disparaging each other, etc. My rote response to anyone who inquires about my history with Tri-Tech is a deadpan, “I used to work there. Now I don’t.” And then a grin.

  Ellie spent Christmas and New Year’s in Rhode Island with Doug’s family and then joined me for a few days at a spa in the Berkshires before she went back to school. While I was out of town Kevin removed his clothes and books—but not the Danish wine goblets—from our apartment. He left a note saying he was staying with friends for now and would let me know when he had a new address and phone number. I took his name off the front door and changed the locks.

  I’m waiting for the cold
weather to pass before I make a trip to meet with Paris realtors. I figure I should be able to set myself up there soon after Ellie’s graduation. I’ll keep the apartment in New York, too—the building’s going co-op and I plan to buy the place. Ellie and Doug are hinting about marriage after they graduate. The apartment would make a lovely wedding gift from me if they wind up living in New York. Who’s to say they can’t be happy here?

  Miriam:

  Something Old, Something New

  “Don’t you want somebody to love?”

  —Jefferson Airplane

  Gabe was at La Guardia when Mom and I landed. He drove us directly to Glenwilde Senior Care, a nursing home just a short walk from Mom’s house, in the neighborhood where I spent my childhood. Each week of her stay, I spent a few nights and at least one weekend day visiting her. I gleaned slender hope from the guarded optimism of the doctors and nurses. I cheered every subtle change in Mom’s condition. Her coloring looks better today. Her appetite seems improved. She’s getting the hang of that walker.

  Gabe joined me at Glenwilde on weekends. We fell into the routine of his picking me up in his car early in the morning and driving to Brooklyn. He was playful and patient with Mom. She was girlish and vampy with him, the way she had behaved at the hospital in Florida. “Gabe, darling, do you like my perfume?” she’d ask, holding her wrist towards him. “Very sexy, Celeste,” he’d respond. “I think you’re trying to flirt with me.”

  We usually left Glenwilde late on those weekend evenings, stopping for a quick meal on the way back to Manhattan. After a warm-but-not-passionate kiss, we’d go home—separately. The idea of sex seemed absurd to me in light of current events, and I couldn’t imagine the right circumstances for intimacy any time soon. A new experience for me, sexual apathy. So this is middle age, I thought.