Lost in His Eyes

by Andrew Neiderman

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Welcome again to the fight,’ he said.

  ‘This time I know our side will win,’ I replied, and he laughed.

  ‘Who are you quoting Casablanca to?’ Ronnie asked as soon as I hung up. It was a line he used, too. Maybe he had rubbed off on me far more than I knew.

  ‘Carlton Saunders. He wants me to start today. It’s only part-time,’ I added quickly.

  ‘Wow. I wish all the employees working with and under me would make decisions as quickly and firmly as you do,’ he said, but it didn’t sound like a compliment.

  I sat and continued eating. I could feel his gaze on me.

  ‘So what made you finally decide to go back to work? I mean, you weren’t that keen on it when I suggested it, were you?’

  ‘The sound of silence,’ I replied. He grimaced.

  ‘Silence. Oh. You mean, when both Kelly and I are gone and you’re home alone with … with whatever there is to do here?’

  ‘Yes, that and the conversations I have with my so-called friends,’ I added. I wanted to continue and add, ‘and the conversations I have with you, too, lately,’ but I just ate instead.

  ‘Well, I thought you might enjoy having more to do,’ he continued. ‘I mean, I’m going to have more to do with this promotion so—’

  ‘So it works out well,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I mean. Is he paying you enough?’

  ‘Ten percent more than Mr Pullman paid me.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like enough.’

  ‘It’s enough for now. I think I can negotiate for myself, Ronnie.’

  ‘Sure, sure.’ He thought a moment, then smiled and said, ‘Great eggs.’ He ate a little faster. As soon as he finished, I was cleaning up. We both had to get out of the house quicker than usual now. He returned to the bedroom to shower and finish dressing for work.

  He stopped in the kitchen on his way out.

  ‘Good luck,’ he said, giving me a fatherly kiss on the cheek. ‘I’m sure you’ll do fine. It’s like getting back on a bike after you’ve fallen off.’

  ‘I didn’t fall off, Ronnie.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ he said with that vague look he sometimes captured on his face. I knew he always wondered why I didn’t seek new employment when Sebastian retired. ‘We’ll have to get that maid, huh?’

  ‘Let’s wait and see,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure how much work Carlton really has for me yet.’

  ‘Whatever,’ he said. He gave me another quick kiss and headed into the garage, whistling ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic’.

  I moved quickly once they had both left. Not long ago, I had divided my closet into what I called my professional work clothes, everyday clothes and evening clothes. That chore had filled one of those gaping holes that formed in my daily life. I chose the black pants suit I had worn the last day I worked for Sebastian. Some women didn’t dress much differently for work to how they did for going out to socialize. I couldn’t imagine Carlton’s receptionist doing much more to enhance her beauty when she went on a date. She was already set for Camera One on a movie set when she took her place behind the receptionist’s desk every morning. Was it an old-fashioned idea for a woman to dress down, use less makeup, not be as concerned about her hair and her nails when she went to work for someone else?

  It wasn’t all that long ago when a woman in the workplace was vulnerable, knew that every time she stood up, walked across a room or addressed one of her male counterparts, she was being judged first for her looks and second for what she was contributing to the job at hand. The concept of sexual discrimination and harassment in the workplace wasn’t that old. Was it even possible to think only of the job and not be concerned at all about any of this? Certainly, a woman should feel quite safe working for a lawyer. If anyone knew the dangers of crossing the line, it was a lawyer. Or so one would think.

  None of this had been on my mind for some time now. Had that made my life more comfortable or less interesting? Here I was, rushing out to start again, but did I really want to do it? Was I running after something or running away from something? I had a feeling that was a question more than one woman and man asked themselves daily.

  Lancaster had made me think more deeply about it. His comment about it lingered like some bad aftertaste. There was hesitation in my steps as I descended the stairway to leave. Some of that was surely anxiety. Could I do what Ronnie had tritely said and get back on the bike? Did I still have the intellectual concentration to perform efficiently? Did I have enough interest in it? So many of Sebastian’s cases, if not most, had been dry wells of excitement, full of balance sheets, resolutions, minutes of dreary meetings. I had to read through, searching for a way to parse agreements, looking for some small hole through which to drive home an accusation and a financial position. It was certainly not the stuff of Boston Legal or The Devil’s Advocate. Most of the time, the only drama was in the choice for lunch.

  Why didn’t I simply decide to return to college? The degree could put me in real control of my life. Was I afraid that if I had more education and a more prestigious college degree than Ronnie, I would swamp him, diminish him and make this marriage even less than it was? Or was I just plain lazy? I wondered what my father would think. I knew it annoyed him that I hadn’t continued my education; unlike so many daughters, however, my pleasing him first and foremost wasn’t at the top of my list of life goals.

  My cell phone went off as soon as I got into my car.

  ‘This is Clea,’ I said.

  ‘You’re going to work for that lawyer now, aren’t you?’

  ‘What, do you have my phone tapped?’

  ‘Thanks for confirming my suspicion.’

  ‘You must be or have been a detective or some sort of CIA agent.’

  He laughed. ‘We all have a little CIA in us. Look, you don’t want to do this,’ he said. ‘You’re just looking for ways to avoid me now.’

  ‘Just like a man, believing it’s all about you.’

  ‘No, this is solely about you and what’s good for you.’

  ‘So you’re not a writer or an artist or a musician after all. You’re a psychiatrist?’

  ‘Joke about it if you want to, but I give you two, three days at the most, before you stop, look out the window – if there is a window in whatever space he gives you to work in – and wonder what the hell you did to put yourself back there. You’ll see chains around your ankles. You’re too beautiful to be relegated to a desk job. You’re even too beautiful to be a trial attorney. No one would listen to anything you said. They’d all just be looking at you. Very pretty women have a hard time in the business world. Or even becoming teachers. Maybe especially becoming teachers. Ever see Blackboard Jungle?’

  ‘You know what? You are beginning to sound like a male chauvinist pig.’

  ‘I’m not talking about all women, just very attractive women, which means I’m talking about you.’

  ‘I’d like to hear some note of confidence in my intelligence, too. I have worked successfully, you know.’

  ‘Oh, you can do it. Easily. You’re just not going to like doing it now. It’s not the solution you seek. I know what you’re after. A breath of fresh air. It would be better if you lowered all the windows and took a nice fast ride on the freeway, letting the wind blow through your hair. I bet you have it pinned up severely, hoping you’ll be noticed for your achievements and not your looks?’

  I did.

  ‘How do you know that? You are stalking me, aren’t you?’

  ‘Not half as much as you’re stalking yourself,’ he said.

  ‘I’m hanging up. I have to go,’ I said.

  ‘Look for me. I’ll be there when you look hard enough,’ he said.

  The line went dead and I started the engine.

  Hearing his words had put a tremble in my body. I was holding on to the steering wheel for dear life. It was just anxiety, I told myself. It had nothing to do with what he had said. I knew what I was doing was not the
pursuit of any goal except the one related to filling my time. He was right about that. I was not going to fool myself into believing I was once again pursuing a career and, by definition, looking to add more meaning to my life. I didn’t expect I would decide to return to college.

  I couldn’t imagine that my work for Carlton would be any more exciting than my work for Sebastian had been. In fact, from what he had told me on the phone, I was anticipating some similar, very dry, financial legal dispute that would require me to read through some company’s board minutes, hundreds of emails, and sift through partner agreements and contracts in preparation for a deposition. Twice when I reached intersections, I almost turned back, but I kept telling myself this would be good medicine, and just like good medicine might taste bad or have some side effects, this might as well, but in the end it would do me good.

  I parked in the office lot and started for the entrance.

  I thought I saw Lancaster on the far right corner, leaning against a telephone pole. When I looked again, he was gone. Without further hesitation, I hurried in. Carlton’s receptionist wasn’t giving me that saccharine smile this time. Maybe I was only a paralegal, but I was a more important employee. I’d be giving her things to do, too.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Howard,’ she said, as if I had been coming to work here for weeks, if not months. She rose. ‘Mr Saunders asked me to show you to your office. He had to leave for the courthouse about ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  She started around the desk and indicated the door on the far left. It was the same way I had entered my office when Sebastian had his practice here, but the door had been changed and the hallway had been shortened. When she opened the door of what used to be my office, I saw what Carlton meant when he said it had been reduced in size. Someone could actually become claustrophobic in it. It looked more like a cell on death row. Even the two big windows had been diminished. They resembled portholes on a cargo ship.

  There was a neat pile of documents and folders on the right-hand side of the small desk. The phone was on the left, with the computer taking up the rest of the space. Book shelves were on the right-hand wall and a framed print of Christina’s World on the left.

  ‘Mr Saunders found that picture in a closet and thought it might be something you’d like.’

  ‘It was always in here,’ I said, looking at it. I had often stared at it and wondered about the woman in the picture and how much like her I often felt. ‘I do like it. I like it very much.’

  ‘It’s interesting,’ she said with little enthusiasm, probably to snap me out of my reverie. It annoyed me. She annoyed me.

  ‘I’m sorry, but we were never properly introduced,’ I said.

  ‘Oh. I’m Jackie Goodman.’ She giggled. ‘Dumb of me not to have introduced myself right away.’

  I nodded, mainly because I agreed. It was dumb of her, but social graces and etiquette were long relegated to rest homes. She had a name plate on her desk, but I hadn’t acknowledged it. I wasn’t going to make it that easy for her. Was that mean of me? Condescending? Perhaps, I should be more congenial, I thought. As Grandma used to say, you get more with honey than you do with vinegar.

  Get past the nervousness, Clea, I told myself.

  ‘Thank you, Jackie.’

  ‘Mr Saunders’ junior partners will stop by this morning to say hello. The coffee pot is in the same place it’s always been. There’s milk and stuff in the refrigerator. I put a bottle of water on your desk about twenty minutes ago, but if you want a colder one—’

  ‘No, that’s fine. Thank you.’

  ‘There’s a sheet here with Mr Saunders’ directions – what he’s looking for in that mess,’ she said, nodding at the pile of folders containing financial data. ‘There’s a big fight over what assets were prenuptial. I don’t know how it was for you when you used to work here, but seeing all these nasty divorces so frequently fills me with terror every time my new boyfriend starts to sound like he’s going to propose or something.’

  ‘Yes, you might have to spend some time at the Betty Ford Clinic first after having worked here.’

  ‘What?’ She held her smile. It was obvious she didn’t know what the Betty Ford Clinic was. I went around the desk.

  ‘I had this desk,’ I said, recognizing some of the scratches in the surface.

  ‘It was in the storage room. I don’t think any other desk would fit in here well.’

  ‘No,’ I said, gazing around and nodding. ‘None would.’

  ‘I usually go to Sol’s Luncheonette for lunch at noon. I meet some girlfriends who work at the insurance agency. You’re welcome to join us.’

  ‘What insurance agency?’

  ‘Balkin and Morris,’ she said.

  ‘My husband works there. He was just made office manager.’

  ‘Oh, that’s great.’

  ‘I don’t think it would be politic for me to mingle with his employees.’

  ‘Politic?’

  ‘They’ll feel constricted.’ She looked at me dumbly. I thought I was speaking to an exchange student and had to translate English. ‘Afraid to say anything for fear I might go tell my husband.’

  ‘Oh. Gee, I’m sorry. I’d hate to see you have lunch alone, especially your first day.’

  ‘I’m fine. I might meet my husband, in fact,’ I said, even though neither Ronnie nor I had suggested it.

  ‘Well, call me if you need anything. You just hit—’

  ‘Zero. I know. Things haven’t changed that much since I was here.’

  ‘I suppose not. Good luck,’ she said and left. I stared after her a moment as the silence clamped down like a mousetrap. Had I traded one world of loneliness for another? Was Lancaster right?

  I pushed those thoughts off the screen in my head and dug into the work. In minutes, it was as if I had never left it, as if all the time in between was a dream. I was on the computer, occasionally finding better sites to utilize, but for the most part, to use Ronnie’s metaphor again, I was someone who had simply gotten back on the bike.

  I never liked the way time went by when I worked for Sebastian. It wasn’t that it dragged; it was completely the opposite. I would look up and discover that I had been swimming for hours and had never lifted my head up long enough to realize it. If anything, it contradicted the expression, Time flies when you’re having fun. Time just evaporated when I did this dry pursuit of bank accounts, property records and brokerage statements.

  In the beginning, Sebastian’s excitement in making discoveries infected me and I felt the same joy when I unmasked financial deceptions, but after a while that lost its exhilaration. It was almost expected, anticipated. The numbers turned me into a cynical accountant. Honesty existed only on a blank page. The moment there were entries, deceit reared its ugly head. Satan was probably responsible for the printed word and definitely for numbers.

  Less than two hours later, my phone rang.

  ‘You have a phone call already,’ Jackie said. ‘It’s your husband,’ she added, lowering her voice as if she was warning me.

  ‘Thank you.’ I waited to hear her click off. ‘Ronnie?’

  ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘I haven’t been here two hours.’ He didn’t say anything. ‘So far there’s nothing different for me to do, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘I remember you weren’t excited about that job.’

  ‘No,’ I said, a little impressed that he remembered and had given it some thought. ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘I’d meet you for lunch, but I have an important business lunch with some national executives.’

  ‘That’s OK. Oh,’ I said, realizing what day of the week it was. ‘Thanks for reminding me. I have to cancel my appearance at the hen house.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My Thursday lunch with the girls.’

  ‘Oh.’ He laughed. ‘Well, maybe tomorrow we can have lunch.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Ronnie. I’m not big on lunch. People eat t
oo much, drink too much and then give thirty or forty percent less for the rest of their workday.’

  ‘Party pooper,’ he said. Then he added, ‘You’re probably right. See you later.’

  ‘Later,’ I said and hung up. Then I called Rosalie Okun and gave her the news in the form of a bulletin: ‘Clea Howard has gone back to paralegal work.’

  ‘I had a feeling,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you want to do that again?’

  ‘Paralegal work?’

  ‘Whatever. I couldn’t even begin to imagine myself doing something like that.’

  ‘We’re all fruit, Rosalie, but some of us are apples and some of us are oranges. Some are even bananas.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Gotta go,’ I said. ‘Give my best to the others. And don’t spend your whole lunch talking about me. Give someone else a chance.’

  Before she could utter another word, I hung up and turned back to the work. Both junior partners, Gerald Wilson and Bob Sayer, stopped by to welcome me to the firm. Neither looked more than thirty, but I was sure both would be bright and ambitious if Carlton had hired them. Neither was big on small talk; maybe because I wasn’t either, after the preliminary questions were asked and answered. They had the look of adjournment on their faces moments after they had stepped in to say hello.

  Just before noon, Jackie came in to tell me the office phone would be on answering service for the next hour. That was something new. Sebastian had insisted there should always be a human voice from opening to closing. As I recalled, he wasn’t fond of technology and wrote as much as he could in longhand.

  ‘Sure about lunch?’ she asked. ‘You’re more than welcome to join us.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m sure.’

  I was thinking I might buy myself an apple or a health bar and call it my lunch. I wasn’t very hungry. I folded the files and put them aside, but just as I rose to leave, he appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Someone should put up a Gone to lunch sign or at least something like Gone fishing,’ he said.

  ‘What were you doing? Watching to see them all leave?’

  ‘Just watching for you and, yes, I saw them all leave.’