by Judith Ivie
“Oh, phooey. You think men are the reasons behind everything a woman does, but even if you’re right this time, Emma has shared the details of half a dozen long-term relationships over the years.”
“Uh huh, relationships that didn’t much matter, am I right?”
“Well, that’s how they turned out, but at the time they seemed pretty important to her. Anyway, that’s not why I’m calling. Have you talked to May today?”
“Not today. I never made it back to the office. After Vista View, I had a showing all the way over by the Wethersfield Art Academy. Why, what’s up?”
I filled her in on May’s bat-filled night and our mutual puzzlement as to the possible miscreant. “She told me she doesn’t know anybody in the neighborhood well enough yet to have gotten on their bad side, and none of the disgruntled authors she’s rejected even know where she lives. All they have is Romantic Nights’ website information, and the mailing address is a post office box in Atlanta. Mail is still being forwarded from there until she gets around to setting up a new one here. She swears she gets along fine with the guys who are working on the renovations at her house, which are almost finished, by the way, so that doesn’t make any sense. Do you have any thoughts?”
I could picture Margo idly twisting a strand of blonde hair around her index finger while she considered my question. “Hmmm, let’s see. There are no jilted lovers in the picture, at least, not yet.”
“At her age?” I squeaked.
“Oh, please, Sugar, grow up. Maybelle Farnsworth is one fine lookin’ woman, not to mention smart and funny as hell. She’s an incredible cook, too. She practically had to beat the prospective beaus off with a stick back in Atlanta after Uncle Doug passed on. Seventy is the new fifty, as she likes to point out, so don’t write off Auntie May’s love life just yet.”
“Wow,” I said, chastened. “Okay, no jilted lovers. Yet. So what else could be going on here?”
“Neighbors angry about the noise of hammers and saws and workmen yellin’ at each other over the past few weeks?”
“I thought about that, but stuffing bats in somebody’s open window seems a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
“I do, but there are a lot of loonies on the loose. The thing I don’t understand is what this bat person hoped to accomplish with such a stunt, frighten her into moving out? Why? Anybody who knows May would be aware that she’d be more likely to make pets out of the critters than run screamin’ out the door, never to return. So I guess we can say whoever did this doesn’t know May, which only makes things murkier. How was she by the time she left the office today?”
“Worn out, as you would expect, but she didn’t seem apprehensive about returning to the house. In fact, she appeared to be looking forward to enjoying her new digs in peace, now that the reconstruction work is all done, and the painting will be finished by the weekend.”
“I’ll give her a call after we hang up to be sure she’s all right, but I’m sure I would have heard from her by now if she wasn’t. She probably nuked a Lean Cuisine and fell into bed after makin’ sure all the windows were firmly latched, of course. So what else is new?”
I filled her in on a couple of paperwork snags Strutter and I had run into during the day. “I know Emma and Jimmy love their new space in Glastonbury, but I really miss having her right in the same building where I could just run upstairs and show her something in person. Scanning and emailing are all well and good, but it’s not the same as having her around.”
“It is not,” Margo agreed. “Let’s face it, we just plain miss Emma. She’s a terrific person, even if she is your daughter, and I miss her wicked sense of humor and her smarts. It’s a good thing May came along to rattle around in that old barn with us, or we’d be awfully lonely. Did any lookers drop by to check out the upstairs office space?”
As a favor to our landlord, and a sneaky way to get a preview of our next upstairs neighbors, whoever they might turn out to be, we had agreed to take the rental listing for the second floor of the Law Barn at a greatly reduced fee; but despite the rapidly recovering economy, prospective tenants had been few and far between to date.
“Not today, but maybe tomorrow. Between you and me, I’m hoping May gets used to us and decides to take that little office permanently. It has to be sort of dreary hanging out in your own house all day, don’t you think?”
“I couldn’t do it, but then, even when we were operating from our houses a couple of years back, the nature of our business has us out and runnin’ around to show this property and that, not to mention Vista View duty.”
That was true. Real estate representation was a profession unto itself. Margo changed subjects again.
“Speaking of Vista View, I had a chance to visit with Isabelle Marchand for a few minutes today. You’re right, she’s not nearly as frosty as she was last week. I was puttin’ together sales materials, and my stapler ran out, so I went through the lobby and tapped on her door. She was happy to see someone who had a problem she could solve, so I plunked myself in a chair and asked her how things were goin’. She’s doin’ fine, except that everyone seems to think she has all the responsibilities Ginny Preston had and expects her to fix things the way Ginny did. She says she likes havin’ more time to pursue her hobby.”
“Which is?”
“Do you know, I never got around to askin’ her that. We just talked generally about how getting along in years makes you eager to get on with doin’ the things you really enjoy. I told her about Auntie May startin’ up her own business, bein’ careful not to tell her the name of it, of course. I asked her if she’d ever thought about something like that, but then her phone rang, so I skedaddled. Anyway, Sugar, I’m going to let you get back to that handsome husband of yours while I give May a call. I’m a little worried, to tell you the truth.”
“I am, too, but I couldn’t tell you why exactly. Let me know what she has to say. I think all of us are going to be at the Law Barn tomorrow, if I’m reading my Outlook calendar correctly.”
“Will do. See you tomorrow.”
I felt a little better after talking with Margo. For all of her southern belle affectations, she’s the most level-headed person I know, and she was May’s family, after all. That thought brought me back around to Emma and her perplexing silence, which I promised myself I would end tomorrow one way or another. Thus resolved, I headed back downstairs to clean up the dishes, sure that Armando would be sound asleep in the recliner. It seemed to be the only place he slept soundly these days.
He surprised me by being wide awake, not even clicking through the TV channels with the remote, just staring vacantly at the screen in front of him with Gracie on a pillow in his lap. Since I knew he wasn’t a particular fan of The Antiques Roadshow, I transferred my concerns about Emma to my husband and decided now was as good a time as any to find out what was bothering him.
“Hi, handsome. Anything worth watching tonight?” I asked, dropping into my usual spot next to him. I scratched our spoiled cat on the top of her head, and she stretched her toes in bliss.
Armando returned slowly from wherever he’d been and looked at the television in surprise. “I have not looked at the guide, but I would not think so. All of those expensive premium channels the AT&T salesman talked us into when we signed our new contract seem to show the same eight movies over and over, shuffling them among the channels at different times of the day. We should cancel them,” he said in a voice that told me the matter was of little real interest to him.
“We could do that, but then what would you pretend to be looking at while you go inside your head and think your very private thoughts with a worried expression on your face?” I leaned across Gracie and punched the mute button on the remote, and he looked at me warily. “Don’t you think it’s about time you let me in on whatever the problem is?”
He smiled a little to himself but stayed quiet. I poked him, and Gracie opened one yellow eye to assess the situation before deciding whether to abandon her position of
privilege. After a few seconds she decided her cozy lap would not be disappearing anytime soon and returned to her nap.
“I did not want to worry you, Cara.”
My heart thumped faster, but I managed to keep my voice even. “Why not? I do it so well. In fact, worrying is one of my best things, you know that.” I had a feeling that despite my efforts, my smile didn’t fool him. “Besides, now that I know there’s something to worry about, I’m going to go right ahead and do it, so you may as well tell me what it is.” Please don’t let it be his health, I begged the universe silently.
“You have a point there,” he agreed. “Well, you know that TeleCom has been looking to expand …”
“As if you don’t have enough work to do already,” I interrupted. “Sorry. Go on.”
He shifted in his seat carefully so as not to disturb Gracie. “I have been assuming that would happen over a period of a few years, and those of us who have been with the company from almost the beginning would all have an opportunity to evaluate where we might best fit into the new structure.”
“But?”
He smiled again at my impatience. “But a different scenario has arisen over the past few weeks, one I had not anticipated.”
I waited, willing myself not to jump in with questions. It took Armando an extraordinary amount of time to get to the point of a story under the best of circumstances, which these obviously were not. Best to let him get there in his own time.
“It would seem that we are being acquired by a corporation called OmniFutures. One of the outcomes of the financial shake-up a few years ago was that banking institutions and other narrowly positioned companies needed to diversify their operations, buy up small outfits that do other kinds of things, in order to remain viable. It took several years, but one of them finally made George an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
I tried to understand the meaning behind his words. George Dunphy was the president and CEO of TeleCom, but the company was publicly held these days. No matter how much he liked an offer, George couldn’t proceed unilaterally. He needed the approval of at least the board of directors and probably the stockholders, as well, but all that could wait until later. I needed to get to the bottom line here.
“I’m sure there are many steps to this process, so let’s not jump the gun here. Assuming the acquisition does eventually happen, which is probably a long shot at this point, what would that mean to you … us?” I amended hastily.
“That is the problem in a nut,” Armando assured me, mangling an English idiom in the process as he often did when stressed. “This is not a merger, where the officers of both companies would have equal say in the matter. OmniFutures, the company acquiring TeleCom, would absorb our entire operation. That means similar departments, such as personnel and accounting, would be consolidated. Positions that are redundant would be lost.”
“Surely you can’t be worried about losing your job. They couldn’t do without you,” I protested. “You’ve been there forever. You know everything. You deal with TeleCom’s biggest clients all over the world. You speak Spanish,” I finished up lamely. “Who would do the translating and the liaison work when a client in South America gets a bug up?”
Armando chuckled softly. “I imagine I would, if I am still with the company.”
“Why wouldn’t you be?”
He kept silent for a moment, weighing his words. Here it comes, I thought. “Because I have no wish to move to Florida, which is where OmniFutures is located. It would make sense for all of the administrative functions to be in one place, and the logical place would be there.” He met my eyes squarely for the first time. “I know you would not wish to move there either.”
I swallowed audibly while struggling to keep my expression unalarmed, which was the opposite of what I was feeling. Alarm didn’t quite cover it, as a matter of fact. I was shocked. One of our greatest shared affections was for Connecticut. It had never occurred to us to live anywhere else. Whenever we traveled, we breathed a sigh of relief upon returning home to our green, glorious, cozy, eclectic, enlightened state. This could not be happening.
“Do you really think that’s a possibility, or are you just trying to ruin my evening?” I joked, stalling for time, but he didn’t return my smile.
“I believe it is more of a probability than a possibility, assuming I am offered a position of any kind.”
I gulped again. “That’s a lot of assumptions for this stage in the proceedings, don’t you think? You’re assuming the acquisition will be approved by the board and the stockholders and whatever government agencies have to get involved in this proposed transaction. You’re assuming positions will be consolidated, and you’re assuming that if you make the cut, you’ll have to relocate to Florida. I know you always try to plan for the worst, but maybe you need to just step back and take a breath. I know I need to do that.”
I scooted closer to him in the recliner and snuggled under his right arm, careful not to jostle Gracie. We were quiet for a time.
“You could always look for another job,” I suggested, but my heart wasn’t really in it.
“I may have to.”
“No, I mean now, before any of what’s going to happen actually happens. That way, it’s your choice, not theirs.”
He smiled at my fighting words. “I am fifty years of age, Cara. The job market for men of my years is not promising.”
“It’s better to look for a job when you already have a job,” I persisted. “At least, that’s what they say.”
“I don’t want another job. I like the one I have.” His expression grew mulish, and I felt him digging in his heels. He would do nothing, I knew, until he had no choice in the matter. His Latino stubborn streak would keep him hanging on against all odds until the last pink slip was issued, hoping against hope to be spared a choice of evils: abandon his job or leave Connecticut. I shifted gears.
“What’s the timetable, do you know?”
“That is perhaps what is most frustrating about this situation. The timetable, as you call it, keeps moving, and delays happen at every step. At the moment George is spending his days lobbying the other directors to convince them of the tremendous opportunity this is for the company. Once they are on his team, they will begin working on the stockholders, and so on and so on until a vote is taken and the offer is accepted or rejected.” He laughed hollowly. “When I hear him bending the ear of a director on the telephone, I wonder if George knows that as soon as the acquisition is complete, he will be in the worst jeopardy of all of us. The first position they will cut will be his, and he is the only person who does not seem to know that.”
“Have you tried to explain that to him?”
“Oh, yes, many, many times, but he does not wish to hear me. He prefers to believe the sales pitch that is being given to him over expensive lunches and fancy dinners and cocktail parties and games of golf at exclusive country clubs all over the eastern coast. He returns from these excursions tanned and filled with the fairy tales these people have put into his head, and we have to sit and listen to him speak of the glorious days to come as if we do not think he is insane, which we do.”
After that we fell quiet, thinking our private thoughts but sharing the feeling of bedrock shifting beneath us. How foolish we human beings are, I thought, making our little plans and feeling secure in them. Yes, Mack Realty’s business had suffered a slump in the years following 2009, but my partners and I had all been lucky enough to have fully employed husbands whose jobs were not threatened and who could keep us in health insurance while we regrouped. Once the economy had begun to right itself, and the real estate market was showing steady improvement, we had returned to our old offices in the Law Barn and essentially picked up where we’d left off. Having survived the immediate crisis, we forgot that a new one could be lying in wait for any one of us at any time. Suddenly Armando and I were faced with a number of unpleasant possibilities, and averting them was beyond our control. All we could do was sit tight and deal with what
ever happened when it happened. Life, I think they call it.
“However this turns out, we’ll be fine,” I attempted to reassure my husband now. “We’re both healthy and employable, even if a little creaky in the joints; and if we do have to move to Florida for a few years, Connecticut will still be here when we get back, you know.”
Armando raised one eyebrow. “And Mack Realty? Will your partners have a place for you when we get back?”
I slapped his arm lightly. “What, you never heard of a branch office?”
“That would be quite a long branch,” he scoffed, and on that note we took ourselves to bed.
Six
On Tuesday we were all kept hopping. The phone rang continually as nervous sellers sensed the coming of winter, which meant less likelihood of attracting good buyers, and confused purchasers wearied of the complicated new negotiations required to qualify for and execute reasonable mortgages. Strutter and I staffed the office while Margo flew in and out of the Law Barn’s front door, files stuffed in her elegant attaché, to make hay while the hazy sun still shone on our lovely community. Even May kept her head down for most of the day, intent on closing out her Romantic Nights submission period by the end of the week. I stopped by to bring her fresh coffee at mid-morning.
“Here we go again,” May sighed, frowning at her computer screen. She’d been hard at work in the little file room when I arrived, so I hadn’t planned on interrupting her, but she sounded so forlorn that I stuck my head through the door instead of continuing to the stairs.
“I’d say good morning, but it sounds as if you have a problem,” I commented neutrally, not wanting to pry. Despite her words, though, she didn’t look all that bothered.
“Good mornin’ to you, and it’s nothing I haven’t dealt with about a hundred times before,” she smiled at me, “especially during open submissions periods like now, when anyone with a word processing program can send me a manuscript for consideration.”