This Could Hurt

by Jillian Medoff

  “As you know,” he heard Rosa say, “I’m working with Rutherford on a committee that will research undervalued companies to purchase. We met for the first time last week—”

  “Actually it was last month, Rosa,” Lucy cut in. “Our first meeting was in May.”

  Rosa scowled. “Not only are you interrupting me, but you’re wrong. We met last week.”

  “You know what, Rosa?” Kenny double-checked his calendar. Now that he was refocused on the discussion, his erection was gone. “Lucy’s right. Your meeting was in May, because that’s when the board approved the 401(k) match.”

  “No.” She was firm. “I need everyone to stop correcting me. It was last goddamn week!”

  Thumbs working, Lucy checked her BlackBerry. “Oh, you’re right; it was last week.” She glanced up. “Rosa, I apologize. I was mistaken.”

  This confused Kenny. Lucy never relented, even when she was wrong—and this time she wasn’t. But Rosa looked so sure of herself, he kept his mouth shut.

  “That’s all I’m authorized to say about the committee,” Rosa went on. “We met last week, and our important work continues. Kenny, operations. What’s doing with the town hall?”

  “We’re right on target, Rosa,” he said proudly. “We’ve narrowed down our choices to three sites, including the Hyatt.” He held up a binder—TOWN HALL, JULY 13, 2010—as if introducing it into evidence. “We’ll tour them all next week, and have a decision by Thursday.”

  Rosa clapped. “Excellent work! What about Atlanta? Lease signed?”

  “Massey won’t budge. Looks like I have to fly to Atlanta—”

  Suddenly Rosa snapped. “That’s bullshit. Bull. Shit.”

  Stunned, Kenny backpedaled. “I don’t have to go. Millie can ride with the broker and send pictures of alternate buildings. But flights to Atlanta are cheap, in case that’s your concern.”

  But Rosa was fixated on the lease, not the trip. “How many times did we talk about this?”

  “You and I never discussed the lease, Rosa.”

  “That is bullshit.” Leaning forward, she stuck out a finger. “I told you nine months ago this would happen. I said if you waited too long, Massey would screw us—now look. It’s June, and the lease expires in July. We don’t have time to find new space, oversee a build-out, and orchestrate a move, which means we’ll be on the hook for two offices. The same thing happened in 2004. Massey had us over a barrel then, too! Dammit, Peter, why don’t you listen to me?”

  The conference room was silent.

  Kenny felt attacked. “That’s not fair,” he started to say, but stopped. Something was wrong. Although Rosa was coiled like a wire, her eyes were vacant, as if the life behind them had been extinguished. Kenny turned to Katie. What should I do? But she was watching Lucy.

  “Rosa,” Lucy said, jumping in, “let’s move on, why don’t we?”

  “This is my meeting, Lucy. I still work here. Correct me all you want, my dear, but you can’t push me out yet.” She returned to Kenny. “Why did you let this go on so long? Why didn’t you call him when I asked?”

  She has no idea who I am, Kenny realized. She thinks I’m Peter Dreyfus. A month before, he would’ve sneered at this, but a month before he’d been a prick. Now he felt a hitch in his chest, the shift of hard edges crumble and give way. “You’re right.” Rosa wasn’t some foolish old goat screwing up names. She was a sixty-four-year-old woman, still young by most measures, whose brain was failing. “I’m sorry; I’ll fix this.”

  “What happened?” she asked, puckering her lips, as if tasting something sour.

  “I’m stupid sometimes.” Kenny didn’t have to fudge the truth to say this. He’d lost his wife, lost his dog, almost lost his job. He was stupid, period.

  When Rosa lifted her chin, the recessed lights bleached her face with the cruelty of an interrogation. Seeing every wrinkle exposed, every fine line laid bare, Kenny understood how bad off she was. Was she scared? He thought of Sarge, the tough motherfucker, whose doctor advised he stop driving: his vision was bad and unlikely to improve. When Kenny asked him about this, Sarge had grunted, “Overreacting.” But maybe, deep down, Sarge was scared, too. Maybe he was thinking, First my keys, then my home, then what? The old guy must be terrified. “I’m sorry, Rosa,” Kenny repeated; he was referring to everything—the lies he’d told, the work he’d blown off, all the ways he was a jackass. “I am very, very sorry.”

  Rosa held his gaze. “We’ll see,” she told him.

  After the meeting, Lucy pulled Kenny into her office and closed the door. He worried he’d done something (else) wrong, but she only wanted to confirm what he already suspected. Four months back, Rosa had suffered a stroke. Since then, her mental functioning had rapidly deteriorated; she was as bad off as he’d thought. “But so we’re clear,” Lucy said, “Rosa is the only reason you’re still around. She fought for you.”

  Hearing this, Kenny’s throat tightened. “Have you told Rutherford?”

  “No, although he probably knows something’s up.” She shrugged. “Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. Either way, he hasn’t said anything to me so it’s business as usual. Rosa’s behavior is unpredictable. When she’s addled—like today—we hunker down in her office or leave the building. You must’ve noticed she’s rarely around and when she is here, she’s never alone. Right after the stroke, Leo, Katie, and I took over her job, the department—everything. It seemed impossible at first, but it’s surprisingly easy to push your weight around. People are so afraid of losing their jobs, they do whatever you say if you sound authoritative. Plus, Leo knows a guy in IT who gave all of us access to Rosa’s desktop; he also put a delay on her e-mails, so we can intercept them, coming and going. Katie answers her phone; Leo and I triage her work—reports, P&Ls, correspondence—and attend all her meetings. Luckily, Rutherford has her on this acquisitions committee; I’m on it too. Rosa says I’m still ‘training’ to be chief, so she and I are together all day. The woman never leaves my side.”

  Kenny was skeptical. “You really think you can pull this off?”

  “We’ve been pulling it off. It’s been four months already! You had no idea—and you’re in our department! Our goal is to keep this up through the summer, until September, when Rosa becomes eligible for her full pension. We thought about asking Rutherford to pay her out early, but he’s legally bound to the rules of the plan; plus, if he knew why, he’d have to tell the board, and who knows what they’d do. Hopefully, in another three months the markets will stabilize, she’ll see some traction in her 401(k), and she can retire on her own terms. For now, we’re just taking it one day at a time.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Work autonomously. Come to me with questions. Stay away from Rutherford. The idea is to protect Rosa at all costs. You think you can do that?”

  Kenny didn’t blink. For once, he was on the inside. “Yeah, I can. Absolutely.”

  AT NOON ON Monday, Kenny and Katie were reviewing the revised lease. On Friday, when Massey wouldn’t budge on the terms, Kenny flew down (alone) to try to convince him. Though Kenny was skeptical that he could change Massey’s mind, in the end the guy capitulated, which thrilled Rosa. Kenny felt heroic on the plane back to Newark, and for the rest of the weekend, he had the exhilarating sensation that his life was starting over.

  He and Janine were in contact, though only by text, which made her feel more like a pen pal than an estranged wife. While it was nice to be in touch, thinking about her didn’t flatten him like it once did, maybe because she seemed far away. They kept their messages transactional, focusing on the house, finances, and Dog, so on Saturday, he was surprised when she wrote:

  I didn’t sleep with Les; I wanted to but didn’t. He flirted with me. I got caught up in the attention and flirted back, but that was it. I swear.

  I don’t believe u. I want to but I don’t.

  Janine didn’t reply that night or on Sunday. Like everything else, that she might never come home was a weird concept
, but not catastrophic. Meanwhile, Kenny looked forward to Monday, when he could go back to work. Used to be his job, any job, was a stepping stone to some undefined future, but Ellery was no longer a means to an end. Sure, overseeing operations was less intellectual labor than analyzing Maslow’s theory of needs, but it was no less honest. Or difficult. Or satisfying. Kenny loved having tactile, solvable problems, and every time he ticked off an actionable task, he felt a physical rush:

  Atlanta lease—done

  Town hall—in progress

  Leo’s ceiling—done

  Scorched floor—done

  Ecstasy ring—false alarm

  Now, too, his work had meaning. People depended on him; there were real-life consequences when he flaked out. He also got to see Katie, who was putting away the Atlanta lease into the binder marked ATLANTA LEASE RENEGOTIATION.

  “You did a great job with Massey,” she repeated, and then laughed at his expression. “Am I embarrassing you, Kenny? Are you feeling self-conscious?” She punched him with fondness—no, more than fondness, with affection. Katie-and-Kenny were a thing, just like Lucy-and-Rob used to be, like Lucy-and-Leo were now, with inside jokes and a private language. “Let’s talk town hall.” Flipping open the binder marked TOWN HALL, JULY 13, 2010, she pulled out pictures of hotel banquet rooms. “The Hyatt has the best deal, even if we have to build a riser. The Sheraton and the Marriott are both too expensive.”

  If they got married, Kenny thought, this is what house-hunting would be like. They’d have a color-coded binder—KATIE-AND-KENNY: FIRST HOME—filled with pictures, owner disclosures, and financial statements. House hunting with Katie would be different than it was with Janine. Back then, Janine had led the charge, deciding which town, how many bedrooms, hardwood or carpeting, paint or wallpaper. Trailing behind, Kenny indicated yes or no, less to offer his opinion than to ratify her choices. Janine-and-Kenny were queen and servant, but Katie-and-Kenny would be partners. Would Katie want kids? If so, how many? Four? Five? He wanted five. It was a lot, but they’d make it work. KATIE-AND-KENNY: CHILDREN.

  “Kenny?” He glanced up to see Katie studying him. “Clearly, you’re distracted,” she said. “So let me follow up with the hotels.” Walking out, she turned to give him her brightest can-do smile, and when she mouthed I’ve got this, Kenny’s heart split wide open.

  Ten minutes later, he was alone in the men’s room, jerking off. He wanted to touch her so badly he couldn’t focus, couldn’t function, without relief. He came hard, with a groan. Released, he pulled up his pants, washed his hands, and returned to his desk, where he powered through his checklists for the rest of the afternoon. Don’t fuck up, he told himself, wanting and not wanting to do his work, wanting and not wanting to think about Katie.

  Do. Not. Fuck. This. Up.

  Katie came back at six. “Oh my God!” Papers covered Kenny’s desk. Half a burrito from lunch sat on a greasy wrapper. A comp textbook was facedown on the floor. “What happened?”

  “I’ve been busy, busy, busy.” He checked his watch. “Go home! It’s late.”

  “I can stay; I want to stay.” This time she was the one who blushed.

  Their eyes met, and Kenny felt heat rise between them. (Well, he hoped it was heat; he hadn’t been close to a woman other than Janine in years.) “My one-on-one with Lucy is tomorrow,” he said, redirecting his attention. “I could use help pulling together a status report.”

  For the next half hour, they went over Kenny’s projects until he suggested they take a break and order dinner. But when he picked up his desk phone, there was no dial tone. “Hello?”

  A voice murmured in his ear. “Hey, baby.” It was Janine. Her voice, husky and familiar, made his mouth dry up.

  “The phone didn’t ring!” Kenny was perplexed. “I picked it up, and you were there.”

  “That’s a sign,” Janine said, chuckling. “It means we’re still connected—which is good because I’m calling to see if we could talk.” She paused. “I’m downstairs.”

  “You’re here?” Startled, his voice rose so high, he sounded like a crow. Here? Here? “It’s Janine,” he told Katie. “She’s here!”

  “Let’s finish tomorrow.” Katie stood up. “You said yourself it’s late.”

  “Kenny?” Janine asked. “You there? I just need five minutes. Please?”

  “But I’m starving; you must be too. Janine wants to talk, but it won’t take long.”

  “Who are you talking to, Kenny? I’m sorry to be interrupting, but I—”

  “Janine, I’ll call the front desk to buzz you in. Take the elevator to nine.” He hung up. “She’ll only stay five minutes. I like you, Katie,” he blurted out. “Please don’t go.”

  “I like you too, Kenny; I mean I like you as a . . . you know . . . as a coworker . . .”

  He dialed security, happy to hear that Katie liked him. As he said, he liked her very much as an employee, a person, and, sure, as a woman. Hustling down the hall to meet Janine, he called out, “I’ll be right back!” He felt okay; rather, he felt fine. It was good Janine was here. They could talk, finalize details, and then she’d leave. But when she stepped off the elevator, and he got a whiff of her sweet perfume, his heart did a rat-a-tat-tat and his breath came in gasps. How should he greet her? Hugging seemed too little, kissing too much. He stuck out his hand.

  “Hello,” he said as if they were at the UN and she was a visiting dignitary.

  Janine put her arms around him. “Hey, you look positively edible.”

  It was odd to see her in the reception area, odder still to feel her breasts, which she pressed against him (deliberately, he decided). Even so, she looked good enough to eat, or whatever she just said. She wore a light, filmy summer sweater that hung down to her knees over her navy Armani wrap dress, which pulled in all the right places and showed a hint of gorgeous cleavage. As he led her through the empty halls, she looked around, curious. “What a quirky place!” she said, and he remembered she’d never been here before.

  Kenny stopped. “This is me.” Up until now, this exact moment, he was feeling okay—fine, rather. His work situation was much improved. He was half of Katie-and-Kenny. His coworkers didn’t despise him. But as his (ex? former? estranged?) wife stood outside his cube-with-walls and pulled on the makeshift door he’d jerry-rigged himself, Kenny’s confidence flagged. He saw Ellery through her eyes: particleboard walls, cheap construction, scuffed floors. For all its “quirky” charm, this place was a slum compared to the marble, steel, glass, and chrome of UBS, and he was little more than a glorified janitor who also processed spreadsheets.

  Inside, Katie stood where he left her. Although he’d asked her to stay, seeing her here was unsettling. “Janine, this is Katherine Reynolds, my colleague. Katie, this is Janine, my uh, my Janine.”

  When Katie gushed, “I’ve heard so much about you,” Kenny was reminded of her youth. In low heels and an ill-fitted suit, she looked like someone’s kid sister, though definitely not Janine’s, who stood two heads taller in pointy stilettos. Wrapped in her royal robes, Queen Janine was tall, dark, and regal. She dwarfed Katie, not just with her height but also with her bearing.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you as well,” Queen Janine said coolly.

  “When?” Kenny’s rancor surprised him. “You left a month ago; I didn’t know her then.”

  “Oh my gosh!” Behind him, Katie was giddy. “I just realized your coats match.” She pointed to the picture of them wearing their Christmas-babies coats. “That’s so cute.” Kenny couldn’t tell if she was being sincere. And what had she meant before, when she said she liked him as a coworker? Just a coworker?

  “They were presents. Every year my folks give us his-and-hers gifts.” Janine gave Kenny a smile. “It’s a tradition; Kenny and I have the same birthday.”

  Why was she acting so proprietary? She left him, didn’t she? “We share a birth month, Janine, not day.” Seeing the picture, Kenny was struck by how clownish they looked. In his memory of that coat
, it was heavy and constricting, like shouldering a bear’s pelt.

  He turned to Katie. “It’s late. You worked hard today; go home. But take a cab and save the receipt—I’ll expense it.”

  Katie looked relieved. “Janine, it was nice to meet you.”

  Murmuring a similar sentiment, Janine walked the younger woman out, as if this were her office. She tried shutting the door, but it wouldn’t align with the wall, so she whirled around, her filmy sweater rising, like a parachute. “Kenny, I didn’t mean to barge in . . .” Her voice was shaky, and he realized that despite her proud bearing, she was nervous. She thrust her hands forward, palms up, as if making an offering. “Let’s start over. Hi Kenny, it’s good to see you. I’m here to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left the way I did. It was wrong, and I apologize.”

  “So why did you?” Watching Janine try to relax, Kenny felt himself softening.

  “Lots of reasons. I needed time to think, mostly. We’d been drifting apart for a while. I kept hoping we’d find our way back; instead we continued to fight. Things were miserable, but we couldn’t seem to help each other.”

  “Was it really that bad? I mean, I know it’s been rough with our jobs—”

  “I’ve felt disconnected from you for the past year or so. Then Les and I started to get closer, and it scared me. Why did I need his attention? Why did I feel starved for—”

  “Sex?” Kenny could barely say the word. “We have a great sex life, Janine. We fucked every day, practically.”

  “Not sex. Intimacy, closeness. I thought if we paused for a minute, I could figure out what I need—”

  “But you never said anything. You just left.”

  “Of course I did. You don’t hear me. For a long time, I’ve been telling you I’m only thirty-three; I’m not ready for kids. But you kept pushing. You wouldn’t relent, and by the end, I felt so trapped, all I could think to do was run. But it helped, Kenny; this past month has been enlightening. You and I have been together since college, and we still love each other, so maybe we can figure out how things went sideways. Maybe we can go for counseling, find our way back together, and then move forward . . .”