This Could Hurt

by Jillian Medoff

  Kenny started to panic. It was too much, the idea of rehashing their marriage, revisiting every single you-did-this and you-did-that. “Janine,” he started to say, when she cut him off.

  “I don’t want to throw out all those years. I can’t start over with someone new.”

  “But maybe we’re better off.” Saying this, Kenny realized it was true. “My priorities have changed; I’ve changed. All I care about is keeping my job—this job. I need to start looking after my father. He had a car accident; he needs my help, and I want to give it to him. I want to”—he mumbled here—“be a good person.”

  “Oh my God, is Sarge okay?”

  “They won’t tell me the details. I’m the man’s only son, and I’ve been a rotten one.” This too was true. Kenny felt ashamed, the kind of bone-deep shame that was indelible, that would mark him for life. “Who else does he have if not me?” His voice splintered, but he refused to break down in front of Janine.

  “Baby, listen. We’ll take him to my dad’s doctor; he’s at NewYork–Presbyterian. Sarge and Glenda can stay at my parents’ house. My dad can drive all of us into the city together. His car is a boat.”

  Admittedly, Janine’s voice was soothing and her offer generous. Kenny might’ve been lulled into agreeing. But he was distracted by how focused she was on all that was hers—her father’s doctor, her parents’ house. He remembered their wedding, her toast. “My man, my man.” As hard as he tried, he couldn’t recall the rest of her speech—not a single word—except that, like everything else, he belonged to her.

  He could see she was trying, and if he were anyone else—rather, the man he used to be—this would thrill him. “See, Janine. That’s the thing. I want to take care of Sarge myself.”

  “Yourself? What does that even mean, Kenny? What can you do?”

  “I don’t know, but I want to find out. Janine, you and I were never people who’d quit school to care for our folks, but we should be. That’s the kind of son, the kind of man, I want to be. It’s the kind of man I want my son to be. I have to go,” he said abruptly, the shock of understanding jerking him awake. “I have to go now.”

  So he left her, his wife, standing in her regal robes inside his silly little cubicle, calling out, “Kenny? Where are you going? You can’t just leave me here!” He raced into the elevator, down to the first floor, and across the street to Hertz, where he presented his Amex, grabbed a set of keys, and drove home, to Allentown, to his parents. It was almost eight, but if he sped like a demon, he could make it there by nine thirty. Any later, and he’d scare them. Along the way, Kenny prepared his speech, the one that explained who he was and how he became this way. “I’m sorry,” he’d tell them. “I’m so sorry.”

  See, here’s the thing: three weeks before, when Janine walked out, Kenny had felt like he was starting over, and he was starting over, except he didn’t go back far enough. To move forward, he had to return to the very beginning. He had to reset the clock at zero and rework all those lost hours, only slower this time and more diligently, so that every moment of every day counted for something, so that in the end, his life would add value. Now too he had to pay closer attention. What did it mean? What did it all mean? There was only one true way to read the signs, and to do this, Kenny had to strip himself down, open himself up, and wait for the universe to reveal itself. Which is why, when a wide-eyed Sarge and a worried Glenda met their only only in the foyer, Kenny’s speech was forgotten, why his throat closed up and his knees buckled, why he fell into his mighty father’s arms and started, finally, to cry.

  21

  LEONARD SMALLS, VICE PRESIDENT, EMPLOYEE BENEFITS

  LATE JUNE 2010

  Leo felt great. Well, not great, but good, good enough. Work was hectic but manageable, and Rosa was holding steady. Plus, he’d lost weight, which made him eager to dress his less-tubby body. Overall, a solid B, despite the humidity. Summer, Leo’s worst time of year, had rolled in with a vengeance, and outside it was swamp city. He spread out a napkin, slipped his tie into his shirt, and opened a Light & Fit yogurt. Now that Kenny had experienced some sort of spiritual awakening and arrived before eight thirty every goddamn morning, Leo was back in his secret lair up the eleventh floor, where he could eat his gruel in peace.

  As Leo swallowed, he wistfully recalled his morning muffins, his cranberry nut, golden raisin, raspberry crumble, and lemon tart—each one, like the sex-rampant bath houses on the West Side Highway, a delight of the past. Good-bye glory holes! Good-bye lemon tarts! Leo Smalls had binged on his last empty calorie, a decision he made after his first dinner with Rob in March, three months back. That night, the two men forged what had become a genuine friendship. (Was becoming, Leo revised; don’t jinx it.) By offering his Authentic Self, Leo had revealed his vulnerability, to which Rob responded in kind. Exhibit A: Who did Rob call when he got laid off? Exhibit B: Who invited Leo to dinner with his family? It was a beautiful thing, this give and take. Whatever Leo offered Rob—anecdotes, insights, advice—was one more sliver of self he was learning to appreciate. Authenticity was hard work, as was feeling good, but one step led to another, and now Leo was up and running—walking briskly, rather.

  Same with his size. One morning Leo scrutinized his naked reflection. The sight was heinous. “Leonard Smalls,” he said, gently but firmly. “You’re unhappy because you’re fat, and you’re fat because you’re unhappy. This must stop.” But instead of announcing a new diet on Facebook, he kept his mouth shut. He stopped with the self-pitying and carb-loading—no more French fries, no more mocha Frappuccinos—and slowly, but incredibly, the weight fell off. Now his clothes were looser, he had more energy, and he felt better, which, in turn, made him feel more principled and fulfilled by all his life choices. According to Dr. Saul, he was shedding his exterior to reveal his true self, which pleased Leo immensely. Therapists had a way of making his life feel scripted and thematic, like he was the star of an action-packed feature film instead of an ordinary fool bumbling through random events.

  “Hey Leo!” It was Lucy, shouting from the far end of the floor. “Do you have any jelly?”

  He pretended not to hear her.

  “LEO! Come on, I know you’re there.”

  “Lucy, this is my private time; please act like I’m not here.”

  A few weeks before, with help from Manny in security and Kenny in operations (ha!), Lucy had smuggled a desk, lamp, credenza, and bonsai plant up to eleven, where she fashioned her own separate workstation. Then Kenny built two high-walled cubicles—one for her at the north end of the floor, the other for Leo at the south—effectively creating dueling enemy camps in a deserted war zone. The cubes had no ceilings, the floor no rugs, and their every move echoed through the raw space, so Leo could hear the scrape of Lucy’s chair and then her heels tap-tap-tapping as she got closer.

  Appearing in his doorway, she held out a muffin. “Please, sir, may I have some more?”

  Like Kenny, Lucy was a newly minted early bird. After Rosa’s stroke in February, she’d started coming in at eight thirty, but her morning madness had really kicked into high gear (seven thirty on some days!) at the end of April, when Rob was laid off. Though Rob’s exit had been depressing for all of them, Leo figured Lucy would take it hardest; he kept waiting for the Anna Karenina aftermath, where she dragged herself through the halls in open mourning. Instead, she took the whole thing in stride. Honestly, from one day to the next, Lucy seemed to lose all interest in Rob, as if he hadn’t just left the company but fallen off the earth. While Leo found this curious (how do you walk away from a ten-year relationship, even if it only existed at work?), he was too busy to care. Besides, Rob’s layoff turned out to be a bonanza of friendship for him, and he now had both Rob and Lucy clamoring for his time and attention.

  To be clear: Leo was thrilled to be closer to Lucy. Not only were they taking care of Rosa together, they were co-running the department. Even so, her co-opting of his eleventh-floor safe haven annoyed him very (very) much. While he d
idn’t mind offering sanctuary, too many undesirables had breached the border. Katie came first, followed by Kenny, who was clearly in love with her. Then Courtney. By the time Manny appeared, hauling up a leather sofa (per Lucy), Leo was fuming. Equally egregious was Lucy’s disregard for the concept of “quiet mornings.” She’d already interrupted him three times with bullshit requests—first a pen, then a notepad, and now condiments.

  Sighing, he handed her a jar of orange marmalade.

  “That’s all you have?” She wrinkled her nose. “No one likes orange.”

  “Lucy, you’re taking advantage of me, and I don’t like it. You need to stop right now.”

  She smiled. “Oh my God, you’re so bossy! Now that you’re skinny, I guess you don’t have to take shit from anyone.” She broke off a piece of muffin. “Even me.”

  He snorted. “Oh please; I’m hardly skinny.” But inside he was glowing. Skinny me! Skinny me! “Lucy, you are such a manipulator.”

  “The master,” she agreed. “So let’s get to work. Right now, our biggest issue vis-à-vis Rosa is the town hall, which is less than a month away.” She chewed thoughtfully. “Can I just say what a great job Kenny is doing? Shocking, right? How that turned out?” Kenny was spending a few weeks with his parents—his father had been in a car accident—but he’d been getting all his work done remotely, which impressed Lucy to no end. (Unlike Rosa, she encouraged telecommuting.)

  “Shocking, yes.” Given that Kenny had treated Leo like a second-class citizen for years, it would be disingenuous for him to say that he was as enthralled by Kenny’s new attitude as Lucy. Even so, she’d described how broken up Kenny was about his dad, and Leo hated to see anyone in psychic pain.

  His phone rang, and he saw it was Rob, but didn’t pick up, despite a twinge of guilt. The past two months had been painful for his friend, first Rob’s unceremonious firing, now his fruitless job search. Leo spent a lot of time talking him off the ledge.

  Lucy sighed. “Answer your phone! I know it’s Rob. You don’t have to sneak around.”

  “I’m not. But I feel funny talking to him in front of you.”

  “I’m giving you permission! Whatever, Leo. We have to focus. Rosa will be here any minute.” Lucy hiked herself onto his desk. “So I’ll lead the town hall run-through. We can repurpose last year’s deck, but—you’ll hate this—Rutherford wants Rosa to present and then stick around afterward for an impromptu board meeting. You think she’s up for that?”

  “For what? Giving a speech or meeting with the board?”

  “Either. Both. Confining herself to name, rank, and serial number should she fall behind enemy lines.”

  “Hard to say. Every day is different.” Leo scrolled through his e-mails, skimming some, deleting others. Again his phone rang; again, he ignored it. “What does Rutherford want her to talk about?” Christ, he felt overwhelmed, and it was only eight thirty in the morning.

  Still perched on his desk, Lucy bounced her leg. “HR bullshit, Ellery’s future, nothing crazy. Just ten minutes, Leo; not a big deal.”

  “Then why can’t you do it? You’re deputy. Stop kicking my desk, Lucy.”

  “All the department heads will be there; she can’t be the only one who begs off. It’s not my decision, it’s Rutherford’s. He’s adamant that she address the troops.”

  This pissed Leo off. Rosa would pull herself together—she always did—but it would exhaust her, and in turn exhaust him. “Rutherford is such an asshole.” Lucy was still banging his desk. The sound was driving him mad. “Enough with the kicking. What is with you?”

  She threw up her hands, elated. “I have so much work. I haven’t felt this motivated in years!”

  Leo had a lot of work, too, but unlike Lucy he was drowning. It was too much—doing his job, caring for Rosa, counseling Rob. These days, Rosa was so unpredictable, someone—him, Lucy, Katie, now Kenny and Courtney—had to be with her all the time. (To coordinate this, Katie tacked up color-coded charts, like battle plans, detailing Rosa’s work and home schedules.)

  To be clear: Lucy was very effective as a troop leader. Like Rosa, she made smart decisions quickly and delegated fairly. But she was more devious than Rosa and had no compunction about exploiting her colleagues’ misfortune. It was her idea, for instance, to have Kenny take over Peter’s job once his secret talks with Rutherford came to light. Everyone else had wanted him gone, including Rosa, but Lucy suggested instead they give him an ultimatum. While this turned out to be the right call, she couldn’t have foreseen that his marriage would implode or that he’d get a crush on Katie, both of which compelled him to work longer and harder—and finish projects for which Lucy could claim credit.

  In sum: Leo was impressed with Lucy’s upward mobility—her appearance alone was fabulous (Good-bye, Red Lobster uniform)—but she was no Rosa.

  Case in point: because Lucy was so overloaded, mistakes had been made. They frequently bungled the schedule, and for all their Stasi-like oversight, Rosa was constantly wandering off, jeopardizing the whole operation. But the most egregious fuckup was Rob’s layoff. Had Lucy been aware of Rutherford’s plan, she could’ve stopped it. (Lucy disagreed; she said the CEO’s decision was final.) Even so, Leo would never forgive Rutherford for letting Rob go; he was only just beginning to forgive Kenny for knowing beforehand and not telling anyone.

  Lucy was studying the scheduling charts. “The old girl’s busy today.” Behind her, Leo was also studying the charts. Rosa had an M&A committee meeting at nine and two conference calls. Then she had a blowout at one and a dentist appointment at three. “Very,” he agreed.

  A WEEK LATER Leo had lunch plans with Rob, but when he got to the diner, Rob wasn’t there. Then a fat guy waved to him from a booth in the back. “Leo! I’m here.”

  Leo couldn’t believe it! Rob looked awful, unshaven and unkempt. His beard had grown wild and threaded with gray. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his face was puffy.

  “I didn’t recognize you,” Leo said as he sat down.

  “I know, I look like shit. I feel like shit, too. I’m tired and fat and I hate myself.”

  The former, inauthentic Leo would’ve said, “Welcome to my world,” but these days he was only a little fat and didn’t hate himself. Instead, he nodded sympathetically and proceeded to scan the menu. Although he always ordered the same meal—egg whites, no potatoes, sliced tomatoes, dry toast—he liked to peruse the deliciousness he was forgoing: greasy fries, vanilla shakes, moist muffins—corn, bran, diner blues, and oh! double chocolate-chip.

  Rob was asking about Lucy. “Have you spoken to her?”

  “Of course. I speak to her every day.”

  “About me, I mean?”

  “No, not about you.” The problem with dieting, Leo decided, was that now he was more obsessed with food than ever.

  “Really?” Rob looked at him in disbelief. “Never?”

  “I lost another two pounds,” Leo said, changing the subject.

  “You don’t look any different from the last time I saw you.”

  “I haven’t been this thin in years. How can you have a wife and two daughters and not know that when I say ‘I lost two pounds,’ you’re supposed to say ‘You’re wasting away’?”

  “You look very thin,” Rob said unconvincingly.

  Rob signaled to the waiter as he passed. “I’ll have a BLT and fries. No mayo, please, and a Diet Coke.”

  The waiter turned to Leo, who looked up and gave Thomas (per his nametag) a once-over. If Thomas were ten years younger and had a little less paunch, he’d be a dead-ringer for Hector, his dark, broody ex. Patting his own (decreasing) paunch, Leo ordered his usual, thanked Thomas, and returned to Rob. “How do you feel?”

  “Totally and completely discouraged, like I’ll never find another job.”

  “Rob, you just left. Two months is nothing. In this economy, it takes thirteen months on average to find a job. For most people, it’s like sixteen.” Having made up this statistic, Leo wasn’t sure if
thirteen months sounded too short or too long; he just wanted Rob to relax.

  “I know, I know. But it’s so demoralizing. You know what frustrates me most? I was finally getting ahead—not rich or well off, but I was able to put a little money away. I didn’t feel clenched all the time. Then BAM! The bottom drops out. Now my life feels amorphous—there’s no center, no framework to hold it together. Every morning I get up and face a long stretch of empty hours that I have to fill. But with what? Leo, it’s a mess. I’m a mess.”

  It was unfair. It was scary. But Leo didn’t know what else to say except, “You’ll find something. I have faith in you.” Rob’s situation sounded so different, so distant from his own. Leo knew he was tempting fate to think this—the bottom could drop out for him, too—but it felt like there was a vast gulf between being employed and not. At the moment, he was standing on one side; Rob, all the way on the other.

  Their food came, but Rob picked at his sandwich. “I don’t get it. I went to a good college, I got a job. Maybe I’m not the most ambitious guy, but I showed up every day. I lived modestly, no fancy vacations or expensive cars. But none of this matters; it’s like the past twenty years were a complete waste, and I’m starting over from square one.”

  “But you’re not, Rob. You have experience, intellectual capital, maturity.”

  “To what end? What’s the point? You go to school, get a job and then what? You die? There has to be more. Leo, I didn’t plan to be a recruiter or trainer; I didn’t plan to be anything. I’m an HR guy because I made no effort to be anything else; I just fell into the river and let the current take me. What kind of career is that?”