This Could Hurt

by Jillian Medoff

  So Rosa was thrilled (and relieved) when Lucy took her joke in stride. “Very funny, Rosa; all I know is Cornell kicked Penn’s ass in football.”

  “No way, Lucy!” Kenny came back roaring. “Your defensive line sucks!”

  Inside, Rosa was elated. You still got it, Rosie, she told herself.

  Later, as Lucy and Katherine were leaving, she debated whether or not to confess she’d found their charts. While Rosa didn’t mind reprimanding Lucy, she didn’t want Katherine to feel guilty. They’d done the right thing, even if, to Rosa, it felt wrong. Nor could she blame them for keeping tabs on her; yes, they’d betrayed her, but it was in service to the greater good. Had she been in their shoes, forced to weigh the success of the department against one old lady’s ego, she would’ve nudged the old lady aside. But it hurt to be that old lady, especially since in her mind, she was still a young maverick. I can do this! she ached to shout. I’m still here!

  Leo came by at six fifteen, and as soon as she saw him, she snapped, “Why aren’t you with Thomas?” She didn’t mean to sound harsh, but she couldn’t stop churning over those damn charts. Once she was back in the office, they’d see how healthy she was. Maybe then they’d stop following her around like she was on some kind of terrorist watch list.

  “Because I wanted to surprise you with a special dinner.” He held up a bag.

  Rosa pursed her lips. “Not hungry.” Smelling the food, she reconsidered. “What is it?”

  Leo smiled. “Cheeseburgers, extra pickles, french fries, and coke, real Coke, not diet.”

  Suddenly she was starving; she was so hungry she could eat a—

  “Leo, this looks so good!” The burgers were rare inside and burned out, with melted cheese and grilled onions, and when she took her first bite, the taste was so meaty, she groaned. The fries were crisp and salty, the ketchup cold and sweet, and the icy Coke full of bubbles. “This is so so so delicious.” She licked her lips. “I could kiss you, kiddo!”

  Leo took a deep breath. “Rosa, I know you found the schedules. I’m very sorry I didn’t tell you about them. I speak for all of us when I say we were only trying to look out for you.”

  “I would prefer not to discuss this, Leo.” How did he know? It had to be Rutherford. Goddamn that man! She couldn’t trust any of them.

  “Can I at least tell you why?”

  “I don’t care why, Leo. Why doesn’t help me; why only complicates matters of business. I care about the who, what, when, and how. As an executive, those are my concerns.”

  “That’s a smart philosophy. But I’ll tell you anyway; you don’t have to listen . . . okay, so . . . so after your stroke, there were times when you seemed . . . confused. We felt we had to intervene, to protect your pension and make sure you had the best medical benefits until you were ready to retire, so that’s why . . . we . . . did it . . .” Leo faltered. “But it was wrong to go behind your back, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

  Rosa didn’t want to talk; she just wanted to enjoy her cheeseburger. “Don’t apologize, Leo. You did it for the good of the department. I understand that.”

  “No, Rosa. We did it for you. We care about you. You’re our mentor and our friend. We wanted to make sure you could retire in your own time and on your own terms.”

  As Rosa’s eyes grew misty, she cursed her soft heart. “I know you care, Leo. Please.” One tear spilled, and then another. “Please, Leo. I can’t discuss this. My burger is so luscious, and I’d like to finish—” She broke off because she was crying, and she couldn’t cry, not in front of her staff, not even in front of Leo.

  “We don’t ever have to talk about it again. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  They ate together. The silence was comfortable and familiar, and Rosa regretted all her bad thoughts. “I know it annoys you when I bring up your boyfriend. But you were so happy, I don’t get why you’re not with him. I realize you’re scared, but you have to risk it.” And then, just as these words came out of her mouth, a heavily bearded Rob Hirsch appeared at her door.

  Seeing him, Rosa did a double take. Rob Hirsch? Hadn’t she fired him? Why was he here?

  “Knock-knock.” Rob stepped into the room. “Am I interrupting?” A dark-haired man was with him. Although he was unfamiliar to Rosa, from the way Leo’s face bloomed like a flower, she knew, instantly, this had to be Thomas.

  “Oh my God,” Leo said. He looked from Rob to Thomas. “What are you doing here?” He ran his hand through his hair. “Rosa, this is Thomas. Thomas, this is Rosa.” Leo’s voice was shaky. “Really guys, what’s going on?” He turned to Rosa. “I have no idea why they’re here.”

  “It was his idea.” Thomas pointed to Rob. “He showed up at the restaurant, and asked if I wanted to take a ride uptown. I was finished with my shift . . .” He shrugged.

  Leo looked at Rob, wide-eyed. “You did this?”

  “Robert Hirsch!” Rosa blurted out. “You’re a mensch! An absolute mensch. What a rascal you are. But I love you!”

  “You’re not mad?” Rob asked Leo. “You said you’re too busy for a relationship, that it was too soon, but—”

  “Mad?” Rosa interrupted. “How could he be mad? Look at how happy you made him!” Leo’s face, bathed in the early evening light, had taken on a golden glow. Rosa was bursting. The world was an enchanted place. And this . . . this moment, this miraculous, was proof. It wasn’t only Thomas and Leo dazzling her. From what she could see, Leo and Rob had found each other, too. Oddball pairs. If not for Ellery, these oddball pairs wouldn’t exist, so thank God for Ellery. She couldn’t wait to go back.

  25

  The smell was here, in the hospital. Rosa pressed her face against the pillow, but couldn’t escape it. Wild pony was everywhere: heavy, musky, barnyard. She should alert someone, but the doctors were releasing her tomorrow—they promised, hand to God—and telling them would throw a wrench in her plans. Not because a horse in the walls was implausible—horses ran free, they could be anywhere—but because raising the issue could backfire. Over the years, Rosa had learned that in any given situation, people could absorb only three, maybe four ideas at one time; any more was overload. So her doctors had to consider her physical state (greatly improved), mental acuity (sharp), whether she could resume her normal activities (absolutely), and her looks (gorgeous). (In her thoughts, Rosie was a funny woman.) To bring up the horse was to divert their attention to a fifth issue, which could derail them—an issue, by the way, that didn’t concern her health. True, a conscientious citizen would tell them about the horse, and possibly save another patient from insomnia, but Rosa kept her mouth shut. Here, now, she had to save herself.

  She heard voices in the hall, but no one she recognized. After six days, she’d gotten to know the staff, and they weren’t as dumb or rude as she thought. The problem, she realized, was that they kept forgetting she was an executive. They confused her with the other patients, many of whom were elderly and feeble, so they talked to her as if she was elderly and feeble too. There was one unfortunate incident when an aide gave her a pair of cranberry-colored scrubs to sleep in. They were so comfortable she wanted to write a thank-you note, but when no one could find pen or paper, she got angry. Very. The hospital staff didn’t realize that being sick didn’t mean you stopped being chief or CEO or the crown prince of Siam. To them, you were a problem to solve: a bone to set, a virus to eradicate (good word), symptoms to treat. Mostly, you were sleeping in a bed they needed for someone else. Also, treating her like a demented old lady helped them maintain a professional distance. Rosa understood this. As chief, every Ellery employee was her problem to solve, so she had to move them along, one after another, while making sure she didn’t get overly involved in their issues—too much emotion, and she’d drown.

  Outside her room, a woman passed by. Rosa could tell it was a woman from the clip, clip, clip of her pumps. The men wore dress shoes that squeaked or clogs that shuffled, but women had more variety. They wore heels and flats, sneakers and sa
ndals. They clicked and squeaked, shuffled and clomped. The only thing they didn’t do was clip-clop, clip-clop like her mother’s wedges. Every morning Anita dressed for work in a straight skirt and fitted jacket, underwear, slip, girdle, bra, garters, heels, earrings, watch, necklace, hat, and gloves. She also wore pricey silk stockings that she took off at night, rinsed out in the sink, and hung over the tub. In the bathroom, all the dry pairs would beckon to Rosa, Touch me, touch me. Rosa was Mrs. Hutch’s pet, the Weekly Reader champ, but she couldn’t resist those stockings. She rubbed them between her fingers, held them against her cheek, let the silky softness drape over her face.

  “Rosa?” It was Leo, he was in her room.

  Frightened, she sat up. “What are you doing here?”

  “You have a visitor. But he wanted to ask if it was okay before he came in.”

  “It’s the middle of the night, Leo. This is not a good time to see people from work.”

  “It’s the afternoon, Rosa.”

  When she looked around, she saw that yes, it was daylight. “Oh, I know that, Leo,” she said, embarrassed. She was losing track of time. This worried her, as did a moment yesterday, when the round nurse wished for windows that opened to “breathe air into this place,” and Rosa saw the walls start to sway, inhaling and exhaling like a person.

  Leo was talking about the special guest. “Rosa, he came all the way from New Jersey.”

  This got her attention. “New Jersey?” Part of her was hopeful, another part was afraid to hope. “Give me a minute to freshen up.” She applied a fresh coat of Chanel Rouge Noir and adjusted her St. John. A minute later, she heard a deep voice say, “Rosa?”

  She was right! Her old friend Peter stood at the door. He looked shabby and forlorn, but his thick mane of silver hair was still glorious, simply glorious. “May I join you?” he asked politely. He held lilies, her favorite, and she nodded, beckoning to him.

  Sitting down, Peter folded his hands in his lap and waited for Rosa to speak. She thanked him for coming. “A sweet peach for a sweet peach, I remember that.”

  “I’m sorry, Rosa,” was his response. “I showed extremely poor judgment. I don’t know what I was thinking . . . I was . . .”

  Rosa watched his throat move as he searched for his words; he swallowed with difficulty, like a boy choking down an orange wedge. She held up her hand. She didn’t want to discuss this. He’d stolen. He’d lied. He’d likely done other things too. But she’d been chief a long time. She’d seen it all. People step out of character, compelled by forces they can’t see or explain. But sometimes there are no whys for the ways we behave; our impulses override our good sense. We are all each of us flawed beings; we deserve a day in court, a bit of kindness, a second chance.

  “I accept your apology,” Rosa said. “But I’d rather hear about Arthur’s son, the little one who can download iTunes. How’s he doing?”

  That’s where they started, with Peter’s great-nephew, and they moved to books and movies, the TV shows they both loved, her family and his, until eventually, inevitably, they returned to work. Peter had been hired by a builder in Parsippany, so the commute was easy, and he saw his mother every day. Rosa was retiring in December, could he believe it? They reminisced about Howard, how they missed him, all the good times they’d had, so many laughs. Did she ever wish she could be her younger self, do it all again? Hard to say, really. What about him? Did he? Sometimes he did, Rosa. Although there were a few things he’d probably do differently, given the opportunity.

  Near the end of his visit, Peter took Rosa’s hand and squeezed it, and Rosa felt warmth spread through her old bones. “I missed you, Peter,” she said.

  “I missed you too, Rosa,” Peter said in his courtly way. “I missed you quite a bit.”

  “We had fun, didn’t we?”

  They sure did. Oh boy, they had fun.

  THE ART COLLAGE was peeling away, one picture and then another. Memories were twisting and turning, stories losing their beginning and end, bleeding together in flashes, like a continuous dream. Rosie moved fluidly through time and space, recalling people she knew, places she’d been. Stunning, the whole of it.

  The hospital was quiet. She couldn’t find a comfortable sleeping position; her neck was stiff, and pain radiated along her spine. Even in her agony, she remembered radiate. A good sign. Unfortunately, the horse was here. As soon as she heard the clip-clop of its hooves, the room filled with the earthy smell of animal hair and warm dirt, dry hay and moist leather. It was like sleeping in a barn, which was ironic because any time they left doors open, her mother would shout, “You live in a barn?” and invariably Marcy or Nando would moo and whinny. Yes, they’d shout back, they lived in a barn. Moo on you.

  “Are you all right, dear?” the round nurse asked. “You called.”

  “I need to use the ladies’ room, please.”

  “Here, let me help.” The nurse grabbed Rosie’s arm and steadied her as she shuffled along the slippery floor. Everyone was sleeping except her mom. Rosie heard the clip-clop of Anita’s wedges as she moved through the kitchen and hall, shutting off the lights along the way.

  “Mommy?” Anita didn’t answer. She must’ve gone to bed. So Rosie made her way to the bathroom quietly. In the living room, above the fireplace that didn’t work, a painting of the Holy Family hung on the wall, and on the mantel, there was a statue of the Blessed Mother and a picture of Julio wearing his junior high graduation gown. Anita trusted Rosalita most, but it was Julio she loved best, probably because all her kids could grow up, but Julio would stay forever in eighth grade.

  Rosa made it to the bathroom without incident. Inside, she thanked the round nurse for her help. “I can take over from here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, dear. I’m sure.” Afraid she sounded sarcastic, Rosa said it again with extra-special pleasantness. No one should ever accuse Rosalita Luz Esperanza Guerrero of being impolite.

  Inside the bathroom, her mother’s stockings draped over the railing like eight loose arms suspended from the ceiling. Fluttering above her, they called, “Hey, Rosie.” Hey, Rosie. She looked up. “Howard?” Fetch the car, Rosie.

  “Rosalita! Those are clean! Don’t touch.”

  “I won’t,” Rosie yelled back, a good girl, the teacher’s pet.

  “Are you okay in there, dear?”

  The light passing through the pearled material made the stockings glow. They were so shimmery she gasped. She couldn’t resist. She crept closer, stood on her toes, and then plunged her face into the long silky arms, just as the brightness overhead burst in her eyes.

  “I’m fine, dear,” Rosa called out, feeling the silk sweep her cheeks as she rocked slowly, back and forth, in ecstasy.

  26

  LUCINDA BENDER, CHIEF OF HUMAN RESOURCES, SENIOR VICE PRESIDENT

  AUGUST 2010

  Lucy had started on the first annual engagement survey the day she walked through Ellery’s doors, eleven years before. It was one of those projects that got delayed, reconceived, put off, and then abandoned entirely, only to be resurrected last November when Rosa told her to rip off the Band-Aid and get it done once and for all.

  The goal of the survey was to measure prevailing employee attitudes toward the mission, benefits, pay, leadership, and other factors related to the overall experience of working at Ellery. In 1999, to encourage participation, HR had planned to raffle off a Sony Walkman. Lucy figured the entire project—survey, focus groups, preliminary findings, detailed analysis, executive summary, and PowerPoint—would take six months from start to finish.

  The project kicked off on January 4, 1999. Rosa, thrilled to have a communicator on staff, assigned the survey to Lucy on Monday morning. By Monday afternoon, Lucy had created fifty questions, which Rosa felt was too many, so Lucy whittled them down to twenty. Six months later, Rosa, Rutherford, and Legal finally agreed on how the questions should be worded. The plan was to distribute the survey in July, but Ellery had recently acquired a compa
ny in Raleigh, and Lucy was asked to hold off until the sale closed.

  The first annual engagement survey was set to go out in January of 2000 (raffle prize: Sony MiniDisc Walkman), but after careful consideration, Rosa decided she didn’t want to survey employees at this juncture since Raleigh’s pay and benefits were richer than New York’s, especially after adjusting for cost of living. She told Lucy to draft fifteen questions—no more—and hold them until the two locations were aligned. That same afternoon, Lucy designed a streamlined survey, which she held on to for the next four years.

  The first annual engagement survey was set to go out in January of 2004 (raffle prize: 4G iPod with color screen), but the more Rosa thought about it, the more inclined she was to go with the longer version, and told Lucy to return to the original fifty questions. It had been five years since those questions were drafted, so Lucy spent four hours updating them and seven months getting them approved. This new survey was set to go out in July, but Ellery had recently closed on a company in Atlanta, and Rutherford wanted to include the new employees’ opinions. Lucy redesigned the questions to reflect Atlanta’s benefits, which differed from NY/Raleigh. By the time Rosa and Rutherford signed off on the new questions (fuck Legal; they take too long), the board had approved two policy modifications: (i) office hours increased, from 9:00–5:00 to 9:00–5:30; and (ii) medical contributions increased 36 percent, owing to the prior year’s claims experience. Together, these changes had a negative effect on morale, so Rosa told Lucy not to send out the survey until the collective mood improved. By May of 2005 (sixteen months later), Lucy was sick of waiting, fed up with Ellery, and disgusted with her life choices. She reread Being and Nothingness, then informed Rosa she was distributing the survey the following morning, morale be damned. However, that night, in a rare moment of self-disclosure (after many glasses of merlot), Rosa told Lucy about her TIA. Shaken, Lucy deferred to Rosa’s better judgment and held off distribution.21