“What,” demanded Jen, “are you wearing?”
“Aren’t they awesome?” Katie asked. “I saw an ad for them on Facebook, and I had to have them.”
“Awesome? No. Exploitive? Demeaning? Juvenile? Quite possibly.”
“Oh, come on. They’re ironic.”
“Once you’re wearing them, they’re literal.”
“No, wait, get this: They come in a set of three. The pink shorts say ‘ASS’. The white ones say ‘MY’, and the blue ones say ‘KISS’.”
“Wait—a set of three? Do you mean you own all three?”
“Of course! You can borrow them if you want to. They’re really comfy.”
“Katie, sometimes I wonder if I don’t treat you like enough of an adult. And other times . . .”
“What?” Katie asked, handing her a plate with half the omelet.
Jen took her food to the table, shaking her head. “Katie, I’m not your mother, but I’m saying this anyway, and I mean it: Don’t let me ever see you wearing those outside the house.”
“Sheesh. What do I need two moms for? One was enough trouble.”
“At this rate, you need three moms: one for each pair of shorts.”
Jen had described Schneider and Sons as “just south of Chicago”, and on a map, that was indeed the case. The translation from map to reality, however, could make even small distances large, so even after Jen had cleared the tangle of traffic and toll stations around Chicago and was driving through farm fields, the GPS assured her that she was still forty minutes from Johnson, Illinois.
Upon arrival, she checked into the hotel that Schneider and Sons had booked. It was one of those business-focused hotels: Please enjoy our complimentary WiFi and hot breakfast! The workout room and pool are open twenty-four hours to accommodate the needs of busy professionals.
Walking the halls, she could have been in any of her usual business destinations. It was only when she looked out her room’s window and caught a view of cornfields that she was reminded of how far from home she was.
Despite this rural view, however, the city information flyer in her room assured her that Johnson was one of the growing business centers of central Illinois, boasting not only the Schneider and Sons headquarters but also one of the nation’s largest casket companies and a newly built Nestlé plant. It was still early in the evening, and her interviews did not begin until 9:30 the next morning, so Jen set out to “Discover Historic Downtown Johnson” and have some dinner on the Schneider and Sons expense account.
Her interview the next morning began with a tour, conducted by a young woman from HR named Stephanie.
“It’s a beautiful day out,” she said. “Let’s take the bicycles. That’ll be much faster.”
Sure enough, outside the employee entrance was a large collection of black touring bicycles.
“Actually, I suppose we shouldn’t really have you on a bike when you’re not on the company insurance,” Stephanie said, hesitating. “Let’s take a pair of the trikes to be on the safe side.”
Jen took this for a joke and laughed appreciatively, but further inspection revealed that there were indeed several adult-size tricycles off to one side. Stephanie cheerfully threw a leg over one and wheeled it onto the path, and Jen, not knowing what else to do, did the same. A moment later, the two women were cruising down the gravel path, past the corporate pond, and between rolling lawns.
“We have a big emphasis on health here at Schneider and Sons,” Stephanie explained. “The bikes are to help encourage exercise, but they’re also handy for getting around. It takes fifteen minutes to walk to the factory and ten to the R&D building, but with the bikes, it’s much faster.”
With Stephanie cheerfully pedaling and talking, and Jen trying to maintain some degree of interviewee dignity despite riding an adult-size tricycle while wearing a suit and heels, they visited the factory, the employee health center, the R&D building, the workshops—employees were encouraged to do projects using Schneider and Sons tools, and an annual furniture and woodworking contest offered substantial prizes—and the distribution warehouse. In passing, they admired the corporate lake; the tennis, volleyball, and basketball courts; and the helipad where Gus Schneider IV landed on the days he flew to work rather than driving.
Jen could not help marking the odd similarities between this 139-year-old company and the tech firms that had not yet existed as many weeks back in the Bay Area. She had never thought of the foosball tables, bike trails, and squash courts of which previous employers had bragged as being a revival of an older approach to combining business and recreation.
After an hour, she and Stephanie returned to the main building, and Stephanie turned her over to Brad, vice president of product marketing and her potential boss. Jen was feeling slightly windblown and disarranged, but Brad—who proved to be a balding though fit-looking man in his mid-fifties with a penchant for company golf shirts and cargo pants—was setting no intimidating standard in dress and neatness.
She and Brad talked for an hour. Jen then progressed through four thirty-minute interviews. Last of all was a late lunch with Andrea Gomez, senior vice president of strategy.
“I don’t know why they put me on the interview list,” Andrea announced as they got into her VW to drive to lunch. “I don’t tend to say no to interviews, so I get stuck with a lot. And they seem to like to assign me to interview all the woman candidates. I’m not Hispanic, in case you’re wondering,” she added, shaking her long blonde ponytail. “My husband is Captain Jesus Gomez, U.S. Marine Corps. If you come work here, I’ll be the one who’s always circulating the office e-mails about donations for care packages to send out to his base when he’s on deployment. So, what are you thinking about Schneider and Sons so far? Big change from California?”
Three hours later, Jen was sitting in O’Hare, waiting for her flight, when she got a call from Lauren at Search Solutions.
“So,” the recruiter asked, “how were the interviews?”
“I would have thought you could tell me that.”
“Well, how did you feel about them?”
“I thought they went well. They’re a distinctive company, and at first I was a little thrown off by some things like taking a tour on a tricycle, but I enjoyed the interviews, and I thought they went well.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed your visit. They enjoyed having you. As you guessed, I’ve heard back from them. The whole team is very impressed with you. They did have some questions about whether you’d entertain an offer. Going from the Bay Area to small-town Illinois would be a big change. Are you interested in making it?”
“I think I need to think about it on the way home, talk to my family, and see an offer, but if they’re prepared to make a fair offer, I think I’m pretty likely to accept it. Remember, I’m from this area. I’d be within two hours of my parents, and that would be nice.”
“Okay. Thanks for the candid feedback. I’ll pass that on to them. You keep an eye on your e-mail. I think you can probably expect to see something fairly soon.”
“I will. Thanks.”
“They’re offering you the job already?” Katie asked.
“Yeah, I’ve got an offer letter. It’s less money than the Aspire Brands job, and it’s a manager role rather than a director one, but it does seem like a good company. And it would be a lot cheaper living in small-town Illinois than it is here.”
“How soon would you have to go?”
“Pretty soon. They want me to start within three weeks. They’ll move us out, of course. There’s a relocation package.”
Katie sat on the couch, hugging her knees and looking worried. “Jen, I can’t leave the state.”
This odd claim brought Jen out of her thoughts and caused her to focus her attention on Katie. “Why can’t you leave? I thought we were getting along really well together. Wouldn’t you want to come with me?”
“No, you don’t get it. Jen, I—” She looked desperately around, but finding no relief, plunged on. “There�
�s something I haven’t told you.”
“What?”
The pause stretched on long enough for Jen to have expected the next words before she heard them. “Do you remember that time I was out all night? The day before you got laid off?”
“Oh my gosh!” Jen’s mind was running far faster than her words. In a moment she had already envisioned the future: she and Katie drawn ever closer together as they struggled together to raise Katie’s child—a daughter, surely. The late nights. The time away from work. The crying and toys and diapers, but the small face with its pale blue eyes looking up at her aunt. Jen had never felt the attraction of a baby before—she had on many occasions expressed the opinion that she lacked any mothering instinct. But now she saw that helping to care for Katie’s child would give her life a new sort of meaning. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant, Katie?”
“What?” Katie squawked. “I’m not pregnant. How could I be pregnant?”
“But, you said—”
“I’m not pregnant, Jen. I’m going to jail!” This last came out in something very near a wail, and Katie buried her face in her arms.
Katie’s claim was so utterly unexpected that Jen could not yet even make herself alarmed. “What? Wait. Katie, what are you talking about?”
“I can’t leave the state. The papers from the court all said that,” Katie said, sounding close to tears. “And I think they’re going to send me to jail.”
“Katie, this isn’t making any sense. Explain from the beginning,” Jen fetched the box of tissues, handed one to Katie, and sat down next to her. “What happened? Why do you think you’re going to jail?”
Katie blew her nose thoroughly, wiped her eyes, and pulled Jen’s arm around her more tightly, then began. “You remember that I went out with Abby and Myra from work, and I met a guy named Brian?”
Jen nodded.
“Well, we’d all been drinking a lot. And then, after a while, Abby and Myra went home, so it was just me and Brian. I had had a lot to drink, and we were going to go over to his place, or maybe he was taking me back here—okay, to be honest, I don’t really remember where we were going. We got in his car, and he said he could still drive, and we took off. But the cops pulled us over. They were making him do a Breathalyzer, and they were both being such assholes. Well, okay, I mean, I think they were. To be honest, I was really drunk. I was telling them that they should leave us alone, and that we were just trying to get home, and they should be out protecting people, and . . . you know. Like I said, I was really drunk. And I guess I was yelling at them a lot or something after they told me to stop, because the next thing is, they handcuffed me, and they took us both to the police station. And I think I kind of passed out or fell asleep for a while or something. But when they let me go the next morning, they gave me a ticket for $500 for ‘interfering with an officer at a crime scene’. And I didn’t have the money, so I filled out the paper saying I wanted a court date instead and mailed it back, so I’d have some time. But now they keep sending me court dates, and the papers say that I owe $500 plus costs, or else I’ll go to jail for six to ten days. And it doesn’t say what the costs are, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep delaying the court date, but I don’t know what to do, and it says if I leave the state, they’ll issue a warrant for my arrest and—oh, Jen, I’m sorry!”
After having gradually increased in energy and speed, her explanation finally devolved, upon this apology, into tears.
“Katie. Katie, it’s okay,” Jen comforted, stroking her hair.
“It’s not okay. I know it was stupid of me to get drunk and yell at police officers, but I don’t want to go to jail.”
“Don’t be silly. You won’t go to jail. Katie, this is easy. Let me call up my friend Dan. He’s a lawyer, and we’ll get this all sorted out. No one is going to jail. It’ll be fine. Why didn’t you tell me about this back when it happened?”
“I guess . . . I didn’t want to admit it. Lots of people hook up at bars and have one-night stands. It’s not like spending the night in jail.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I know a lot of people who’ve landed in the drunk tank for a night. This is not that big a deal, Katie. I wish you’d told me the truth and not left me thinking that you’d slept with some guy you’d never met before.”
“Have you ever spent the night in jail?” Katie demanded, shrugging her sister’s arm off her shoulders.
“No.”
“And have you ever hooked up with a guy you didn’t know?”
“Well . . . sort of. Once or twice. That was a long time ago.”
“Then why are you being all judgmental with me?”
“I’m not judging you, Katie.”
“Yes, you are! You’re glad to hear I ended up in jail instead of sleeping with Brian. How is it not judging me to want me in jail instead of sleeping with a guy?”
“Katie, look—” Jen paused. “We should have this conversation, but I need a drink. Do you want anything?”
“No,” Katie responded sulkily.
Only with that refusal did Jen see the basic tactlessness of the offer, but she still wanted the calming effect for herself. She went into the kitchen and poured herself a generous tumbler of bourbon, then returned to the living room. She had a momentary instinct to sit in the easy chair, across from Katie, but instead sat back down next to her on the couch and pulled her sister close.
“Here’s the thing. You get drunk, you yell at a cop, you spend the night in jail. That’s humiliating and upsetting. I understand that. But look, all we have to do is put on some nice clothes, go to court, pay your fine, and it goes away. You don’t have any ties to it. This just becomes a funny story to tell people about the kind of dumb things that we’ve all done when we were drinking. If you’d slept with this Brian guy, where would you be now?”
Katie tried to turn away from her sister, but Jen kept her arms around her.
“No, really. Like you said, I’ve had one-night stands a couple times. What do you get afterward? You still would have dragged yourself home all hung over, but every time your phone rang for weeks, you would have been wondering if he was calling you back, and in the meantime trying to think what was wrong with you when he never did.”
“How do you know he wouldn’t call?” Katie asked.
“Has he called you?”
“No, but that night was so bad . . . Maybe if we’d had that connection, something would have happened.”
“Katie, do you know of any good relationships that started with a hookup with a stranger in a bar?”
“Well . . . I don’t know. I guess not.” After being sullenly passive since the topic had come up, Katie suddenly shifted to the conversational offensive. “Look, it’s easy for you to be all righteous about this stuff. You had your hookups when you were young, and now you’re older and successful and have everything you want. What am I supposed to do? Just sit around wishing I was like you?”
“Katie, what are you talking about? I don’t have everything I want. I haven’t found a boyfriend or had sex since Kevin and I broke up three years ago. Do you think that’s what I want? To be alone at thirty-three and not know if I’ll ever find anyone again?”
“But you’ve got your job, and this place, and . . . you have everything so together.”
“Yeah, I’ve done okay with my career. I dunno. Maybe I’ve done great. So what? I got to call myself a director for two months while I was stuck in China getting hit on by some married forty-five-year-old freak of a senior vice president. Is that so great? I mean, yeah, I’ve been lucky. If I’m going to be lonely, I’d rather be lonely with a nice condo and a BMW. But I don’t have everything I want.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And you know what?” She pulled Katie closer. “One of the best things about the last three months has been having you here and starting to feel like a little bit of a family. I didn’t realize I’d been missing out on that until after you came.”
Katie leaned back into her sis
ter’s hug. “Thanks,” she said.
The next morning, Jen printed out the offer letter from Schneider and Sons, signed it, scanned it in, and e-mailed it to the company’s HR department. Then she looked up Dan’s law-office number and called it.
“Fischer and Plumm. Can I help you?”
“Good morning. May I speak to Dan Fischer?”
“Who may I say is calling?”
“Jen Nilsson.”
“Just a moment.”
Jen waited, reflecting that, once again, she was calling Dan only when she needed something.
The secretary’s voice returned, “Thank you for holding, Ms. Nilsson. He’ll speak to you now. I’ll put you through.”
Dan’s voice greeted her. “Jen, what’s up? Why are you calling on the office phone? You’ve got my cell.”
“Hey, Dan. I know, I just—this is a professional call, and I want you to go ahead and bill me, so I figured I should call on the business phone.”
“Oh, come on, Jen. If you need a hand with something, you don’t have to pay me. What’s the problem?”
“No, Dan, seriously: I want you to bill me for this, just like you would anyone else. Okay?”
“Jen, is everything okay? This doesn’t have anything to do with that newspaper article, does it?”
“Oh, you saw that? No. Nothing to do with that. Here’s the deal: My sister Katie needs to go to court. She was out at a bar a couple months ago and drove home with a guy who got pulled over on a DUI. She got into an altercation with the cops, spent the night in jail, and she’s got a ticket for ‘interfering with a police officer at a crime scene’. She’d filed for a court date in order to put off paying the ticket, so she’s up for $500 plus costs, and she’s got a court date coming up. I figured you would know how to deal with this so that she keeps her record clean and doesn’t pay any more than she has to. Let me pay whatever your normal rate would be plus any fines or expenses. I just want to make this go away for her.”
“Okay, well, honestly, this should be pretty easy. Basically, she just comes into court—I’ll go with her and bill you for a couple hours; e-mail me the date, and I’ll put it on my calendar—and we explain that she’s really sorry, she’s never been in trouble with the law before, and we ask them to suspend the prosecution. If the judge is in a good mood and thinks she looks like a nice girl, the judge suspends the case, and so long as she stays out of trouble for the next three years, the whole thing just goes away. If she does end up in legal trouble again, she has to deal with both charges. Now, if that’s not working, we offer to plead guilty in exchange for having the charge reduced to something harmless (jaywalking would be good). Then we just pay the fine and she’s good. Either way, it’s not a problem.”
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