Sands Rising

by H M Wilhelmborn

  “Don’t be greedy, Janet,” Larry warned me. “Greedy people don’t know when to stop. They wait for their mouths to tell them to stop instead of listening to their guts.”

  “My gut is telling me,” I retorted, “that it also wants the firm to pick up the entire tab for the healthcare premiums for my whole family, including for Mauru. I also want you to pay my life insurance premium each month, not much, but I’d like you to pay for it. Excellence doesn’t come cheap, Larry. Family takes care of family, especially when the prices of everything are going up. I saw the e-mail you sent to the partners last week. Profits per partner are up 15.3 percent year-on-year. Last year, you guys abolished our fifteen days of paid vacation. You created your ‘flexi-days’ program, which gives us a ‘pot’ of as many days off a year as we want, subject to approval. We all know what that means. I want my fifteen business days of guaranteed leave each year, fully paid, including in a year in which I take sick or maternity leave, and I no longer want to work with any non-name partner except for Hannah. I want to be able to say no to people around here.”

  Larry scratched his chin and laughed.

  “I’m serious, Larry,” I said.

  “You know, Janet, why I hired you?”

  I stared blankly at him as he twiddled his thumbs and scratched his chin again.

  “Because someone doesn’t go to the University of the Finger Lakes,” he said, “get a degree in comp. lit. and then take a job as a legal secretary unless she’s secretly ambitious, a wolf at heart, and for some reason has low self-esteem. You know I’m right on this. You and Hannah. That’s why I gave you both jobs: you were hungry and insecure, just like I once was, and you were desperate to prove yourselves because someone somewhere had given you the short end of the stick.

  “For me, my dad gave me the short end of the stick when he walked out on us. We just couldn’t make ends meet for a while because two salaries are better than one, especially when your dad’s the breadwinner, and he disappears, doesn’t pay for child support, and you hear he’s moved in with some guy out of state. It messes with your head, really does a number on you.

  “You keep asking yourself what you could have done to make it work between your parents. You see other people’s parents still together, taking care of each other, being normal, and you know you’ll never have that because your mom’s basically given up on life because your dad’s left. She’s got this mental illness and is having these depressive episodes, they’re taking her away to the looney bin, you’re being moved from one relative’s home to another, and they have their own families, so they don’t want you. It’s hard, Janet. People laughed at my mom and me. They laughed at us. You see everyone else get ahead of you, and you wonder why.”

  Larry dropped his head.

  “I don’t like talking about this stuff.” [He shook his head.] “The antidepressants help, you know, even with the anger sometimes, because I just, I just—anyway. In these times, who wants to hear a man say he has his own internal pain, his own shame, and his own sorrow? I know a lot people hate me around here. They make fun of me. But as long as I can keep this firm afloat and continue providing my employees with the best health care offerings in these times, I’ll take the jealousy and hate all day, every day.”

  “Larry,” I said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know any of this.”

  His eyes moistened.

  “When you grow up like I did, you adapt quickly,” he said. “My mom got better. She started photography, became a nurse, got involved in the community and in her church, but the depression was always there. Always there. And she loved having grandkids. So,” [he smiled] “I take loyalty really seriously, Janet. I look out for my people, people who are climbing the same ladder I was. You and Hannah. Amandine and Andy, too. It’s something you just pick up on when you meet someone. Lots of people around here are just happy to have someone hand them a checklist telling them what to do. That’s how they live their lives: waiting for orders.

  “Not you. You just have low self-esteem. I don’t know who did that to you. You’ve never asked for anything before, not a salary increase, nothing. It’s the same thing I see in lots of attorneys. They’ll fight for a client, but they won’t stand up for themselves. You’ve been happy to just coast along these years. Amandine said that self-esteem wasn’t your problem; it was indifference. You just didn’t care what you were capable of, and you didn’t care that others noticed it.

  “I told Amandine she was wrong. You did care, but your self-esteem was too low, and today you’ve shown me I was right. I’m always right. Well, now you’ve learned that you never get what you don’t ask for. I’ll give you everything you’re asking for on one condition: you stay with me for another five years. I have my reasons.”

  Mauru came to mind. Would my remaining at WS&X for five more years make Mauru happy?

  “As long as you continue to treat me with respect, Larry,” I said, “which you’ve always done, I can agree to that.”

  He shook my hand.

  “Larry,” I asked, “why have you always been kind to me? I’ve seen you tear into your attorneys and I’ve seen you humiliate them. Why me? Why have you been kind to me?”

  “Why not you?” Larry smiled. “You and Hannah, well, as I just said, I guess you just remind me of—of myself somehow. You know who else I like? LSD and Lawrence. Good kids. Vitamin D! Now, if you repeat any of this to anyone outside this office . . .”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to know.”

  “One more thing,” Larry said as I reached for the door. “I’m getting a lot of pressure from Mike for you, in particular, to learn Scrimmage by heart. We got them to agree that no one at the firm needs to learn Scrimmage, except the top three and a few other equity partners. When you hear us say Scrimmage at the beginning of every meeting with the CWP or any of Jeremiah’s companies, don’t flinch or make a sound. They consider it disrespectful, and they’ll have our heads on a platter. I know that you and Hannah secretly laugh about it, but this is no laughing matter, Janet.

  “Anyway, I told Albertine-Rose I’m going to DC and then New York City with the Water Party starting this weekend, but I’m actually taking Michelle to Paris, and we’ll be back next Friday. Do your thing with Albertine-Rose, Hudson, and Lloyd. And something from Zanzivahl for Michelle. She likes that sort of thing.”

  Larry paused and scratched his chin again before continuing.

  “Oh,” Larry said. “Anton and Mike will be here in an hour, so get ready for that as well. And you’ll be noticing new faces around the building today. You’ll have to assign them offices ASAP. They’re with the CWP. It is what it is, Janet. It is what it is.”

  I found myself tapping my foot.

  “Thank you, Larry,” I said again. “Truly. For everything.”

  I felt really sorry for Larry. It was the first time that he’d opened up to me or anyone in the eleven years or so that I’d been at the firm.

  It must have been really tough for him to grow up with a mom who struggled.

  It explained a lot.

  It explained Larry’s drive, which could power several locomotives. Dad said that you often saw that kind of determination in the first generation of immigrants, which has to work doubly hard to prove itself so that it can “lift the veil of shame and suspicion.” Larry himself wasn’t an immigrant, but he had a lot more in common with immigrants than he let on.

  I thought of my deal with Larry.

  What had I really gotten myself into by agreeing to work with the CWP for five years? I felt a little hungry as I thought about it, and the strangest feeling overcame me, a craving so strong I could smell what I craved.

  Barbacoa.

  I craved Barbacoa, that succulent, juicy, delicious Mexican preparation of meat that is steam-cooked in leaves in an underground oven and served with corn tortillas and tacos. Maria had introduced me to Barbacoa years before, and my first words were, “Oh, my God, this is mucho buenas noches, Maria.”

&
nbsp; “Stick to English, Janet.” Maria had laughed. “Your Spanish is muy malo.”

  We ate so much Barbacoa that I couldn’t stop raving about it to Mauru, who also loved it when he tried it, and he raved about it to Elisa, who repeated our conversation to Anna and Giulio, who loved it and said it was actually “Italian in origin with Mexican flavors” because it reminded them of “braised beef ragù without pasta.”

  I wanted a glass of extra tart lemonade with my Barbacoa, the kind of lemonade that makes you pucker up, shake your head as the tingle races down your spine, and smile like excellent extra virgin olive oil does. I also wanted to share my news with Mauru. I pulled out my phone.

  “Guess who rocks?” I texted. “10% sal. incr., start. this month. 10% bonus Feb. 10% June. 100% match 401k. Kids’ educ. paid. Ins. & health prems. paid—urs & mine. Full leave.”

  Mauru texted back a throbbing heart. Then came the dreaded question: “What did you give up, Janet?”

  I didn’t want to answer Mauru’s question.

  “Barbacoa to celebrate?” I answered. “We can afford it!”

  “You bet,” he wrote. “Super awesome. Congrats, babe.”

  How would I sell this five-year “deal” to my husband who hated the Hoviaks?

  Well, the most straightforward answer was more intimacy. Mauru always wanted more intimacy, so I’d give him more.

  The thought made me uneasy, however.

  It sounded like I was selling myself: taking loads of money from Larry and then sleeping even more with my husband as part of this Hoviak deal. Three men, including Jeremiah Trehoviak, would be getting what they wanted from me, but what would I be getting?

  Well, we’d be debt-free sooner, absolutely debt-free, which meant more savings in the long term. I was relaxing into the idea of that trip to Sardinia and the Victoria Falls. A cruise to Alaska would also be great thrown in there somewhere. I’d also love looking at my bank statements and the photos we’d create from all those fun trips. After all, we live for our memories, and I’d create lots of them on my travels with my husband and our kids. Maybe we could also visit Maine to please Mauru and say, “at least we went, and it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  I’ll be honest.

  I have never believed all the nonsense you hear that money doesn’t make you happy. Ask my mom. After she “won” the lottery twice (actually Dad had), she started calling people “glib.” The money freed her to speak in a way that she would never have been comfortable doing before.

  “You know, Janet,” Mom said. “Poor people will tell you that money doesn’t make you happy because those without it tell themselves lies about those who have it. They have no idea that money buys you a lot of happiness down here: you get to say no when others have to say yes. You get to say yes when others have to say no. You learn about a whole new level of things you didn’t even know existed to which you can say both yes and no at the same time. Money allows you to communicate in ways you could never communicate before. I highly recommend it. President Jim’s about to find out what my money can do.”

  How was I going to make this “deal” with Larry palatable to Mauru?

  Elisa! I’d call Elisa before day’s end. She’d take care of her brother for me.

  First, though, there was a lot of work to do.

  I sent the message Larry requested to Albertine-Rose, which he said, “always works, Janet.”

  “For the woman I love and the mother of our beautiful children. Just because, L.”

  I ordered the largest bouquet of tulips (Albertine-Rose’s favorite flower) and a bottle of Zanzivahl Bubbly 2014 (which she also loved). For their sons, Hudson and Lloyd, I got season tickets for the next football season beginning in September. The tickets were more expensive than ever, but many people still kept to their old loyalties as proof that little had changed. Hudson and Lloyd would send me their school schedules closer to the time, and I’d book a car to take them and their friends to LA for the games.

  For Michelle, I ordered yet another Zanzivahl bracelet.

  There was never any guidance on how much I should spend on Larry’s “girls.” The most I ever spent on any jewelry from Zanzivahl was $185,000. That was for Larry’s late mom a few years before she died. Larry told me that his mom “loved it. She just loved that brooch, Janet.” And that was that.

  I always spent more of Larry’s money on jewelry for Albertine-Rose, and I set a minimum of $30,000 per order for her. For Michelle, the minimum was $3,000. I had to be careful, though, since Larry trusted my “discretion,” which meant that I had to give the impression that I was neutral and indifferent when it came to any part of my work for him, including his private life, which, of course, I wasn’t.

  Albertine-Rose was quiet and self-effacing, the sort of woman who makes the man she’s with seem better than he actually is because she is loyal when he is not, credible when he is not, and trustworthy when he is not.

  Those who wonder what she sees in him resolve that they must be wrong about him because someone as good as she couldn’t possibly have made an error in choosing a man like Larry Wagon. She devotes herself to her children, to charities, and to volunteer opportunities. She holds fundraisers and sends out donation requests for St. Martin de Porres Hospital for Disabled Children in North County and St. Francis Homes for Veterans in Coronado. All the while, her husband talks of her like one talks of a saint, that is, wholly admirable but entirely “too good for us.”

  Albertine-Rose wrote me a congratulation note when each of my kids was born, which she delivered in person as soon as I was accepting visitors. While Larry never visited (which I neither desired nor expected), Albertine-Rose visited with one or both of their sons. Together with Albertine-Rose’s congratulation note was always a gift card for a spa treatment and massage for me and a guest at Almondawn, San Diego’s most luxurious spa, which had the most enticing lemongrass and lavender fragrance on which I splurged $250 a bottle. (I told Mauru that it was “free with the treatment, babe.”) For Jon’s birth, I went to Almondawn with Mom; for Nate’s birth, with Anna; and for Nathaniel and Nathalie’s births, I went with Elisa and Maria.

  While Albertine-Rose was generous and thoughtful, Michelle, on the other hand, called me “Jane” a number of times, and she sent e-mails to Larry, which I read since I had access to all the e-mails of those for whom I worked unless they requested otherwise.

  Michelle’s messages had embedded links to Zanzivahl. Michelle even sent a message without a subject. The body of the message was a link to an eighteen-carat rose gold ring with a three-carat diamond from Zanzivahl. Her message to Larry below the link? “To celebrate my third Gourmet Critics of America award. Thx.”

  Larry told me to “take a look,” and I was so mad that Michelle felt so entitled (while Albertine-Rose took care of the family) that I ordered Michelle a knock-off from “Zanzilist,” the imitation manufacturer’s website onto which “you paste, and we deliver in haste.” Fourteen days later, Zanzilist delivered a knock-off with “cubic ZZ” to Sequoia & Birch.

  Michelle was incensed.

  She came to the office and threw the ring at Larry, who gave me a look that told me that was the last time he’d ever cover for me. I then ordered Michelle the Zanzivahl ring she wanted and included a message saying, “For the woman the Gourmet Critics of America love, just because. L.”

  “She loved it,” Larry said. “And that message you sent, she thought was so smart that she couldn’t stop thanking me. Nice save, Janet. You’ve done well. Keep my girls happy, and you keep me happy.”

  I set aside offices for the CWP members joining us, and I sent out a message to the entire firm on Larry’s behalf welcoming the Hoviaks. The message indicated that they were new “legal consultants from our client the CWP,” who’d be working with us “in this exciting new period of phenomenal growth at WS&X.”

  I welcomed the CWP members when they arrived dressed in their distinctive uniforms, which made them immediately stand out. Except when a cli
ent was coming, or the attorney was going to court, attorneys at WS&X dressed business casual. For this purpose, attorneys kept a suit behind their doors just in case the moment required it.

  I had seen at least two of our new “legal consultants” at the fundraiser. They were the couple the senator had embarrassed by licking his lips at the woman. The woman came to my desk and introduced herself as ‘Gertrude,’ and her husband introduced himself as ‘Bruce.’

  I later heard Bruce say to Gertrude as they stood outside their adjacent offices, “They do sing when they’re dead,” without stating who or what “they” were.

  “No, they don’t, Bruce,” Gertrude answered. “How can they sing when they’re dead? That’s impossible.”

  “It’s a physical reflex,” Bruce said. “It’s automatic. I’m telling you. They sing when they’re dead. It’s a side-effect of climate change, and they can’t help it.”

  Gertrude and Bruce went into their offices. The partners went to welcome them and the other five Hoviak “legal consultants” to WS&X.

  Two of our “legal consultants” were Sheila and Miriam, both of whom Hannah and I had met in the kitchen, where they had denied us a nine-course meal. Sheila looked more like a female version of Anton now: like she didn’t care what others thought of her, was used to giving orders, and only accepted direction from very few people. Miriam looked like she could trip you as you walked and think nothing of it. I knew the vibe; Mom once said I gave off the same vibe when I was angry.

  The three older CWP gentlemen looked like they’d just come out of retirement and were glad to have something to do. They, too, were impeccably dressed in the Hoviak fashion. They all had wedding rings, and they walked around with earpieces regarding which Larry said, “It is what it is.”