Lara Reznik - The Girl From Long Guyland (12 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Promotion

Austin, Texas, 2012

The digital clock on the nightstand glows 3:33 a.m. and sleep still evades me. Can it really be true that my husband of twenty-five years has moved out? My mind is like a degraded hard drive spinning out of control. Pain pulsates in my chest. For a second, I fear I’m having a heart attack.

Relax, it’s probably a panic attack. Or a nightmare.

I pinch my arm with hope of awakening back to my normal life with Ed. Then I notice the covers moving next to me. Was I asleep when Ed returned? I reach out to touch him. But the body next to me feels furry. She licks my face.

“Damn it, Willow. What are you doing here?”

My dog dashes off the bed and onto her big fleece pillow.

I take deep breaths.
Om Shanti Shanti om.
After twenty minutes of chanting, it’s time for Plan
B
. I stagger to the bathroom in search of the bottle of Xanax I filled when Ed lost his job last year. At the time, I had feared our lives as we knew them were coming to an end. Ed sold his
BMW
and bought a used Chevy truck. I gave up my personal trainer and cleaning lady. With my salary and his 401k, we’ve survived. No big deal.

But this crisis is vastly more serious. As I rummage through various half-empty prescription bottles, I fear the worst. Divorce, prison. I locate the Xanax and take one, no two pills. Twenty-minutes later I feel woozy and start to doze off. Then, almost as quickly as I fall asleep, the green glow of the clock reads 4:46 a.m.

Wide-awake now.

At 5:45 a.m. the theme song from
NPR
plays on the clock radio. Simultaneously the home phone rings. I fumble for the receiver.

“Are you awake?” Ed asks. “You mentioned having an early meeting with Darlene. Thought you might forget to set the alarm.”

Ed, an early morning person, has always been in charge of waking up me, the night owl. He normally greets me with a cappuccino and the
Austin American Statesman
. Just the sound of his voice soothes my nerves. “I appreciate the call. How are you?”

“It’s not exactly the Hilton over here. Ellen disconnected the utilities. It’s cold. The air mattress sucked.”

“Why don’t you come home? It’s ridiculous for you to stay at the rental,” I say.

“You need to get your shit together. Hold on a minute, someone’s at the door.”

Is that a woman’s voice I hear talking to Ed? He finally returns to the phone. “Hey, Laila, gotta go.”


I start to ask him who’s at the door so early, but a dial tone fills my ears. It’s time to get up and make my own cappuccino. Problem is, I never learned how to run the damn Capresso machine.

As I stumble from the bed, I try to recall the last time I told Ed I loved him. Not the “love you, babe” people say nowadays when they end a phone call, but the look-in-the-eyes kind that people rarely say. No doubt I’ve taken him for granted. Boy, will that change when he comes home. If he comes home. I pray for freezing weather and trouble with the City of Austin reconnecting the utilities. That will bring him home. Maybe tonight.

Willow whines and gives me one of her pitiful people-dog looks. Rather audacious of her to get under the covers like that. I laugh as I replenish her dog bowls, then run a bath. The hot water feels soothing. It’s time for a more optimistic attitude. Isn’t it a good sign that Ed phoned? But who was the woman at his door? Probably Ellen, the old tenant, coming for something she left behind.

I’m just beginning to relax when my iPhone breaks the silence. Naked and dripping wet, I grab a terry robe and sprint to my bedroom to answer it. The 520 area code is illuminated. Is it Chris calling to confirm our noon meeting? “Hello.”

“Laila, it’s Ben.”

Part of me doesn’t want to speak with him. This man is my personal kryptonite. “Rather early in Tucson, isn’t it? What do you want?” My words are clipped and cold.

“Have you thought about our last conversation?”

“Jesus, Ben. Do you want to wreck my marriage? You’ve already done a pretty good job.”

“Really? Then there’s hope?”

Should I tell him Ed’s moved out? No, that would send the wrong message. “I’m flattered but not available. Do you understand?”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he says.

“I won’t hold it against you.”

“The real reason I called was to warn you about your meeting with Chris.

“Warn me about what?” I ask.

“He’s totally nuts,” he says.

The sound of footsteps in the atrium surprises me. “Got to go,” I say, and click off the phone.

Seconds later a haggard-looking Ed stands before me. His grey hair sticks up straight like a porcupine. My heart thumps in the hope that he’s moving back home. He doesn’t say hello, just asks, “Who are you speaking to this early?”

Should I lie? No that will make it all worse. “Ah, that guy from last night. But let me explain.”

His voice is icy. “Just came for a few clothes and Liam’s old box-springs and mattress from the basement. Maybe the Sony
TV
in the guest bedroom.”

Things are not going the way I’d hoped. “So, ah, who was knocking at the Frontier house at 5:45 this morning?”

“Juanita. She’s moved into our other vacant house across the street. She brought over some fresh donuts.”

“You leased our house to Juanita? Talk about omissions.”

“She’s decided to move to Austin. The house was empty.”

I can barely breathe. “What about her Juanita Bonita Detective business?”

“She’s relocating it here. Says there’s more money in Texas than New Mexico.”

“This is too weird. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

He glares at me. “Don’t project
your
guilt on me.”

“What guilt? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Well, this is just business. Frankly, we can’t afford two vacancies.”

“How cozy for you to live across the street from her,” I say.

“I’ll see you when you’re sane, Laila.”

As he bolts down the stairs, I yell, “Ef you, Eduardo. Go run to Miss Chiquita Bonita.

AN HOUR LATER
I veer the Acura down Ranch Road 620 to Austin, feeling whenever I think my life is bad, it manages to get worse. Ed and I have always had a solid marriage. Now he keeps twisting everything I say. And then there’s Juanita.

After a pit stop at Starbucks, I arrive in Darlene’s office with a Caramel Macciato, and a Skinny Latte. She removes her reading glasses and smiles as I hand her the latte. Her office smells of lemon oil from the modern furniture she recently bought at Skandinavia Interiors. A snapshot of her kids, a boy and a girl, sits in a silver frame on her desk.

I take a seat on the cream leather couch and pray there’s no drama from her today. I’m not sure how much more I can handle. Darlene removes her glasses and holds my gaze. “Things are going well for us.”

“Have you found office space for my staff?”

She peers at the view of Lake Austin. “That won’t be necessary now.”

“I don’t understand.” My stomach churns. Please don’t fire me. Par for the course.

“Remember I promised you a promotion?”


“Yes, but I haven’t exactly done anything.”

“You’re the new
CIO
, hon. And that comes with a big raise. A phenomenal one, if you ask me.”

“But, what will Victor say?” Victor is my boss, the Corporate
I.T.
Manager. He’s been waiting for the very prestigious Corporate Information Officer title for months. This makes
me
his boss.

“No problem. I convinced Bob E. we need a woman for that job.”

“Victor will be totally bummed out,” I say.

“I’ll handle him. With the recession going on, he’s lucky to still have a job, don’t ya think? Oh, by the way. I’m heading to the Four Seasons. Bob E. got us a room and a couple’s massage lined up. Won’t that be heavenly?”

“Great.”

“Officially, I’m working from home the rest of the day. That’s what I’ll have Myra tell anyone who inquires about me. And if you need admin support, she’s available to you.”

“What I need is to know what to tell my staff.”

She sits back down at her desk and starts hacking away at the keyboard. “I just took care of everything.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Check your e-mail. And don’t call me unless it’s an emergency. We’re booked under the name Laila Levin.”

“You used my name?”

“Just kidding, hon. Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Like the Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie movie. Now go enjoy your new job title and the gorgeous view from your office. There’s a little surprise in there for you too.”

Darlene’s cell rings. She glances at the caller
I.D
. and says, “Richard, I was just going to call you. I’ll probably be working late tonight.”

I leave Darlene on the phone and head next door to my new office. Surprise. Darlene’s redecorated it with Scandinavian furniture similar to hers. The aroma of fine leather from the sleek new loveseat fills my senses. The azure water of Lake Austin and the luxurious new furnishings placate me. I turn on my computer and open my Outlook account. There’s an e-mail from Darlene. I click on the message and notice it’s been sent to everyone at
LBJ
:

From:
Darlene McIntire

Sent:
Monday, February 3, 2012 8:46 a.m.


To:
LBJ_employees


Subject:
New CIO

On behalf of the executive team, I would like to congratulate Laila Levin on her promotion to Chief Information Officer of the
LBJ
, effective immediately.

Darlene McIntire

LBJ
Vice President and Chief Financial Officer

Within minutes, my mailbox fills with congratulatory e-mails. The office phone rings nonstop. Dana, my assistant, calls to find out if she’ll still be working for me. Matt and the rest of my development staff want to know whom my replacement will be. What about the SubWan and
EMS
upgrade committees I chair? I don’t have answers to these questions. Darlene has not thought any of this through. It occurs to me that as
CIO
, I should have the authority to make these decisions myself. The
CIO
is an executive manager.

The hardest call is the one from Victor, my boss of twelve years. He’s always been a great boss and I know he must feel disappointed that I got the job he really deserves. He congratulates me and asks if we can meet
ASAP
. The
I.T.
staff is worried about the layoffs. They want to know what my plans are for them. My Outlook calendar indicates that I’m free after my lunch with Chris. I’m about to suggest we meet at two but decide it’s best to block out the afternoon. Who knows what Chris will have to say? I may need a glass of wine to calm my nerves. Maybe two. Not a good idea to come back to work with alcohol on my breath. “How about nine tomorrow?”

After Victor agrees to meet in the morning, I hang up the phone and stare at the glorious view of the lake, but it gives me little pleasure. What are Bob E. and Darlene planning in terms of a layoff? Lives are at stake here. My head feels like a grenade exploded inside. Damn Darlene for leaving me with this mess while she’s off on the love-boat with Bob E.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The Letter Opener

Austin, Texas, 2012

While Darlene and Bob E. are busy on the love-boat, I try to think like a
CIO
. With authority comes responsibility that impacts people’s lives. I’ve always dreamed of this type of success, but why does it come to me now when my brain needs a thorough defrag?

The day feels unbearably long and it’s only 9:00 a.m. I sort through a stack of envelopes creating three piles: important, interesting, trash. As much as I try to concentrate, my mind wanders back to last night. It’s hard to believe Ed stormed out to the rental. I vow to call him today and make this right. Tell him everything. The whole truth this time, not just part of it. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Before I lose him for good.

My iPhone interrupts my thoughts. 520 area code flashes on the display. Chris or Ben? I click the phone on and say hello.

“Hi, sista,” says a familiar voice on the other end. “What’s happening?”

Where do I start? My husband’s moved out, I’ve received a big promotion because my new boss is screwing the CEO. Oh, and by the way, I may be headed to prison
. “Everything’s great here. How’s things in Tucson?”

She invites me to an engagement party for her daughter in two weeks. With all the craziness in my life, it’s hard to make that commitment, although I’d truly love to be there for my niece. Tucson of all places. Home of Chris and Ben.

I tell her things are really hectic at work right now, but I’ll do my best to make it. We spend the next twenty minutes talking about the upcoming party, my niece’s fiancé, and our parents’ health issues. As soon as we hang up, I program
EDUARDO, AMBY
, my two sons, my parents,
DARLENE,
and
LBJ
’s central number into my contact list. Should I enter Ben and Chris? Better not. I yearn for my old Blackberry with everyone I know already loaded.

Turning my attention back to work, I contemplate what my first e-mail should be as the new
CIO
. I open Outlook and start to compose one but once again am interrupted. This time it’s by the distinctive aroma of Chanel Number 5.

Ivy stands in the doorway with the morning sun illuminating the gold highlights in her hair. She’s dressed in a navy suit with her cleavage visible through a silk camisole. “So this is how Long Guyland girl ended up.”

I sneer at her. “Ah, you remember me now?”

She closes the door. “Don’t expect I’ll acknowledge that in public.”

“I have no illusions.”
Still the queen bitch.

“Good, then I’ll cut to the chase. I suspect what’s going on with your cute new boss.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play me for a fool. She’s schtuping Bob E. clear as day, and you need to convince her to stop. For her good, and yours as well. Or else—”

“Or else what?”

She shrugs. “You could both be on the unemployment line.”

I sit up in my new ergonomic chair, appalled at her bluntness. “I don’t like threats.”

“Now you sound like the stupid chick you were in Bridgeport.”

I decide to take a different tactic with her. “It’s wonderful to see how well your life has turned out, Ivy. Married to a congressman. Who would have thought?”

“That I’d end up here?” Her eagle eyes probe my face. “What were we thinking?”

“Crazy seventies.” I say.

She lights a cigarette. “Drugs, sex, and rock and roll, right on.”

“This is a nonsmoking building,” I say.

She waves the cigarette. “So.”

Now that’s the Ivy I remember. “What made you turn your life around?”

She blows out multiple rings of smoke. “William, of course.”

“How did you two meet?”

“After you all took off out west, I moved to New Haven.”

“I’m not buying the Yale bullshit,” I say.

She chuckles and sits down in one of the new Scandinavian chairs. The price tag still dangles from the arm. “I took a job waiting tables at a pizza joint.
William
was attending Yale. He came in every night for a calzone. One thing led to another. We moved back to his home in Dallas. Been married thirty-three years.”

I smile. “Rich Ivy league guy marries a hippie waitress. Sounds like a movie.”

“What can I say? He fell in love with my Texas-sized boobs.”

“Guess he was homesick for the Lone Star state.”

We both laugh. I’m starting to feel more comfortable with her. She asks me questions about my own life.

I pull out my iPhone and show her a picture of the boys and then ask if she has kids of her own. Before the words leave my mouth, I realize how tasteless they are. Terabytes of time have not erased Doc telling me that Ivy’s botched abortion had ruined her chances of ever having children.

Her eyes look misty. “William never really wanted any.”

I’ve finally disarmed her and feel ashamed. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

She takes a minute to compose herself. “Have you been in touch with
them
?”

“Them?”

“You know who I’m talking about. Ben and Chris.”

Has she really not spoken with them in all these years? I distinctly remember she had gone to her grandmother’s funeral the night of Joey’s disappearance. “No, how ‘bout you?”

“If you ever see either of them, please give them this.” She pulls out a business card from her purse and hands it to me.

For a brief second, I speculate that our shared past bonds us in some way. Should I tell her I’m meeting with Chris in an hour? Saw Ben in New York at Denise’s funeral? I think better of it. “Will do.”

She crinkles her eyes. “How did Ben ever sweet talk you into bringing that suitcase back from New Mexico?”
(POINT)

The sickening feeling of doom fills my chest. Does she know what’s going on?

“Why do you think
I
refused to go?” she scoffs.

From the shadows of the past I recall the reason. “You were still recovering from the bloody trip to Boston.”
(SET)

Ivy stands, grabs the letter opener from my desk, and points it at me. “If you ever mention that again, Laila, I’ll kill you.” She throws the letter opener into my new Scandinavian desk marring the oak’s patina, then struts from the office without looking back.
(MATCH -
Goes to Ms. Foreman
)

LATER, ON THE DRIVE
to my lunch with Chris, I decide that Ivy is aware that he’s here. Who am I kidding? Maybe she knows all about Joey’s disappearance. I accidentally swerve the car into the curb, diverted by a more disturbing realization. In the seventies, Chris and Ben had played me for an idiot. Now they’re picking up where they left off. If I’m honest with myself, I was flattered last night when Ben told me he’d always loved me. To think I responded that a part of me always loved him, too. The icing on the cake of lies that sent Eduardo packing.

And Chris. Would he sell me down the river to get himself off the hook? Did he fill my head with lies all those years ago because he knew I’d slept with his best friend? Both men are masters of deceit. I’m enraged at the unconscionable way they put everything in my life in serious danger. Back then, and again now. And worst of all, I’m infuriated at myself for allowing them to do it.