Maternity Leave (42 page)

“How much money is all of that?” I asked.

“Twenty grand or so,” the lawyer said. “It probably didn’t seem like much when you got it, but you earned a lot on maternity leave.”

My eyes widened in shock. It was then that I noticed Buddy’s tailor-made three-piece suit. I knew I could tack another five grand in attorney fees. Twenty-five thousand bucks. Fuck. Still, I knew it was a sweet deal for felony fraud.

I said goodbye to Hymie and Buddy, then Dad and I went to lunch.

“I’ll pick up lunch if you loan me twenty-five grand,” I said to Dad. It was a bad joke, especially since it was a given that he would pick up the twenty-five thousand dollar tab. After all, I’m Daddy’s little JAP, and I’m broke and facing jail.

“You think this is funny?” Dad replied, clenching his jaw just enough to realize that I pissed him off in addition to disappointing him.

“No. I’m really sorry.” And I was. I was sorry and felt guilty about both the $25,000 hit my dad was going to take for me, and the knowledge that I wouldn’t change a single thing now that I knew I’d be getting off scot-free. Dad had worked hard for his money and it would be a great learning experience for me to go to jail and come out twenty-five thousand dollars in debt. That would be the sort of learning experience that would leave me with some regrets.

I looked at the menu, hating myself a little for the first time in my life. I had never been ashamed of my self-centered narcissism, choosing instead to focus on what a strong and independent woman I was. I took pride in outsmarting my office and the system to chase the dream. Looking back, I could see I was only bold enough to go for it because I had a larger safety net than anyone deserved.

As I had every time I’d doubted myself over the past three weeks, I thought, Maybe this is why Alyssa doesn’t like me. I’m almost thirty years old, I should tell my Dad “Thanks, but no thanks” and deal with the consequences of my actions. Then again, there was no way I was turning down twenty-five thousand dollars and a get-out-of-jail-free card. There was also no way my dad would let me go to jail, so the offer would just sound insincere.

“Cheer up,” Dad said. “This is good news for you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. Then said it again.

Then I started crying. At first it was just a lump in my throat and teary eyes. Then, I couldn’t stop. I even felt guilty for crying because I knew it would make my Dad take pity on me and I didn’t want him to feel sorry for me on top of having to pay a twenty-five thousand dumbass-kid tax. I wanted to tell him that I’d handle the situation on my own, and I actually wanted to handle it on my own, but really, I was screwed without him. Over the past few days, I had hoped that a rich cycling sponsor who admired the balls it took for me to risk everything and go for it would bail me out of the whole situation and pay whatever was owed. It should have been a no-brainer that family is more reliable than cycling, but I put so much more into cycling than family, it shocked me. I felt my shirt get wet and realized I was crying and snotting all over myself.

Dad moved his chair over and hugged me. We sat there like that for a while, ignoring our food.

* * *

Unfortunately, Hymie Goldstein didn’t have any pull with the Florida Bar or the office of Johnson Smith. I didn’t contest my disbarment in order to avoid a public proceeding regarding my “crime of moral turpitude.” Likewise, I let the Johnson Smith lawyer gig go without a fight.

With no job prospects on the horizon that didn’t involve wearing a name tag, I rented out my adorable house in South Tampa and Sonny and I moved back in with my parents. My fall from grace was complete. I lived there for three days before my luck ran out and I ran into my new neighbor, David Greene. He drove by as I was walking Sonny and stopped to talk.

“Hi, David. Sorry about the whole fake-baby-slash-fraudulently-sneaking-away-from-my-job thing.”

“No problem. Guess what?” David said without giving me a chance to guess. “I settled that Heathcliff case of yours for eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

“Wasn’t that worth five million?” I asked, trying to make David take the smug look off his face.

“That was what the insurance company paid, but our recoverable damages were much less. It took some finesse to settle. Our client and the insured didn’t even want to be in the same room as each other, but I got everyone to come to dinner and we settled the case without the court, mediators or arbitrators. Everyone involved was just in awe that I brokered a settlement.”

Holy shit, I thought. I faked a pregnancy, in part to avoid him, and all he wanted to talk about was my former case list. It hardly seemed possible but David Greene was even more self-centered than me. “Steak and wine probably works better than all that stuff anyway,” I said.

“Wine nothing. I told the waiter, if it ain’t on fire, we don’t want it.”

This didn’t make much sense, but I assumed David, who didn’t drink other than wine for Shabbat, thought that alcohol was only real if you could set it on fire.

“What were you drinking?” I asked, knowing it was either water or Diet Coke.

“Water. It was a work function and I was driving.”

“Good for you, David.”

“You know,” David said, “if you want I can pull some strings and get you a job. You’re no longer an attorney, but I could use another paralegal. You could work with Sarah.”

I pictured myself doing the same crappy work, but for less money in a cubicle next to Sarah Smith instead of in my office, and laughed out loud for the first time since Hymie fake-farted a week ago.

“I’m good,” I said, “thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” David said and drove off.

* * *

I resumed training with Danny.

“So,” he said, “how’s living with the parents?”

“Jason, too,” I said. “Actually, it’s delightful. I get free room and board, food, utilities, and cable with the good channels. My parents work all day and Jason usually goes to school. My only job is emptying the dishwasher and setting the table. I can’t believe I ever moved out.”

“You’ve been there a week, let me know how you feel in a month.”

“I made it eighteen years straight before, and that’s when there were rules. I think I’m staying until they kick me out.”

“That’s going to hurt your social life.”

“What social life? I don’t think I’m ever going to have a date again. I have no idea where to meet lesbians. I went to a gay bar and there were about ninety gay men and only four women, all of them post-menopausal and partnered.”

“So, you’re fully committed to this lesbian thing?”

“Yup. No doubt in my mind. Sorry.”

“What do I care?” Danny said. “Either way, you won’t be fucking me. Just choose what makes you happy.”

“When have I ever done anything that doesn’t make me happy?” I asked rhetorically.

“Good point,” said Danny. “I think you should at least try guys again. I don’t think you ever dated our best representatives.”

“Like Alyssa was such a great representative of women,” I pointed out.

“Actually,” Danny said, “she’s contrary, has a low libido, and gives you mixed signals. I think she’s par for the course.”

“Whatever. I’d like to meet a lesbian I’m attracted to other than Alyssa.”

“Have you talked to her at all?” Danny asked.

“No, just email. Every time I send her an email I check my inbox for a response at thirty second intervals until she replies. Often days later. Then I get as giddy as a schoolgirl, email her back and start the process over again. I really hate myself when I do that.”

“You should. That’s pathetic,” Danny said. “Do your parents know you’re a lesbian?”

I shook my head and said, “No, I’m not trying to kill them.”

“Why?” he said. “What would they do if they knew?”

“Nothing. They’d tell me they still love me and that they just want me to be happy, but they’d be disappointed. They want the best for me and to them, that’s normalcy. Besides, they’re still reeling from my disbarment, unemployment, near incarceration and the fact that I’m approaching thirty and living in their house. I feel like I should pop out a grandkid just to make them happy. I think I’ll hold off telling them I’m a lesbian.”

“I think they’d handle it just fine,” Danny said.

“I know. I’ll tell them I’m gay when I want to introduce them to a girlfriend,” I said. “I’m not going to mention it in the abstract. Actually, at this point, I don’t think they’d care if I dated a woman so long as she’s rich. After the twenty-five grand in legal fees my Dad just shelled out, he’d hand me off to a donkey if it would get me off his payroll.”

“Speaking of that, do you plan on getting a job any time soon?”

“I’m thinking about being a teacher.”

Danny started laughing. “Why the hell would you want to teach?”

“I don’t
want
to teach. I want insurance and my summers off to race. I think teaching is my only option.”

“What would you teach?” Danny asked.

“Hopefully, high school,” I said. “Those younger kids are like petri dishes full of germs and I can’t train if I’m sick all the time.”

“What about teaching college?”

“Ha ha,” I responded in monotone. “I doubt many universities want a disbarred lawyer without a PhD.”

“True. So if you have your summer off, do you have any leads for teams next season?”

“Quite a few actually,” I said, “but the most I’ll get is an annual salary of fifteen thousand with mediocre insurance, plus a bike, kit, and travel. I need a job so I can get my own place.”

“I thought you wanted to stay with your parents forever,” Danny reminded me.

“I do, but it’s embarrassing, for them and for me. Plus, you’re right, if I ever date anyone, living with the parents will be a problem. I need to get out.”

“Sounds like a plan. Will the school system hire you?”

“They should. I have a degree, a pulse and no criminal record as long as I finish my goddamn community service. Speaking of which, want to go pick up garbage with me for eight hours tomorrow? It will be fun.”

“I’ll pass. Go easy on the goddamns. I don’t think you can curse in front of the kids. Can you handle that?”

“Fuck if I know.”

I lucked out and got a job as a substitute teacher at a school near me. If I performed well, I would get a job as a full-time teacher there whenever a position opened, and I could avoid faxing my resume all over town. My first teaching gig was a fourth grade math class. They were learning the metric system. Evidently schools were still telling kids that America was converting to the metric system. I told them to memorize it for the test then forget it, unless they wanted to race their bikes in Europe, in which case learning kilograms and kilometers could be helpful. The kids seemed to like that. This job could work out for me, I thought.

At lunch hour, I went to the teacher’s lounge. An athletic-looking woman in Adidas shorts, a tank top and a cute pixie haircut was seated at a table. The P.E. teacher, obviously. She had to be gay. I sat down next to her. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.

I introduced myself and after we talked for a bit, she got up to leave. I wasn’t overwhelmed by her, but she was cute enough. I figured that even if I didn’t date her, I could probably meet other lesbians through her so I asked her if she wanted to get a drink sometime. “Jesus Christ, I’m not fucking gay,” she responded. That attracted a bit of attention. I waved at everyone and continued eating my sandwich. My face felt hot and I knew it looked like I just got a horrible sunburn.

When I finally had the nerve to look up again, a sexy woman in black slacks and a crisp white blouse was in front of my table. “I’m the resident lesbian around here,” she whispered, almost touching my ear. She was about five-nine, had a great rack, short blond curly hair and a beautiful ass. The term “brick house” came to mind.

“What do you teach?” I asked, already liking her so much more than the P.E. teacher.

“I’m the vice principal.”

“Nice. I need a job,” I said, then added, “I’m Jenna.”

“Monroe.”

“Were your parents fans of Marilyn, James, or the Doctrine?”

“Marilyn,” she said, smiling.

We talked for a bit. Like Andy, the high school teacher my mom had set me up with a year earlier, Monroe was a non-cyclist, a teacher, and lived in St. Petersburg instead of Tampa. Unlike how I felt about Andy, I didn’t give a shit. Within ten minutes Alyssa was a distant memory. The bell rang, and as I was getting up Monroe said, “Hey, I have to go, but do you want to grab a drink some time?”

“I sure would,” I responded.

* * *

Two years later, Danny, Monroe and I were riding towards St. Petersburg after work. Monroe didn’t wear her cycling gloves in spite of the heat because she wanted to show off her new ring. Danny didn’t notice, though he did notice that I’d cleaned her drivetrain. Cyclists are selectively observant. Finally, Monroe couldn’t take it anymore and flashed her bling in Danny’s face.

“Is that an engagement ring?” he asked.

“Yes,” we said in unison.

“How do you decide who proposes?”

“You’re so original. My parents asked me the same question,” I replied, then added, “The only thing more disturbing to my parents than the fact that I’m a lesbian is the idea that I’m the butch one in the relationship, which they deduced by the fact that I proposed.”

“Your parents aren’t really upset are they?” Danny asked.

“Not really. They love Monroe and are really supportive. But I’m sure that deep down, they hope we both meet great guys someday and laugh about this engagement on a double date.”

“So how did you decide who proposed, seriously?” Danny asked.

“It was easy,” I said. “Only one of us gives a shit about the ring. Monroe wanted one, so she got one. Me, on the other hand, who doesn’t care for rings, is the one that shelled out a ton of money.”

“You are getting a ring,” Monroe chimed in from behind. She was drafting, but listening to the conversation.

“Can I get an engagement bike instead?” I asked.