Better believe it, p.10
Better Believe It, page 10
I finally logged into my work email. When the name of my least favorite client, Lionel, popped up in my inbox, I knew it was going to be one of those weeks.
Re: Hannon v. Fortified—Hannon deposition
Did anyone go through this depo and highlight the factual statements? Who took the depo?
This was the shit that really pissed me off. The answers to both of his questions were in the email he was replying to. And his tone was unacceptable. I didn’t care if he was an old dog. It was a new world, and he needed to learn how to conduct himself accordingly. I bit my fist and replied as I typically did to Lionel.
“As noted below, Matthew Wiler from Weston, Wiler, and Faust, our local counsel in San Francisco, took the deposition. Also, as you’ll see in the email I sent you below, I attached the deposition with the factual statements highlighted PLUS a spreadsheet noting all of the statements that strengthen our position and all statements that may weaken our defense, along with corresponding page numbers for each. Did you not get this email? It says ‘Sent.’”
I could just hear Dan. “Really, Jada? Just answer his questions.”
I would respond, “No. He doesn’t read emails and then asks questions when the answers are in front of him. He needs to learn.”
And Dan would say, “Don’t you know the saying about old dogs and new tricks?”
I believed I could train Lionel like I’d trained Dan. Dan used to be even more uptight than he was now. During my first year at the firm, we’d had to finish something on a tight deadline. Ten minutes before our meeting about it, I headed toward the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” Dan shouted from down the hall. “We have a meeting.”
I stopped midstride, spun around, and said calmly, “My tampon is falling out. Literally. As we speak.”
Dan turned white. The meeting wasn’t for ten minutes, and Dan had to learn that he needed to allow his employees to use the restroom. And I would be the one to teach him.
When Dan and Karen arrived that morning, we met for our Monday meeting. Dan was eating a yogurt that was probably not his. He often treated the office refrigerator as his own personal food closet. I’d scolded him about it in the past, after he ate one of my cottage cheese containers. It had never happened again—at least not with my food.
I pointed to the yogurt. “That better be yours.”
“It is.”
“‘It is’ meaning you’re a partner at the firm and therefore own the refrigerator and everything in it, or you brought it from home?”
“I brought it from home in my little lunch pail. Want some?”
“Ew, no.”
I then briefed them on everything that had happened in San Francisco—work-wise, of course. Neither one of them brought up Lionel’s email, and Lionel hadn’t responded. Ha! Another lesson learned. Class dismissed.
I spent the rest of the morning going through emails and checking my phone for any word from Todd after I’d texted back, “Yes. Call me anytime tomorrow.” Still nothing.
I left to meet Danielle about fifteen minutes earlier than I needed to. I was anxious. I needed to engage with someone, anyone, to get my eyes off of my computer and my phone.
I opened the door of Tablet for Two to a cacophony of laughter and talking. Shouldn’t this place be like a library with no one talking to each other? Luckily for the Tree kids, who were already in position, scrolling and eating french fries without taking their eyes off the screens, it was like a library. Danielle waved to me. As I approached, I admired her white-and-yellow sundress.
I hugged her. “You look adorable!” I realized we only ever saw each other in our “mom clothes,” flexible weekend attire that could withstand any number of messes that happened before, after, or during a trip to LI at Play.
“Thanks! I’m so happy you messaged me. I knew you worked in the city, but I kind of didn’t even think about it.” She pushed back her bright-blond hair. “This is a pleasant surprise. How was San Francisco?”
“Good!” I tried to sound normal. “Just work stuff. The usual.”
The server brought our Diet Cokes. I sipped and observed the utter silence of the Tree kids. They were transfixed. Is this good for them? I had to admit it was wonderful for me in that instance.
I turned back to Danielle. “I ran into my ex-boyfriend.” I can’t hold it in any longer. I told her what happened, careful not to reveal his identity. She was as transfixed as the Tree kids looking at the tablets.
“Can you believe that?” I asked when I finished.
She didn’t answer right away.
I shifted in my seat.
“Believe it or not, I’ve been there myself,” she said.
“You ran into your ex-boyfriend in San Francisco, talked about history and conspiracy theories all night?”
“We talked about art, not history.” After a moment, she laughed. “Kidding. I mean, in a past relationship, I went even further. All the way. I was the cheater, not the cheated, and it was awful. It hurts in a way you can’t explain because you’re the wrongdoer. It’s like this feeling—that knowledge that you could do that to someone you thought you loved—it eats you alive, from your stomach, from your core.”
“What happened with your boyfriend?”
“We broke up.”
“What happened with the other guy?”
“Nothing.”
My stomach dropped.
“He wasn’t ready for a relationship,” she added.
“I’ve been there.” I didn’t bother explaining that was exactly what had happened with Todd the first time. “You never got back with your boyfriend?”
“No. He deserved to meet someone who was mature and respectful. I had a lot of growing up to do, and then I met my husband a couple of years later, when I was a different person, when the time was right. Timing is a funny thing.”
“It sure is. I’m still wrapping my head around it all. I mean, what are the chances we would be in that very spot at the exact same time?”
“It’s pretty crazy. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I know for certain that Mark and I are not sustainable.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And I hope it works out with the other guy, but I realize there’s a lot of people’s hearts on the line. It’s scary, but maybe it will all work out. It could happen, right?”
“Happens every day. What’s his name?”
My heart lurched. “Todd.”
“What’s his last name?”
I opened my mouth. How will I get out of this? What do I say?
“Don’t answer!” Danielle sat up straight in her seat. “Oh my God. I sound like Melody. How nosy and awful!”
We laughed while I picked at my Caesar salad and asked Danielle about what was going on with her and her husband and family.
“My mom helps with the kids, but she’s away this week with her boyfriend.”
“Are your parents divorced?”
She shook her head. “My dad died ten years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She never dated anyone, and I thought she never would, but she met this guy last year through a friend, and he’s great. So yeah, my mom is in Paris with her boyfriend.”
“Good for her!”
“Yeah. I miss my dad, though. I wonder what he must be thinking. She still has all of his fishing poles, and all of these pictures of him catching stuff, and the sign that says, ‘Trip’s Fishing Trips.’ So corny.”
“Oh, his name was Trip? He had a ‘truh’ name too.”
“Yeah. They’re all named after him in a way.”
“I call them the ‘Tree kids’ in my head.”
“You’re not the only one. That’s their collective nickname at school.”
Maybe it was the Diet Coke racing through my veins, but I felt better, lighter, for having said it all out loud. I wished we could stay there all day, talking.
As we paid the bill, I noticed my phone light up in my bag. Could it be? Of course he would call me now. Bad timing. And there goes the high I was on.
“Well, try to enjoy the rest of your day,” Danielle said. “I know it will all work out.”
We hugged.
“I’m so glad we did this,” I said.
“Me too. It’s so much easier to talk when you’re not trying to keep one eye on your kid climbing the walls.”
“Ha! Or getting strangled.”
She laughed. “I forgot about that!”
I exchanged goodbyes with the Tree kids then worked my way through the crowd and out the door. Like an addicted smoker, I checked my phone. I had a voice mail from Todd.
I needed to check the voice mail in the quiet of my office with the door shut.
I flew through the lobby, into the elevator, and finally, into my office, where I slammed the door. I dropped my bag and hit play on the voice mail.
“It’s Todd. I got your voice mail and texts. Let’s meet for a drink on Friday. Somewhere we can talk. Let me know if that’s good for you. All right. Bye.”
Somewhere we can talk? Is that good or bad? And I have to wait all week?
I leaned back in my chair, trying to absorb that new tidbit, when my office phone rang.
“Hey, Lionel called,” Dan said. “He wants a summary of the status of the Zapora case.”
“I sent him a summary. He needs to read his damn emails.”
“Did you write anything in the subject line that would help him know what the email is about?”
“Are you kidding me? It probably said ‘Zapora case summary.’ I’m supposed to come up with something more mesmerizing so the dipshit can find it, read it, and not accidentally delete it?”
“What can we write next time that will make sure he reads it? Can we add ‘Important’ in the subject line? Do you think that would help?”
“I don’t know what would help Lionel. Should I Google ‘Charming ways to get your moron client to open an email’?”
He sighed. “No, but can you send it again?”
“I’ll think about it.”
We hung up, and five seconds later, I heard his little legs march swiftly toward my office. “Jada, come on!” He held out his arms as though asking me to throw him a bone.
“Fine. I won’t forward it and write, ‘See below, idiot.’ I’ll leave out the idiot part.”
“Are you in an extra bad mood? Or is this just normal Jada? I can’t tell anymore.”
“I’m okay,” I lied.
Dan’s shoulders dropped, and he shuffled away.
At least I had a cool boss. I couldn’t complain about Dan and Karen, although I did sometimes because that was what friends did—commiserated about work. But they let me get away with so much.
OK, to-do list. Reply to Lionel. Don’t be petty. Try not to think about Todd. Help Joyce’s mother.
Somewhere where we can talk? Is that what he said? I listened to his voice mail again.
Then I typed out a text: How about Riverfall? Were you abducted by aliens? I hope they treated you well. Welcome back to earth. See you Friday.
I needed to focus on something else. I replied to Lionel with as much reserve as I could muster. Then I pulled out Joyce’s mother’s lease and noted the name of the leasing company. After a few internet searches, I got a name and number and made the call.
“Hello. Is this Mr. Castilla?”
“Who’s this?”
“Again, is this Mr. Castilla?”
“Yes. Who is this?” he demanded.
“My name is Jada Marlone. I’m calling on behalf of Martha Diaz. She’s been having some issues with her air-conditioning, and—”
“I fixed it.”
“Oh, because as I understand it—”
He hung up.
What the fuck? My blood was boiling hotter than Martha Diaz’s rent-controlled apartment. Not today, asshole! And it only rose further when I called back and got Mr. Castilla’s voice mail. “Mr. Castilla, it seems your phone broke in the middle of our conversation. You’re probably on your way to Verizon at this very moment. As soon as it gets back up and running, call me. Again, it’s Jada Marlone on behalf of Martha Diaz. Thank you.”
I hung up and tried again. That time, it only rang once and went straight to voice mail. That’s weird.
I tried again and got the same thing. So I Googled, “Rang once and went to voice mail.” The first result stated, “You’ve likely been blocked.”
That fucker!
I searched furiously for an office number. I hadn’t even realized my initial search had given me his cell phone number.
I called the office number of C&M Property Management, and a woman answered.
“Hello. This is the Department of Rentals and Leases. May I speak with Mr. Castilla?” Department of Rentals and Leases? Good one, but will he fall for it?
“Please hold.”
“Castilla speaking.”
“Mr. Castilla, hello. Jada Marlone here. Fix Martha Diaz’s air-conditioning, or whatever department oversees landlords will be up your ass. Have you ever been audited? Oh, and perhaps all you have to do is turn it on. Flip the switch. The circuit. Whatever. I’m not an electrician, but we’re not falling for this. She’s not leaving anytime soon. So deal with it. You’re not getting that rent-controlled apartment back in the near future. So turn it back on. Now.”
I hung up. Damn, that felt good.
Then I called Joyce and relayed everything. “Whatever works at this point! We’ll take it,” she said.
I hope it works too.
After I hung up, I paused to be grateful for the AC in my office, in my car, on the train, and in my house. I rested my head on my cool desk.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dan was at my door.
“It’s nice and cold.”
“You’re a weirdo.” He walked away.
When I lifted my head, I had a reply from Todd.
Chapter 10
Gina and I were at the same table in Bryant Park where I’d had lunch with Veronica before leaving for San Francisco. She was sitting on the small metal chair with her knees tucked up to her chin.
“Did you see us?” I asked. “When you passed, I mean. Were you able to see us, your family and friends, and how we reacted?”
“Of course.” She lifted her chin off her knees. Her white T-shirt had little skulls forming the shape of a peace sign. “I saw it all then, and I still continue to see everyone.”
I crinkled my nose and gave her a side-eye. “What do you see exactly?”
She didn’t seem fazed. “When you’re on this side, you’re not interested in human-level things. I don’t want to see my friends and family having sex, going to the bathroom, or human body-based things.”
“I hope not!”
“You get a new perspective when you get here, a new ‘knowing’ when you’ve finished your life. You’re here, and you still love all the people you loved—love doesn’t die—so you want to be a part of guiding them on each of their soul’s journey.” I knew she said those last words in such a way to preempt mocking from me.
I still imitated her back. “Our soul’s journey.”
“So, yes, that’s how it works. I saw.” She put her chin back on her knees.
“I think about that day a lot,” I said. “It still rips me apart if I think about it for too long. Hearing your mother’s shriek. Seeing my mother screaming in a ball on our kitchen floor. I kind of just have to let the memory come and go, or I could really lose it.” I coughed to clear the lump in my throat. “You had your whole life ahead of you. It’s just so unfair.”
“I know,” Gina said. “It’s impossible to explain to you why it happened. But know this at least—when we see our loved ones being happy, it makes us happy. We celebrate with you. If you had all thrown a big, fucking party with streamers and balloons and a stripper for my funeral, now that would have been the best, seeing everyone laughing and having fun. But no one ever does shit like that. It’s too bad.”
I shook my head. “You’re nuts.”
“Honestly, when I see my mom, sometimes when she’s alone in our house and stares at my picture and cries, I scream ‘Go out! Listen to music! Laugh! Please!’ But I get it. I mean, I tell her that during visits I have with her, and I think...” She sighed. “I think we’re getting there.”
“She seems to be doing better,” I said. In the years since Gina passed, Aunt Fran had been slowly going out more. I noticed a change from the first couple of years when she hadn’t left the house, gone to anyone’s wedding, except mine, or done anything except pretty much stay home in bed. She hadn’t cleaned her house or cooked. My mom would visit and sit with her, straighten up, do the dishes, and help with laundry. She still helped like that, but now they did more together. They went out to lunch, dinner, the movies, and the beauty parlor, as they called it. “You really tell your mom to get out and do things? She’s definitely been doing more.”
“Hell yeah. Pretty much every one of our visits ends with me being like, ‘Laugh! For the love of God, laugh!’”
“It’s not that easy, Gina. She lost her child.” If anything ever happened to Ethan, I didn’t know how I would go on.
She glanced down. “I know.”
“I still don’t think any of us are over the shock. People talk about the stages of grief, but I don’t think they’re linear. I think you can go through all of them and still never get over the shock.”
“I know,” she repeated.
“A car accident. I still can’t fucking believe it.”
She untucked her knees. “Would you have rather I’d gotten cancer and died a slow death?”
“Yes.”
“Gee, thanks.” She offered me a cigarette. I declined.
“I would have gotten to say goodbye,” I said.
“Death is not a goodbye,” Gina said. “I’m still with you.”
“No. You’re really not, not in the way you should be. And we would have been prepared.”
“Would you have been? Really?” She removed the unlit cigarette from her mouth and put it back in the pack. “I feel like having a chocolate milkshake. Let’s go to Serendipity.”
