Maternity Leave (41 page)

“It really was,” Mom said, as they both hugged me.

“Now, back to reality,” Dad said, content that the reverie had gone on long enough. “You’re fucked.”

“Thanks for the buzz kill Dad. Let’s talk about it later. I want to enjoy this moment a bit longer.”

Mom hugged me again, this time knocking into my ribs. “Oh my God, you’re so thin,” she said.

I turned away so she couldn’t see my hollowed out cheekbones. “That’s what happens when you race your bike over a hundred miles a day for three weeks. Don’t worry, I’ll gain it back.” I said this with the utmost sincerity so she wouldn’t try to commit me to an eating disorder clinic. As a Jewish mother and guidance counselor, she had a tendency to be hyper suspicious of anorexia.

“How long are you going to be out west?” I asked my parents, mostly to change the topic.

“As long as our baby needs us,” my mom said, half seriously.

“Great, hang around for the next sixty years or so because I am a fuck-up.”

“No arguments here,” Dad said, with a smile. “How long are you staying out here?”

“I’m planning to start driving back with Danny and Sonny tomorrow.”

“Do you want to get dinner tonight?” Dad asked.

“Yes, but much later. I need to collect my prize money now,” then added, “for third today and third overall.”

My parents responded with a deer-in-headlights look. They knew by my tone that congratulations were in order, but they had no idea what I was talking about. I could see the wheels spinning and knew they were thinking, How did she get third place twice” I let it go. “I also need to go back to the host house and pack up. I’ll call you later.”

When I got back to the house, Alyssa was packing. She was wearing a Sunshine Cycling shirt, jeans and flip flops, the exact outfit I was wearing, but somehow it looked dressier on her. “Congratulations, speedy,” she said.

“Thanks. So, what are you going to do now?”

“Fly back to Georgia,” she replied.

“Want a ride? You can go with Danny and me.”

“That’s okay,” she said, closing the hard case containing her bicycle. She hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek, then began walking away.

I stared at her, debating whether to let it go or confront her. I took a deep breath so that I could get a last whiff of her lotion or shampoo or whatever made her smell so good, and decided to let her go. But once she got near the door, I panicked. I barely knew her but I was interested in her, a rarity for me. “What the hell is with your wall?” I blurted out. “I am killing myself trying to figure you out.”

“I don’t know. The wall comes and goes. I’m fickle, what can I say.”

“What are you looking for?” I asked incredulously. “I’m hot, smart, a cyclist, funny, well-employed, or at least I was well-employed, I treat you well and I cut my nails off.”

Alyssa continued her flippancy. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t really know what I’m looking for.”

I knew I should let it go, but I couldn’t. I was starting to seriously dislike her but was worried I’d never meet another girl that was hot and into women even if they existed somewhere in the universe in droves. Or, even if I did, that I wouldn’t know since I had such terrible gaydar. I needed to go all out even if she was borderline bipolar. “You were looking for that last week and yesterday,” I said. “Why not today?”

“I don’t know,” Alyssa said, her tone suddenly serious. “Haven’t you ever just changed your mind?”

“Yes, but always for a reason,” I said. “What about now? It’s been a few minutes, are you into me now?”

Alyssa laughed. “I like you a lot Jenna. I need to figure things out. I’ll call you.”

Alyssa started to walk off. As I stared at her perfect ass in her jeans I lost any shred of my remaining dignity and asked, “Well you need a ride to the airport, don’t you?” As the words came out of my mouth my self-loathing spiked, but I thought that if we could just hang out a little more, she’d like me again. Then I could figure whether I really wanted to be with her or not.

“That’s okay, thanks,” Alyssa said.

I sat there staring at the door. My trance was interrupted by Danny, who walked up to me, saw my expression and asked seriously, “What just happened?”

“I just got nicely dumped again. No biggie.”

“When did you get back together?” Danny asked.

“Last night. You just missed me making a complete ass of myself, begging her to like me. I don’t recognize myself. I’ve always hated people that breakup and get back together. One shot, that’s it. I’m pathetically obsessed with a person I’ve known for less than a month and she’s a total head case. I want her to like me even though I kind of hate her and want nothing but the worst for her. What’s my problem?”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you you’re losing it. Were you crying on the podium?” Danny asked.

“A drop or so. What’s happening to me?”

“You’ve had three weeks of highs and lows and passion and lots of other crap. You’ll be your normal jaded self once you return to your life of sitting in your office watching life pass you by.”

“Glad to hear there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Actually, as pathetic as that life was, at least I wasn’t chasing pathetically after people who weren’t the least bit into me. Maybe I should just go sit in an office until I die so I can die with dignity.”

“First, being a lawyer isn’t pathetic and second, aren’t you forgetting that you’ll probably never practice law again?”

“Whatever. I can’t say I’ll miss it. I’ll just miss the paycheck.”

“So what’s your plan?” Danny asked.

“I guess we’ll pack up and leave tomorrow,” I responded.

“No,” Danny said, “for your life.”

“Other than race my bike and get back together with a psycho who doesn’t like me, I don’t know. I’m only twenty-eight. I didn’t think this crisis would happen to me for at least another ten years.”

“What can I say?” Danny said. “You’re a prodigy.”

“Thanks. I’m going out with my parents for dinner tonight. Want to come?”

“That’s okay, they’re going to give you some tough love and I don’t think I can watch my cynical lawyer friend cry twice in one day.”

“I think I’ll hold it together,” I said. “See you tomorrow. I’ll complain the whole way home and bitch about everyone, just like old times.”

“That sounds great,” Danny said sarcastically. “In the meantime, relax. Seriously, you always come out smelling like a rose and this will be no different.”

“Thanks,” I said, grateful for Danny’s undying faith in my cynicism and resiliency. “And thanks for coming and everything else. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it. You really were terrific,” he said.

* * *

My parents took me to a restaurant with a white tablecloth, the first one of its kind I’d been to in over three months other than my date with Alyssa. We talked about everything except jail, disbarment, unemployment, and cycling. We became quite drunk and closed the place down at one a.m. When Dad kissed me goodbye, he told me to call him as soon as I returned to Tampa. I left knowing that my next meeting with him would not be quite as pleasant.

* * *

The next day, Danny and I began our long drive back. We made it halfway through Texas on the first day. I probably drove twenty minutes to Danny’s ten hours. I was half-asleep when Danny turned up the radio.

“I didn’t know you liked Billy Joel,” I said.

“I like this song, it reminds me of you,” he responded.

“She’s Always a Woman To Me” was on the radio. “That’s mean,” I pointed out.

“Why?”

“Are you saying you still think I’m a woman even though I’m a lesbian?”

“No, it’s always reminded me of you,” Danny responded.

“That’s still mean. I’m not a fan of this comparison.”

“Why? The girl in the song sounds awesome.”

I listened to the lyrics, thinking I might be overreacting.

A minute later I said, “Nope, not a fan of this comparison. I don’t steal, cut, give up and unfortunately, I rarely change my mind, even when I should. Should I go on?”

“No offense,” he said. “I meant it in a good way. It’s like how you’re mean to everyone but me.”

“You’re digging a hole, dude. I’m gregarious and charming to everyone, including you.”

“You better hope this song is you,” Danny said. “Unfortunately, I think you can be convicted, regardless of your degree.”

I tried not to think about that and started belting out the lyrics instead.

Danny and I arrived home the following Wednesday after the long cross-country trip. The following morning, I went to work as if nothing had happened. I got to the office early and turned on my light. Everything was exactly as I had left it. I turned on my computer to start reading the 100 emails a day that had accumulated over the past ninety days or so. But, my password didn’t work. Not a good sign.

I walked over to Kimberly’s office.

Kimberly stared up at me and laughed. “Wow, you have some balls showing up here. Big brass ones.”

“No news is good news, right?” I replied.

“I doubt that’s the case in this scenario,” she said. “How was your trip?”

“Great,” I replied. “What have you been up to?”

“Hey Jenna, can we do lunch sometime, away from the office? I’d love to catch up but you’re a bit of a pariah right now and I don’t want to be guilty by association.”

“No problem. I should go start packing my office anyway.”

I walked back to my office and realized there was little in there I wanted. I was quite sure I was about to be disbarred and that I would never work in a professional environment again. Nevertheless, I took all of my diplomas and certificates with me on my way out. I could have that party I dreamed of and serve chips and dip on them.

On my way to the parking garage, I passed one of the partners and a few secretaries. They nodded politely. I was suddenly nervous that the news of my return would spread before I made it to my car. I picked up the pace. I could see the hiring partner, Jerry Jacobson, out of the corner of my eye, so I picked up the pace even more. Once I got to my car I threw my diplomas in the back and started backing up. I heard a knock on my window.

“Got a second Jenna?” Jerry said. He was leaning in my window and chomping on gum that I could tell was peppermint. He was a large man, both tall and wide, with white hair and a full white beard and he looked uncomfortable trying to lean in my window.

“Sure,” I replied innocently. “What’s going on?”

“You’re fired,” he said.

“Anything else?” I replied, as though he asked me to pick up eggs and I thought he might want milk or bananas as well.

“You should probably know that it’s been recommended that you be disbarred, and that there’s a warrant out for your arrest.”

“Anything else?” I said again.

He held out his fingers and counted. “Fired, disbarment, warrant. That’s pretty much it.”

“Thanks, Jerry.”

I pulled out of the parking lot and did the mature thing; I called Dad. I gave him a quick recap.

“Are you nuts going in there? Of course you’re fired. I didn’t realize you were back in town. I told you to call me. You need to go with your lawyer to the police station right now. I’ll meet you there.”

I had no idea I even had a lawyer, let alone know who he was. Still, I didn’t ask questions and just started driving. I walked into the station, but didn’t know what to do. I went up to the front desk with my hands up. “I’m surrendering. Do I need to sign in or something?”

The desk deputy asked my name. I figured the next step would be my arrest or fingerprinting, but instead, I went into a room where my dad sat with three other people: my attorney, Buddy Melendez; the state prosecutor, and Hymie Goldstein, a family friend. I had met Hymie a handful of times in my life. He was a five foot two Jewish television salesman who somehow became the godfather of Tampa. His involvement led me to believe I would be the recipient of a sweet under-the-table deal.

The meeting started and I sat there with my heart racing, ready to piss my pants. However, no one addressed me. The good-ole-boy network just discussed the terms of my future without acknowledging my existence. For once, I did not play the feminist card. There were a lot of references to “what we had discussed,” so it was clear to me this was not the first meeting about the fate of Jenna Rosen. Every few minutes, Hymie farted. He was an old man, and all of us pretended not to notice, but after a few minutes, I was less concerned with my future and more concerned with not offending Hymie by laughing while he tried to help me. I looked around the room and could tell everyone else was trying not to laugh, as well.

After an hour of holding in my laughter, the prosecutor stepped out of the room. While my dad and Buddy talked, Hymie approached me. He gave me a hug, and farted. This time I couldn’t help it. The laughter I’d been holding in exploded, the type of laughter where your body shakes, but no noise comes out. I hoped Hymie didn’t notice. I was on the verge of collapse when Hymie opened his hand and said, “Look, it’s a fart bag.”

He held out a tiny tube in the palm of his hand and squeezed it. I looked at him incredulously. “You’ve been fake farting every five minutes for the last hour?”

“Yes, I’ve been doing it all week, no one ever says anything. I love watching people pretend not to notice. Here take one,” he said and handed me a small box. “I just bought a thousand of these things. They’re going to be huge.”

How in the world had this guy achieved widespread respect and financial success, I wondered. “Sounds like a great investment. So, what else is new?”

“Nothing much. I heard you had a great race. I wish I’d seen you out there.”

“Thanks,” I said. Everyone says that and doesn’t mean it, but I believed Hymie because I knew he was enough of a sports fanatic that he would actually watch cycling, and probably bet on it, regardless of whether he understood the rules.

Dad and Buddy stopped talking and turned to me. “Here’s the deal,” said Buddy. “The insurance company agreed not to press charges as long as you pay restitution. That is, return all of the insurance proceeds you received over the past three months, plus interest. You also have to pay a five hundred dollar fine and complete one hundred hours of community service hours. Once that’s all done, the case will be dismissed. No jail, no probation.”