About Face (27 page)

Carlos cleared his throat and looked around. He said that until very recently, he would have said that was stupid. “‘Black is black and white is white whether you say it with a smile or a temper tantrum' is what I would have said.”

“But now…?” Ruth asked.

A few days before, he'd been confronted with the same “stupid”—finger-quotes let everyone know he was actually being self-aware—point of view at work. During a team-building role play exercise, he and his colleagues tried to reach consensus about a complicated decision. There, too, he'd antagonized the others so much they refused to listen to his opinions, which turned out to be largely correct. Even worse, some of their opinions, which he'd derided, were also correct.

“So all your wisdom was wasted,” Ruth said.

Carlos turned towards her with his previous softness replaced by flint. “You mockin' me?”

“Hey, man, Ruth was just saying—”

“Don't do that. Ruthie fights her own battles pretty good. You want to fight, fight your own. Oh, but I forgot, you don't do that.”

“I wasn't mocking you, Carlos. Just saying what I think you were saying, that you knew a lot but they didn't hear you,” Ruth said. She wrote something on her pad.

Carlos offered to apologize to Ruth again for last time, if it would help. But he said, the softness once again in his voice and his face, he knew he might not have all the answers, but he was pretty much what he was. He wanted to give money away. He wasn't up for a personality transplant.

“You need to know I'm never going to be a Mr. Play By The Rules, a Mr. Reasonable Tone of Voice kind of guy like David.”

She bit off the thumbnail it had taken three weeks of willpower to grow. Damn, she thought. She couldn't even muster an “Oh well.”

“The truth is,” David said. “I hate conflict. I even hate talking about conflict. But I guess I'd agree that if we're going to have it—”

“And we are,” Ruth said.

“—then I'd want for it to come into the open, we deal with it, and it goes away. Quickly. And maybe …” He looked at Vivian. “Maybe I could be more open, too, more negative, if that's what being open turns out to be, if there were a way to pop the pimple, clean up the mess, and move on.”

“I have an idea,” Vivian said. “It's actually a great idea. It's your idea, Carlos, and it's brilliant.”

“Why do I think I'm not going to like this, babe?”

Vivian explained that it wasn't the team-building role play exercise that had enlightened Carlos as much as the conversation afterwards. With the help of the facilitator, everyone had to talk about their experience during the role play, the good, the bad and the ugly. Not the content, the process. And everyone else had to listen to them. Not say anything, just listen. They called this kind of conversation an “exploration.”

“The cool part was that when someone said I pissed her off, I didn't have to apologize. And people get pissed off for the stupidest reasons.”

“But you had to listen,” Vivian said.

“Sounds like conflict to me,” David said.

“But you also got to find out about the stuff you do that people like,” Vivian said in her chirpiest voice.

The women wanted to try an exploration-conversation, the men didn't. The women prevailed. They assured Carlos he wasn't being asked to change, they appealed to his sense of fairness and courage, and they reminded him it was all about giving money away. David had his own pimple-popping metaphor thrown back at him, with their confidence that this would do that.

Even though they were tired, they grabbed sandwiches and forced themselves to “explore” the meeting they'd just had while they ate, including hurts and annoyance and pride and all the other emotions in between. If one of them forgot the rules and started defending, another was quick with a reminder.

Carlos said he was beginning to understand what Ruth and others got so upset about, that she needed to be heard and understood, even if not agreed with. And Ruth understood that Carlos was the opposite, not caring about being understood or agreed with, as long as he got his say if not his way. They even rehashed the fight they'd had about their world views. Ruth was finally able to let go of it. David admitted to some misgivings about the things that had been said to him, which everyone took to be progress.

And they thought the “Exploration” format worked. Ruth liked having a mechanism that not only allowed her to express herself, it
mandated
it. David could stand dealing with the inevitable clashes, even some involving him, because it was quick and therapeutic. Carlos liked having his say and was willing to listen to others to get it.

Vivian said, “This feels like an emotional enema, guys. Sort of like going to the dentist, you know what I mean? Something that you know is good for you and you know you'll feel better once it's over, glad you did it and all, but still not something you particularly want to do.”

“Way to mix your metaphors, babe.”

CHAPTER 31

Changing Patterns

 

 

SHORTLY AFTER their exploration-conversation, Ruth announced to David and the Suarez's that, for her, the discussion was no longer hypothetical. The momentum shifted, as if everyone had been waiting for someone else to go first. The subtle change from “We
would
do this and that” to “We
will
do this and that” signaled more than a change from the conditional to the future tense.

From that point on, Ruth lived parallel lives, one planning an exciting future for the new business—“Changing Patterns” was the working name—and another going through the motions of a successful product line at Mimosa.

David still had no interest in working with a capital “W.” It had nothing to do with the interpersonal issues. He was glad they'd worked it out, but he wanted to retire, period. “I want to be part of the group, go to meetings so you can't talk about me behind my back, I just don't want to work very hard.” And Carlos, as evaluator of grant requests for charitable giving, would only work part-time.

It was official: Vivian and Ruth were the full-time honchos of Changing Patterns: Clothing that Fits and Flatters.

They were careful with money, but generous with capital letters: Vivian was the Vice President in Charge of Design and Production, in the Department of Making Clothes. Ruth was the Vice President of Marketing and Sales, in the Department of Making Money. Carlos was the Vice President of the Department of Giving Money Away. They had no President.

“The ‘giving money away' part will help me get over the ‘Vice President' part. Me, a Vice President. Carramba.”

“Get over yourself,” Ruth said. “It doesn't make you a bad person. Or a good person, either, for that matter.”

Ruth and Vivian would earn the same, Carlos would make one third of that, and an equal amount would go to the charities he proposed and all four decided upon. Whatever David did or didn't contribute would be free.

For the Talbots, Ruth's Changing Patterns salary plus David's pension would add up to about sixty percent of their previous income. They'd start drawing some investment income to boost it and make up the difference by cutting back on some expenses, especially their contributions to their retirement accounts. They were sure the decrease in money would be more than offset by the boost in zest.

Carlos would negotiate a four-day-a-week salary at the Prisoner's Rights Foundation. Adding his Changing Patterns salary to that meant he was getting a raise. Between the two Suarez's, the family income was now about the same as the Talbots', and was about 130% of what it had been.

David and Ruth decided to refinance their house for a start-up loan to Changing Patterns. The Small Business Administration also fast-tracked a loan, probably because the application came from two women, one with a Spanish name.

The BSW gave them space in their building in exchange for employing some of the residents. “They didn't realize we would have done that anyway,” Vivian said. “So I didn't mention it. They're happy, we're happy.”

The VP of Design and Production and the VP of Marketing and Sales spent a weekend assembling fabrics. Natural fabrics only, they decided immediately.

“It's true they wrinkle faster, but then they're wrinkled and you don't have to worry about whether they're going to wrinkle,” Vivian said.

“Kind of like us.”

With the cottons, linens, tencels, and wools they assembled—solids, prints, tapestries, even some African Kente cloth for old times' sake—they'd put together a few samples with elastic waists, hidden crotch-patches, pleats, raised waistlines, gores over the abdomen, strategically placed darts, a bit of forgiving spandex. Ruth had appointments with buyers from two major department stores. Two loans, two possible buyers, free rent. Changing Patterns was about to be off and running.

After choosing the business structure and clothing structure, the four met to discuss the as-yet-unearned money they'd be giving away. They unanimously decided to focus on women, though not just middle-aged women. They'd only give to projects they could visit in a day or less. “No overnight expenses for our puny budget,” Carlos said. “That way, there's more to give.”

“And this way we can all visit if we don't have to worry about hotels and plane fares,” added Ruth.

Then they turned their attention to the mechanics of soliciting and evaluating grant proposals. Carlos knew a lot about this and managed to explain it without infuriating his friends. He spoke for about fifteen minutes, answered the occasional question, made more eye contact with everyone, didn't speak much Spanish. Even he recognized how much progress he'd made since the team-building exercise at work.

“So, are we done? Can we have lunch?” Vivian looked at her watch and stretched her arms above her head, then got up and bent over from the waist. She started to gather mugs and glasses, and the men started to help her, but Ruth stayed where she was.

“Not exactly. Don't we need to do our exploration?”

“Oh, that stuff is so complicated,” David said. Maybe we can skip it this time. We're all okay about what happened, aren't we? It went well, didn't it?”

Ruth sat still. “Not complicated. Simple. What you liked, what pissed you off. Who wants to go first?”

 

RUTH AND JEREMY had never discussed their separate-and-unequal meetings with Mark Smith, but his demeanor towards her was changed. Still no sense of humor, but neither was there any sarcasm. And just a smidgen of something that was either respect or arms-distance. Or maybe it was just that he knew he was stuck with her now.

She, in return, neither crowed nor made him eat crow, didn't play any trump cards when they disagreed about something. Equilibrium.

Shortly after the start of the New Year, Ruth took the elevator up to his office to deliver her news, dressed for the occasion in the silk jeans Vivian had made for her and her spiky, come-get-me heels. She was surprised she wasn't nervous and wanted to look over her shoulder for the missing second-guessing. As if reading a familiar bedtime story to a child to lull her to trust and let go, she thought through the events of the last few months.

About Face had been more successful than she'd dared hope. Good sales, great word-of-mouth—the kind of “this is the latest thing” attention that no amount of money can buy. It was as if they'd invented middle age. Or liberated all the middle-aged women who were imprisoned and ready to be sprung into being cool.

Ruth had been on a couple of talk shows, as had Jeremy. She'd given countless demonstrations, and given products away at well-publicized events to worthy charities. She'd even been on panels with psychologists to discuss the effects of aging on women. Most people at Mimosa were happy for her, though a few were too jealous for enthusiasm, but all were grateful for the profits and publicity she brought to the company.

The elevator dinged. Ruth heard it as a trumpet fanfare, announcing the soprano entering the stage to the wild applause of the audience. And part of the audience was the women of The Brain Trust who had, in fact, applauded her decision to start the business and leave Mimosa.

“So unlike you,” they'd said.

“So bold.”

“Go for it.”

“Don't forget the free samples for us little people.”

“Well, I guess we're not as little as we used to be. So we need you to do this.”

“Congratulations.”

Feeling every syllable of their encouragement, she told a tired and battle-weary Jeremy she was leaving. His surprise was hardly distinguishable from delight. Whenever he started to break into a smile, he'd widen his mouth to make his expression appear to be one of amazement instead of joy. Or fake a yawn. Ruth gave him credit for at least pretending.

He moved from the desk to the couch and invited her to sit on the preferred seat facing the window. He made some tea and asked her the kinds of questions a person would ask if they cared about you, like why she was leaving, what she'd be doing and where she'd be going. Since she wasn't telling anyone about Changing Patterns just yet, she was vague, mentioning that she had a few possibilities but would take some time off to reflect.

“That's a good idea,” he said, patting her arm.

He told her about the time he'd left his first job after college and sensed he was at a huge fork in the road. Now that he looked back on it, he saw how many different ways there were to have a satisfying life, but at the time he'd thought there was only one “right answer.” He'd always tried to impart that lesson to his boys but suspected his opinion of what they really should do came through without his intending it to. Quick smile.

It was the first time he'd ever spoken of his personal life. She knew she'd made his day and didn't even mind his pleasure or his transformation.

About Face's success would serve Changing Patterns very well, she was sure, creating a huge market for products for middle-aged women. In addition to the trendiness of maturity, her near-celebrity status would help with loans and publicity. Her name was on everyone's middle-aged lips and now she'd just move it down to their hips. She didn't feel triumphant, as she'd expected to, nor even vengeful. She just felt whole, like all the pieces of her disparate self were finding each other, shaking hands, and working together.

She and Jeremy briefly discussed who would succeed her. She liked to think he'd need to account for the way he'd allowed her to “slip through his fingers.” One of the ways he'd try to redeem himself, she imagined, would be to try to attract a superstar from his previous company. She suspected Pat would hope for Ruth's job as soon as she heard about her resignation, even though she was hugely under-qualified. Thank goodness she wouldn't have to deal with Pat's disappointment and incomprehension at being passed over.

As Ruth left Jeremy's office, she found herself wishing she'd done this a lot sooner. The interchange was one of her favorite mental images, one she returned to from time to time as if looking at a photo in her hallway.

Oh well, she thought, and then realized that from the second she'd gotten up that morning and donned her inappropriate outfit until that very moment, it was her first “Oh well.” She hummed her way down in the elevator, through the rest of her day and the next two weeks. On her last day at Mimosa, she wanted to burn her color-coded organizer, but settled for throwing it in the wastebasket.