The Job (23 page)

Public relations has never been one of the most high-paying businesses. And though Lizzie was a high-flyer at her firm, her take-home pay was around $800 a week. Not bad when we were both working-but having been transformed into a single-income family, we didn’t get very far on her $3,200 per month. The $2,200 tab on our apartment left us just a thousand bucks a month to feed, clothe, and heat ourselves. Eating out became a thing of the past, cabs a total luxury. I divested myself of such superfluous items as my cellular phone (it went back to the company from which I leased it). A movie a week became our night out (unless, of course, Lizzie was entertaining clients on the corporate account). And every Monday morning she left me $100 spending money for the week.

To her infinite credit, she never once complained about our diminished financial circumstances. Whereas I, on the other hand, felt increasingly guilty about my dependency.

One Saturday, around five weeks into The Program, Lizzie and I were taking a stroll through SoHo and paused to stare at a women’s sleek black suit in the window of Agnes B. “Overpriced Parisian chic,” Lizzie said.

“It would look great on you,” I said.

“Sure it would,” she said with a laugh.

“Let’s buy it now,” I suddenly said.

“I was just joking….”

“Come on,” I said, gently pushing her toward the door.

“Let’s get it.”

I don’t need it. I don’t want it. And anyway, we can’t afford it.”

I’ve got some room on my MasterCard.”

“Don’t be crazy. It’s probably a thousand bucks….”

“I can buy you this,” I said angrily.

“Why are you doing this?”

“You want the suit. I want-” “Ned, please … Let’s just keep walking.”

“Why won’t you let me … ?”

“You know why. Now stop.” Her tone was testy.

My shoulders slumped.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

She linked her arm with mine.

“Let’s get a coffee somewhere.”

We ended up at the News Cafe, two blocks south on West Broadway. Nonstop CNN on the video monitors. The usual gaggle of bridge-and-tunnel folk pretending they’re downtown trendies for the weekend. I bet every one of you bastards has a job. I bet you can buy your squeeze whatever the hell you want.

“Tell you what,” I said to Lizzie, “as soon as I’m back at work, that suit’s yours.”

She sighed loudly and shook her head.

“You can’t stop, can you?”

“Stop what?”

“Stop obsessing about the fact that I’m supporting you.”

“I just don’t want to be dependent…”

“On me?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Just great.”

“What have I said wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing…”

“I’m turning into a burden and it’s worrying me….”

“You are definitely not a burden.”

“We’re broke-because of me.”

“It’s only for a little while. You’ll find something. But what you have to do, meanwhile, is just accept things as they are. I now pay the bills. I’m happy to pay the bills. Just like I’m happy to clear some of your debts.”

“No way will I let you…”

“Well, I already have.”

I looked at her with alarm.

“You did what?”

“I paid off some of your Diners Club bill yesterday.”

“How much, exactly?”

She met my angry gaze.

“Five thousand dollars.”

“Five pranrP Are vnn nuts?”

She reached for my hand, but I pulled it away.

“Please …,” she said.

“How dare you … ?”

“I was just trying to help. I mean, I know how much the watch and the vacation cost you. And I had a little extra cash in my money market account, so…”

“My debts are my problem, not yours.”

“If you’re in trouble, then it is my problem. And I’m happy to help you….”

“I don’t want your fucking help,” I blurted out.

There was a long silence. Lizzie looked at me with total despair. In a near whisper, she finally said:

“Did you hear what you just said?”

“I didn’t mean…”

She stared out the window of the cafe, biting hard on her lip.

“Forget it, Ned,” she finally said.

“Just forget it.”

That Monday morning a letter arrived from American Express informing me that my “membership entitlements” were suspended until I settled the outstanding debt of $9,100-which, now being two months overdue, was also subject to a 2.5 percent interest fee per month. In the same mail was a kiss-off note from the New York Health and Racquet Club, ending my membership due to my ongoing failure to fork over the $795 annual fee. I tossed this letter immediately in my “circular file.” My right hand was still in bad shape. I had trouble gripping a pen, let alone a racquet. Considering my other problems, being expelled from the New York Health and Racquet Club was something I could live with.

I knew that the American Express letter was just the first in a series of threatening dispatches soon to land on my doormat from MasterCard, Visa, and Barneys. I also knew that-thanks to the usurious rates charged by the plastic money companies-my 17 grand worth of credit-card debt would increase by $425 per month. If I wasn’t in a position to clear that debt over the next twelve months… presto-it would magically swell to nearly $23,000, growing like cancer at nearly $600 a month.

I had to find some way of getting out of this hole. Fast.

So I finally took Nancy Auerbach’s advice and spent much of week six of The Program sending resumes to around a dozen sales and marketing companies outside the tri state area. I restricted myself to corporations within an hour’s flight time of New York, thinking that maybe I could commute home on the weekends … or, better yet, that I could become the New York-based representative of some out-of-town firm. Within days, a dozen letters arrived care of Gerard Flynn Associates, informing me that none of the companies were in the market for sales personnel at the moment, but they would keep my resume on file, blah, blah, blah.

“I’m getting very worried,” I told Nancy Auerbach at the beginning of week seven.

“I can appreciate that,” she said.

“I’m totally broke. I need something ASAP.”

“Like I said at the outset of the program, we’re not miracle workers. We simply function in a consulting capacity. And you know the major obstacle that is impeding you. As I’ve told you over and over again, we can’t wave a magic wand and expunge that from your record. It’s always going to be there. You’ll simply have to work with the problem.”

“In other words, accept that I’m unemployable.”

“You’re saying that, Ned. Not me.”

That night, while Lizzie was out with a client and I was about to squander a portion of my week’s money on an $ 11 pepperoni pizza ordered in from Domino’s, Nancy called.

“Your luck may be changing,” she said.

“Late this afternoon, I got a phone call from a guy I know named Dave Judelson. Used to be a big-deal headhunter in Atlanta. Around two years ago, he got lured to Charlotte, North Carolina, to start up a major headhunting firm there. Anyway, one of the companies he represents, Info Systems USA, is in the market for a senior guy to take charge of media sales for their company. Now I know this would mean going to the other side of the desk-but, hell, wouldn’t you rather be a buyer for a while?”

“Not in Charlotte, North Carolina,” I said.

“Last week, you were sending resumes out to Boston, Philly, Baltimore, Washington…”

“Yeah-but there’s a big difference between Boston and Charlotte.”

“Hans on: Charlotte’s a real boom town One of the fastest growing banking centers in the country, and also a new favorite among midsize software and information technology companies looking for a cost-effective base without crippling overheads. Now, okay, I haven’t been there, but from what my spies tell me, the QOL is really first rate….”

“QOL?”

“Quality of Life. They’ve got their own NFL and NBA teams, a couple of theaters, a symphony orchestra, good restaurants …”

“You know what I said about re-lo. I mean, if I had landed something in Boston or Philly… but move to some third-tier city like Charlotte? No way.”

“Just hear me out. I faxed Judelson your resume, and gave you this really big buildup, talking about how you’re a born operator, a straight shooter, Mr. One-hundred-ten percent… and someone who had an out-of-character experience with his former German employer. Well, ten minutes ago he called back, having spoken to the Info System people, and they want to fly you down the day after tomorrow for an interview. So why don’t you talk it over with your wife….”

“Like I told you before, my wife’s career is here in New York.”

She gave me a skeptical laugh.

“That’s your excuse and you’re sticking to it, right?”

“Leaving New York just isn’t in my game plan.”

“Ned, as I’ve told you before, you are in no position to let pride cloud your judgment. And, who knows? Your wife might really like the idea of leaving the Manhattan circus for a while. There are plenty of public relations opportunities in Charlotte.

“Ask her, for Christ’s sake. And, while you’re at it, tell her that the base salary is fifty-five thousand, with a generous profit participation plan, a company car, major medical, four months free housing until you find a place, and-here’s the real icing on the cake-an incentive fee of twenty grand for the lucky guy who lands the job.”

Twenty grand. I would be debt free.

“Are there any strings attached to that incentive fee?” I asked.

“So you are interested,” Nancy Auerbach said with a laugh.

“I’m just asking.”

“They want a minimum twenty-four-month commitment. But should they decide to part company with you before then, you keep it all.”

“Sounds pretty reasonable. Too bad it’s two years in North Carolina.”

“Welcome to Life… where you never get what you want. But, given your circumstances, I don’t think you can afford to be too contemptuous of Charlotte. Go on, ask Lizzie. Tonight. And call me first thing in the morning.”

Twenty grand. Twenty grand. Twenty grand. Two months ago-when Kreplin was dangling that three-hundred-grand package in front of me-twenty grand seemed like nothing. Now it was crucial. Nancy was right: I was in no position to be arrogant about a job possibility in Dixie. All right, it was like being temporarily demoted to the second division. But it was an opportunity. A chance to clear my financial slate, jump-start my stalled career, and hopefully eradicate that misdemeanor from my record. And Lizzie-who had always hinted that she wasn’t tied to New York-would probably jump at the chance of moving to somewhere like Charlotte, where we could set up house in a rural retreat (within easy driving time of the city). And raise a couple of kids. And invite the neighbors over for weekend barbecues. And join the local country club. And learn to play golf. And start to wear cardigans. And switch our political allegiance to the Republican Party. And tell everybody how leaving the big bad city for little ol’ Charlotte was the best thing that ever happened to us … while, all the time, I would secretly rue the fact that I was now exiled from the professional major leagues, and permanently trapped in a cozy cul-de-sac of my own making.

Fuck Charlotte. It would kill me. Dead. I powered up my computer and punched out a fast e-mail to greet Nancy on her arrival at the office in the morning.

Nancy:

After much serious consideration, I simply cannot see myself relocating to Charlotte. Please extend my thanks to David Judelson and Info Systems USA for their interest in me.

Let’s talk this morning and see where we go from here.

Best, Ned Short and sweet. No doubt Nancy would think I was squandering one of the few career possibilities that were open to me right now. But were Lizzie to find out about this job prospect, she’d insist I go for it. And if I went for it, I’d probably get it. And if I got it, she’d have us packed and moved to Charlotte in a heartbeat. And then…

I moved the cursor to the “Send Now” e-mail button and clicked it. The pizza arrived. I washed it down with a few glasses of cheap Australian Shiraz. Then, bottle in hand, I moved on to the bedroom. Sprawling across our bed, I poured myself another large glass of wine, drank it down, then turned on the little Sony television and stared mindlessly at some prime-time junk while upending the rest of the bottle into my empty glass.

The next thing I knew the phone was ringing. I opened one eye. Morning light was flooding the room through a crack in the curtains. My head felt the after-effects of all that low-grade wine. The empty bottle was now on the bedside table, next to our radio alarm clock, which read 9:03 A.M. I could hear Lizzie answering the phone in our kitchen. I made it to my feet, fell into the bathroom, emptied my bladder, and plunged my head into a sink of cold water. Then I wandered into the living room, blinking with surprise when I saw that a duvet and a pillow now adorned our foldout guest cot. Lizzie finished her conversation and joined me in the living room. She was already dressed for work. From the despondent look on her face I could tell that I was in serious trouble.

“Didn’t hear you come in last night,” I said.

She didn’t reply. She just gave me a long, hard stare.

“Did we have a visitor?” I said, nodding toward the cot.

“No, I slept there,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because I found you asleep with an empty bottle of wine in your arms. And I don’t like sharing my bed with a drunk.”

“It was just a little wine.”

“You mean, like it was just a little job offer in Charlotte?”

I sat down on the cot. I ran my hand through my hair. I tried to stay calm.

“How did you know…,” I finally said.

“That was your out placement counselor, Nancy Auerbach, on the phone. As soon as I answered, she said: “Oh, Mrs. Allen, I’m really sorry to hear that you and Ned decided not to explore the Charlotte option.” When I politely asked her to explain, she told me. Everything.”

“I was going to discuss this with you last night….”

“But you drank yourself into unconsciousness instead.”

“Uh, yeah.”

She stared at the floor and shook her head.

“Why are you lying to me?” she whispered.