Household Gods (89 page)
Authors: Judith Tarr
With Kimberley and Justin out of the house, the place felt empty and much too quiet. Nicole tackled it with vacuum cleaner and duster, scrub brush and plain old elbow grease. She hadn't given it that good a going-over since well before she woke up in Carnuntum. By the time the place was spotless and all the kids' toys picked up and put away, she was bone-tired. But it was a different kind of tired than she knew after a long day in the office.
It felt good to sit down to a solitary dinner: a small steak, pan-grilled with garlic and cracked black pepper, and a baked potatoâno potatoes in Carnuntum. She ate this miniature feast in front of the TV, with the VCR running her tape of
The First Wives' Club.
She howled all the way through it. She'd got even, too, by God. It felt wonderful.
The First Wives' Club.
She howled all the way through it. She'd got even, too, by God. It felt wonderful.
Frank and Dawn brought the kids back Sunday evening, putting an end to a long, lazy, surprisingly pleasant weekend. Nicole had idled through the Sunday paper with bagels and cream cheese and lox, watched another video, even spent a little time drowsing in the cool and familiar quiet of her bedroom. She was awake and refreshed and able to smile at the kids as they burst through the doorâminus their father and his girlfriend, who, true to form, had dropped them off and sped away for a night of, Nicole could presume, relentless debauchery. Or else they were going to buckle down to a little extra work.
Kimberley's mouth was going even before the door was fully open, pouring out her latest news: a trip to the zoo. “We saw lions and tigers and chimpanzees and elephants and flamingos and meerkatsâmeerkats are
so
funny, Mommyâand we ate hamburgers and French fries and pink lemonade.”
so
funny, Mommyâand we ate hamburgers and French fries and pink lemonade.”
“Elephant make big poop,” Justin added. He laughed. Bathroom humor and two-year-olds went together like ham and eggs.
“He sure did,” Kimberley agreed. She made a face. “It was disgusting.” Then, with a giggle, she stuck a finger in
front of her nose and trumpeted. So did Justin. They ran around being elephants, at impressive volume, till Nicole snagged them and pitched them into the bathtub. They splashed enough water to turn the rest of the bathroom into a swamp. That might have been fine for elephants; their mother was not amused.
front of her nose and trumpeted. So did Justin. They ran around being elephants, at impressive volume, till Nicole snagged them and pitched them into the bathtub. They splashed enough water to turn the rest of the bathroom into a swamp. That might have been fine for elephants; their mother was not amused.
When Monday morning came, the elephants were magically transformed into preschoolers. They were eager preschoolers, as eager to head to Woodcrest as they'd ever been to go to Josefina's house. That was good newsâvery good indeed. So was the trip to the office, short, sweet, and simple. She was definitely getting to like that part of her day.
This Monday's return was rather different than her last one. The outpouring of good wishes had stopped. And yet there were still greetings, smiles, welcoming waves: a friendliness and sense of being wanted that she couldn't remember from before. Was it new, or had she been too harried to notice it?
She took a warm feeling into her office with her. It helped as she tackled the mountain of work she'd neglected in favor of Sheldon Rosenthal's analysis. More had come in while she was doing that, and some was urgent. The fact she hadn't heard from Sheldon Rosenthal didn't concern her too deeply. Word would come down from Mount Olympus, or it wouldn't. There was no point in worrying about it.
By the time she came up for air, it was Thursday. She had a vague memory of the week, including at least one food fight between Kimberley and Justinâthe kitchen curtains would never be quite the sameâand a birthday lunch for one of the other women associates.
By Thursday morning, she was beginning to think she'd reach the bottom of the pile some time in the not too indefinite future. She was so pleased to realize that, she didn't even snarl when the telephone rang. Cyndi's voice said, “Mr. Rosenthal's on the line, Ms. Gunther-Perrin.”
“Put him through,” Nicole saidâstrictly pro forma, of course. One did not, no matter how wickedly tempted, put the founding partner on hold.
“Good morning, Ms. Gunther-Perrin,” Rosenthal said in his smooth, polished tones. “Could you come up, please, to discuss the analysis you prepared for me?”
Could you come up,
from the big boss, meant,
How
close
to yesterday can you get your fanny up here?
“Of course, Mr. Rosenthal,” Nicole said with what she hoped was suitably bright willingnessâand no apprehension. “I'll be right there.”
from the big boss, meant,
How
close
to yesterday can you get your fanny up here?
“Of course, Mr. Rosenthal,” Nicole said with what she hoped was suitably bright willingnessâand no apprehension. “I'll be right there.”
The seventh floor was as hushed and august a place as ever. It had, now she had a basis of comparison, a certain Roman feelâbut she doubted very much that the decorators would have been pleased to be informed of real Roman taste in decor, including the nauseating color combinations and the gaudy, and X-rated, statuary.
She was keeping her spirits up rather well, she thought. Not stressing out. Not letting herself imagine horrors, or flash back too strongly to the last time she'd answered a summons from on high. She'd come up with such lofty hopes, and gone down like a soul into Hades, all the way down the helix of time to a tavern in Carnuntum.
Lucinda was sitting as always in the outer office, door dragon par excellence. She nodded as Nicole entered. “Go right in,” she said. Was that cordiality? It couldn't be. It was justâa touch more than her usual civility. Maybe it was Nicole's nice gray suit. Power dressing had its uses. “He's expecting you.”
The office hadn't changed at allâbut it had only been three weeks of this world's time since she'd seen it. Rosenthal stood up to greet her. She couldn't read his expression. “Coffee?” he asked, just as he had when he'd dropped the bomb on her.
“Yes, thanks,” she said, and let him pour her a cup. There was a subtle protocol in that, and she was as well aware of it as he was.
It was excellent coffee. She sipped at it for a moment, admiring the view from his window, before she sat down across from that battleship of a desk.
She couldn't tell what, if anything, he was thinking. Her
gray suit, her cream silk shell, and her understated professional makeup wouldn't offend his eyes, she didn't think. Maybe she was a little more confident than she'd been, or a little less worn down by the world in general. She was definitely happier, now that she had a basis of comparison.
Historical perspective,
she thought,
is an amazingly underrated thing.
gray suit, her cream silk shell, and her understated professional makeup wouldn't offend his eyes, she didn't think. Maybe she was a little more confident than she'd been, or a little less worn down by the world in general. She was definitely happier, now that she had a basis of comparison.
Historical perspective,
she thought,
is an amazingly underrated thing.
Sheldon Rosenthal studied her for a moment, a scrutiny she endured with what she hoped was suitable equanimity, and tapped his forefinger on the analysis. “You think a challenge to developing this parcel, should one occur, would be likely to succeed.”
Nicole's heart thudded, but she calmed it down. She nodded. “Yes, I do. Anyone who takes a look at that environmental impact report will find plenty of ammunition. I've outlined a couple of possible strategies, with citations.”
“Yes, you were most thorough.” Rosenthal tapped the top page again. “Most thorough,” he repeated. Nicole wondered if he meant it for a compliment. He coughed, then said, “I notice you credit Mr. Ogarkov with assisting you here.”
“That's right,” Nicole said.
And what do you intend to make of that, Mr. Founding Partner?
And what do you intend to make of that, Mr. Founding Partner?
“And why did you seek his assistance?” Rosenthal asked. “Did you not consider that, since I gave the assignment to you, I might have wanted it to come from you and you alone?”
“I did consider that, yes.” Nicole spoke with great care. “But I also thought you would want the analysis to be as good as it could be, no matter how it got that way. Mr. Ogarkov writes better than I do”
âyou drove that home with a sledgehammer
â“and so I asked him to polish it before I gave it to you. He was kind enough to oblige.”
âyou drove that home with a sledgehammer
â“and so I asked him to polish it before I gave it to you. He was kind enough to oblige.”
“I see.” Sheldon Rosenthal coughed again. Nicole couldn't help remembering what a repeated cough had meant once, in Carnuntum. But this was lawyerly pose, not pestilence. “He made a point of telling me that polishing, as you put it, was all he did: that the legal analysis is entirely yours.”
“That's true,” Nicole said, cautious still. Of course Rosenthal
had checked in with Gary before he summoned her. It was good of Gary not to try to take more credit than he deserved. But then, he didn't need to hog credit now. He'd already made partner. Whereas Nicoleâ
had checked in with Gary before he summoned her. It was good of Gary not to try to take more credit than he deserved. But then, he didn't need to hog credit now. He'd already made partner. Whereas Nicoleâ
I've got a job,
she reminded herself firmly.
It could be worse. I know how much worse it could be.
She could hang on here till she got some resumes in the mail. If she found something better, she'd take it. If she didn't, she'd keep hanging on. That was all she could do. All she needed to do, really. As long as she had food, shelter, and means to pay the bills, that would be enough.
she reminded herself firmly.
It could be worse. I know how much worse it could be.
She could hang on here till she got some resumes in the mail. If she found something better, she'd take it. If she didn't, she'd keep hanging on. That was all she could do. All she needed to do, really. As long as she had food, shelter, and means to pay the bills, that would be enough.
“It is, I think, an excellent analysis,” Rosenthal said.
“Thank you,” Nicole said. He'd praised her work before. It hadn't meant anything then; it needn't mean anything now. Nevertheless, she couldn't stop her heart from speeding up again.
Just drop the bomb and get it over with.
Just drop the bomb and get it over with.
He coughed once more. In another world and time, she'd have been waiting for him to break out in a rash and collapse. Instead, he plucked at the neat tuft of hair on his chin. Was he nervous? Of course not. He was playing a game of some sort, and she, it appeared, was the spectator. Or, perhaps, the target?
“Not long ago,” he remarked, “Mr. Sandoval informed me that he was resigning to accept a position with a firm in Sacramento. He has, I believe, ambitions of working closely with the State Legislature.” One of his eyebrows twitched microscopically, as if to say he found such ambitions unsavory.
Nicole had been prepared for a number of things, but this particular change of subject took her by surprise. She didn't know Sandoval past the occasional greeting in the hall, but she could say honestly enough, “I hope he does very well.”
“I have no doubt that he will. He is able and personable and, as I say, ambitious. That, however, is not why I mention the matter to you.” Rosenthal got up, refilled his coffee cup, and Nicole's as well, without waiting for her to nod. More power games. More odd resonances. He sat down, sipped, and resumed: “I mention it because, with Mr. Sandoval's
departure, we are left with a vacancy in our partnership structure. Would you by any chance be interested in filling that vacancy?”
departure, we are left with a vacancy in our partnership structure. Would you by any chance be interested in filling that vacancy?”
Nicole sat in what felt, just then, like a perfect vacuum. He'd said words. The words meant something. What they meant â¦
She was sitting, she realized, and staring blankly at the founding partner's face. It had blurred into an abstract, a pale oblong of features, two dark dots for eyes, and a grayish smudge of beard. Slowly, though perhaps not as slowly in real time as in the eons inside her head, she found the rags of her professional demeanor and put them on. The first thing that came to her, she didn't act on. A shriek of
Yee-haaaa
! was hardly appropriate in the founding partner's office.
Yee-haaaa
! was hardly appropriate in the founding partner's office.
The second response, the one she selected, came out rather well, she thought, and rather calmly, too: “Thank you, Mr. Rosenthal. I would like that very much.”
Was that the wintry ghost of a smile on that austere face? She let herself suppose it was. “Well, splendid,” Rosenthal said. “I know I must have disappointed you in our last, formal meeting. After this truly outstanding piece of work you've done here, I'm doubly pleased to make this offer.”
She might be half blind with joy, but she could read between those lines. He must have taken more flak than he'd expected when he named Gary and not her. He'd given her the analysis as a test of sorts. If she'd done it badlyâmaybe even if she hadn't thought to ask Gary to help with the prose styleâhe would have had the ammunition he needed to prove he'd been right. If she did well, as she'd done, he had justification for promoting her. How long had he known Sandoval would be leaving? Had he by any chance encouraged Sandoval to leave just then?
She couldn't ask, and she wasn't about to try. If she hadn't lived in Carnuntum while her body spent six days in a coma, what would have happened? If he'd just dumped the analysis on her in the state of mind she'd been in after she lost the partnership, she'd probably have told him to put it where the sun didn't shine. Or she'd have given him a half-assed, halfhearted
job, the work of an obviously disgruntled employee.
job, the work of an obviously disgruntled employee.
For all she knew, that was exactly what he'd expected of her. If so, he wasn't showing it, and he wasn't likely to. If she'd surprised him, he'd never admit it. Nor would he ever confess to disappointment that she'd proved him wrong and her supportersâthe whole amazing number of themâright.
Thank you, Liber,
she thought.
Thank you, Libera. But for you, I'd be out on the street right now.
Thank you, Liber,
she thought.
Thank you, Libera. But for you, I'd be out on the street right now.
Rosenthal was waiting for her to say something. She couldn't let him know exactly what she was thinking, but she came as close as she dared: “Sometimes things need to work out at their own speed.”
Thanks again to the god and goddess whose answers to her prayers had taught her so much, and shown her how to conduct herself in two worlds, she'd said the right thing. “A very mature attitude, Ms. Gunther-Perrin,” Rosenthal said, nodding with more vigorous approval than she'd ever had from him. “Commendably mature. The proper attitude for a team player. Yes, I think you will be valuable to the firm in your new role.”
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