Trade Secrets

by Kathleen Knowles

  “Yikes. This place is pricey.”

  “Yeah.” Sheila agreed. “It kind of trades on its famous reputation, but the food’s pretty good.” She didn’t want to start any sort of money discussion that could lead to an argument.

  “I said I was okay with you paying for everything.” Tony put the menu down. “I’m not going to argue about it.”

  Sheila heard a huge unspoken “but” at the end of that sentence.

  “Good. Let’s not do that. Look at that.” She gestured to the vista of enormous green Santa Lucia mountains sloping toward the Pacific Ocean. It looked like one of those over-the-top landscape paintings from the nineteenth century, but it was quite real.

  “I see it. It’s amazing. Everything about Big Sur is great, and I’m glad to get to see it with you.” Tony grinned and tilted her head.

  That was much better. Sheila wanted Tony to key in on the positive and stay out of her head and in the moment. As much as possible anyhow.

  Sheila took her hand across the table. “I love being here with you too.”

  Tony mirrored her smile, and they ate their lunch in peace and took a leisurely drive farther down the coast. Tony didn’t make any more comments about money.

  They went to the spa and had massages and rested before dinner.

  By the time they sat down, Tony appeared to be completely relaxed and at peace, just how Sheila wanted her to be, and she looked good. If all went well, they would be sealing their agreement by making love a bit later in the evening.

  “You do know I love you, don’t you?” Sheila said to Tony over oysters on the half shell.

  Tony’s grin was tender. “Yep. I believe you do. And I love you too.”

  “And so…” Sheila dragged her index finger over the top of Tony’s hand. “I was wondering if you were open to discussing moving in together.”

  “Now?” Tony looked alarmed. “I don’t want to think about that right now.”

  Sheila struggled to keep her equilibrium. “I hadn’t meant it to be an ambush, and I don’t mean we have to decide tonight.” Sheila had actually hoped that would be the case, but she was willing to forgo making a decision if the discussion could just start.

  Sheila added, “You don’t have to make a decision, sweetheart. I hoped we could talk about it though.”

  “It feels like you want to know right now.”

  “I haven’t said that, have I?” Sheila asked, a little sharply. “I want to talk. Just talk.”

  She waited while Tony took a bite of poached salmon and could see the wheels turning in her brain.

  “I suppose that it’s a legitimate question,” Tony said finally. “Can you let me think about it, and I promise I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow.”

  And with that statement, the possibility of sex seemed to fly far away.

  “Sure. Think about it. We can talk tomorrow. How’s your fish?”

  “It’s good. How’s your risotto?”

  “Very good. I think I may want a fancy dessert tonight. You?”

  “I could eat dessert.”

  They’d kept it light for the rest of the evening, shared a delicious, and in Tony’s opinion, monstrously expensive peach and marionberry tart, and walked around the grounds admiring the starry skies. Sheila’s question had thrown Tony for a loop, but she studiously avoided showing her shock. Sheila hadn’t intended to make Tony uneasy, nor was it a complete surprise, but Tony was upset anyhow.

  Back in their room in the king-size bed with its, no doubt, one-thousand-thread-count sheets and dozens of pillows, she wondered if Sheila would think she was deflecting if she initiated sex. What the hell? She wanted some reassurance, and Sheila willingly provided it.

  But all it did was make Tony feel guilty. She was with a wonderful, gorgeous, sensitive, and smart woman, and she couldn’t commit to her. Why? What the fuck was that about?

  Sheila fell asleep right afterward, and Tony stayed awake trying to analyze her feelings. She felt “less than.” She was smart too, but she wasn’t pretty enough and didn’t make enough money to be with Sheila. Yet here she was. Sheila was, at times, remarkably nonreactive to problematic issues. That in itself was irritating, and she always refused to get angry, which bugged Tony. It was stupid, but it was true.

  She hadn’t said any of this to Sheila. She’d sort of talked about her issues with their different financial levels, but Sheila always tried to talk her out of her concerns. This trip, for instance. Tony truly wanted to enjoy it and not think about expenses, as Sheila pleaded with her to do, but it was tough after a lifetime of watching her expenses all the time. True, she wasn’t spending money, Sheila was, but it made Tony feel weird. The situation at work slithered back into her mind and didn’t help her fall asleep in spite of a couple of orgasms and the happy hormones flooding her synapses.

  At work, she was neither happy nor secure, and she had no idea what to do about it.

  She needed to articulate all this to Sheila, and she had to agree to participate with Sheila in a discussion of their moving in together.

  When they woke up the next morning, Tony was ready to make a stab at talking about herself. She waited until they had each drunk one cup of coffee and started on the Ventana’s lovely complimentary breakfast. It helped that they could be alone on their deck, not in a restaurant surrounded by other guests. If things went south and they raised their voices, they wouldn’t have to be objects of curiosity.

  Sheila was patient, as always. She chatted amiably about their room, details about their trip, anything and everything, but she asked no questions and gave no sign of concern. She was uncanny. Tony almost wanted to do something to crack that façade, if that was what it was. Tony was sure it was real and not manufactured, but that made her resent Sheila’s constant undisturbed calm even more.

  “I don’t want to disappoint you,” she said suddenly.

  “Disappoint me? How?” Sheila asked as she broke her pumpkin-spice muffin into manageable pieces.

  “I don’t think I’m ready to move in with you,” Tony said, roiling in self-imposed shame.

  “Fair enough, but why not?”

  Here we go. I have to be honest. “We’re not at the same place, financially.” Tony knew that sounded lame and would probably never change.

  “We haven’t been from the beginning and aren’t likely to be in the future. Though, who knows? If GHS goes public and you can cash in those stock options…” Sheila grinned.

  “You know what I mean,” Tony said, irritated.

  “I do know, but what I don’t understand why it bothers you so much.”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve always tried to live within my means.”

  “Which is adult and prudent, but so? With me, your means, as you call them, are increased.”

  “But it’s not fifty-fifty.”

  “Why should it have to be? Look, say, for instance, you moved into the condo with me. For real. We can work out a fair split based on our salaries. It wouldn’t be half and half, because that wouldn’t be fair. We can negotiate, you know. We already do negotiate, love.” Sheila reached for Tony’s hand again.

  “I know, but—”

  Tony couldn’t quite control her tongue and blurted, “I still don’t understand how or why you’re in love with me.”

  “I thought we worked through that a while ago, Tone.” Sheila’s voice was soft and pleading.

  “Maybe you did, but I didn’t.”

  Sheila sat back and blew out a puff of air, the first sign of frustration Tony had ever seen.

  “Okay. What would help you get there?”

  “More time,” Tony said, knowing that was only partly true. She couldn’t change Sheila’s financial status or her own. She didn’t know what had her spooked about commitment other than it was so…final. What if they broke up the following year, and then she couldn’t move back to San Francisco? Finances again.

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  “I don’t know.” Tony was miserable. “I’m sorry
I’m such a twit.”

  “Don’t be,” Sheila said, firmly. “We’ll work it out. Take your time.”

  “Okay. I’ll think about it some more.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It didn’t help them to resolve their conundrum that GHS was in such a mess. Sheila was sure Tony could reach some resolution for herself if she were in a normal work environment and had the psychic space. Tony wasn’t a gal who could compartmentalize her feelings. Sheila had no idea how long the company’s frenzied growth and its accompanying turmoil could go on. She was grateful again how much her study of Buddhism had given her the tools to withstand life’s vicissitudes. Tony didn’t have that foundation, and Sheila reminded herself that she had be compassionate and, above all, patient with Tony as she negotiated her path and worked through her emotions.

  They were quiet on the drive home. Tony stared at the scenery, and Sheila concentrated on navigating the curves. She hated the distance between them but told herself it was temporary. Everything is temporary.

  She drove Tony to her apartment in the City, agreeing that they would meet later in the week. Tony’s kiss good-bye was tender enough and gave Sheila hope. She did a short meditation before she started home to Menlo Park.

  * * *

  Tony couldn’t think of a single person to talk to about her conundrum with Sheila except her dad. He would scarcely be an expert on lesbian love problems. He seemed fairly clueless when it came to heterosexual marriage, considering how much he put up with from her mom. Still, he was the one person who knew her best and the one person with her best interests in mind. She asked him to meet her for dinner.

  She chose a Chinese place on Geary Boulevard she remembered going to as a child, believing it would put them both more at ease.

  “It’s on me, Dad,” Tony said as they poured out their cups of green tea.

  “Don’t be silly, honey. I’m your father.”

  “And that is why I asked you out. I need to talk to you about some stuff.”

  “Oh, are you in trouble? Do you need money?”

  “Nope. Nothing like that. First, I’m sorry I haven’t been around much.” Tony had been telling him for months that she had to work overtime, knowing he wouldn’t question her. But it was easier to stay with Sheila than come back to the City. Too easy.

  He waved that apology away. “What’s bugging you, sweetheart? If it’s not work.”

  “It’s Sheila or, rather, it’s not her. It’s me. She wants me to live with her. But I’m afraid.”

  “What are you afraid of? Does she treat you right?”

  “Oh, better than right, Dad. She’s amazing.”

  “Is it the money?”

  “Well, yeah. But not how you think. She’s very generous.”

  “Oh, then what’s the problem? You love her? She loves you?”

  “Yes. But I don’t want to be ‘less than’ in our relationship. I want to be equal. Not like—” Tony stopped.

  “Not like me and your mother?” Joe smiled at her sadly.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Tony said, her face hot.

  “Don’t worry. I know what you mean,” he said. Their dinners arrived, and they paused to fill their plates with moo goo gai pan and salted cod. Tony had ordered her father’s favorites. The interruption allowed Tony to collect her thoughts better.

  “I know she loves me, and the money doesn’t matter to her. It matters to me, though. Mom always said I have to be able to take care of myself.”

  “Sure, sure, she said that. I think so too. But you can, and you do.”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  The waiter came over and brought them a new pot of tea.

  “Your mother and I…” Joe said. “You only saw parts. She was tough, but she helped make me tougher. You can’t expect things to always be fifty-fifty or go around keeping score. It all works out in the end.”

  Tony thought about that advice for a moment.

  “When you find the person who complements you, you need to accept that everything isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t have to be.”

  “So, I should move in with Sheila?”

  “In practical terms, it’s good, no? She has a fancy condo, and it’s close to work?”

  “I know all the practical reasons, Dad. It’s the other things I worry about.”

  “What other things?” He looked a bit annoyed, surprisingly.

  “You know, what happens over time. Is she going to change?”

  “You want to know the future? No way, girl. You have to stick with the present. Yes. You will both change. Life changes, and you got to change too. Don’t be afraid.”

  “She says things like that sometimes. She talks about Buddhist thought.”

  “Right. That can be helpful. Tony, honey, you don’t want to miss out on love because you think things aren’t perfect.” Her dad reached across the table and put his hand on hers.

  “I guess so.”

  “I know so. Do you want another pancake?”

  “Thanks, Dad, but you take it.”

  Later, Tony looked around her apartment. It was really depressing. Four walls to contain her personal possessions and a bed to sleep in. And a place to have her mail delivered. Whoopee. She thought about Sheila’s comfortable and stylish condominium but mostly about being with Sheila in it. She was nuts. She had to say yes. Perfectionism? Eh, maybe that wasn’t working out well either in the lab or in her personal life. Maybe it was time to let go of all of it, and possibly she could be a happier person. There was a thought.

  * * *

  “I have something to talk to you about. I think I can get off work at a normal time,” Tony said.

  “Well, thank goodness. We can’t have any important conversations when you’re too tired to even think. Should I cook?”

  “Eat out, I think. But nothing fancy.”

  “Fine with me.” Tony sounded good—not stressed or upset. This was encouraging. They’d had a few phone calls but no time together after their Big Sur trip, and Sheila had to struggle a bit to not call, not try to persuade. To not do anything. It seemed her discretion would be rewarded.

  They went to their favorite Mexican restaurant and ordered burritos—the kind with all the bells and whistles.

  Tony said, “I talked to my dad, and he sort of slapped me around metaphorically.”

  “Your dad?” Sheila had an image of Joe, based on Tony’s descriptions and the few occasions she’d spent any time around him, that he was sort of milquetoasty. Not aggressive at all.

  “Yep. Old Joe talked some sense into me. I’m a perfectionist—”

  “No. My gosh. I had no idea.” Sheila couldn’t resist teasing Tony.

  “Oh, shut up. You know what I’m talking about. Like you made me see that I had to let go of some of the crap at work, Joe sort of let me know my perfectionism doesn’t work when it comes to us. I’m being a twit about it because I have issues with money, and trust too, I suppose.”

  Sheila stayed quiet, but her hope was rising. This admission was huge.

  Tony pushed the burrito innards around on her plate. She liked to unwrap burritos and then eat their guts with a fork.

  “I can’t change the fact that you have way more money than me. And you like to spend it. Why not? You can.”

  “I like to spend it on you, sweetheart,” Sheila said, gently.

  “Yeah, and that’s got to be okay with me. Not guilt-inducing. Listen…”

  Tony reached for both of Sheila’s hands and squeezed them between her own. “I want to commit to you. I want to live with you. But we have to work out an agreement about how we—you and I—spend money.”

  “Done. Or, rather, we’ll work on it. I promise.”

  “So, there you have it,” Tony said with considerable satisfaction.

  Sheila was taken aback that, after all Tony’s handwringing, she was acting like it was a simple decision, though it obviously wasn’t. She was relieved and grateful.

  Sheila leaned across the tab
le, and they kissed. Next project—help Tony be more easy-going at work. That might be a touch harder to do than even getting her to agree to move in together.

  * * *

  After all the tense discussion around the validation testing, Tony wasn’t looking forward to their group ramping up the lab to do actual patient testing, which Sanjay had informed her would begin soon. The Leonardos were in place around the Bay Area Graff stores. The press releases were sent out, and Erica had done another round of interviews in which, Tony noted, she made extravagant claims about the number of tests the Leonardo could do and, even worse, how much better they were than human lab analysts—like Tony. That galled her.

  She, as much as anyone, appreciated how much human error could affect the outcome of a lab test. That was a given, but clinical specialists used ways, like quality-control checks, to prevent human errors. They weren’t helpful, of course, when the instruments themselves were unreliable. The Leonardos were far more unreliable than even an incompetent clinical lab specialist. Tony mentally shook her head and went about making sure she and her lab equipment and reagents were all ready to go for patient testing.

  Sanjay told her they had received a letter from the Medicare people who had regulatory oversight over clinical labs, saying they had to submit to proficiency testing, as did all clinical labs. Tony was fascinated to see how all this would play out, given how he and Huey had handled the validation test.

  She was merely “interested,” she sternly told herself. It wasn’t her place to complain or question. Erica had made that clear. And she’d do what she was told.

  Proficiency testing was a simple, though rigorous exercise that used plasma samples spiked with analytes for the various clinical assays, and GHS would test them. They didn’t know the “right” answers. Only the College of American Pathologists, who sent them samples, knew the actual numbers. It would be something else, Tony realized, if they couldn’t pass their proficiency testing. Then they would be inspected and might not get their license renewed. That would solve the whole problem.