Maternity Leave

by Trish Felice Cohen

  “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.

  Chapter Eighteen

  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.”

  “How much money is all of that?” I asked.

  �
�Twenty grand or so,” the lawyer said. “It probably didn’t seem like much when you got it, but you earned a lot on maternity leave.”

  My eyes widened in shock. It was then that I noticed Buddy’s tailor-made three-piece suit. I knew I could tack another five grand in attorney fees. Twenty-five thousand bucks. Fuck. Still, I knew it was a sweet deal for felony fraud.

  I said goodbye to Hymie and Buddy, then Dad and I went to lunch.

  “I’ll pick up lunch if you loan me twenty-five grand,” I said to Dad. It was a bad joke, especially since it was a given that he would pick up the twenty-five thousand dollar tab. After all, I’m Daddy’s little JAP, and I’m broke and facing jail.

  “You think this is funny?” Dad replied, clenching his jaw just enough to realize that I pissed him off in addition to disappointing him.

  “No. I’m really sorry.” And I was. I was sorry and felt guilty about both the $25,000 hit my dad was going to take for me, and the knowledge that I wouldn’t change a single thing now that I knew I’d be getting off scot-free. Dad had worked hard for his money and it would be a great learning experience for me to go to jail and come out twenty-five thousand dollars in debt. That would be the sort of learning experience that would leave me with some regrets.

  I looked at the menu, hating myself a little for the first time in my life. I had never been ashamed of my self-centered narcissism, choosing instead to focus on what a strong and independent woman I was. I took pride in outsmarting my office and the system to chase the dream. Looking back, I could see I was only bold enough to go for it because I had a larger safety net than anyone deserved.

  As I had every time I’d doubted myself over the past three weeks, I thought, Maybe this is why Alyssa doesn’t like me. I’m almost thirty years old, I should tell my Dad “Thanks, but no thanks” and deal with the consequences of my actions. Then again, there was no way I was turning down twenty-five thousand dollars and a get-out-of-jail-free card. There was also no way my dad would let me go to jail, so the offer would just sound insincere.

  “Cheer up,” Dad said. “This is good news for you.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. Then said it again.

  Then I started crying. At first it was just a lump in my throat and teary eyes. Then, I couldn’t stop. I even felt guilty for crying because I knew it would make my Dad take pity on me and I didn’t want him to feel sorry for me on top of having to pay a twenty-five thousand dumbass-kid tax. I wanted to tell him that I’d handle the situation on my own, and I actually wanted to handle it on my own, but really, I was screwed without him. Over the past few days, I had hoped that a rich cycling sponsor who admired the balls it took for me to risk everything and go for it would bail me out of the whole situation and pay whatever was owed. It should have been a no-brainer that family is more reliable than cycling, but I put so much more into cycling than family, it shocked me. I felt my shirt get wet and realized I was crying and snotting all over myself.

  Dad moved his chair over and hugged me. We sat there like that for a while, ignoring our food.

  * * *

  Unfortunately, Hymie Goldstein didn’t have any pull with the Florida Bar or the office of Johnson Smith. I didn’t contest my disbarment in order to avoid a public proceeding regarding my “crime of moral turpitude.” Likewise, I let the Johnson Smith lawyer gig go without a fight.

  With no job prospects on the horizon that didn’t involve wearing a name tag, I rented out my adorable house in South Tampa and Sonny and I moved back in with my parents. My fall from grace was complete. I lived there for three days before my luck ran out and I ran into my new neighbor, David Greene. He drove by as I was walking Sonny and stopped to talk.

  “Hi, David. Sorry about the whole fake-baby-slash-fraudulently-sneaking-away-from-my-job thing.”

  “No problem. Guess what?” David said without giving me a chance to guess. “I settled that Heathcliff case of yours for eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  “Wasn’t that worth five million?” I asked, trying to make David take the smug look off his face.

  “That was what the insurance company paid, but our recoverable damages were much less. It took some finesse to settle. Our client and the insured didn’t even want to be in the same room as each other, but I got everyone to come to dinner and we settled the case without the court, mediators or arbitrators. Everyone involved was just in awe that I brokered a settlement.”

  Holy shit, I thought. I faked a pregnancy, in part to avoid him, and all he wanted to talk about was my former case list. It hardly seemed possible but David Greene was even more self-centered than me. “Steak and wine probably works better than all that stuff anyway,” I said.

  “Wine nothing. I told the waiter, if it ain’t on fire, we don’t want it.”

  This didn’t make much sense, but I assumed David, who didn’t drink other than wine for Shabbat, thought that alcohol was only real if you could set it on fire.

  “What were you drinking?” I asked, knowing it was either water or Diet Coke.

  “Water. It was a work function and I was driving.”

  “Good for you, David.”

  “You know,” David said, “if you want I can pull some strings and get you a job. You’re no longer an attorney, but I could use another paralegal. You could work with Sarah.”

  I pictured myself doing the same crappy work, but for less money in a cubicle next to Sarah Smith instead of in my office, and laughed out loud for the first time since Hymie fake-farted a week ago.

  “I’m good,” I said, “thanks.”

  “Suit yourself,” David said and drove off.

  * * *

  I resumed training with Danny.

  “So,” he said, “how’s living with the parents?”

  “Jason, too,” I said. “Actually, it’s delightful. I get free room and board, food, utilities, and cable with the good channels. My parents work all day and Jason usually goes to school. My only job is emptying the dishwasher and setting the table. I can’t believe I ever moved out.”

  “You’ve been there a week, let me know how you feel in a month.”

  “I made it eighteen years straight before, and that’s when there were rules. I think I’m staying until they kick me out.”

  “That’s going to hurt your social life.”

  “What social life? I don’t think I’m ever going to have a date again. I have no idea where to meet lesbians. I went to a gay bar and there were about ninety gay men and only four women, all of them post-menopausal and partnered.”

  “So, you’re fully committed to this lesbian thing?”

  “Yup. No doubt in my mind. Sorry.”

  “What do I care?” Danny said. “Either way, you won’t be fucking me. Just choose what makes you happy.”

  “When have I ever done anything that doesn’t make me happy?” I asked rhetorically.

  “Good point,” said Danny. “I think you should at least try guys again. I don’t think you ever dated our best representatives.”

  “Like Alyssa was such a great representative of women,” I pointed out.

  “Actually,” Danny said, “she’s contrary, has a low libido, and gives you mixed signals. I think she’s par for the course.”

  “Whatever. I’d like to meet a lesbian I’m attracted to other than Alyssa.”

  “Have you talked to her at all?” Danny asked.

  “No, just email. Every time I send her an email I check my inbox for a response at thirty second intervals until she replies. Often days later. Then I get as giddy as a schoolgirl, email her back and start the process over again. I really hate myself when I do that.”

  “You should. That’s pathetic,” Danny said. “Do your parents know you’re a lesbian?”

  I shook my head and said, “No, I’m not trying to kill them.”

  “Why?” he said. “What would they do if they knew?”

  “Nothing. They’d tell me they still love me and that they just want me to be happy, but they’d be disa
ppointed. They want the best for me and to them, that’s normalcy. Besides, they’re still reeling from my disbarment, unemployment, near incarceration and the fact that I’m approaching thirty and living in their house. I feel like I should pop out a grandkid just to make them happy. I think I’ll hold off telling them I’m a lesbian.”

  “I think they’d handle it just fine,” Danny said.

  “I know. I’ll tell them I’m gay when I want to introduce them to a girlfriend,” I said. “I’m not going to mention it in the abstract. Actually, at this point, I don’t think they’d care if I dated a woman so long as she’s rich. After the twenty-five grand in legal fees my Dad just shelled out, he’d hand me off to a donkey if it would get me off his payroll.”

  “Speaking of that, do you plan on getting a job any time soon?”

  “I’m thinking about being a teacher.”

  Danny started laughing. “Why the hell would you want to teach?”

  “I don’t want to teach. I want insurance and my summers off to race. I think teaching is my only option.”

  “What would you teach?” Danny asked.

  “Hopefully, high school,” I said. “Those younger kids are like petri dishes full of germs and I can’t train if I’m sick all the time.”

  “What about teaching college?”

  “Ha ha,” I responded in monotone. “I doubt many universities want a disbarred lawyer without a PhD.”

  “True. So if you have your summer off, do you have any leads for teams next season?”

  “Quite a few actually,” I said, “but the most I’ll get is an annual salary of fifteen thousand with mediocre insurance, plus a bike, kit, and travel. I need a job so I can get my own place.”

  “I thought you wanted to stay with your parents forever,” Danny reminded me.

  “I do, but it’s embarrassing, for them and for me. Plus, you’re right, if I ever date anyone, living with the parents will be a problem. I need to get out.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Will the school system hire you?”