Ross knew it was a lie. He grimaced.
“It’s time to greet our new employees,” Justine said smoothly.
“I’ll be down in a minute. I have to call Woo.”
“Why? You already told him he has the job. You wouldn’t have haggled so hard if you hadn’t,” Justine called over her shoulder.
“Touché, Mother,” Ross said under his breath.
A moment later he was talking to his best friend. “Woo, it’s in the bag. Show up at eight tomorrow, and you’re on the payroll. You’ll be making the same salary as me. Eighteen months, Woo, and we can leave and start up our own business, just the way we planned.” He listened to the rapid-fire questions on the other end of the wire. “It was no problem. Of course you’ll have a contract. I’ll draw it up myself. Guaranteed salary. A raise every six months. Christmas bonus.”
He listened again. “I’ll drive up and get you late this afternoon. What’s your mother making for dinner?” he asked wistfully. “No kidding? And those little white potatoes and skinny carrots? . . . I’ll be there. Strawberry rhubarb pie? . . . Three of them? Jesus. . . . Of course you’re staying with me. We discussed all of this, Woo. We’re a team. . . . Okay, I’ll see you around six. Maybe sooner if my stomach starts to growl.”
God, he felt good. Ross looked at his watch. Shit, he was almost fifteen minutes late. His mother was going to hiss like a snake. He laughed. Now he finally had his answer as to why he’d agreed to come here to work. It was for Woo. His way of paying back the big guy and his family for all they’d done for him over the past years. Woo had confided to him, “Who’s going to hire someone that looks like a big, shaggy bear with big ears, and has hands so big you can’t see his pencil when he’s holding it?” Indeed, on one of his depressed days, Woo was as homely as a mud fence. He’d known Woo so well, he knew in his gut that if the big guy was rejected more than once, he’d pack it in and go to work at the lumber mill where his father and three brothers worked. Which is what happened six months after Woo passed the bar.
Five minutes later Ross let himself into the meeting room by the rear door. He quietly took a seat in the back of the room and listened to his mother tell the eighteen people in the room what she expected from them.
“The reporter who has the best feature story for the month will receive a bonus. At the end of the year, at the Christmas party, the reporter with the most feature stories will receive another bonus. An exclusive scoop will receive a substantial bonus. Pictures will be paid for with a different bonus system. You all have the potential to make a large sum of money if you desire. I want this new format I’ve designed to outsell Confidential . Each of you will develop your own style, gather your own sources, and keep accurate expense accounts. If we have to pay for an exclusive, money is no object as long as the story sells. Now, do any of you have any questions?”
Ross listened with one ear, his thoughts on a girl named Lena, and on Woo. His eyebrows shot upward when he heard his mother say, “I’m not against opening a small West Coast office if need be.”
He saw the blue-checkered dress with the white collar. He sat bolt upright, craning his neck for a better look. She was sitting next to the large man who’d whisked her from the deli. A reporter, or was she going to work in the office? Perhaps both, if she was saving money to return to school. The bonus system his mother was outlining sounded good, and to a girl trying to save money, it probably seemed the answer to all her worries.
Ross watched her, his eyes intense, willing her to turn and look at him. This must be some kind of divine providence. Seeing her twice in one day had to mean something. He thought about Jory and the divorce. He switched his thoughts to Woo and his mother. If he closed his eyes, he could feel the plump woman’s thank-you hug. He felt good all over.
“My son, Ross, who you’ll meet in a moment, will head our legal department with Peter Woojalesky,” Justine said quietly. “Both men will be in charge of payroll and the bonus plans I’ve outlined for you. All your stories and articles will be checked by both attorneys for accuracy and libel.” Justine motioned for Ross to come forward.
Ross straightened his tie and buttoned his jacket before he skirted the folding chairs set up in small aisles. He heard a gasp from the girl in the blue-checkered dress. At least he thought it was a gasp. Surprise? Happiness? Dismay? He felt self-conscious, and resented his mother’s arm around his shoulder. This kind of intimacy was reserved for Woo’s mother. He shrugged off her arm as he stepped forward to shake hands with the new employees.
“Peter Davis,” the tall man next to the blue-checkered dress said. “I’m a photographer.” His handshake was hard and firm. Ross exerted pressure and thought he saw approval in the photographer’s eyes. Davis. Lena Davis, she’d said. No ring on her finger. Brother and sister? Thank you, God.
She was smiling again, amusement shining in her eyes. She held out her hand. “Lena Davis. My friends call me Lena. Yes, this is my big brother.” She was grinning now, enjoying the relief she saw on Ross’s face.
“Thank God,” he said in a confidential voice. “For a minute there I thought he might be your husband. Or something. Have dinner with me tomorrow?”
Lena smiled. “I’d love to.”
“Ross, is there a problem here?” Justine demanded, stepping over.
“No. I just recognized an old friend and was renewing our friendship.” He moved on, shaking hands, saying a word here, a word there, until he met everyone in the room.
“I guess that takes care of everything,” Justine announced. “We’re going to be working in the basement, as I told you, for the time being. It will take us at the very least a full month to get organized. You can all use that time to make your own schedules, develop your sources. I want all of you to read your competition from cover to cover so you’ll know what you’re up against. I’ve purchased our competitor’s magazines, and they’re stacked up by the front door. Each of you take a copy. If there are no further questions, we can break up now.” A second later she was gone, the door slamming behind her.
“Is she as tough as she looks?” Peter Davis asked brashly.
“Tougher,” Ross said, his eyes on Lena. Her eyes were like bluebells, the summer sky, the old blue blanket he’d lugged to camp when he was six.
“I guess it’ll do until the New York Times knocks on my door.” Ross liked Peter Davis immediately. “So, what are your credentials?” Peter asked, grinning. “Seeing as how you appear to be interested in my sister.”
“I’m thirty-one,” Ross replied. “I own and drive my own car. I have a job. I take a shower once a day and know how to treat a young lady. I’m Ross Landers. I like to think I’m fair-minded and honest. I have good friends. Oh, yeah, I polish my own shoes once a week. I was born wealthy but I do not now nor have I ever had a silver spoon in my mouth. Anything else you want to know?”
“That should do it. I like the part about polishing your own shoes.” Peter laughed uproariously, to Lena’s embarrassment.
“So, can your sister have dinner with me tomorrow night?” Ross asked quietly.
“In by eleven.”
“Twelve.”
“Eleven-thirty.”
Ross grinned. “Agreed.”
Ross copied down the Davises’ address in his small address book.
But he was thinking about Jory when he made his way down to where he knew his mother was waiting for him. I’ll tell her now, he decided, about the divorce, and get it out of the way. Ross stopped in midstride. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and he sure as hell didn’t need parental approval for what he was doing. And so, when he did tell his mother, a few minutes later, his tone said that this was his decision, and she would have to live with it.
To his surprise, Justine merely said, “All right, Ross, whatever you want.”
A few minutes later, Ross swung the Buick onto the Pennsylvania Turnpike, his thoughts on everything but his driving. How the hell had he gotten to this point in time? Things were moving too fast, he t
hought irritably. He was thirty-one years old, a man. It was time to start thinking about a family and Sunday dinners, pets and kids, washing the car on Saturday afternoon. Woo’s mother, according to Woo, always made hot dogs and baked beans on Thursdays. Christ, when was the last time he’d had a hot dog?
For the life of him, he couldn’t remember half of what he’d done in the prosecutor’s office for the past five years. Tried cases, winning some and losing some. Five years was long enough to work at anything. If he’d stayed on, he knew someday he’d be the district attorney, just the way Jake Ryan had been, but he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be married to his career, he wanted to be married to a flesh and blood woman who shared his life, who cared if he worked late, who cared if he was overworked and got sick.
Jake Ryan, Jory’s father, was married to his office. Once over a drink at Mortimer’s, Ryan had looked at him and said, “You look familiar.” Of course, he’d had three double shots of Irish whiskey in him at the time. He’d kept staring at him, and then he’d said, “I know you work in the office, but I know you from somewhere else, don’t I?” At best, a feeble joke.
“Yeah,” Ross had replied, “I’m married to Marjory.”
Jake hadn’t said another word. But from that day on, he’d gotten every single shit detail there was to be had. He literally worked around the clock, and lost more cases than he won. Twice he was called into his superior’s office to defend himself and his caseload. He’d been put on probation, and it didn’t matter if his name was Landers or John Doe. He’d worked his ass off on the Farber case, and would have won it and sent Farber to prison for life if a surprise witness hadn’t shown up at the eleventh hour to give Farber an alibi. His gut told him it was a manufactured witness, that he’d been set up somehow. He’d written out his resignation the day he was summoned to Ryan’s office for a three o’clock appointment. At noon, on his way to lunch, Jake Ryan suffered a massive coronary, and died five hours later. He’d torn up his resignation and stuck it out for eighteen more months. He’d probably still be there, but his mother’s offer to head up the legal department at TIF and the chance to finally work with Woo won out.
There was every possibility he was making a mistake by going to work for his mother, but he wouldn’t know that unless he tried. At night, when he hadn’t been able to sleep, he’d thought about what he was contemplating, and always came to the same conclusion: his mother, and it didn’t matter if he liked her or not, was headed for trouble with what she was planning. He would be able to divert some of that trouble. If and when the things started to run smoothly, he would turn it over to the other attorneys and go into business with Woo.
“And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is the story of Ross Landers. Amen,” he said fervently.
Ross rolled down the window. He liked this stretch of the turnpike, with fields and the grazing cows. Farm and milk country. He wondered how he’d do as a farmer. He laughed, a genuine sound of mirth. Jesus, when was the last time he’d erupted in laughter? So long ago he couldn’t remember. He sniffed appreciatively as the scent of clover and buckwheat wafted through the open car windows. He probably would make a good farmer. Providing he could commandeer exactly the right amount of rainfall, exactly the right process for his crops, the right grass for the cows, so they gave off rich creamy milk.
On the other hand, he mused, I like all my creature comforts, my house, my car, good friends, fine restaurants, trips into New York, ball games. In short, the good life. He wondered what kind of life his soon to-be-ex-wife had growing up. He should know, but he didn’t. Jake Ryan, his subordinates had said, was hell on wheels. He ate, slept, and drank his job. Two weeks out of every month, when Ross worked night court, Ryan was still in his office when he left at midnight.
What really boggled Ross’s mind was that no one seemed to know he was married to Jake Ryan’s daughter. Or, if they knew, they didn’t care, which was fine with him. His private life wasn’t anyone’s business but his own.
He had to think about Jory, get it all clear in his mind before he met with Woo.
“What I should do,” Ross muttered, “is go away on some retreat in the woods run by monks and do nothing but think and try to come up with workable solutions to life’s problems, specifically my own.”
Ross was saved from further introspection when the large green sign came into view. He turned on his signal light and moved to the right lane. In half an hour he’d be at Woo’s house, where the family would meet him with hugs and smiles.
Twenty-seven minutes later the Buick coasted to a stop behind a blue Ford pickup truck. On the side of the single-car driveway, two other vehicles, both Fords, rested in the shade of a huge maple tree. The Woojaleskys were a Ford family. They were also staunch Democrats and union members.
The house was white clapboard and recently painted, with a huge front porch that held a swing and three wicker chairs. Stella and Stan, Woo’s parents, sat on the porch on summer evenings drinking lemonade. Neighbors dropped by on their way to or from their evening stroll. The lemonade pitcher was usually filled at least three times in the course of an evening.
The house was small, the first floor consisting of a living room, dining room where the family ate on Sunday, a huge kitchen, and an overlarge pantry. There was a back porch filled with crocks of bright red geraniums. Stella said she liked to look out her kitchen window and see flowers. Three of the bedrooms held two sets of bunk beds each. Dormitories, Woo called them, but they were chock full of life, laughter, tears, and love.
Ross knew there was going to be a hole in the front screen door before he saw it. Stella said, “Someone always puts their fingers through it as soon as Stan puts it up in the spring.” And there it was, right by the handle. Ross stuck his pinkie in the hole just as Woo said, “I saw that!”
“Yeah, and I bet you’re the one who punched it out, right?”
Woo grinned sheepishly. “It’s a game we play. This year I was the first because I hung the damn door. Childish, I admit, but I love it when Ma gets riled up. We waited dinner, you made good time,” Woo said, clapping his friend on the back. Ross advanced three steps with the friendly blow.
“You gotta stop doing that, Woo. One of these days you’re going to lift me right off the ground or else I’m going to deck you.”
Woo snorted. “You and what army?”
It was a wonderful meal, with easy conversation and lots of good-natured ribbing and laughter.
Ross loosened his belt. “It was a wonderful dinner, Mrs. W. I haven’t eaten this much since the last time I was here. You must be the best cook in Pennsylvania.”
“I am,” Stella said proudly. “Stan says so.”
Woo grinned. “She’s so modest.”
And beautiful, Ross thought. She was round like a basketball, possibly five feet tall from the tip of her topknot to the tip of her toes. Her face was round, her wide blue eyes just as round. Round circles of pink dotted her cheeks, and not from any cosmetic. She just had naturally pink cheeks. On one of his earlier visits, Ross had brashly demanded she prove it. She’d giggled like a schoolgirl and let him rub the rosy circles. She smiled continually and always sang lusty songs while she was at work in the kitchen. He’d never seen her in anything but a cotton dress with a wrap apron. Woo said she only got gussied up for church on Sundays and for weddings and funerals, when she wore a violet dress with a lace “dickey,” whatever the hell a lace dickey was.
“Ma, you and Pop sit on the porch, and Ross and I will clean up,” Woo said, pulling the chair from the table so his mother could join his father. “Bang on the screen door when you’re ready for the lemonade.”
“It’s not right to make our guest do the dishes,” Stella fretted.
“And why not? He ate more than I did,” Woo said in mock outrage.
Ross winked at Stella. “I’ll make sure he does a good job.” He really loved this part of dinner, the cleaning up, putting everything away, getting to look in the cupboards, shaking ou
t the tablecloth and then making the lemonade. If he could just belong here, he’d be the happiest man alive. He said so.
Woo reached for the salt and pepper shaker. “See these?” he said, holding them aloft. “They’re a matched set, they belong together. We’ve had them since I was a kid. Salt and pepper go together the way Ma and Pop go together. Sometimes you get lucky and it works out that way, and sometimes it goes the other way. I guess that’s a way of saying you deal with the hand you’re dealt. You’ve done all right, Ross, and things will get better, you’ll see.”
“The eternal optimist, the one who thinks billable hours are dirty words,” Ross said quietly.
“They are. Hey, I understand you have to bill for services rendered, but that isn’t why I busted my ass to get through law school. I went so I could help people like my family and all these neighbors. They don’t want to hear I have to bill so many hours every week or my ass is on the sidewalk. Oh, no, that’s not for me.”
“So you’re working in the lumber mill and letting all that fine education you busted your ass for go down the tubes.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass, Ross. I haven’t given up my profession. I handle the legal affairs of the lumber mill. I’m doing two jobs, and by doing this, my old man doesn’t have to work so hard. He’s getting old, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I noticed,” Ross said quietly.
Ross stared at his old roommate. He was six-four, two inches taller than Ross, and weighed in at two-seventy. He had, in Ross’s opinion, the most endearing, homely face God ever created. He’d only read about eyes that sparkled and twinkled and infectious laughter until he met Woo. Peter Woojalesky took everything life had to offer in stride, his huge, graceful bulk at odds with that same life. His arms were like tree limbs, his hands twice the size of his own, but gentler. A huge, lovable grizzly bear of a man, with ears too big for his head. He wiggled them now, to Ross’s amusement.
“You’re trying to figure me out again, aren’t you?”
Serendipity Page 4
