by Lisa Lutz
ISABEL: Where do you stand on the whole debate between natural deodorants and the aluminum-containing products that actually stop your sweat? Personally, I think it just makes you sweat in other places. I wonder what would happen if you put that stuff all over your body.
EDWARD: This conversation should have ended after I asked you to take Charlie sweater shopping. You should have said, “Of course,” and we’d have ended the call.
ISABEL: Can’t you find someone more suited for this?
EDWARD: His mother is dead. You’re his closest friend.
ISABEL: I think now you’re his closest friend.
EDWARD: I run a company worth fifty million dollars and I have over seventy employees. A good manager knows how to delegate. Will you please handle this for me?
ISABEL: Consider it done.
EDWARD: I’ll consider it done when it’s done. Anything else we need to discuss?
ISABEL: Well, your secretary is a bit overzealous with her perfume. Do you want me to have a chat with her about it?
EDWARD: Good-bye, Isabel.
The moment I hung up the phone with Slayter, it rang again. The caller ID said Henry Stone. I debated whether to pick up, because most conversations with my ex-boyfriend don’t really go the way I’d like them to.12 But he generally calls for a reason and then calls again if the call is not returned, so I answered.
“Hello, Henry.”
“It’s nice to hear your voice.”
“Really? Many, many people disagree with you on that point.”
“Have you gotten a grip on your dictator complex?”13
“It’s much improved.”
“Excellent. And has it had a salubrious effect on your workplace environment?”
“Maybe. If that means that my employees are in a constant state of mutiny.”
“You don’t know what salubrious means, do you?”
“Nope. Henry, you never call without a reason.”
“I’d like to have lunch.”
“I do not enjoy eating lunch with you.”
“Why not?”
“In the past it was because you’d give me a dirty look if I ordered anything but salad. And now, you still give me a dirty look if I don’t order salad, and then you usually tell me about a new woman you’re seeing. So I take it things didn’t work out with Lola Leggert, and how could you expect they would with a name like that? And now you’re dating someone new. Let me save you the twenty dollars in food and fifteen in beer and say, mazel tov, I hope it works out with you and Blank Blank.”
“If lunch doesn’t work, let’s have drinks.”
“You don’t like drinking with me. I always have more than one.”
“I’ll make an exception.”
“Ah, so things are going well with Blank Blank.”
“Yes. Things are getting serious.”
“I wish you and Blank Blank the best.”
“She’s pregnant, Isabel.”
“Blank Blank is pregnant?”
“Her name is Annie Bloom.”
“Well, that’s better than Lola Leggert or Blank Blank.”
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes. I take it you’re the father.”
“Yes.”
“Wow. That was kind of fast.”14
“I know.”
“They have these things called condoms now.”
“It’s serious.”
It felt like that time I stole my brother’s LSAT prep book and he sat on my chest until I gave it back. Actually, it felt worse than that. I don’t go in for dignity all that often, but some occasions demand it. It’s not just for you but the other person.
“Congratulations,” I said, and I wanted to mean it, which is good enough. “We’ll have lunch soon.”
While I was truly happy for Henry,15 I’m always surprised how quickly men manage to move on. I’m sure you’ve met the three-month widower already on his third girlfriend. I had wrongly assumed this particular heartache of mine had formed a tough scab. Apparently not. I hung up the phone, stepped into the walk-in closet in the foyer, and had a good cry. This type of behavior I considered to be the height of dignity. Until, of course, D knocked on the door.
“You in there, Isabel?” D asked.
I wiped away the tears and opened the door.
“Yes. I was looking for this coat. I lost it a long time ago.”
“It’s very hard to look for coats in a dark closet.”
“You are a very wise man, D. Anyway, it’s not there.”
“There are other coats in other closets,” D said.
“Indeed,” I said, thinking we were both talking about the same thing.
Then he said, “There are some great summer sales going on now.”
• • •
I spent the next three hours entering the staff’s time sheets into a database and generating client bills; then I paid office bills in my usual slapdash fashion. Still unable to crack the computer accounting program, I hand-wrote the bills on the laser printer paper; jotted down a list with the check number, payee, and amount; added up the total; and then went online and made sure we were flush enough to cover the amount. As it turned out, for once, Spellman Investigations was in the black. I guess my mother had finally caught up on some collection calls, because we had more than enough money to cover all of our bills, payroll, and then some. I decided to count my blessings and call it a night. As I headed out, I heard my parents cooking dinner as they watched Jeopardy!.
ALEX TREBEK: He was a playwright and president of the Czech Republic.
DAD: Milan Kundera.
ALEX TREBEK: Category: Famous Georges. She was the author of Middlemarch.
DAD: Jane Austen.16
MOM: I think she has to have George in her name.
I leaned into the kitchen, said good-bye to the unit, and casually mentioned that I’d gotten all of the bills and payroll taken care of. My dad looked surprised and said, “Huh. Good job.”
“Have you reconciled the bank statements?” Mom asked.
“Not yet. I’ll get to that tomorrow.”17
It took ten minutes to find parking when I got home (David gets the one-car garage and Maggie the driveway). I traversed the narrow alley to the back of my brother’s house and entered my apartment through the door adjacent to the garage. I walked through the narrow hallway that ended in the four-by-four-foot kitchen with a hot plate and minifridge and opened the refrigerator to be met by wilted spinach,18 a jar of mustard, a stick of butter, and half a bag of Mallomars left over from my sister’s last visit. I checked the liquor cabinet, which is just a cabinet where I put booze, if I have any. There was a pricey bottle of bourbon that was a Christmas gift from Slayter. Rarely is booze left untouched, but when my brother told me what it was worth, I thought I might need to pawn it someday, if things got really bad.
I didn’t feel like walking to the corner shop and buying a bottle of wine and a bar of chocolate and having the clerk say, “That time of the month again?” so I circled the house and knocked on my brother’s front door.
David answered the door in what had become his uniform in the last month—sweats with holes and a ratty T-shirt. This was not the clothing of an overworked stay-at-home dad but a calculated Oscar Madison slovenly wardrobe choice. I will explain it all shortly.
“Isabel, what a pleasant surprise,” he said.
“It’s a ten-second commute. How much of a surprise could it be?” I said.
“Well, after last time,” he said. “Come in.”
I planted my feet firmly in the foyer, making sure to be no more than three steps from the door. “I’m in,” I said. “Care to offer me a drink?”
David went to his far more impressive bar and poured me a shot of some midlevel bourbon. “Ice?”
“Yes, please.”
He dropped two ice cubes into an old-fashioned glass and extended his arm. The distance between us was approximately ten feet. I stayed put and held out my hand. My brother brought the
glass to me.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Can’t be too safe.”
Maggie, who was also dressed like she was auditioning for a mid-western couch potato competition, brought me a bowl of Goldfish (the snack food) and kissed me on the cheek.
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“I want to kill myself,” Maggie said, referring to the thirty-pound dictator responsible for the tsunami of aggravation.
Sydney, my three-and-a-half-year-old niece, sat primly at her miniature dining set in the corner of the living room, wearing a pink crinoline dress, a tiara, and ballet slippers, sipping imaginary tea from an imaginary teacup.
She gave me a quick glance and said, “No Izzy!”
“Do not speak to Aunty like that,” Maggie snapped, “or I’ll give you a time-out.”
Sydney resumed sipping air.
“Relax, Princess Banana, I’m staying right here,” I said, planting my ass in the foyer.
“That’s good,” David said, “sitting on the floor. We should sit on the floor more often.”
“We could eat on the floor sometimes too,” Maggie suggested.
My brother then took a slug of beer and forced an unremarkable burp.
“Manners, Daddy.”
“No manners, Sydney. We don’t have those manners here,” David said.
“Motherfucker,” Maggie mumbled under her breath, but apparently Sydney heard her.
“Bad language!” Sydney said, parroting no one in this room.
Maggie turned to her husband mournfully and said, “What if she’s always like this?”
“We’ll send her to boarding school.”
“Isabel, would you please come all the way inside?”
“I’m not really comfortable with that.”
“I promise. No funny business.”
“Put it in writing,” I said.
Maggie drafted a document on a Post-it19 and delivered it to me in the doorway.
“Thank you,” I said as I relocated to the couch. Sadly, the document was binding only for the next twenty-four hours.
Maggie stretched out on an easy chair (the kind with a reclining lever) that she’d fought violently against as a newlywed and then became its primary occupant. My brother, dethroned, shot her a smug glance and sat next to me.
“Claire and Max are coming over tomorrow,” David said to Maggie.
“Good-bye, Izzy,” Sydney said.
She says that sometimes, thinking it will precipitate my departure. Sometimes it works.
“That’s rude,” Maggie said.
Then David muttered under his breath, “Remember, we don’t use the R word.”
“Don’t be rude,” Sydney said.
“Okay, it’s time for bed,” Maggie said. Instead of waiting for her daughter to get to her feet, she scooped her up en route and held her under her arm like a football as they trudged up the stairs.
“You found someone to play with her?” I asked.
“Max is my buddy. He’s a single dad. He’s kind of doing me a favor. Also he wants his daughter to be more assertive, so he figures eventually Sydney will annoy her enough that she’ll snap.”
David finished his beer and grabbed another from the refrigerator. He attempted to uncap it with his teeth.
“What are you doing?” I said. “Sydney’s not here to witness your bad behavior.”
“I’m a method actor.”
“I don’t think your method is working,” I said.
“It’s just like a cult,” David said. “Deprogramming takes time. Enough about my troubles. Let’s hear about yours. Has employee morale improved at all?”
“Can’t say that it has.”
“That, too, will take time.”
I suppose I have a little more explaining to do. Please allow me one final digression.20
* * *
1. And it would have had to be against my will.
2. Never admit defeat.
3. Rick Harkey, PI, was a retired cop whose reputation was smeared (by me!) a few years ago when I found a collection of his old cases that involved serious police misconduct and witness tampering. He managed to pawn off his PI practice on some slob before he took off to Florida.
4. Seriously, one escaped once. The first thing Grammy Spellman said when she heard was: “What do you think they’ll do with his coat? I bet it’s gorgeous.”
5. That’s not true. Fifty percent seem the same.
6. This is what I have to say about Marina people: Why don’t you just move to L.A.?
7. Working on marketing terms to bring in higher-end investigative work.
8. I moved my pawn, the one in front of the thing that moves sideways, two places, because it’s the only time you can move it two places.
9. Unlike moving companies.
10. I think it’s charming that some people pretend these are letters.
11. He eventually loses steam on the niceties.
12. For more information on H. Stone, see appendix or previous document.
13. This question is more loaded than it might seem.
14. We broke up six months ago. He dated Lola Leggert for at least a month, some other Blank Blank for another few weeks, and this Annie character for four months tops.
15. If you say it enough, eventually it becomes true. Right?
16. I never had a fighting chance with these two as parents.
17. Note to self: Learn how to reconcile bank statements.
18. I never eat the stuff; why do I buy it?
19. Toilet paper, Post-it, back of a T-shirt—all can contain binding contracts.
20. Er, there will likely be more digressions than this.
THE IDES OF MARCH1
MEMO
To All Spellman Employees:
Please take note that Isabel Spellman is now the primary owner of Spellman Investigations. That means that she is now your boss, no matter what anyone else might tell you.
Signed,
Management 2.0
There were about two weeks of relative calm as my parents were stunned into silence at the change in regime. I suppose we all expected to have some kind of succession plan and I made a few political promises, like making our filing system electronic.2 Once my parents adjusted to the initial shock and were willing to accept my new role in the company, a personal shift happened that I must admit I’m not proud of. After the dust settled and your typical workplace malaise set in, I realized that I had an opportunity here that I was squandering. As the president/vice president3/CEO or whatever, wasn’t it my job to shake things up a bit? Isn’t that what happens in giant corporations when there’s a massive personnel shift?
I’d never had power before. You know, like warehouse foreman, chain restaurant manager, camp counselor, gun owner, benevolent dictator kind of power. So, when I finally realized I had the right to call the shots, I will admit that it went to my head. I’ll also admit that after thirty-five years4 of being at the mercy of my parents’ shenanigans and power plays and manipulations, I wanted a bit of payback.
The imperative memos were my first order of business.
MEMO
To All Spellman Employees:
Tomorrow everyone must wear something in a shade of orange.
Signed,
Management 2.0
MEMO
To All Spellman Employees:
Isabel Spellman should be addressed as Madame President henceforth.
Signed,
Management 2.0
MEMO
To All Spellman Employees:
Isabel Spellman no longer wishes to be addressed as Madame President.5
Signed,
Management 2.0
MEMO
To All Spellman Employees:
Tomorrow is Black-Tie Tuesday. Dress appropriately.
Signed,
Management 2.0
MEMO
To All Spellman Employees:
Filing must be completed every morning be
fore any office work begins. The shifts are as follows.
Monday: Albert Spellman
Tuesday: Olivia Spellman
Wednesday: Demetrius Merriweather
Thursday: Isabel Spellman
Friday: Filing-Free Day!
Signed,
Management 2.0
If it’s not patently obvious, there was some recreational malevolence to my filing protocol. Aside from ignoring my campaign promise of making Spellman Investigations a paper cut–free office, I was reigniting a filing war we’d had since the beginning of time. Since Friday was designated a Filing-Free Day! my father was left the bulk of the filing work (an activity he loathes more than jogging or getting the flu shot, and which he has, in the past, pawned off on any human who gets within spitting distance of the filing cabinet). I knew my mother wouldn’t abide my father’s leaving the filing to her. And that my mother, with her undying devotion to Demetrius, wouldn’t insult him by leaving her day’s filing for him. Since I was directly involved in getting Demetrius out of prison, I knew Demetrius wouldn’t stiff me either. On Thursday morning, I’d arrive early, stash the stack of papers in my desk, and slowly slip them back into the filing pile on Friday afternoon. Perhaps not the wisest play for company morale, but I really do loathe filing and after years of being a grunt, I didn’t see why there shouldn’t be a slight shift in the power structure and some new benefits to being the boss.
Before anyone got wind of my filing scam, I stepped up my game and sent out what would ultimately be my last recreational memo.
MEMO
To All Spellman Employees:
As the company structure has changed, the Management has decided to reinterview all Spellman employees. Please schedule an interview with Vivien at your earliest convenience, but no later than one week from today.
