Julia's Child (9781101559741)

by Pinneo, Sarah

  “She wants to write about my life. Local girl goes from welfare mom to part owner of a fast-growing new children’s company. Like that. Isn’t it great?”

  Her face was lit with excitement. But I didn’t say anything right away. I hoped she’d think it over before she opened up to this journalist.

  “What, Julia? You don’t look happy for me.”

  “I’m just thinking about it, that’s all. The angle . . .” I didn’t know how to say it. I wasn’t sure if it was me, that I’d be comfortable with it.

  “The angle?” Marta put her hands on her hips.

  I took a deep breath. “I just hope they focus on your smarts, Marta. On you, as a businesswoman, and not a caricature of a welfare mom. Do you know what I mean? I hope the journalist is smart enough to make it . . . human.”

  Marta’s face creased in shock. Clearly, I had not made my point. She thought I was raining on her parade. “Never mind, Marta. You’ve met the journalist and I haven’t. I’m sure she’ll write really well about you. I shouldn’t have worried.”

  “Well, I never,” Marta spat, obviously upset. She stopped to swallow. “I never pegged you for the jealous sort.”

  “Jealous!” God, I dreaded media attention. And Marta knew that. “I am not jealous. I just want you to be portrayed as a whole person, you know? I . . .” I was at a loss. Somehow I had offended the only other person who cared as much about my dream as I did. At that moment I would have done anything to take it all back.

  “Hoolia, tell me something. Will this interview, even if it’s done by a baboon, have a chance at increasing the value of my ten percent and your ninety percent of the company?”

  I blinked. “I, uh, suppose any mention of the company in the newspaper is a very good thing.”

  “Then what the hell are you worried about?”

  I was speechless. The phone rang. Marta stared me down, making no move to answer it, so I grabbed it. “Julia’s Child.”

  “Hi, this is Pam from Shonen Brothers Food Packing.”

  “Yes! Hi, Pam. This is Julia.”

  “Julia, I know we had you scheduled to visit us tomorrow, but it would really be so much better if you could tour today. We’re getting a large shipment of organic kiwi tomorrow, and it’s going to be really crazy here with all the peeling.”

  “No problem, Pam. I’d be happy to come today. It will take me about an hour and a half to get there, though.”

  “Terrific! We’ll see you around two o’clock, then!” She hung up.

  I put the phone down and met Marta’s gaze once again. “I’m sorry, Marta. I don’t have the best instincts about media. I don’t trust it. But I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

  She crossed her arms. “We can’t keep this up, you know.”

  “Which part,” I whispered.

  “This schedule. My nights away from my son. Neighbors watching him. His teacher calling me, telling me his homework isn’t done. I haven’t had more than one night’s sleep in a row. And you—I’m worried you’re going to crash that car in Jersey, you’ve got so much on your mind. We can’t keep it up indefinitely.”

  “I know, Marta. Nobody expects you to keep it up forever. The trade show is next week. Then we regroup.”

  “We have to. Julia . . .” She hesitated. The look on her face was grim.

  “Yes?” I was afraid of what she’d say next.

  “Remember Lila? She makes the churros?”

  “Of course I remember Lila.”

  “She got picked up by Starbucks. Fifty locations in Queens and Manhattan.”

  “Wow! Good for Lila.” Starbucks—I’d never even considered it as an outlet. An awful lot of toddlers get dragged into coffee shops every day. Their mothers buy them bagels. There was really no reason at all why muffets wouldn’t be a great product too, between the low-fat coffee cake and the madeleines. I was just about to make this suggestion to Marta, when I noticed that her face still wore an expression like death. “Marta, what’s wrong?”

  “She wants me to work for her. Nine to five.”

  “Oh.” I swallowed hard. In my overtaxed and overextended recent history, I hadn’t given enough thought to Marta’s concerns. Too late. I now realized that the world must be full of people who would appreciate her superpowers. “Is it . . . a much better offer? Are there . . . benefits?” I meant things like dental insurance. But as I said it, it was clear to me that the real benefit of working elsewhere would be the security of having an employer who was not on the brink of failure.

  “No,” she sighed. “Lila isn’t much further along than we are. I told her it wouldn’t be right for me to leave Julia’s Child in the lurch right now.”

  I felt a swell of relief and gratitude. I opened my mouth to speak.

  “But I did say that if she hadn’t found anybody in a month, to check in with me again.”

  I closed my mouth again and only nodded. “Marta, I . . . I know,” I squeaked. “This is no way to live. And now I’ve got to go to freaking Jersey again. To try to get us off the night shift. This copacker could be the one.”

  She stared at me, unblinking. “We keep saying that, but then life gets harder instead of easier.”

  I picked up my handbag and dusted the crumbs off of my desk. I’d run out of words of encouragement. I should have realized before that Marta was near the breaking point. And now, with Julia’s Child on her résumé, she could certainly get a nice nine-to-five job in any number of less-dysfunctional workplaces. And I couldn’t even spit out the real reason that it made me so sad. But I’d miss you!

  “Chica,” she said in a low voice, “take the rest of that sandwich with you. And drive safe.”

  Chapter 14

  By 8:00 P.M. I had come to resemble the poem inscribed on the Statue of Liberty. I could have easily passed for one of the tired, poor, huddled masses. Though I’d been impressed by the small but tidy copacking plant I’d visited, the drive home from New Jersey was beset by horrible traffic. As I inched the car toward the George Washington Bridge, I tried to imagine making that commute several times a week. As I finally dragged myself toward my own golden door, I realized I had one more thing to do. I speed-dialed Marta.

  “Hola, chica,” she answered. I heard the din of Zia’s kitchen behind her.

  “Hi, Marta,” I said gingerly, still wary from the fight we’d had. “I’m just calling to see if the pumpkins got to you on time. I was still begging the distributor at three thirty.”

  “Sí.” Marta’s answer was curt. “The first batch is out of the oven already. Theresa is pureeing it now for the Autumn Harvest.

  “I’m so glad.”

  “But, Hoolia, today I did some checking. We can buy organic pumpkin in one-gallon cans for just about the same price as fresh pumpkins.”

  I bit my lip. It wasn’t me who was about to stay up until two tonight steaming the flesh and scooping it from the shell. But I was not about to put canned anything in my muffets. “We’ll take a look, Marta.” I was too cowardly even to say no.

  “Okay, chica. Ciao.” Just before the call was disconnected, I heard her holler at her cousin. “Stop blending! You’re stirring out the vitamins!”

  Miserable, I exited the elevator and, while pocketing my phone, finally arrived at the door to my apartment. From behind the door, I could hear a strange sound. It was a soft keening, almost a whimper.

  Concerned, I turned the knob and tiptoed into the darkened apartment. The shadowy living room was lit only by light reflected from the condo tower across the street. I searched for the sound. There in the darkness, I located two standing figures, their arms around one another.

  I gasped, and they came apart. Bonnie and Luke, a nightmare unfolding before my eyes.

  I held my breath, frozen like a scuba diver whose air hose had suddenly been cut. When I eventually remembered to inhale again, the rush of oxygen to my brain brought the picture into sharper focus. I began to notice details of the scene, and they altered my perception of what was g
oing on. Luke wore his overcoat. His briefcase stood beside him on the rug, where he must have set it down only moments before.

  Bonnie, on the other hand, was all dressed up. Instead of her usual skinny jeans, she wore a dress and heels. Tears were streaming down her face.

  “Hi, sweetie.” Luke’s quiet voice was reassuring. “You’re late.”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came out. My brain was still busy catching up from its emotional roller-coaster ride. Eventually, his words penetrated, and I remembered that it was Thursday. I had been scheduled to make a rare dinnertime appearance, so that Luke could take a turn staying out later.

  I put a hand over my mouth, still not trusting myself to speak.

  Bonnie spoke instead, and the words were little chips of ice. “I had a date. At a nice restaurant. For my birthday. And you don’t answer your phone.”

  “Oh! Bonnie, I’m so sorry!” I took a couple of steps toward her, hoping to hug her too. But she brushed past me, swept her jacket off a chair where it lay, and strode out of the apartment in her heels.

  The door closed with a thud.

  I raised my eyes slowly to meet Luke’s, feeling for all the world like a teenager who has just been busted for breaking curfew.

  He said, “I was out with—”

  “Ricky,” I said miserably. “I remember now. You were taking him out for dinner, to thank him for the legal help.”

  “Yes, and you were supposed to be here.”

  “I . . .” My reason sounded so lame now. “I was touring a copacking plant in New Jersey. It was supposed to be tomorrow, but they called to reschedule. I just wasn’t thinking . . .”

  I couldn’t finish the sentence. I wasn’t thinking about my family . About Luke or Bonnie or the children. My crusade to succeed had finally reached a point of total self-involvement. And now I would pay for the oversight.

  Luke took off his overcoat without looking at me. He draped it over the chair where Bonnie’s had just sat. Then he disappeared into the kitchen.

  Still not sure if I would be grounded for the crime of raising the family stress level to a record high, I held my position on the rug. From my pocket, the phone bleated with some sort of notification. With dread, I drew it out.

  The screen read “Eight missed calls.” Each of them, I noted, was from Bonnie. And all I could do about it now was feel guilty.

  Luke appeared a minute later, with a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. The corkscrew he carried in his teeth. He set everything down on the coffee table. Then he went over to the mantelpiece, where the remote control sat. Aiming it at the fireplace, he pressed a button. The flames lit with a whump. The previous owners had done the gas conversion, to our amusement. It seemed so phony.

  But now it filled the room with instant warmth, the orange flames licking the air.

  Luke replaced the remote and sat down on the couch. He busied himself with opening the wine. “Come on, then,” he said. “Sit.”

  I obeyed, taking the glass of wine he offered. Then Luke looked me in the eyes, for a long moment. His face was still. I had no idea what he was thinking. Eventually, I saw a familiar crinkle at the edge of his lips and then all at once he laughed. “Oh, Julia.” He grinned. “The look on your face when you walked in here.”

  I reddened. “I thought . . . I thought she . . .” I couldn’t even finish the sentence.

  “I know what you thought. But come on, don’t you think it’s even a little bit funny? Like a bad movie? Man embraces sobbing nanny just as wife returns?” He laughed so hard that he couldn’t take another sip of wine. Then he made a visible effort toward assuming a serious expression. “I’m so offended that you’d think that.” But his lip quivered in a way that hinted he might begin laughing again at any moment.

  The shame that had gripped me only moments before began to ease up. I smacked him playfully on the knee. “You’re so offended? Because I thought a nubile young woman wanted you?”

  Luke took a thoughtful sip of wine. Then he smiled again. “I see your point, but I could never stoop to such a cliché. If I’m ever to let you down, I promise to do it much more unconventionally. Say, with a troupe of circus contortionists or—”

  I put up a hand to stop him. “Really, Luke, I know lately I’ve cramped your style, and you have a right to be mad about it. You’re on duty at home every night. You’ve missed every card game with your college buddies.”

  Luke shook his head. “Julia, come on. Do you seriously think there’s this much tension here tonight because I’ve missed a few poker games?”

  I took a gulp of my wine. Somehow we were back to having a serious conversation.

  “No,” I said quietly. “And I know it’s all my fault.”

  Luke put his glass down on the coffee table. He stared at me for a minute. “I love you so much, Julia. And you’re a good person—you started your business for all the right reasons. But I don’t think you see how dangerous this has become.”

  So now, finally, we were going to have a conversation about the money. It was overdue. Even so, the blood rushed to my face. “You don’t think I know it? Of course I know it’s dangerous. Every morning when my alarm goes off, the first thought in my head is always ‘Dear God! I may be flushing’”—the number was so large that saying it out loud brought the taste of bile into my throat—“‘forty thousand of our dollars down the toilet.’ That’s why I’ve been killing myself every day and night at work. Our savings are on the line, and I feel terrible about it.”

  Luke stared into our faux fire for a minute. He swirled the wine around in his glass. Then he brought his gaze almost back to mine but didn’t look me quite in the eye. “No, Julia. That’s not the problem. It isn’t the money.”

  “What, then? Because I think the money is a pretty big goddamned problem!”

  “I think you’re stuck, Julia, between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, you’re terrified to fail. I understand that, because you’ve never failed at anything before. Everything you’ve ever done has been a raging success. Summa cum laude in college, good job on Wall Street, two healthy kids. So I’m sure you’re filled with horror at the idea that Julia’s Child could fail, and I’m sympathetic about that.”

  He looked me in the eye then, and I managed to keep my mouth shut, to let him finish.

  “On the other hand, I don’t think you will fail. In spite of the recession, Julia’s Child, like all your other ventures, will probably succeed. But the problem is that you’ve got no endgame. Each new level of success will demand even more of your time and energy. It will take years until you achieve world domination and muffets are available even on NASA missions to Mars. In the meantime you’re exhausted, and you don’t spend enough time with the rest of us. We miss you, Julia. And I just can’t figure out how that’s going to change.”

  “But . . .” It was finally my turn to speak. “But it will! As soon as I get a decent order from a major . . .” I stopped. Because Luke was right. I had to admit that a successful launch at the trade show was no guarantee of familial bliss. Even if my money woes eased, I would still need to triple my production, potentially the most time-consuming project so far.

  I gulped air. “Okay, I see your point. But once the business is solvent, I can really take a breath. I promise. I’m just so worried about losing our savings. It’s all I think about.”

  But Luke had planted a tiny seed in the back of my mind, about my own experience with failure. Even as I spoke the words, I realized it wasn’t really the money I craved.

  “If that’s the case,” Luke mused, “then you need real funding. You need investors. It’s the only way not to be a one-man band anymore.”

  “If I have investors, I can worry about losing someone else’s savings too,” I said darkly.

  Luke threw his hands up in the air. “Goddamn it, Julia! That’s just what I mean! The risk will always be there. You can never eliminate it. That’s called running a business. And, at the end of the d
ay, it’s only money. The fact that you can’t say that anymore—”

  “The only people who say that are people who have plenty.”

  “Look around you! Even if your business falls flat on its butt, and even if I lose my job in the merger, nobody who lives here will starve.”

  I looked up at him with alarm. “Are you going to lose your job?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have a crystal ball. But I’m trying to tell you something important. I care more about our family than I do about our jobs. Maybe . . . maybe the right thing to do is to quit my job.”

  “What?” It was just about the scariest idea I’d ever heard from Luke.

  “Just hear me out for a minute. When Wylie was born, you quit because the boys were only little once, you know? I still think that’s important. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to be the little wife and give up your dream. So maybe it’s my turn. Bonnie has been very helpful, but I think we have too much babysitting and too little time together.”

  “Luke!” I couldn’t stand to hear it for even one more second. “It just defies logic to talk like that. Because this is the worst possible timing! You’re the only one who’s keeping us afloat right now. And I’ve got to dig our finances out of this hole.”

  Luke just shook his head. “But there’s no end, Julia. If you open a factory, even if you get ten orders from the trade show, where does it stop? Then you’ll just have to work seven days a week. How does this end? That’s what I need to know. I can put up with almost anything if you figure that out for me.”

  It was the longest speech Luke had ever given on the topic of Julia’s Child. I hated the way it sounded. As if I was a prima donna who lived for each mounting crisis. But his words had a ring of truth to them, and I had trouble answering. I had been counting on a big order to make my life easier, and I found I could not say how it would.

  “Luke, if I don’t get a big order at this show, I’m going to pack it in.”

  He nodded, without surprise. “Okay. And if you do get one, then what?”

  I shook my head. I hated being on the defensive. I’d always imagined Luke and I were on the same page—worried about my failure. I never dreamed he was more afraid of my success. “I don’t know!” I said, losing my battle with tears. “But don’t make it sound like I don’t care, okay? I lie awake every night worrying about every member of this family—if everybody is getting what they need.”