by Lois Winston
“Honestly, it’s not what you…”
“You could be onto something here with this retirement coach,” Jim said, switching subjects rapidly. “This guy is a genius. Do you have any idea how many baby boomers are hitting retirement age every year? About seventy-eight million people were born from nineteen-forty-six to nineteen-sixty-four. Millions of them have already turned sixty. What a concept he’s got! What a huge potential service market!”
“You really think so?” I asked excitedly. “Is he someone you’d talk to about retirement?”
“You bet. I already took the test and emailed it to him. Didn’t take me more than three minutes to fill in the answers.”
I could hardly believe it. This was more enthusiasm from Jim than I ever dreamed of.
“This was one of your best ideas ever, Carol. Of course, I don’t need any help personally, but I think Rhodes has a great idea with this re-tirement concept, plus a book that needs to be marketed. I know I’m just the guy to help him, and he could be the answer to my career slump at the agency. I’m going to make him a media star. And I’m very impressed with his immediate follow-up. We have an appointment to see him on Thursday when I get home from the city.”
He got up and kissed me. “Thanks, honey. I’m going downstairs to throw in a load of laundry. I’m out of clean socks.”
“Jim, please don’t touch any of my clothes. You know that you don’t separate colors right.” Then I stopped myself. Was I crazy? Who cared about ink marks on my undies when my life was in major crisis. How could this have gone so wrong?
On second thought, maybe if Jim could land Rhodes as a client, he’d decide to delay his own retirement. Unless Jim brought Rhodes into the agency and Mack gave the account to one of the young rising stars instead. That’d send Jim to the human resources office for sure.
I dashed off a quick email to Nancy. I knew she must be dying of curiosity about how things had gone.
~*~
Good News, Bad News.
You won’t believe this. The good news is, we were so convincing that Jim and I have an appointment with Davis Rhodes on Thursday evening. The bad news is that the only reason Jim’s going is because he thinks Rhodes would make a great client for his P.R. agency. I’ll tell you more as things develop.
~*~
I pushed the “Send” icon, logged off, and decided to calm down by reading a favorite mystery for a while. I was deep in concentration when the phone rang.
I was very tempted to ignore that call. It was the time of night when we’re bombarded by telemarketers, even though we’re on the “No Call” list, which drives me crazy. Something made me check our caller I.D., and I realized it was our daughter Jenny.
“Hi, honey. How are things? You wouldn’t believe how hot it is here at home.”
“Hi, Mom,” said my first-born child. Then she burst into tears.
Oh, boy. No wonder she was calling. More trouble in paradise, no doubt, with her live-in significant other, Jeff.
Jenny had left for Los Angeles two years ago, to pursue a Master’s degree in American literature at UCLA. We hadn’t wanted to let her go, but at the age of twenty-four, no parent really “lets” a child go. The child just leaves home. Period.
It wasn’t long after her arrival in L.A. that she got involved in a variety of (highly unsuitable—Jim’s words) relationships with, among others, an unemployed actor, another unemployed actor, an unemployed scriptwriter, a waiter (at least he was employed), a nightclub manager and, finally, Jeff.
Jeff was a lawyer in his late twenties, on the fast track to success in his firm, and Jim adored him. I wasn’t so sure. He seemed a little controlling of our sweet Jenny, but then, I was her mother and tended to be over- protective. They had been living together (no, we weren’t thrilled about the arrangement but kept our opinions to ourselves) for almost a year.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
“Oh, Mom, it’s Jeff. I just can’t take his trying to control my life anymore.”
“Jenny, what do you mean?” I asked, silently thinking that a mother always knows.
“He picks at me all the time. Nothing I do is good enough. He thinks I should leave school and just spend my time taking care of him. He says he’s making enough money to support both of us. Mom, I can’t leave school. I am so close to getting my Master’s, and then I want to go for a Ph.D. It’s important to me. But what I want isn’t important. It’s only what he wants!”
“Honey, listen to me,” I said. “All relationships go through some rough times. And most men think they know more about what’s best for a woman than the woman does. It even happens with Dad and me sometimes.”
Whoops. Probably shouldn’t have said that. Not that Jenny heard me anyway. She was still crying.
“Mom, I have a tremendous favor to ask. I want to come home.”
I stared at the phone. Stupidly. I repeated, “Home? You want to come home?”
Hold it, Carol. She’ll think you don’t want her.
I took a deep breath, then chose my words very carefully. “Honey, if you want to come home for a few days or a week to get yourself together, you just come. This is your home too, you know. We’re always glad to see you.”
“Um, Mom, what I had in mind was a little longer than that.” Jenny seemed to be calmer now.
“What did you have in mind? A month?”
“Actually, Mom, I should have given you and Daddy a head’s up about this before, but I want to come home for good. Or at least until the summer semester ends. I’ve transferred all my graduate credits to Fairport College. I’m going to be a teaching assistant there through the summer.”
There was a long pause. I didn’t know what to say.
Then, Jenny spoke again. “Mom, can you go get Daddy please? I’m at LaGuardia Airport. Can he come and pick me up right away?” And she burst into tears again.
FOUR
Q: What is the best way to describe retirement?
A: The never-ending coffee break.
“You know, I really like having Jenny home.”
It was Thursday morning. Jim and I had had two days to adjust to having our daughter back in the house.
Nancy, Claire and I were having coffee in my kitchen while I brought them up to date on all that had happened to the Andrews family. Both women had known Jenny since she was born, and loved her almost as much as Jim and I did.
“It’s funny,” I said. “When I heard some television pundit use the words ‘boomerang baby’ to describe an adult child who moves back home, I never thought it would apply to one of my kids. But now that Jenny’s here, it’s turning out to be great. At least, it is for me. I’m glad she finally figured out what a jerk Jeff is.”
“I never liked him,” Nancy admitted. “When Jenny brought him home for Christmas last year, I thought there was something about him that wasn’t quite right. He was so uptight, for one thing.”
“I never said anything to you at the time,” added Claire. “But I could tell you had reservations about him too. Jenny didn’t seem natural and relaxed around him. I remember her jumping up several times during your holiday open house to refill his wine glass. I mean, who needs a guy who has to be waited on all the time?”
“Yeah,” said Nancy. “That kind of behavior comes out after the wedding, not before.”
“As it turns out, Jeff’s relentless attempt to control Jenny’s life was the final straw,” I said. “He actually had the nerve to tell her she shouldn’t finish her graduate studies. He wanted her to quit school and stay home and tend to his needs all the time, like what she wanted to do with her life wasn’t important at all.”
I took deep breaths. The idea that Jeff had the gall to suggest that to a bright young woman like Jenny really upset me.
“How is she doing?” Nancy asked sympathetically? “Oh, gosh, she’s not upstairs where she can hear us talking about her, is she?”
“Relax,” I answered. “She’s hit the ground runnin
g with the Fairport College teaching assistant job. Started yesterday. She’s there three mornings and one afternoon a week as of now. Hopefully she’ll be able to get her Master’s thesis done, then start on her Ph.D. She was out of the house before Jim this morning and won’t be home until at least four.”
“Speaking of Jim,” asked Claire, “how’s he adjusting to having his daughter home? He must have freaked when he had to go to the airport Monday night and pick her up.”
“It could be more of an adjustment for him than for either Jenny or me.” I giggled at a recent memory. “For one thing, he may have to stop doing laundry. He picked up a pile of dirty clothes from the hamper and brought them downstairs to wash last night. All of a sudden, I heard a yell. I ran downstairs and he was holding— you won’t believe this—a thong bikini in his hand! I don’t think he’s ever seen one before. His eyes were bugging out of his head. Apparently Jenny had thrown her underwear in the hamper with ours.”
“You mean you don’t wear a thong bikini, Carol?” Nancy’s eyes were wide with feigned innocence.
“Very funny.” I gave her head an affectionate swat. “I’ll wear one when you do, too.”
“Isn’t today the big day for you and Jim?” asked Nancy, searching for another subject.
“What big day?” Claire broke off a piece of blueberry muffin and popped it into her mouth.
“Oops, I think I spoke out of turn,” said Nancy.
“That’s okay. It’s not a secret, certainly not from Claire. Jim and I are going to see a retirement coach tonight for a consultation. His name is Davis Rhodes. Remember how we talked about this at lunch on Monday?”
“Wow, I’m impressed,” said Claire. “How’d you trick him into going?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, Jim thinks he’s going to size Rhodes up and see if he’d make a good client for the P.R. agency,” I confessed. “Nancy and I put on this great act on the phone Monday night to get him interested, and he completely misunderstood the point of it. He thinks signing Davis Rhodes as a client will rescue his career, if you can believe it.”
“Hey, Carol, you know how men can be,” Claire said. “Jim’s probably telling himself that’s why he’s seeing this coach, but deep down inside he’s hoping to get some insight from Rhodes about his own retirement. He just can’t admit that part of it to you.”
“You know,” I said with a tiny flicker of hope, “you just may be right. At least he’s going to meet Rhodes. I’ll let you both know what happens.”
“I’ve got to go.” Nancy pushed back her kitchen chair and picked up her designer purse. “Realtors’ open houses today that I have to check out.”
“I have to go, too,” said Claire. “Good luck tonight. Take good notes.”
“Oh, I will,” I answered. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a memorable experience.”
~*~
“Now, Carol, you have to let me do the talking.” Jim had picked me up on Thursday evening at five thirty and we were on our way to Westfield for our initial meeting with Davis Rhodes.
“You know how you have this tendency to interrupt me when I’m speaking,” Jim added.
I bit my lip. It seemed to me that he was the one who did most of the interrupting in our relationship, but I decided, just for once, to let his comment go.
“He’s probably going to ask us a lot of questions based on the test I emailed him, so let me answer most of them. After all, I’m the one who’s supposed to be considering retirement,” Jim said. “Though I don’t know if he’ll buy that from me, since I obviously still have so many productive working years ahead of me. The important thing is to put him at ease. He thinks he’ll be interviewing us, but actually I’ll be interviewing him. Got it?”
Huh? This speech came from the same person who just a few nights ago had threatened to check out his own retirement options? I was having a little trouble keeping up.
“Got it,” I replied. “You lead and I’ll follow.” Just this once.
“Perfect. I knew I could count on you. But I do remember that this was all your idea.” Jim took his right hand off the steering wheel and gave my hand a quick squeeze. “Don’t think I’m not grateful. Oh, here we are.” He swung the car into the driveway of a white Victorian house off the Post Road in Westfield.
“Are you sure this is the right address?” I asked. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.”
“What did you think his office would look like, Carol? A tire store?” Jim laughed at his own joke. I didn’t. We weren’t even in the door yet, and already there was some tension between us.
Keep your eye on the goal. At least, he’s here.
Jim must have realized I was a little miffed, because he opened the car door for me, something he hadn’t done for years.
No one answered our knock, so we let ourselves in. And found ourselves in one of the loveliest living rooms I’d ever seen. Not a reception room, a living room.
Decorated in traditional furnishings in subdued tones of blues, wines and creams, the room could have been pretentious, but somehow, it wasn’t. Instead, there was an atmosphere of comfort in the leather wing chairs (carefully placed flanking a beautiful marble fireplace) and striped camel back sofa. Each seat had a slight indentation in them, as though someone had recently sat there. Silver-framed photos were carefully arranged on the mantel. The effect was enhanced by an open book, turned face down on the mahogany coffee table. It looked like someone had just left the room to get a snack.
“What do we do now?” I whispered to Jim. “There’s nobody here.”
At that moment, a door to what I assumed was the dining room opened, revealing a stunning woman, about forty-five years old, dressed in crisp navy slacks and a white blouse. Her blonde hair was loosely tied in a pony tail.
“Hello, I’m Sheila Carney, Dr. Rhodes’s associate,” she said, coming forward and offering us her hand to shake. “And you must be Carol and Jim Andrews. Please, sit down. Dr. Rhodes will be right with you.” She was carrying a plate of cookies, which she placed on the coffee table in front of us.
“Help yourselves,” Sheila said, gesturing to the cookies. “Would you like some coffee or tea to go along with them? Or a soft drink? Bottled water? Wine?”
Jim reached for a cookie (you can always count on him when food is around), but I could tell he was getting a little annoyed. He does not like to wait—for anyone or anything.
Sheila must have sensed his mood, because she laughed and said, “I’m sorry Dr. Rhodes is keeping you waiting, but he’s such a stickler for his baking. When he has a batch of cookies in the oven, he doesn’t trust anyone else to watch them, even me.”
I looked at Jim. Jim looked at me. The guru of the Re-tirement Survival Center baked these cookies? What kind of a place was this, anyway?
Jim began to fidget in his chair, a sure sign he wanted to leave now.
I sent him The Look I have perfected over the years and use only when I really need it. Stay put and chill out.
The door opened again, and the tantalizing smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies wafted into the living room. A man walked in, wearing an apron and carrying a spatula in his hand.
The great man himself, Dr. Davis Rhodes, had made his entrance at last.
FIVE
Q: What’s the biggest advantage of going back to school as a retiree?
A: If you cut classes, no one calls your parents.
“Bet I’m not what you expected,” Rhodes said, putting out his hand to Jim and giving it a hearty shake. He turned to me and enveloped my hand with both of his, not easy when you’re also holding a spatula.
Davis Rhodes was immaculately dressed in knife-creased chino pants, a starched blue oxford cloth shirt and shiny tasseled penny loafers. No socks. His face, though tanned, was unlined and smooth, so it was difficult to guess his age. His salt and pepper hair was cut short, and I couldn’t help but notice how shiny it was. He was of average height, a little taller than
Jim, who’s five feet, then inches.
His cobalt blue eyes were his most riveting feature. I’d never seen eyes so blue. Probably contacts, I thought to myself, although I had to admit that the guy exuded charisma. He hadn’t looked this good on his web page. I mentally slapped myself. Get a grip, Carol. You’re here for Jim, remember?
The one thing I found extremely disconcerting was Rhodes’s apron. I’d never heard of anyone greeting clients dressed that way, unless he was a professional chef, of course. I tried not to stare, but the apron had writing on it which proclaimed, “In the game of life, friends are the chocolate chips.” Had we happened into a cookie exchange by mistake?
“I’m Davis Rhodes, but please, both of you, call me Dave,” said Rhodes, releasing my hand. “Come on, let’s all go into the kitchen for a chat and get to know each other.”
The three of us started to follow him.
“No, not you, Sheila. You stay out here to answer the phone. Tell anyone who calls that I’m in conference.”
A brief flicker of annoyance crossed Sheila’s face, but she recovered herself quickly and flashed a brilliant smile.
“Sure, Dave. No problem.”
I couldn’t look at Jim’s reaction to all this. He was probably going to read me the riot act all the way home about wasting his time setting up an interview with a pastry cook.
I admit that I thought it was kind of funny, though. Okay, well, odd. But we were here and what else could we do besides follow Rhodes into the kitchen?
“I always suggest new clients have their first meeting with me around the kitchen table. It puts everybody at ease,” Rhodes explained. “Please, have a seat.” He pulled out two ladder back chairs from a highly polished cherry tavern table and motioned us to sit down.
Our chairs were positioned side by side. Rhodes sat opposite us.
Hmm, interesting. That way he can gauge both our reactions at the same time.
“I can see you’re both put off a bit by my apron,” Rhodes said with a laugh. “And by our meeting in the kitchen rather than an office setting. But, as I said before, I always meet my new clients here first. After all, you’ve come to visit me, and we’re developing a relationship here, right? And where do most people spend their time when they come for a visit? In the kitchen.”
