Retirement Can Be Murder

by Susan Santangelo

  Bad mistake. I’d just calmed him down, and now he was even more agitated than before.

  “That was then. And if I’d been able to reach you, Carol, you’d already know the first part of this.” Jim attacked a piece of asparagus on his plate.

  “Do you remember two years ago, when Gibson Gillespie was honored by the Public Relations Society of America with the Silver Anvil Award for Excellence?” he asked me. “Of course, Jack Gibson was still alive then, which is why we got it, I’m sure.”

  I nodded my head. The award had been presented at a fancy formal dinner in New York at the Waldorf Astoria, and Jim and I had both gone.

  Naturally I wore black, the official color of New York parties. I remember I dieted for a month to get into the dress. And I haven’t worn it since.

  “Well,” Jim went on, gesturing with his fork for emphasis, “those days are gone forever. And it just makes me so angry. Mack is running the agency into the ground.

  “Today we got a new client.” He paused to take a sip of wine, then slammed the glass on the table. I winced as some of the wine spilled onto the place mat.

  “That’s why I called you,” Jim said. He glared at me. “But you weren’t here.”

  He waited a minute to see if I’d respond, but I didn’t. I’d learned in over thirty years of marriage that some battles weren’t worth fighting.

  “I wanted to tell you that we were hired by Reynolds Consulting Group to do a big campaign about their selection by Fortune magazine as one of the top hundred companies to work for in the country. Our whole agency staff sat in a meeting for hours and listened to Mack list all the reasons why Reynolds was singled out for Fortune’s top one hundred list. The company offers its employees compressed workweeks, telecommuting opportunities, free lunches in the company restaurant, on-site day care, a whole list of things designed to build employee loyalty. Very impressive.

  Reynolds thinks of its employees as friends who look out for each other, and the company’s thriving under that approach, even in this weak econ-omy when other corporations are cutting back.”

  “It sounds like a wonderful place to work,” I offered, not really sure where he was heading with this.

  “Of course it’s a wonderful place to work,” he exploded at me. “That’s why Fortune selected them. But Mack had the nerve to compare their corporate culture to the current one at Gibson Gillespie. He actually had the gall to say that it isn’t the nature of the business that makes a company great. It’s the management. That excellence starts at the top and then trickles down. He went on and on about how things have only changed for the better at the agency since he took it over; how he trusts employees to do their best and doesn’t micro-manage; and how he always tells the employees they’re doing a great job. What a crock! All the young flunkies at the meeting clapped and clapped for him. I thought I’d throw up!”

  The veins in Jim’s forehead were pulsating now.

  “But you haven’t heard the best part. You won’t believe this. Guess where Mack was in the conference room while he was conducting the staff meeting.”

  “Why, Jim, I would assume he was in his usual seat at the head of the conference room table.”

  “Wrong! Mack was lying flat on his back in the middle of the conference room table. He’d hurt his back in a parasailing accident over the weekend and had to either lie completely flat or wear a back brace. He looked like a damn centerpiece. All he needed was an apple stuck in his mouth and he could have been a stuffed pig. It was absolutely ludicrous.

  “And that’s when I made up my mind to go to the human resources office tomorrow and discuss my options. I can’t continue to work in a place that’s run by a jerk like that.”

  Uh oh.

  * * *

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  Q: Why do little boys whine?

  A: They’re practicing to be men.

  Jim was so preoccupied with the goings-on in his office that the rest of the dinner conversation required no response at all from me. Just a few sympathetic nods of the head now and then. And an occasional “Oh, Jim.”

  By 6:30 My Beloved was in his favorite place, sprawled in front of the flat screen television in the family room, remote control in hand. He was switching back and forth between The NewsHour on public television and The Weather Channel. No network news shows for him.

  I had already booted up the computer in my office to make it easy to access Dr. Rhodes’s web page. Subtle, right?

  Promptly at 6:45 the phone rang.

  “Jim,” I called from the kitchen, “can you turn the television volume down a little bit, please? It’s Nancy.”

  “What?”

  “I said, please turn down the volume on the television. Nancy’s on the phone. I can’t hear her with the television blaring.”

  “Ok, ok. But don’t be too long.”

  “Nancy, can you hear me?” I whispered.

  “Yes. The client’s already left. Do you want me to respond at all?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Let’s just play it by ear. Here goes.

  “Nancy, what’s up?” I said in my normal voice. “You sound upset. Oh, you’re not upset? You’re excited?”

  Pause.

  “What? Yes, I’ve been thinking about lunch today, too. All that talk about retirement coaches sure was interesting.”

  Pause.

  Nancy giggled. “It’s fun hearing you conduct a monologue, Carol.”

  “Oh, you went online to do some research about retirement coaches?” I asked, my voice getting louder. “I didn’t realize that you and Bob were talking about retirement. What did you find?”

  Pause.

  “Really? There’s a retirement coach right here? Oh, in Westfield.

  What’s his name?”

  Pause.

  “Dr. Davis Rhodes? Does he have a web page? It’s called what? Retirement Survival Center? Catchy name. Are you going to tell Bob about it?”

  “Is Jim buying any of this?” Nancy whispered.

  “I can’t tell,” I whispered back. “But it’s very quiet in the family room.

  “Why, Nancy, no wonder you’re excited,” I said in a more normal tone of voice.

  Pause.

  “Yes, I guess if you plan ahead, retirement really isn’t such a scary thing after all. Let me know if you and Bob decide to go see this Dr. Rhodes.”

  Pause.

  “I have to go now,” Nancy said. “I hope this worked. Let me know, ok?”

  “Yes. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Bye, Nancy.”

  I hung up the phone. My palms were sweating. I certainly was no actress. I was sure that Jim saw right through my whole performance and ignored the conversation entirely.

  I waited for a few minutes, and rinsed a few dishes to put in the dish-washer. The suspense was killing me. Then I decided there was only one way to find out.

  “Jim,” I called, “where are you?”

  “In your office. I’m on the computer. Come on in. There’s something I want to show you.”

  Play it cool, I told myself. I tried to keep my face expressionless when I walked into the office.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with Nancy.” Jim gave me a knowing look. “Which, I suspect, is exactly what you wanted, right?”

  I started to deny it, then glanced down at the computer and saw the Retirement Survival Center web page on the screen.

  “Jim, I…”

  “After all these years, I still don’t understand why you always use such underhanded methods when you want me to do something. Just ask me.

  You know I’m always open to what you have to say.”

  “Honestly, it’s not what you…”

  “You could be onto something here with this retirement coach,” My Beloved 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 60. 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 e-mailed 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 e-mail 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 24, 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 overprotective. 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 any more.”

  “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.

  * * *

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  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 up tight, 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 re-fill 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 running 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 ok. 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. 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.” Trust Claire to put a positive spin on the situation for me.