Retirement Can Be Murder

by Susan Santangelo

  “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.”

  “Now, 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 5:30 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 e-mailed him, so let me answer most of them. After all, I’m the one who’s supposed to be considering retirement,” he 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.” He 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.”

  Jim 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, I told myself silently. 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 45 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 Retirement 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, it said.

  Then 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.

  * * *

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  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 5 feet 10 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. Ok, 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.

  He sat opposite us.

  Hmm, interesting. That way he can gauge both of our reactions at the same time, I thought.

  “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 th
an 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, right?”

  I had to admit the guy did have a point. How many parties had I given over the years where most of the guests congregated in the kitchen, not in my carefully arranged and artfully decorated living room?

  I snuck a look at Jim. He wasn’t buying it. I had to say something quick to save the situation.

  “Dr. Rhodes, Dave, I have to ask you something, but I don’t want to appear rude.” I paused, not really sure how to go on.

  “I bet you want to know about the baking, right?”

  “Well, I…”

  “That’s ok. Here, have a cookie.” He pushed a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies toward us. They looked heavenly.

  “When I first came up with the concept of the Retirement Survival Center, I have to admit I was at a crossroads in my own life,” Rhodes explained. “I had been a lifestyle counselor for many years out on the West Coast, but the challenge just wasn’t there for me any more. I realized that I needed to change direction somehow, but I still wanted to use the professional skills I had perfected over the years.

  “Maybe you know what I’m talking about.” Rhodes shifted his gaze from me to Jim. “Have you ever gotten up in the morning and wondered what you were doing it all for? And wanted a way to recapture the excitement and passion you once had about your job? Heck, even about your whole life?”

  Jim relaxed a little in his chair. “Well, Dave, I guess everyone feels like that at one time or another.”

  “Exactly. So I began to wonder what I really wanted to do with my life.

  I thought how interesting it would be to go on a job interview, but this time to interview myself. You know, ask myself a series of questions, the kind most job applicants still have to answer, to find out what my interests really were. I realized that people’s focus, priorities, and choices change as we mature. But that doesn’t mean we’re ready for a rocking chair. Just a new challenge or two to keep the juices flowing. Do you see where I’m going with this, Jim?”

  Jim nodded his head in agreement. I munched on a cookie. Clearly, I was no longer part of this discussion.

  “At the time, I hadn’t even thought of retirement for myself,” Rhodes continued. “Just restructuring my professional life. Like you, Jim, I’m really too young to retire.”

  That did it. Jim was now bobbing his head up and down so hard I thought he’d lose it. In an agency dominated by men under 35, nobody had told him he was too young for anything for years.

  “So, I wrote a series of questions for myself to answer. And you’ll never guess what I figured out.”

  He paused dramatically and looked at both of us. “I discovered that what I’ve always wanted to do is bake. Maybe it takes me back to my child-hood when I’d come home from school and my mother would be in the kitchen with a snack for me. I don’t know. But I started to do some baking, and realized how much fun I was having. And how much satisfaction it gave me to do it.

  “Now, I knew that I wasn’t going to leave my clients to become the next Mrs. Fields.”

  Rhodes laughed.

  “But I also realized that many men, particularly in their fifties, begin to experience what I had been experiencing. I like to think of the next phase of life as a tune-up, physically, mentally, and professionally. Kind of like taking your car in for routine maintenance, changing the filters and rotating the tires, to get as much mileage out of the vehicle as possible.

  Do you see where I’m headed here, Jim?

  “So that’s how the Retirement Survival Center started. I’m really the first client. And I never let myself forget it.”

  My eyes glazed over. All this focus on cars was not doing it for me.

  But it sure was doing it for Jim. I looked at My Beloved Husband to see his reaction to all this, and I swear, the guy was so excited I thought he’d jump out of his chair.

  “You know,” Jim said, “I don’t think I’ve ever admitted this to anyone before, but…” and then he was off and running. Babbling about things at work that he hadn’t even told me.

  I sat in that kitchen for the next half hour and I might as well have been invisible. There was so much testosterone flying around the room that I thought I might gag.

  They traded stories, laughed at each other’s jokes, and all the while I just sat there with a smile pasted on my face. The kind of smile I’d mastered from years of going to boring corporate cocktail parties, not really listening to all that inane chatter but appearing to. Believe me, it’s an art form.

  “So, Jim,” Rhodes finally said, “what can I do for you? Your online test was one of the most interesting and insightful ones I’ve ever seen. It would be an honor, and a challenge, to work with you.”

  Needless to say, Jim preened at this flattery.

  “I think,” I started to say, but was interrupted by Rhodes. “Jim, what I think you need, and what we are going to come up with together, is a re-treading strategy for your life. What do you say?”

  Rhodes pushed the plate of cookies toward Jim. “Here, have another.”

  What? I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  My hard-headed, stubborn, “I-don’t-need-any-help-from-anyone, Ican-do-it-all-myself” husband was now shaking hands with Rhodes and making an appointment to see him again next Tuesday night.

  What the heck was in those cookies anyway?

  During the ride home from the meeting with Davis Rhodes, Jim was strangely quiet.

  I was bursting with questions, but the first time I tried to start a conversation, Jim stopped me cold. “Not now, honey. I’m thinking.”

  I waited a few minutes, then tried again.

  “I don’t really want to talk right now, Carol. I need to mull over what happened tonight. Dave has given me a lot of serious things to consider.”

  “Ok,” I said, throwing up my hands in mock surrender. “Let’s go home and have a nice dinner. We can talk later.”

  But when we got home, Jim surprised me by saying he didn’t want any food.

  “You go ahead and get yourself something to eat,” he said, giving me a peck on the cheek. “I’m going to work on the computer for a while. I may stay up late, so don’t wait up. If you get tired, just go on up to bed.”

  I tried not to take Jim’s desire for solitude personally. It was hard not to be frustrated, though. I was dying to talk, but had no one to talk to.

  The message light on the phone was blinking. I pressed Play and heard Jenny’s voice: “Hi parents. Just wanted you to know that I’ll be at school late tonight. Don’t wait up. Hope all went well with Davis Rhodes.

  I’ll see you in the morning. Love you. Bye.”

  I considered calling Nancy, but decided against it. I couldn’t even un-burden myself to the dogs without Jim overhearing me. I nuked a Weight Watchers dinner, had a glass of wine (small), and went to bed at 9.

  I don’t know what time Jim came to bed, or Jenny came home.

  But I had dreams of chocolate chip cookies all night.

  * * *

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  Q: How do you keep your husband from reading your e-mail?

  A: Rename your mail folder “Living With Menopause.”

  By the time I got up at 7 the next morning, Jim was already gone.

  This was very unusual behavior for My Beloved. For the last four months, he hadn’t been leaving for the office before 8:30. And he claimed that, even if he didn’t get into the office until 10, he still was the first one in.

  This was one of Jim’s many ongoing complaints about the agency these days—staff people came to the office late and left early. And, to hear him tell it, none of them did much work while they were there, either.

  I didn’t know if it was bad or good that Jim had l
eft so early. I was very worried that he was still going to make an appointment with the human resources office about his retirement options, despite our meeting with Davis Rhodes last night.

  Jenny was still sleeping (at least I assumed she was), so I tiptoed down the stairs.

  The dogs greeted me and followed me into my office, their nails clicking like tap shoes on the hardwood floor.

  I went online to check my e-mail.

  Of course, there was one from Nancy, wanting a full report on what happened last night.

  I quickly e-mailed her back.

  Guru Update

  Meeting went pretty well. Believe it or not, Jim seemed really interested in what Rhodes had to say. If this guy can really help him, I’d be thrilled. I didn’t connect with Rhodes at all. Too much macho talk. I kind of zoned out. But I got a great recipe for chocolate chip cookies. I’ll explain when I see you.

  No need to share with her that I’d been (briefly) attracted to Rhodes.

  I smiled to myself and pressed Send. That message would certainly pique Nancy’s well-known curiosity.

  I was just about to log off the computer when I was “Instant Messaged.” The new e-mail was from Jim.

  Hi Carol.

  Didn’t want to wake you when I left this morning. Thought last night went great.

  Davis Rhodes is some guy, and I know you’re as excited as I am that he seems interested in having me put together a proposal to have our agency represent him.

  Huh? This was news to me. Guess I had really zoned out last night.

  So when I came home, I wanted to get on the computer and make notes on what we talked about while everything was still fresh in my mind. Dave and I are going to meet again next week so I can show him some P.R. concepts. He may even come into the agency some day soon to meet more of our staff. Wanted to let you know that I’ll probably work later for a few nights to get this proposal done.

  Even Mack was impressed when I announced at this morning’s staff meeting that I’d landed this new client. I haven’t felt this energized in years!”