Mark was coming by later in the week to finalize the divorce settlement. Paul had quickly discovered that Mark likely had substantial assets offshore. Carmen intended to confront him about them. She wasn’t angry and didn’t want a fight—she just wanted her fair share. And Mr. “Do the Right Thing” owed it to her.
“Mom! Did you decide how many trees you want inside the house?” yelled Avery from the front of the house.
Avery was in the foyer dangling from a stepladder while she wrapped lights around an enormous spruce. Carmen was more than satisfied with having just that one tree, but she sensed that Avery wanted to really do it up this year. She hoped Avery wasn’t trying to fill a hole that was unfillable, but that wasn’t something Carmen could fix. She could, however, let Avery buy as many decorations as she wanted. There were certainly worse ways for her to act out.
She had sat down with Avery after the book came out and told her the truth about her father. What an awkward conversation it had been. How do you tell your baby that no, her dad hadn’t cheated, but yes, he had really wanted to? And that you hadn’t had the self-respect to do anything about it? Ugh.
She had decided to tell her first thing in the morning over her favorite pancakes.
“Honey, we need to talk,” she had said as soon as Avery had come into the kitchen.
“About what?” Avery had replied with her typical nonchalance.
“Well, an old friend of mine has written a book about her life. Actually, my life too. And your father’s. Long story short, she sort of aired our families’ dirty laundry. It wasn’t just ours actually, but, well, it’s a mess.”
“Mom, you’re not making any sense. Start from the beginning,” said Avery.
“Okay. Well, the beginning is that when I was not much older than you, I had to make a tough choice about my life.”
As Carmen told her daughter a slightly different version of her own history, she felt lighter and closer to her daughter than ever before. Finally, she could speak the truth about her life and her choices, even if it might cause Avery distress. Heather had forced the issue.
In the end, Avery hadn’t seemed too phased by it. “Mom, I always knew our family was different,” she had said. “And I stopped with the Daddy worship a long time ago. I love him because he’s my dad, but he wasn’t around enough to be involved in my life. I actually can’t think of even one time when we did something together, just us. It is what it is, and it doesn’t really have anything to do with my life now.”
Carmen had felt sad that Avery had always felt that way. She really had tried to get Mark involved with her daughter more over the years. But she was also relieved. It wasn’t her job anymore to try to manage her daughter’s relationship with him. If Mark wanted his daughter to be a part of his life, he was going to have to do the hard work for a change.
“Come in here, and let’s discuss holiday planning at a normal volume!” Carmen laughed.
“Great, because I was thinking that we should have a party,” called Avery as she climbed down the stepladder. “Unless you aren’t in the partying kind of mood?” she asked tentatively as she walked into the kitchen.
“No, we definitely need to have a party. Look how much we have to celebrate,” replied Carmen with a sweep of her arm.
MARTHA
Her realtor had told her (emphatically and multiple times) that the good houses didn’t become available until spring. Martha had begrudgingly accepted her advice and decided to have some patience until the spring rolled around. But then a property on Cumberland Boulevard became immediately available. The realtor told her that the owner had been relocated by his company, and Martha and Robert had to move quickly.
It was a really unusual property for the Bay because it had five bedrooms and a finished attic, and it was in a highly sought-after neighborhood, particularly because of its close proximity to the village’s top-notch public schools. All that said, it was in a state of some disrepair and might need a major overhaul. The kitchen was ancient, the basement was “troubled,” and apparently one of the sinks in the bathroom hadn’t worked in years. Robert pointed out that the property must be a real mess if the realtor herself used the word “troubled” to describe it. He thought that they should wait until the spring when there would be more choices.
Martha preferred to judge for herself and drove down to see the property in person on the first Monday in December.
As she pulled up to the curb, Martha was immediately charmed by the home’s exterior. It was a classic Tudor revival built in the late twenties—dark brown half-timbering highlighting herringbone brickwork and capped with a beautiful steeply pitched roof. Sometimes the floor plans in these old homes were really strange, though, so she did her best to resist falling in love until she saw the interior.
She noted that the landscaping needed an overhaul as she walked past the beautiful original ironwork on the porch and through the front door. When she entered the foyer, she caught her breath. To her left was a magnificent grand staircase in dark oak. On the right, a cozy living room with a fireplace. There were elements of old-world craftsmanship in every nook and cranny. Leaded stained-glass accents. Beautiful moldings. She skipped the kitchen, knowing that was going to be a tear-out, and wandered up the stairs. Upstairs, she found a spectacular den lined with the original built-in bookcases.
Not a den, she thought. A library. She closed her eyes and imagined all of her books that currently languished in storage lining the shelves. The room screamed for overstuffed leather chairs and oversized ottomans. And tea. They would drink tea like properly civilized people do every afternoon.
She called Robert as she headed to her car. She wanted to close this deal and get started right away on the renovations. Unsurprisingly, his cell went straight to voicemail. Undeterred, she left a detailed message about how much she loved the house.
As she drove down Cumberland Boulevard, she tried to peer into the other houses, looking for a sign that in one of them might be a new friend for her or for the boys. And then she saw them. A pack of kids. They were all walking home from school together. There had only been a few light dustings of snow, but the kids were already dressed for the winter weather in colorful hats and scarves. The little ones were even wearing snow pants and boots. As she got closer, she could see that they were talking and laughing and, every so often, taking a swipe at each other. Two of the little girls were holding hands.
This was it. This was home. She could feel it.
She was going to get this house ready by June, no matter how much extra she would have to pay the contractor.
SARA
As she walked onto the work floor, three hundred screens went black and three hundred heads turned to greet her.
It was distinctly unnerving.
This was her third visit of the day. All three Indian companies she was visiting were well known in the outsourcing industry. Their businesses were much more sophisticated and complex than she had imagined. These weren’t just call centers. These companies were able to reengineer company processes in almost every area—IT, finance, operations, even legal—and then execute that process cheaply and, in many cases, with greater consistency.
Also, these weren’t the sweatshops she had imagined. All of the offices were fairly airy and modern. They featured the same type of cubical furniture and modern art that populated her own office space in Milwaukee. But there were differences. For one, personal space was almost nonexistent. The workers were typically lined up in rows of tables, each of which seated twenty or thirty people, side by side, with only about twelve inches separating them.
“Sorry if we startled you, Ms. Beck,” said her tour guide as they stood looking out over the work floor with its three hundred members. “This team is doing document review for a very significant litigation matter. In the US, of course. When we give tours, we go black so as not to expose confidential information.”
“Of course, I understand,” responded Sara. She wanted the workers to turn back
to their screens and stop staring at her.
“Back to screen!” her guide said sharply as they left the floor, and Sara saw three hundred heads turn back to the screens in unison. Again, unnerving.
“If you have time, I can show you our canteen and client care center. When we sit down to create and review the transferred processes, you may spend some significant time here, so we want to be sure you are comfortable.”
“Sounds good,” replied Sara, hoping that he was wrong about the time commitment on her part.
They walked through the canteen, which was small but, again, not that different from other cafeterias in small companies. They finally came to the client care center. Unlike the rest of the office, it was a beautifully ornate room, featuring noiseproof walls, a few original oil paintings, a large screen for presentations, a lovely mahogany conference table, and an impressive spread of colorful fruits and vegetables across a coordinating credenza.
“Thank you, this is such a nice room. I have a bit of work to do, so if you don’t mind, I would like to stay here for a while.”
“Yes, of course, it’s our pleasure to host you,” her guide replied.
Sara was finally alone and unobserved. She exhaled as she slumped into one of the plush desk chairs surrounding the conference table.
This trip was sucking the life out of her. She knew she had to select one of the three Indian outsourcing firms to partner with her company, but they were becoming a blur of sameness. Nonetheless, it was her job to differentiate them, so she had to get to it. She needed to pick a partner—the COO expected quick progress.
She booted up her laptop and made notes on all three companies she had visited. After about an hour, she packed up and headed back to the hotel. If she was lucky, she could call the kids tonight. She liked to talk to them before they headed off for school, although she could sense that Scott was annoyed by the timing. The other option was to call them in the early morning in India, but this was usually too late for them, especially on a school night. The time difference made connecting with her babies almost impossible, but she wasn’t just going to give up trying.
She couldn’t wait to get home in a few days. Carmen had sent out an e-mail inviting her to a Christmas party, and she was ready to get into the spirit. They had been out of touch after that night at the bar in September, but in Sara’s opinion they didn’t have a beef with each other, so fighting was pretty pointless. Well, except Martha. She was probably still mad at Sara.
Being in India made her almost forget that Christmas was right around the corner. Last week, she had entered a bunch of holiday-related things in her and Scott’s “home to-do” spreadsheet. She was curious to see if he had completed all the tasks.
They had started the spreadsheet right after that dinner downtown three months ago. She could tell Scott wasn’t excited about it, but so far the spreadsheet seemed to be working pretty well. Of course, most of the task entries were entered by her, and she had assigned the bulk of them to Scott. But he was doing them. Even the ones that he probably hadn’t even realized existed before they started writing everything down. There had certainly been a few raised eyebrows, but they were on month three, and the whole thing was actually going much better than she had expected.
The others might be through with Heather, but Sara wanted to be fair. Her advice was actually helping. Ever since she had taken this job, her bills were paid in full and on time. And Scott was doing more at home. Win-win.
HEATHER
From: Heather Hall
Sent: Sunday, 12/13 11:15 p.m.
To: Elizabeth Smith
Subject: Hello … anybody home?
Really, no one wants to go to Carmel? NO ONE WANTS TO SAY ANYTHING NICE ABOUT MY BOOK?
REALLY?
ELIZABETH
“Listen, I am going to need you straight through to the thirty-first. No two ways about it,” Joe spat into the phone.
Elizabeth had been anticipating this call for days. The Greysteel merger was set to finally close at year-end, and she knew Joe and Kenny were planning to deliver her the short end of the stick.
“Really, are you sure you need me? How about Kenny? This is his deal now. Actually, why are you calling me anyway? Isn’t Kenny flying the plane these days?”
She calmly waited for Joe’s response, feeling that victory was within her grasp. This was the year she was going to really enjoy the holidays.
“Kenny is actually hosting the client at my Telluride property. He tried to call and couldn’t find you, so he asked me to call you. Look, he needs your help.”
“Meaning what exactly?” questioned Elizabeth, trying unsuccessfully to mask her irritation. She knew exactly what that meant, but she wanted to hear him say it.
“You know, Kenny is the big-picture guy. The strategy person. You are our executor. We need you, don’t get me wrong. But Kenny is doing great with this client and will safely land this baby.”
So in other words, thought Elizabeth, if I were flying the plane, they would be crashing into the ocean right about now. Thank God Kenny is on board! She thought about raising hell with Joe but realized it was a lost cause. Also, the only thing she dreaded more than work over the holidays was travel over the holidays. So she swallowed her pride and said, “Sure, Joe, I got this.”
“Good girl. I knew we could count on you. Hey, Kenny asked me to have you put together a short summary of the overall deal. Be sure to include an executive summary to the summary.”
“Okay, but he should already have that.”
“No, this isn’t just deal points—it is more of a strategy angle. You know, big picture.”
Elizabeth wondered if Joe actually listened to himself when he talked. It would give Elizabeth great pleasure to point out the stunning hypocrisy of painting Kenny as the big-picture guy and then asking Elizabeth to do his “big-picture” homework for him. Of course, she knew better than to speak up. Better to spend her energy getting the next big win than being mad about the one she lost.
“You bet, Joe,” she said instead.
As she settled in for the long haul, her mind drifted back to her earlier conversation with Carmen about striking out on her own. There had to be a better way. Law firms, after all, are just groups of people. She had friends at other firms who were genuinely happy with their organizations. If she wanted change here, she had to make it happen. If Joe and the Old Man weren’t willing to stand up for her, maybe she would have to stand up for herself.
CARMEN
Carmen and Avery had decided to go for it and have the party this weekend. Elizabeth and Sara were all going to be in town, and Avery had invited a bunch of her old high school friends from Chicago. A bunch of her new neighbors were coming too. Carmen had also sent an invitation to Martha, but she predicted it was going to go ignored. After the blowup in September, Martha had all but disappeared. Would she come back when she was ready, Carmen wondered, or was she done with them for good? Three months was a really long time to ignore your best friends.
Before she could relax into party planning, Carmen had to get through today’s final negotiation with Mark and his attorney. There had been months of back and forth on the offshore accounts and other “discoveries” Paul had made. She was sick of it. Her goal was simple—she wanted Mark to fess up about the offshore accounts, give her half, and sign the papers. No drama, just done.
Right on cue, the doorbell rang. All three of them were standing there: her attorney, a very calm, polished woman whose serene demeanor belied the fact that she ate nails for breakfast; his attorney, a short, angry-looking man from Chicago who was sweating profusely despite the fact that it was below freezing outside; and Mark, who actually looked a little tired, which was unusual for him.
“All right then, it looks like we are all here. Let’s get divorced!” Carmen said with forced enthusiasm. Her attorney gave Carmen a wi
thering glance.
They sat at the dining room table. Once they agreed that the discussion would be open and amicable, the attorneys settled into their usual routines of bickering. After about fifteen minutes of getting nowhere, Carmen interjected, “Look, Mark, we have been at this for months. Let’s end this. Just give me half of this other money you have, and let’s sign the papers. Why are we making this hard?”
“Carmen, this is actually technical, complicated stuff, and I think our attorneys need to keep discussing it.”
“What are you talking about? It’s not complicated. It’s easy. You promised me half.”
“Correct, yes, half of the marital assets. These other assets your investigator identified are not marital assets. This was a side investment I made personally with a few friends totally outside of my job and our marriage.”
“Mark, there wasn’t a single thing you did in the last twenty years that I didn’t support. Whatever investments you made were on my back. In fact, if I had not been picking up your shirts from the cleaners and cooking your food and cleaning your toilet, I doubt you would have had the time to make any investments at all, much less do so well at your regular job.” Carmen’s voice was beginning to rise, and she reminded herself that she wasn’t going to allow herself to get upset.
“Carmen, I could have paid someone—anyone really—to do those things. They don’t exactly take special skill.”
“And raising your daughter? Could you have paid just anyone to do that?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, I could have,” Mark said coldly.
“Wow. All I can say to that is that I hope you never decide to tell her that.” Carmen always did better when she was standing up for someone she loved rather than herself.
All the Right Mistakes Page 14
