she said as she came through the door and gave me a stiff, almost perfunctory hug.
As promised, she’d arrived just about eleven on the dot. She looked great, wearing jeans and what looked like might be a man’s button-down collar dress shirt. She’d always looked great, yet never ever gave off the impression that she knew or cared. I’d always liked her short hair, eschewing what
Entertainment Tonight
tells me is the current trend toward longer tresses.
“Hi, Sarah. Safe flight?”
“No, the landing gear jammed so we were forced into a belly-down skid on a runway of foam. There was fire everywhere. Luckily we came to rest near the taxi stand so I just zipped down the inflatable chute into a cab and here I am. That’s why I was a few minutes late,” she replied.
She looked up and saw my face. I was still stuck on “belly-down skid.”
“Hem, the flight was fine,” she said. “I always say something like that when people ask me that stupid question. If my flight hadn’t been safe, I wouldn’t have just walked through your door, now would I?”
“Shit, Sarah, it’s just a figure of speech, a friendly, small-talk greeting very commonly directed to people who have just come from the airport. I wouldn’t say it’s stupid.”
She headed for the kitchen and straight for the fridge.
“Whatever. I’m here and I’m safe. Got beer?”
“There’s Corona in the door, but it’s not even noon,” I reminded her.
“Yeah, but I’ve been up since 5:15, Chicago time, so it feels like happy hour to me.”
She popped the cap on a Corona and dropped into a chair. I was still kind of standing there in the centre of my own living room.
“Hem, sit and tell me what the hell happened at the office yesterday. It sounds like you were royally screwed over.”
She threw one leg up and over the arm of the chair, making herself very comfortable before taking a long draw on her beer. I tend to follow instructions when they’re forcefully delivered, except, apparently, at the DMV , so I sat down.
“Well, it seems I overstayed my welcome at Macdonald-Clark. Idle Bob, the GM , let me go and …”
“With cause or without?” she interrupted.
“Without cause.”
“What did they offer?”
“I got a year’s severance.”
“One year. Hmmm. When do you have to sign it back?”
“What do you mean?”
“When do you have to sign back the separation agreement? Please tell me they had paperwork ready,” she said sitting forward.
“Oh yes, they had the paperwork ready,” I replied. She resumed her relaxed position in the chair. “I signed it all yesterday.”
She leapt to her feet and crossed the floor toward me with what looked like fratricide in her eyes. She towered over me and bellowed.
“You what!? You didn’t! No you didn’t! You did not sign the agreement yesterday! You’re messing with me, right? You’re just waiting for your lawyer’s comments, right?”
She wasn’t really tall enough to tower but that’s certainly how it felt.
“The paperwork all seemed in order and a year’s salary seemed fair to me. In fact, it seemed generous,” I replied.
“Did you even read the agreement?”
“Well, I read a lot of it, partially.”
“Did it include a section that precludes you from going back for more if you sign and take the money?”
“Sarah, I’m eighteen inches from you. My deaf neighbour probably thinks you’re speaking to her.”
“Sorry. Did it have that clause or didn’t it?” she asked in a voice that she dropped from earsplitting to loud.
“I don’t remember much about the document after, um …”
“After what?”
“… after ‘This agreement lays out the terms of separation blah, blah …’ ” I said, looking at the carpet. Sarah exhaled like she might never take another breath.
“Sarah, calm down. Bob said it was much more generous than the statutory requirement and that there was no point in negotiating or I’d only get what the legislation
As promised, she’d arrived just about eleven on the dot. She looked great, wearing jeans and what looked like might be a man’s button-down collar dress shirt. She’d always looked great, yet never ever gave off the impression that she knew or cared. I’d always liked her short hair, eschewing what
Entertainment Tonight
tells me is the current trend toward longer tresses.
“Hi, Sarah. Safe flight?”
“No, the landing gear jammed so we were forced into a belly-down skid on a runway of foam. There was fire everywhere. Luckily we came to rest near the taxi stand so I just zipped down the inflatable chute into a cab and here I am. That’s why I was a few minutes late,” she replied.
She looked up and saw my face. I was still stuck on “belly-down skid.”
“Hem, the flight was fine,” she said. “I always say something like that when people ask me that stupid question. If my flight hadn’t been safe, I wouldn’t have just walked through your door, now would I?”
“Shit, Sarah, it’s just a figure of speech, a friendly, small-talk greeting very commonly directed to people who have just come from the airport. I wouldn’t say it’s stupid.”
She headed for the kitchen and straight for the fridge.
“Whatever. I’m here and I’m safe. Got beer?”
“There’s Corona in the door, but it’s not even noon,” I reminded her.
“Yeah, but I’ve been up since 5:15, Chicago time, so it feels like happy hour to me.”
She popped the cap on a Corona and dropped into a chair. I was still kind of standing there in the centre of my own living room.
“Hem, sit and tell me what the hell happened at the office yesterday. It sounds like you were royally screwed over.”
She threw one leg up and over the arm of the chair, making herself very comfortable before taking a long draw on her beer. I tend to follow instructions when they’re forcefully delivered, except, apparently, at the DMV , so I sat down.
“Well, it seems I overstayed my welcome at Macdonald-Clark. Idle Bob, the GM , let me go and …”
“With cause or without?” she interrupted.
“Without cause.”
“What did they offer?”
“I got a year’s severance.”
“One year. Hmmm. When do you have to sign it back?”
“What do you mean?”
“When do you have to sign back the separation agreement? Please tell me they had paperwork ready,” she said sitting forward.
“Oh yes, they had the paperwork ready,” I replied. She resumed her relaxed position in the chair. “I signed it all yesterday.”
She leapt to her feet and crossed the floor toward me with what looked like fratricide in her eyes. She towered over me and bellowed.
“You what!? You didn’t! No you didn’t! You did not sign the agreement yesterday! You’re messing with me, right? You’re just waiting for your lawyer’s comments, right?”
She wasn’t really tall enough to tower but that’s certainly how it felt.
“The paperwork all seemed in order and a year’s salary seemed fair to me. In fact, it seemed generous,” I replied.
“Did you even read the agreement?”
“Well, I read a lot of it, partially.”
“Did it include a section that precludes you from going back for more if you sign and take the money?”
“Sarah, I’m eighteen inches from you. My deaf neighbour probably thinks you’re speaking to her.”
“Sorry. Did it have that clause or didn’t it?” she asked in a voice that she dropped from earsplitting to loud.
“I don’t remember much about the document after, um …”
“After what?”
“… after ‘This agreement lays out the terms of separation blah, blah …’ ” I said, looking at the carpet. Sarah exhaled like she might never take another breath.
“Sarah, calm down. Bob said it was much more generous than the statutory requirement and that there was no point in negotiating or I’d only get what the legislation
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