regardless of race: safe streets, good schools, city services. Poor people want those things, too, but nobody ever asks them about it, since they rarely vote, and opinion polls tend to be tied to who's running for something other than the border.
Son andBethboughtthishouse withher first roundof royalties from Son Shine . They ran the business out ofa well-equipped home office and still had space for staff. I lived in this house for almost five years while I was working for them. Turning up into the driveway still made my stomach clench just a little. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I wasn't going hat in hand. She called me.
Her new assistant, a young woman who identified herself as Jade, showed me in, offered coffee, which I declined, and said Beth would be down in just a minute. The room hadn't changed much. There was still the oil portrait of Son and Beth over the mantel. There were still the framed honorary degrees and overposed photographs of Beth with sponsors and celebrities. There were still Son's degrees and awards from first grade on, all neatly framed and arranged in a sort of mini-shrine. There were still the green velvet sofa and chairs where we used to sit and talk for hours, sometimes the three of us, sometimes in twos. It felt like home, except it wasn't. Not anymore.
From the beginning, Son had insisted that we hide our relationship from Beth, elope, and present our marriage as a fait accompli. I begged him to let me tell her, but he couldn't face her disapproval. I kept asking him why she would disapprove. I knew she liked me as an employee, so why not as a daughter-in-law? After I kept badgering him, one day he finally told me that when he had broached the subject with her, she had immediately dismissed the possibilities of a romantic connection between us by reminding him that I was “hired help” and not worthy of being his wife.
That hurt my feelings, but I never blamed Son, and we kept sneaking. Somehow she found out, and she went berserk. When she confronted him and he blurted out his plan to start up his own company based on developing a complementary male constituency, she accused me of planting the idea as a means to my own selfish ends, and him of being a cruel, ungrateful son who didn't seem to care that he was going to break his mother's heart and undo all the good work they'd done in the last ten years.
Then she cried. He was no match for all that, so he apologized profusely and decided to break my heart instead.
Beth entered the room like she always does, walking fast like she's got somewhere more important to go as soon as she dispenses with you. As usual, she was simply dressed in full-cut pants and a dark tunic, her salt-and-pepper hair brushed smooth and twisted back severely in a style that served to focus your attention on her face. She was as striking as I remembered her, with those big dark eyes and that wide, surprisingly sensual mouth, but she seemed to have aged ten years in the last two. The loss ofher son had clearly taken its toll, and I felt a pang of sympathy for her.
She must have seen it in my face because she relaxed a little and greeted me warmly.
“Gina!” She looked undecided about whether to hug me, so I stuck out my hand.
“Hello, Beth. It's been a long time.”
“Too long.” She looked at me like she really meant it.
“I'm sorry it took such a terrible thing to bring us together,” I said.
Her bottom lip trembled slightly, and her eyes filled up with tears. “I am, too,” she whispered, then cleared her throat as if to regain control of her emotions. “And thank you for coming. I know the circumstances might make these first few moments a little awkward, but for Son's sake, I hope that we can rise above all that.”
“I hope we can, too,” I said. For thirty thousand dollars, I'm sure we can.
This kinder, gentler Beth was not fooling me for a second. In the dictionary under hidden agenda , there should be her picture.
“I wanted
Son andBethboughtthishouse withher first roundof royalties from Son Shine . They ran the business out ofa well-equipped home office and still had space for staff. I lived in this house for almost five years while I was working for them. Turning up into the driveway still made my stomach clench just a little. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I wasn't going hat in hand. She called me.
Her new assistant, a young woman who identified herself as Jade, showed me in, offered coffee, which I declined, and said Beth would be down in just a minute. The room hadn't changed much. There was still the oil portrait of Son and Beth over the mantel. There were still the framed honorary degrees and overposed photographs of Beth with sponsors and celebrities. There were still Son's degrees and awards from first grade on, all neatly framed and arranged in a sort of mini-shrine. There were still the green velvet sofa and chairs where we used to sit and talk for hours, sometimes the three of us, sometimes in twos. It felt like home, except it wasn't. Not anymore.
From the beginning, Son had insisted that we hide our relationship from Beth, elope, and present our marriage as a fait accompli. I begged him to let me tell her, but he couldn't face her disapproval. I kept asking him why she would disapprove. I knew she liked me as an employee, so why not as a daughter-in-law? After I kept badgering him, one day he finally told me that when he had broached the subject with her, she had immediately dismissed the possibilities of a romantic connection between us by reminding him that I was “hired help” and not worthy of being his wife.
That hurt my feelings, but I never blamed Son, and we kept sneaking. Somehow she found out, and she went berserk. When she confronted him and he blurted out his plan to start up his own company based on developing a complementary male constituency, she accused me of planting the idea as a means to my own selfish ends, and him of being a cruel, ungrateful son who didn't seem to care that he was going to break his mother's heart and undo all the good work they'd done in the last ten years.
Then she cried. He was no match for all that, so he apologized profusely and decided to break my heart instead.
Beth entered the room like she always does, walking fast like she's got somewhere more important to go as soon as she dispenses with you. As usual, she was simply dressed in full-cut pants and a dark tunic, her salt-and-pepper hair brushed smooth and twisted back severely in a style that served to focus your attention on her face. She was as striking as I remembered her, with those big dark eyes and that wide, surprisingly sensual mouth, but she seemed to have aged ten years in the last two. The loss ofher son had clearly taken its toll, and I felt a pang of sympathy for her.
She must have seen it in my face because she relaxed a little and greeted me warmly.
“Gina!” She looked undecided about whether to hug me, so I stuck out my hand.
“Hello, Beth. It's been a long time.”
“Too long.” She looked at me like she really meant it.
“I'm sorry it took such a terrible thing to bring us together,” I said.
Her bottom lip trembled slightly, and her eyes filled up with tears. “I am, too,” she whispered, then cleared her throat as if to regain control of her emotions. “And thank you for coming. I know the circumstances might make these first few moments a little awkward, but for Son's sake, I hope that we can rise above all that.”
“I hope we can, too,” I said. For thirty thousand dollars, I'm sure we can.
This kinder, gentler Beth was not fooling me for a second. In the dictionary under hidden agenda , there should be her picture.
“I wanted
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