Body Language. Millie Criswell
a ’50s movie—gunmetal gray with an industrial feel to it. The only saving grace was the tall windows that surrounded the building, allowing plenty of light to pour in. To the right she could see the Chrysler Building and Empire State Building, to the left, the East River and Queens. That is, when she actually had time to look out the window, which wasn’t often.
“No,” Ellie replied, turning on her computer and placing her purse in the bottom drawer of the metal desk. “Is he ill?”
“He’s gone. Moody’s gone.”
Ellie spun around and was surprised by the concerned look on her friend’s face. Becky was not an alarmist.
“What do you mean, gone? Gone, as in dead?” She disliked Moody, but she didn’t want him dead, although a minor intestinal upset wouldn’t have been out of the question.
“I think he’s been replaced. It’s all been very hush-hush since I came in this morning.” Becky handed Ellie a cup of coffee. “Something’s up. I can feel it.”
“Thanks,” she said, taking a sip. “Replaced? By whom?” Surely she would have heard something if that were the case.
Just then, Jane Blumley, one of their co-workers, walked by and stopped, an eager look on her face. “I guess you heard about Moody? I think he’s been axed.” She made a cutting motion across her throat.
Jane wasn’t a particularly attractive woman—her nose was too large and her hair was so thin she looked bald in spots—but what she didn’t possess in looks she made up for in her ability to disseminate gossip.
The grapevine at the U.N. was rife with gossip, rumor and innuendo, and not just the political stuff. If you were engaged in sex with a co-worker, bought a new pair of expensive shoes, or washed and waxed your car over the weekend, it was talked about, dissected, and circulated in a matter of minutes on Monday morning.
“There’s probably a memo on your computer,” Becky said. “I got one this morning, though it doesn’t explain very much. Each of us in translation and interpretation is to have a one-on-one meeting, where the changes will be explained and the new director introduced.”
“Just like that.” Ellie snapped her fingers. “No notice, no nothing. How do we know we aren’t going to be sacked?” Which might have already happened to Moody, but most likely he’d been put out to pasture. And she couldn’t take exception to that decision. The man was a relic, and his being let go was way overdue.
Checking her e-mail, she found the memo Becky had referred to and shook her head. “It’s not even signed. How mysterious is that?”
“Maybe Moody hasn’t been replaced as yet. Maybe they’re going to select one of us to head up the department.”
Ellie smiled at her friend’s naiveté. “Nice thought, but not likely to happen, Becky. They’ll replace Moody with someone who has a lot more experience than we do. Just to make senior interpreter requires at least ten years of internationally recognized interpreting experience. We’ve still got a ways to go, I’m thinking.”
Becky sighed. “I hope I don’t get fired. We think we’ve found the house we’re going to buy.”
Ah. That explained the alarm.
“Really?” Ellie smiled, happy for her friend, though she wondered how they could afford it. Becky and Ben were always having financial problems and had borrowed money from Ben’s parents just last year to make ends meet.
Borrowing money from your parents or in-laws was an open invitation for them to move in with you after they retired. Ellie had decided long ago that she’d rather starve than take that step. Not that she didn’t love her parents, but what grown child wanted to live with them?
Which brought to mind her mother’s intention to come and stay with her. Ellie’s stomach soured at the thought.
“That’s great, Becky.” She tried to sound cheerful and upbeat.
“Not really. It’s the house next door to Ben’s parents.”
“Well, at least you’d have a built-in baby-sitter. There’s always that to consider.”
Okay, so finding positives wasn’t all that easy. At least she was trying.
“It wouldn’t be worth it. Ben’s mother thinks she knows everything about running a household and taking care of children. She’d drive me nuts in two seconds. And she’d have Jonah spoiled rotten in less time than that.”
“So tell Ben no. You still have that option, you know. He’s your husband, not your father. And you do have a say in what happens in your marriage; it’s a partnership, remember?”
Becky looked conflicted, which was how the woman went through life, unfortunately. She hadn’t yet learned that you can’t please all of the people all of the time. “But Ben’s so excited about the prospect of having a home of our own, where he can put up a swing set for the baby, and—”
“Listen to yourself. Jonah is ten months old. He’s not going to be using a swing set for a couple more years. In the meantime, you’re stuck with mommy dearest. If I were you, I’d say something to Ben, and soon.”
“I guess you’re right.” But Becky didn’t look at all convinced by Ellie’s argument. “Enough about me,” she said, obviously eager to change the subject. “How was your weekend? Did you do anything fun and exciting?”
Before Ellie could respond, her friend added, a wistful note to her voice, “I miss the single life. Don’t get me wrong. I love Ben and Jonah—they’re my whole life. But I miss going out with the girls and meeting interesting men, shopping till I drop and buying the most outrageous, impractical shoes that I can find.” She sighed. “Now I scour the shelves for the cheapest kind of disposable diapers. Sometimes I think I made a mistake by getting married.”
Uh-oh.
Something sounded rotten in paradise, and she hoped the signal Becky was sending was wrong. She’d read that women often became depressed after childbirth and prayed that Becky’s disillusionment with married life was nothing more than a hormone imbalance.
“The single life’s not that great, Becky, and you know it. We all want what you have.” Sort of. Well, except for the poopy diapers and controlling husband. And that house thing next door to mommy dearest was definitely out.
The unhappy woman shrugged. “I guess. But I bet you did something wildly exciting.”
“Hardly. I was supposed to go out clubbing with my friend, Steffie, but I wasn’t in the mood after my mom called, so I canceled.” She explained the phone call, relating her parents’ present situation. Becky looked suitably horrified.
“My father had an affair with his secretary when I was a teenager. It was a horrible mess.”
“What happened? Did your mother ever forgive him?”
Becky shook her head. “No, she divorced him and still won’t talk to him to this day. It makes the holidays very difficult, not to mention that our wedding was a nightmare. ‘Who’ll give the bride away? Dad number one, or husband number two?’ Dad won out, because I insisted, but not before the War of the Roses Part Two aired.”
“Has your father remarried?”
“When my mother flatly refused to take him back, Dad married the woman with whom he’d had the affair. It lasted less than six months. Apparently living with her wasn’t the same thrill as banging her.”
“If I can’t convince my mother to stay in Florida and work things out with my dad, my life as we know it will be over.”
“Wish I could be more optimistic, but based on my own experience, I’d say it doesn’t look good. The only thing you have going for you is that the affair took place on the Internet and not in person.”
“Well, Mom’s still not one hundred percent sure about that.