Taking Care of Business

As if work wasn't crappy enough! 

Well, I like what I do, 'cause I'm helping people.  But I do it in a microscopic room with ten other women who never quite left junior high school. If  I wanted to work with children I'd open a daycare center.

Upper management called a department meeting this morning, and as usual scheduled it just a half-hour before lunch, which meant that we'd all be late for our lunch breaks, which screws up phone coverage, not to mention getting take-out and running errands.

But when the “girls” finish griping about that, chattering began about what the meeting might be about.

I was curious, of course, but have worked in enough places to know to be wary of rumors and hearsay.

With the twenty-twenty clarity of hindsight, it seems odd that nobody seemed to guess that we might have a new department manager.  Maybe because the position had been unfilled for almost four months, and with the economy we figured they'd just decided not to fill it, at least until things get better.

Ms. Dreven, the division VP, opened the meeting with her usual cheerful,  pep-rally enthusisam.  She congratulated and thanks us for working so hard for the company, and took care of a few routine housekeeping issues.

Then, she nodded to her obsequious assistant, and stood to say, “I'm happy to announce that we have finally filled the Billing Department Manager position.”

She nodded again to her assistant, who opened the door as she continued.  “May I introduce....”

I scarcely heard the introduction, or the following summary of the new manager's credentials.

I didn't need to.

It was Rivkah, my ex.

Our eyes met instantly, and then we each looked away.  She made a point of looking at and smiling at everyone in the room, now her staff.

I averted my gaze, until I heard Ms. Dreven say “And this is Micki Scoszinski, she's our HMO/PPO Specialist.”

I gave an awkward smile and nod at my new boss, then kind of zoned out as Rivkah took over the meeting.
Once I got over the shock and creepiness of the situation, I was angry.  How could she?  She knew I worked here.  I'd worked here when she left me for that artsy Goth musician bitch.

But even I had to admit, she was qualified for the position.

I haven't seen her since her grandmother's funeral last spring, when our family and friends were still convinced we'd get back together. 

Riv and I had meant at an insurance seminar six years ago. 

At the time, we each worked for family medicine practices, and had happened to sit at the same table.  We talked during a lull in the presentation, and then briefly afterwards as we were filing out of the room, on the way to our cars and our jobs.  We just clicked.  You know what I mean

Then both our groups got taken over by the same medical conglomerate, and we found ourselves working together, mostly via phone and email.   

It took a while for us to trust each other, and then gradually, subtly, verify that we were both lesbians; and we started seeing each other.    We moved in together about four months later, almost two years to the date that we first met.  It seemed a good omen at the time.

We'd lived happily together.  And a few years ago, when gay marriage was briefly legal in California, we'd gathered together some supportive family and friends and had a glorious vacation and wedding in San Francisco, followed by a picnic lunch in Golden Gate Park, and some beautiful wedding photos taken in the Japanese Tea Garden.

Our marriage lasted just under a year and a half.  Then Rivkah met Gretl.  That's her stage name, anyway; her real name is Margaret something or other.  She plays drums in a band called Temporal Anomaly.  They don't even play Rivkah's kind of music.  And I don't know what Rivkah sees in her.

Technically we're still married; though of course, it's not legal here, or anywhere outside of California.  And I'm not so sure it's still legal in California either.

And I might have a bigger problem that having Rivkah for my boss.  I'm not “out” here at work.  It's a conservative Bible-belt region, but its home.  And no one's ever asked, so I don't bring it up. 

Because, hey, I need the job.   

And Rivkah knows I'm not out here.  But will she remember or  care?  And could we work together, civilly;? Aand still keep it a secret?  Then again, it's her secret too.

The meeting ends and we're sent back to our cubicles.  The first lunch folks glance at the clock, announcing the time as 11:32; meaning that they intend to take every minute of their delayed lunch hour.
I get back to the appeal I'm researching, as Rivkah begins settling into her new office. 

After lunch, she begins calling us each into her office.  Apparently during the meeting, she'd said she wanted to meet with each of to discuss our duties and job descriptions.

Now it's my turn, and I try to look nonchalant about meeting the new boss.  But I'm nervous as hell.  Until I see Rivkah's eyes.

“I'm sorry Michelle.”  she says quietly as soon as I close the door.  “But someone found out about me and Gretl at work, the rumors began and ... Well, I don't need to tell you  why I needed to change  jobs.”

I nod.  I understand.  She's having these one-on-ones, so she can talk privately with me.  So we begin talking about the job. 

We don't say it.  And it's not going to be easy.  But we agree to carry on as professionals.  It's just business.