Piece of Work Read online

  Also by Laura Zigman

  Her

  Dating Big Bird

  Animal Husbandry

  Copyright © 2006 by Laura Zigman

  All rights reserved.

  Warner Books

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

  First eBook Edition: September 2006

  The Warner Books name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  ISBN: 978-0-7595-6847-1

  Contents

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  For Brendan, and Benji, and Sarah.

  And for Colleen.

  Acknowledgments

  I am deeply grateful to Rich Green for agent-matchmaking. And to Theresa Park, who had me at hello and whose guidance and friendship since has made all the difference. And to Amy Einhorn at Warner Books for her smart suggestions and skillful editing.

  I am also very grateful to Shannon O’Keefe and Julie Barer at The Park Literary Group for reading multiple drafts; to Laura Brett and Patty Horing for sharing their insider-knowledge of Larchmont; and to Jamie Raab, Peter McGuigan, Kirsten Neuhaus, Francoise Le Clerc, Emily Griffin, Abigail Koons, Linda Lichter, Diane Luger, Jeff Springer, Madeleine Schachter, Charles Sutherland, Tareth Mitch, Jen Romanello, Emi Battaglia, Lisa Sciambra, and Deborah Dwyer for their efforts on my behalf.

  Thank you to Marian Brown, Elisa D’Andrea, Patrick Dealy, Mike Denneen, Ivan Held, Wendy Law-Yone, David Leibowitz, Barbara Lietzke, Ed Schaeffer, Jen Trynin, Glen Weinstein; Micki Avery, Patrice Thornberg, Marion Kearney, Nancy Cunningham, and Lydia Kim from the Preschool Experience; my book group: Deb Klein, Nancy Leslie, Kathleen Olesky, Elizabeth Smith, Mimi Bergson, Jan Cannon, Liza Dundes, and Andrea Hauser; and Nia Vardalos and Playtone Productions.

  And very special thanks to my Blog Moms—Lisa Goodman, Pinar Kilicci-Kret, Monika Mitra, and Hilary Monihan—who got me through.

  Author’s Note

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons (living or dead) is purely coincidental. Although some celebrities’ names and real entities and places are mentioned, they all are used fictitiously.

  The common idea that success spoils people by making them vain, egotistic, and self-complacent is erroneous. On the contrary, it makes them, for the most part, humble, tolerant, and kind. Failure makes people cruel and bitter.

  —Somerset Maugham, The Summing Up

  According to the American Humane guidelines, no animal actor should have to work like a dog. For instance, if an ape is on set for more than three consecutive days the production must provide a play area or a private park where the ape can exercise and relax. When a bear is working on a film, anything that produces smells that might bother the bear—cheap perfume, strong liquor, jelly doughnuts—must be removed from the location. Only cats that like dogs should be cast in cat-and-dog movies. No individual fish can do more than three takes in a day. Also, under no circumstances can a nonhuman cast member be squished. This rule applies to all nonhuman things, including cockroaches.

  —Susan Orlean, The New Yorker

  1

  On a day just like any other day, Julia Einstein—onetime big-time publicist turned full-time stay-at-home mom—was standing in the kitchen, trying to figure out what she was going to make for dinner that would require the least amount of time and energy. She hated thinking about dinner: what they should have, what they shouldn’t have, what kind of takeout she could get that she could disguise as homemade, what excuse she would give Peter when he got home to explain why, yet again, it was six-thirty and she was still staring into the refrigerator without a clue. Meal preparation was her least favorite part of her “job,” and for almost four years she’d done almost anything—except going to the gym—to avoid it.

  It was around ten-thirty that bright April morning and, as usual, Julia was allowing herself to be bossed around by a three-year-old. She liked to think of it as a choice since it gave her the option of maintaining a shred of dignity in the face of frequent humiliation and subjugation. Toddlers, she remembered hearing someone say, were like big tyrants of tiny countries, and judging from the way Leo had her running around most of the time, she couldn’t have agreed more. He wasn’t half as bad as most three-year-olds she knew—monstrous little beasts who could have sprung up whole from the pages of a Maurice Sendak picture book—though Julia wouldn’t have cared if he were. She loved him more than life itself and couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do after spending ten years getting pecked to death by celebrity clients than cater to his every whim. Demanding, insatiably needy, and all ego and id, he was still by far the best boss she’d ever had.

  It was while she was happily catering to several of those very whims simultaneously, “multitasking” as she heard it was now called in the actual “workplace”—getting him a small bowl of white cheddar Cheez-Its, flipping the channels with the remote to see if Little Bear or Arthur or something besides that annoyingly cloying Caillou was on any of the public television stations that came with their one-hundred-dollar-a-month extended cable package, and finding his once-white now-gray and shredded baby blanket—that Peter suddenly appeared in the living room out of nowhere. He was wearing a spotless navy wool suit, a crisp white shirt, and a boring red tie. Not a hair was out of place on his handsome blond head, and had he not been holding a near-empty bottle of Heineken, she might not have thought twice about what he was doing home in the middle of the day.

  “Who died?” she said, remote in hand and several white cheddar Cheez-Its in mouth. Like any normal Jew, Julia assumed unexpected events and behaviors were signs of death or disaster.

  “No one died.” He laughed, or tried to, anyway.

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I live here.” He forced a smile and took a swig.

  “I know you do, but you don’t usually live here before dinnertime.” Which, by the way, she’d completely forgotten about. “Not to mention drink.”

  “Well, today’s a special day.” Another forced smile, another swig.

  Julia swallowed her Cheez-Its, put the remote down, and led him gently by the arm to the kitchen. Then she stared into his face, hoping he wasn’t going to announce that he was leaving her for another mother who had a job and didn’t wear elasticized pants.

  “Why is today a special day, Peter?”

  He finished what was left of his beer, put the bottle down on the counter, and braced himself with both hands on the kitchen island. Then he looked up at her and forced his biggest smile yet.

  “Because today I got fired.”

  Julia tried to grasp the full meaning of the words but she couldn’t. Peter had never failed at anything since she’d known him.

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know. They said something about restructuring my department but I stopped listening when they
started talking about my ‘package.’ Two months of pay, a year of medical coverage, plus the use of an executive placement office to help me find another job.”

  She shook her head. “Who else got fired?”

  “No one.”

  “It was just you?”

  “It was just me.” He picked up the empty Heineken bottle and started picking the label off. “I guess that makes me special.”

  “You are special, Peter,” she said, hugging him. “You’re really, really special.” They both laughed a little but Julia could have kicked herself for pointing out that he was the sole recipient of the company pink slip. He rested his chin on her shoulder and for a minute they were quiet. When they stopped hugging they were quiet again.

  “So how do you feel?” she asked finally. It was a stupid question, she knew, the kind local newscasters ask people when their house is on fire and they’ve just lost everything, but somehow it was the only thing she could think to say that made sense.

  He shrugged, then sighed. “Actually, I feel pretty good.”

  “You do?”

  “I do. I feel”—he looked up at the ceiling as if the perfect word to describe what it felt like to be him at that exact moment in time was hanging from an invisible little string—“free.”

  She knew that people who experience traumatic loss go through distinct stages—Denial, Anger, and Grief were three she could recall—and now she wondered if Delusional Positivity was another. Even if it wasn’t, she knew whatever phase he was in she was going to have to support him one hundred percent.

  “That’s great.”

  “I mean, maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe it’s for the best and I’ll find a better job.”

  Julia couldn’t imagine Peter finding a better job than the one he’d already had—he’d been a management consultant for one of the most prestigious management consulting firms in the world, with great pay and benefits—and though the whole concept of seeing how bad things that happened to good people sometimes ended up being good things that weren’t so bad was completely alien to her, she was glad he could see the situation that way.

  “So how do you feel?” he asked.

  She was too stunned to know how she felt, but she knew how she didn’t feel—free. But before she could come up with something hopeful and optimistic and completely false to say, she saw her parents’ faces suddenly materialize at the back door.

  “Shit,” she said.

  Peter, who just thought she was expressing her feelings about the situation, since he’d had his back to the door and didn’t see her parents, moved toward Julia and put his arms around her to comfort her. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

  “No.” She shook her head and extracted herself from his embrace and the misunderstanding and went to the door. Tuesday was Costco Day and Julia had forgotten that her parents—Len and Phyllis Einstein, who lived one town over in New Rochelle and had an uncannily bad sense of timing—often stopped by her house in Larchmont to share their bounty—toilet paper, cashews, salmon fillets as big as clown shoes—on their way home. Living ten minutes away from them was a blessing—the free babysitting, the holidays they got to celebrate together, the grandparent-grandchild love affair that blossomed the minute Leo was born—but sometimes she could do without the bulk food drops.

  Her mother came in first, holding a giant rotisserie chicken showcased in a clear poultry-shaped plastic take-out container, and then her father came in carrying a four-pound bunch of bananas which Julia knew her mother would split in two to share since who in the world could eat four pounds of bananas before they went bad. They’d obviously seen Peter through the door because now their eyes were as big as saucers and they didn’t say anything about the food.

  “What’s wrong?” her mother asked, still clutching the chicken.

  “Nothing,” Julia and Peter said in unison.

  “Is somebody sick?” her father said, looking straight at Peter. “Are your folks okay?”

  He nodded. “Yes, they’re fine.”

  “We should send them an Easter card, by the way,” her father said, turning toward her mother.

  “We did.”

  “I don’t remember signing it.”

  “I forged your signature.”

  An awkward moment of silence passed during which Julia relieved her mother of the chicken and her father of the bananas.

  “So what are you doing home in the middle of the day?” her mother finally asked, unable to hold in the Anxiety of Not Knowing any longer.

  Julia looked at Peter and for a split second she knew they were thinking the same thing, that they should make something up to spare themselves the third degree. But a second later she knew they were thinking the same thing again: Just get it over with.

  “Peter lost his job,” Julia said, instinctually taking on the role of Official Mouthpiece and using as passive a phrasing as possible to clarify that this was something that had happened to Peter, not something he’d done to himself.

  Once a publicist, always a publicist.

  Her mother, never one for subtlety, put both hands up to her cheeks. “Oy.”

  “It’s okay,” Julia said, spinning the facts. “We’ll be okay.”

  “What do you mean it’s okay? He has another job already?”

  “No, but he will.” She spoke slowly while raising her eyebrows up and down, as if signaling a child who didn’t know any better to stop staring at whoever they weren’t supposed to be staring at.

  “A lot of layoffs at the firm?” her father asked.

  “Yes,” Julia said before Peter could tell them the truth and make things worse for himself. “A lot of layoffs.”

  “How many?” he asked.

  “How many?” She shrugged. “The whole office.”

  Peter stared at her. “Julia?”

  “What do you mean the whole office?” her father said.

  “They shut down the whole New York office,” she said. “You know, downsizing.”

  “Uhm, Julia?” Peter tried again.

  They both ignored him.

  “What kind of firm shuts down their New York office?” her father continued. “Wouldn’t they shut down one of their smaller offices? Like a branch office? Doesn’t your firm have a branch office in Chicago?” He tried to look over Julia’s head directly at Peter now, but Julia moved to block his view.

  “They don’t call them branch offices anymore,” her mother said.

  “What do they call them then?”

  “Satellite offices.”

  Her father shrugged, unimpressed, then waved her mother away with his hand as if he didn’t care what she thought even though they all knew he did.

  “What makes you such an expert on Peter’s business anyway?” her mother said.

  “I never said I was an expert. But I think I know somethingabout his business.”

  “How could you know about his business? You were an accountant.”

  “An accountant deals with business.”

  “An accountant deals with money.”

  “Money is business.”

  Julia could tell the situation was getting out of hand like a hostile news conference, and she knew if she didn’t put a stop to it soon, her parents would eat her and Peter—and then each other—alive.

  “Anyway,” she said, interrupting another round of bickering that was about to erupt. “Like I said, we’ll be fine.”

  Her mother made a face. “Well, you’re very cavalier.”

  “I’m not cavalier. I’m trying to be optimistic.”

  “Being optimistic so soon seems cavalier,” she said, shaking her head again. “But maybe it’s just me.”

  Whenever her mother said Maybe it’s just me it really meant Maybe it’s just you, which was her way of not saying that she was right and Julia was wrong and which always made Julia go a little crazy.

  “Can’t you ever just pretend to be positive?” Julia said, trying to look above her father’s head directly at her mother, but
he was blocking her view.

  “It’s okay, Julia. Really,” Peter said.

  “Don’t you see,” Julia went on, pointing to Peter, “that he’s in an incredibly fragile emotional state?”

  “I’m not in a fragile emotional state,” Peter said.

  “Yes, you are,” she said, patting his cheek.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are,” she said again, her voice rising. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I mean, I certainly would be if I were the only person in my entire office to get fired!”

  Her parents looked stricken. So did Peter. Julia bit her upper lip with her lower teeth and wished Leo would come in already and make a few demands to distract them all.

  “Look, I know this is a stressful time for everyone,” Peter said, spreading his arms like wings and putting them over her parents’ shoulders, “but we’re going to get through this.”

  Her parents nodded and Julia looked at the chicken and the bananas on the counter. She wondered if, for as long as she lived, those two foods would forever remind her of the day, the moment, the strange instant when life as she and Peter had known it suddenly ground to a halt. But her childhood was filled with moments such as this—when negativity would flood the room and no one could breathe—and she couldn’t think of anything she had stopped eating because of it.

  She touched the domed top of the chicken container with her finger, and, as usual after she lost her temper with her mother, she felt like a big baby. Her parents had grown up in the Depression and had lost a child. It wasn’t their fault that fear and worry and concern were almost all they knew.

  “Do you want to stay for lunch?” she said, wishing she could make it up to them and hoping, actually, that they would stay.

  “Lunch?” her mother said. “It’s ten-thirty in the morning. We’ll say hello to Leo and then we’ll leave.”

  “The last thing you need to worry about at a time like this,” her father said, patting Peter on the arm and kissing Julia on the head, “is us.”