What Happens in Paradise(26)

Happy New Year, we’ve missed you, is everything okay, we’ve been so worried, it’s not like you to take unscheduled time off, we knew something must be wrong, we heard about your promotion, and then Mavis gave us the news about Milly. God bless you, Irene, she was so lucky to have a daughter-in-law like you.

Bets, from advertising, says, “How’s Russ handling it?”

At this, Irene separates herself by an arm’s length. She can’t lie, but neither can she tell them the truth.

She says, “Is Mavis in her office? I really need to talk with her.”

Yes, yes, Mavis is in her office. Jayne takes it upon herself to personally escort Irene up the half-flight of stairs to Mavis’s office, which happens to be right next door to Irene’s own office, the door of which is shut tight.

Jayne raps on Mavis’s door, then swings it open and announces, “Irene is here!” As though Irene is the First Lady of Iowa.

Irene steps in. Mavis is on the phone. Jayne whispers, “Mavis is always on the phone.” As if this is Irene’s first time in the office, her first time meeting Mavis. “She shouldn’t be long. I’ll give you two your privacy.” And she closes the door.

Mavis is wearing a silk pantsuit in what must be considered winter white. She’s not wearing a blouse under the blazer, though Irene spies a peek of lacy camisole. In an office where most of the employees are women and most of those women wear embroidered sweaters or Eileen Fisher schmattas, Mavis is a curiosity indeed.

Mavis raises a finger (One minute!), then lowers a palm (Please sit!). She has decorated her office in eggshell suede and black leather, an aesthetic previously frowned upon as “modern” and “urban” by the executives at Heartland Home and Style. Irene helps herself to one of the Italian sparkling waters in Mavis’s glass-fronted minifridge. Why not enjoy the pretensions that are on offer?

She decides to remain standing.

Mavis says, “Thanks for your help with this, Bernie. I’ll circle back next week.” She hangs up. “Irene?”

“Mavis,” Irene says. She turns back to make sure that the office door is closed and that Jayne isn’t stationed outside with her ear to the glass. “I need to talk to you. Can I trust you to keep what we say confidential?”

The question is rhetorical. Mavis doesn’t trade on gossip like the other people in the office because Mavis has invested only her head here, not her heart. She was hired to be a problem-solver and a moneymaker. She’s an ice queen, which, under the present circumstances, is a tremendous asset.

Irene lets it all out as concisely as possible: Russ has been killed in a helicopter crash in the Virgin Islands; Irene’s trip down to St. John with the boys revealed evidence of a second life—an expensive villa, a mistress (also dead), a twelve-year-old daughter. Russ’s body was identified and cremated before Irene arrived. Russ’s boss, Todd Croft, the apparent puppet master of this whole grotesque theater, can’t be reached, and the business’s website is down.

“I’m…I’m speechless,” Mavis says. “Your husband is dead? He had a secret life?”

Irene blinks.

“I’m sure you don’t want to go into the gritty details. Who can blame you. But…wow. I thought maybe you were angry about your new role here.”

“Oh, I was,” Irene says. “But then all this happened and…” She studies the bottle of fancy water in her hands because it gives her something to do other than cry.

“Irene,” Mavis says. “What can I do to help?”

“I’m giving you my notice,” Irene says. “I can’t come back to work. I thought maybe, with time…but no.” Irene sighs. “I’m not even sure I’ll stay in Iowa City.”

“What?” Mavis says. “What about your house?”

Irene shrugs. Three weeks ago, leaving behind the house would have been unthinkable. That house took six years of her life to complete; it’s a work of art. Now, of course, Irene sees how blindly devoted she was to the project, how she sweated over the details and completely ignored her marriage. It’s entirely possible that Irene had been standing at her workspace in the kitchen poring over four choices of wallpaper for the third upstairs bath and Russ had come to her and said, Honey, I have a lover in the Virgin Islands and I’ve fathered a daughter, and Irene had said, That’s great, honey.

What Russ did was wrong. But Irene is not blameless.

“You know, I’ve been to St. John,” Mavis says. “I stayed at the Westin with my parents. It’s beautiful.”

“I’d like you to pass my resignation on to Joseph,” Irene says. “I’ll call him myself eventually, but right now…”

Mavis waves a hand. “I got it. Consider it handled.”

“And would you smooth things over with the rest of the staff?”

“I certainly will,” Mavis says. “They’ll all miss you, of course. And they’ll assume it’s my fault you’re leaving. The good news is I don’t think they can hate me any more than they already do.”

“They’re midwesterners,” Irene says. “A bit resistant to change.”

“You think?” Mavis says. “I tried to win them over with team building—lunches at Formosa, happy hour at the Clinton Street Social Club—but I’m pretty sure they talk about me behind my back the second I pick up the check.”