Judith Tarr: Household Gods

The office hadn’t changed at all — but it had only been three weeks of this world’s time since she’d seen it. Rosenthal stood up to greet her. She couldn’t read his expression. “Coffee?” he asked, just as he had when he’d dropped the bomb on her.

“Yes, thanks,” she said, and let him pour her a cup. There was a subtle protocol in that, and she was as well aware of it as he was.

It was excellent coffee. She sipped at it for a moment, admiring the view from his window, before she sat down across from that battleship of a desk.

She couldn’t tell what, if anything, he was thinking. Her gray suit, her cream silk shell, and her understated professional makeup wouldn’t offend his eyes, she didn’t think. Maybe she was a little more confident than she’d been, or a little less worn down by the world in general. She was definitely happier, now that she had a basis of comparison. Historical perspective, she thought, is an amazingly underrated thing.

Sheldon Rosenthal studied her for a moment, a scrutiny she endured with what she hoped was suitable equanimity, and tapped his forefinger on the analysis. “You think a challenge to developing this parcel, should one occur, would be likely to succeed.”

Nicole’s heart thudded, but she calmed it down. She nodded. “Yes, I do. Anyone who takes a look at that environmental impact report will find plenty of ammunition. I’ve outlined a couple of possible strategies, with citations.”

“Yes, you were most thorough.” Rosenthal tapped the top page again. “Most thorough,” he repeated. Nicole wondered if he meant it for a compliment. He coughed, then said, “I notice you credit Mr. Ogarkov with assisting you here.”

“That’s right,” Nicole said. And what do you intend to make of that. Mr. Founding Partner?

“And why did you seek his assistance?” Rosenthal asked. “Did you not consider that, since I gave the assignment to you, I might have wanted it to come from you and you alone?”

“I did consider that, yes.” Nicole spoke with great care. “But I also thought you would want the analysis to be as good as it could be, no matter how it got that way. Mr. Ogarkov writes better than I do” — you drove that home with a sledgehammer — “and so I asked him to polish it before I gave it to you. He was kind enough to oblige.”

“I see.” Sheldon Rosenthal coughed again. Nicole couldn’t help remembering what a repeated cough had meant once, in Carnuntum. But this was lawyerly pose, not pestilence. “He made a point of telling me that polishing, as you put it, was all he did: that the legal analysis is entirely yours.”

“That’s true,” Nicole said, cautious still. Of course Rosenthal had checked in with Gary before he summoned her. It was good of Gary not to try to take more credit than he deserved. But then, he didn’t need to hog credit now. He’d already made partner. Whereas Nicole -

I’ve got a job. she reminded herself firmly. It could be worse. I know how much worse it could be. She could hang on here till she got some resumes in the mail. If she found something better, she’d take it. If she didn’t, she’d keep hanging on. That was all she could do. All she needed to do, really. As long as she had food, shelter, and means to pay the bills, that would be enough.

“It is, I think, an excellent analysis,” Rosenthal said.

“Thank you,” Nicole said. He’d praised her work before. It hadn’t meant anything then; it needn’t mean anything now. Nevertheless, she couldn’t stop her heart from speeding up again… Just drop the bomb and get it over with.

He coughed once more. In another world and time, she’d have been waiting for him to break out in a rash and collapse. Instead, he plucked at the neat tuft of hair on his chin. Was he nervous? Of course not. He was playing a game of some sort, and she, it appeared, was the spectator. Or, perhaps, the target?

“Not long ago,” he remarked, “Mr. Sandoval informed me that he was resigning to accept a position with a firm in Sacramento. He has, I believe, ambitions of working closely with the State Legislature.” One of his eyebrows twitched microscopically, as if to say he found such ambitions unsavory.

Nicole had been prepared for a number of things, but this particular change of subject took her by surprise. She didn’t know Sandoval past the occasional greeting in the hall, but she could say honestly enough, “I hope he does very well.”

“I have no doubt that he will. He is able and personable and, as I say, ambitious. That, however, is not why I mention the matter to you.” Rosenthal got up, refilled his coffee cup, and Nicole’s as well, without waiting for her to nod. More power games. More odd resonances. He sat down, sipped, and resumed: “I mention it because, with Mr. Sandoval’s departure, we are left with a vacancy in our partnership structure. Would you by any chance be interested in filling that vacancy?”

Nicole sat in what felt, just then, like a perfect vacuum. He’d said words. The words meant something. What they meant…

She was sitting, she realized, and staring blankly at the founding partner’s face. It had blurred into an abstract, a pale oblong of features, two dark dots for eyes, and a grayish smudge of beard. Slowly, though perhaps not as slowly in real time as in the eons inside her head, she found the rags of her professional demeanor and put them on. The first thing that came to her, she didn’t act on. A shriek of Yee-haaaa! was hardly appropriate in the founding partner’s office.

The second response, the one she selected, came out rather well, she thought, and rather calmly, too: “Thank you, Mr. Rosenthal. I would like that very much.”

Was that the wintry ghost of a smile on that austere face? She let herself suppose it was. “Well, splendid,” Rosenthal said. “I know I must have disappointed you in our last, formal meeting. After this truly outstanding piece of work you’ve done here, I’m doubly pleased to make this offer.”

She might be half blind with joy, but she could read between those lines. He must have taken more flak than he’d expected when he named Gary and not her. He’d given her the analysis as a test of sorts. If she’d done it badly — maybe even if she hadn’t thought to ask Gary to help with the prose style — he would have had the ammunition he needed to prove he’d been right. If she did well, as she’d done, he had justification for promoting her. How long had he known Sandoval would be leaving? Had he by any chance encouraged Sandoval to leave just then?

She couldn’t ask, and she wasn’t about to try. If she hadn’t lived in Carnuntum while her body spent six days in a coma, what would have happened? If he’d just dumped the analysis on her in the state of mind she’d been in after she lost the partnership, she’d probably have told him to put it where the sun didn’t shine. Or she’d have given him a half-assed, halfhearted job, the work of an obviously disgruntled employee.

For all she knew, that was exactly what he’d expected of her. If so, he wasn’t showing it, and he wasn’t likely to. If she’d surprised him, he’d never admit it. Nor would he ever confess to disappointment that she’d proved him wrong and her supporters — the whole amazing number of them — right. Thank you, Liber, she thought. Thank you, Libera. But for you, I’d be out on the street right now.

Rosenthal was waiting for her to say something. She couldn’t let him know exactly what she was thinking, but she came as close as she dared: “Sometimes things need to work out at their own speed.”

Thanks again to the god and goddess whose answers to her prayers had taught her so much, and shown her how to conduct herself in two worlds, she’d said the right thing. “A very mature attitude, Ms. Gunther-Perrin,” Rosenthal said, nodding with more vigorous approval than she’d ever had from him. “Commendably mature. The proper attitude for a team player. Yes, I think you will be valuable to the firm in your new role.”