Household Gods

“Do you think you can have this on my desk a week from today?” he asked.

Nicole nearly let go regardless of all her combat training in circumspection. But her resolve held. She was able to say with a reasonable degree of aplomb, “I’ll try. If I weren’t coming back from being sick, I’d be sure of it. But with everything else backed up a week and more — “

Rosenthal cut her off with a chopping gesture. “This has priority. If everything else has waited for you to return, it can wait a little longer.”

Nicole drew a deep breath. If the founding partner said Hop! the wise frog didn’t ask How high? till she was already on the way up. “All right,” she said. “In that case, I’ll have it done on time.” Or die trying.

“Good,” Sheldon Rosenthal said. “I’ll look forward to seeing what you do with it.” His nod was as carefully wrought as everything else about him. “And let me say once more, I am very glad to see you back in good health.” Without even waiting to hear her dutiful thanks, he nodded one last time, turned and headed back to the eminence of the seventh floor.

He’d left the attache case, brass fittings and all. Nicole refused to run after him like a flunky. She’d send somebody up with it later. For now she closed it and set it aside, pausing to stroke the fine leather. Then she turned back to her desk, took another deep breath, and started skimming through the documents the case had carried. The sooner she knew how brutal this job was going to be, the better.

As she read through the papers, she felt how long she’d been away, even more than she had with her kids. Time after time, she remembered the outline of the legal points she’d made in the Butler Ranch report, but not the details. And the details were what mattered, because the outline fell to pieces without them.

She pulled the old report on her computer and scribbled notes for the citations she’d need to check to write this new one. She’d have to hit the books, too, because she couldn’t recall what went into some of those citations.

She stifled a sigh. She’d known it would be this way. Even if she wasn’t quick, she’d be right. Here, she needed to be right and quick both — either that or take a lot of work home.

Well, if she had to, she had to: part of the price she paid for going away. It was cheap enough, she reckoned. She could have had to stay in Carnuntum till the day she died.

Another part of the price was the continued stream of attorneys and secretaries, all of whom professed themselves glad to see her back. She started to wonder just how important to the firm she was, if so many people were making a point of welcoming her. Or were they just being careful? She could sue, after all. You could sue for just about anything — and she had been passed over in favor of a male employee. Sheldon Rosenthal had warned her that any attempt to sue would get her nowhere, but that was before she landed in the hospital for just under a week.

Or maybe she was too cynical. They really did seem happy to see her. Several teased her for working so hard so soon. Her answering smile was decidedly wan. She wished they would go away and let her do the work instead of commiserating with her about it.

There was one notable exception to the procession of well-wishers. Tony Gallagher did not come down from the seventh floor to see how she was. She didn’t miss him a bit — and not only because he spared her yet another interruption.

A little past eleven, the telephone rang. She jumped; she’d finally had fifteen minutes free of interruptions, and had managed to immerse herself in what she was doing. “Nicole Gunther-Perrin,” she said. It was still a deep pleasure to say that name instead of the one she’d lived under for so long. She wasn’t Umma. If the gods were kind — and that was a literal truth — she’d never be Umma again. No offense, she said to the spirit of her ancestress, wherever by now it might be, but you are you and I’m myself, and I’m most pleased to keep it that way.

Cyndi’s voice sounded in her ear. “It’s Mr. Ogarkov,” she said.

Nicole rolled her eyes. What, another round of guilt? This time, she really would tell him to find himself a mommy. Her calendar was full, thank you very much.

Still, he was a partner, and she was being the good and faithful servant. “Put him through,” she said.

As soon as the line clicked over, he said, “Nicole? I was wondering if you’d let me take you to lunch to celebrate coming back. How about that Mexican place next to the Bookstar?”

She was just about to make an excuse — God knew, she had enough to do here — but something made her stop and think. This wasn’t an unusual invitation. They’d gone out to lunch a good many times while they worked on the Butler Ranch report. Sometimes he’d bought, sometimes she had. He’d never given her any trouble — at least, not that kind. Maybe she wasn’t his type. The other kind, the new kind, the guilt-edged one… well, if that was what he was up to, she’d set him straight, that was all. As with the work in front of her, the sooner it was done, the sooner it was over.

“All right,” she said. “Fine. Twelve-thirty okay? I’m pretty busy here.”

“So am I,” he said. “I’ll see you then. “

When the phone was back in its cradle, Nicole frowned again at the environmental impact study. It wasn’t as thorough as the one for Butler Ranch. Everyone had gone into that game sure the proposed development would end up in court. Both sides had had their ducks in a row right from the start. Here, the ducks were swimming all over the pond.

She’d almost forgotten the lunch date by the time Gary Ogarkov rapped on the door. She scrawled a note to herself, marked the place where she’d left off, and blinked up at him for a moment, slowly putting the world back together outside of the work she’d been doing. He waited with a decent amount of patience, and let her walk ahead of him out of the office and down to the parking lot. She didn’t even pause by the Honda, but went down the line to his Buick. If that bemused him, he didn’t show it. It was his invitation, after all. Inviter drove; invitee rode along. That was the unwritten protocol.

“You’d better buy today,” she said as she settled in the passenger seat and fastened the lap belt. “You’re the partner, after all.”

“Hey, I told you what I — “ He broke off as her tone sank in. “You’re not angry. You’re sassing me.” He sounded astonished.

“Life is too short,” she said. And how long would she be able to hold onto that attitude? Probably till some idiot cut her off on the freeway. That would last a bit, if the kids stayed at Woodcrest. She sat back, determined to relax and not let anything about Los Angeles bother her. “Well? Shall we go? I’m hungry.”

Ogarkov grinned and gave her something between a Boy Scout salute and the military version. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and started the car.

So maybe, she thought, she’d be spared any more of his guilt trips. She hoped so. She liked him rather well, as a colleague and casual friend. It would be a good thing if they could go on on that basis.

The Mexican restaurant was always a busy place. Today it looked as if a good part of the firm had decided to step over there for lunch — and most of those hadn’t, yet, got in their good wishes. By the time Nicole and Gary had been seated at a table, the procession was up to parade strength. Nicole would have enjoyed it a fair bit if her stomach hadn’t been growling at her. It was a long time since breakfast, and this body wasn’t used to being hungry.

Lunch was delicious. For one thing, Mexican food in L.A. was, not surprisingly, a hell of a lot better than in Indianapolis. For another, she hadn’t tasted corn or tomatoes or chilies in all the time she’d been in Carnuntum. The Romans hadn’t known about any of them. She hadn’t particularly noticed that while she was there; she’d been too busy surviving. But now she had them in front of her, she was ravenously hungry for them.

“Thanks, Gary,” she said as she set her fork down on an empty plate. “That hit the spot.”

“Probably tastes like heaven after hospital food,” Ogarkov said — again, doing her work of concealment for her. She nodded. She hadn’t been thinking about hospital food, but he didn’t need to know that.

Almost as good as the food in her estimation was that he seemed to have decided to lay his guilt aside. He was just as she remembered, good company, occasionally witty, willing to talk shop or gossip or whatever she happened to be in the mood for. Whoever said women were the worst gossips must have been a man; because when it came to dishing the very best and choicest dirt, the male of the species gave the female a solid run for the prize.

Nicole hadn’t enjoyed a meal so much since she couldn’t remember when. She went back to the office in a glow of good humor, all ready and set to tackle the papers Sheldon Rosenthal had slapped down on her desk. By