We All Sleep in the Same Room

Author:Paul Rome
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rare Bird Books
Published: 2013-10-07T16:00:00+00:00

November

1

My bruised and bandaged son sleeps perpendicular to my wife. Frank had reported concerned neighbors dropping generous fistfuls of candy into Ben’s bag over Halloween, but that Ben had seemed to forget his disturbing appearance, as did his fellow nursery school trick-or-treaters. Frank said that a few times he felt as if some of the parents were looking at him with a certain suspicion as if he’d been responsible for Ben’s injury. Yes, Raina had concurred, we’ve both gotten looks like that.

On the N train, while riding a car decked out with glossy posters of good-looking, starry-eyed youths enjoying Bud Light, it dawns on me that I’ve crossed into my twentieth year of riding the subway to work at Cunningham, Klein, and Levan. At the far end of the car, a neatly dressed, bespectacled man yells at an unwavering pitch about the return of our Lord.

42nd Street—the dreadlocked jazzmen are pounding and blowing out the same furious music in the same corridor underneath Lichtenstein’s strange aquatic vessel. I deposit my bill and keep moving.

* * *

Jessie and I are making an uncharacteristic Tuesday afternoon trip to Dunkin’ Donuts. Doreen’s case is coming up, so I have her working extra days in order to properly prepare. She has her regular hazelnut coffee. I’ve decided to try something new: blueberry blend.

I’m inclined to begin by apologizing about the scene in the ambulance, though I’m unsure why I ought to be sorry. I haven’t hurt anyone.

“So the arbitration is in thirteen days,” I say.

Jessie nods.

“I’m going to build up and compile some of our questions about the clinic’s termination procedure,” I continue. “How soon was the complaint lodged? By whom? Who else heard the alleged conversation?”

Jessie nods again. We’ve discussed all this before.

I taste my fruity beverage. A letdown. I reach down for my notepad and realize I left my briefcase back at the office.

“Okay,” I say. “So I’ve been thinking: while we can’t know precisely what they’ll pull out the day of the arbitration, I imagine there are two scenarios that could hurt us. One—they bring some indisputable piece of incriminating evidence such as a surveillance recording, something of that nature. But that’s unlikely, not to mention unethical, because I’ve asked them to produce anything they’ve relied on in deciding to fire Doreen. Or two—a witness testimony from either a co-worker corroborating the complaint, or Olga herself. That’s what I’m more concerned about. In all honesty, any witness they provide has the potential to come off sounding more credible and to appear altogether more stable than Doreen. Our letters, strong and impassioned as they are, may fall short when compared to living, breathing testimony, especially if Norcross doesn’t credit what he might consider to be Doreen’s self-serving denials. Arbitrators always scrutinize the testimony of the alleged wrongdoer.”

“So what do we do, Tom?”

I hesitate a moment to appraise whether I’m being mocked, but Jessie’s question is inflected with the appropriate level of concern.

“I propose,” I say, “aside from using the letters, we try to corral a character witness.

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