Madonna With Child

Edward Aherm

I was competent enough to not worry about being fired, but sardonic enough to worry higher-ups that I wasn’t sincerely corporate. I survived by paying attention to what coworkers not-quite-said, and to the strains in their lies.

Sandra seemed a relatively easy read, barely out of college, attractive, married to a guy named Frank, and self-assured. She was the new do-it-all for John, my division head.

John, always groomed and dressed to feature his dark hair and complexion, had been talking with me at a company evening out when he’d noticed her dancing with another woman. 

“That girl has a body! Who is she?”

“New intern, John. She’s unassigned as yet.”

“Maybe not for long.”

And after several weeks she replaced John’s former administrative assistant. I was in town the morning she assumed the desk and I walked over to welcome her. She recognized me and gave away a winsome smile.

“It’s Peter, isn’t it?” 

“I deny everything John’s told you about me.”

Her smile pursed down to tentative, and I knew she’d been prepped. “I’m told you’re eccentric.”

“I’m the gently sloping part of your learning curve, John’s the steep incline.”

I meant it. John, married with three young daughters, had previously affaired his way through two women in the office. Sandra might well be next. We talked office prattle for a few more minutes and I went back to convincing people to buy my commodity rather than an almost identical competitor’s.

Four months into her new position, Sandra brought husband Frank to a company outing. He was standing off to one side, knowing no one and unable to participate in the gossip. He was fair complected, neither slender nor muscular, neither craggy nor handsome. Male pattern baldness was already pillaging his hair. I took pity and went over to him.

“You must belong to Sandra. Congratulations, she’s both pretty and genuine. I’m Peter, I work near her, and she’s a treat.”

“Thanks. Belong is right. I still can’t believe she married me. It’s like an unending daydream. She’s my goddess.” 

The unfiltered gush was unexpected. People that unguarded are sometimes stabbed. “Pity you two don’t get along.” We handed conversational inanities back and forth for a few minutes and I moved on to schmooze a higherup. 

My smaller office was next to John’s, so Sandra and I talked frequently. I was known not to gossip, and over time she began to open up. 

“Is John treating you decently?”

“He’s—persistent about getting his way, but yes.”

“You’re good at what you’re doing. Have you thought about staying on with us?”

She paused. “Can you keep a secret?”

“It’s how I survive.” 

“Frank and I have been trying to start a family for a while, and once that happens, I’ll be leaving.”

“I already know I’d miss you.”

A few months after her assignment John began having Sandra stay later to work on projects that required face time. He was an adequately ruthless executive, but not innovative, and I recognized the pattern. He’d used it before. One late afternoon when John was away on a sales trip and Sandra was at her desk, I walked over to her. 

“How are you handling John?”

Her tenseness told me more than words. “You know how he is. He’s—demanding.” Then her expression reverted to office bland. “But the announcement comes out tomorrow. I’ll be getting more responsibility and money.”

I wanted to warn her to freeze John out of intimacy but sensed it was already too late for that advice. They were after all both adults, although Sandra just barely.  “It’s a relationship minefield here, with bosses as well as associates. You need to steer your way through carefully.” 

I said it with a smile and a half-wave of a hand, but Sandra’s eyebrows clenched, recognizing that a sexually tense situation was under observation. 

“I can manage him, Peter.”

“You’d be the first.” I turned and walked back into my office, letting the game play out on its own.

As work weeks turned into a year, Sandra quit mentioning that she was trying to get pregnant. But her delight in seeing pictures of coworkers’ children told me that she still wanted one.

Sandra began accompanying John on overnight business trips, providing him with the administrative backup that he apparently badly needed.   They also started having lunch meetings in John’s office behind a closed door. None of which was overlooked by office eyes.

Some months later, at a resort outing without spouses, John and Sandra got up right after dinner and walked out without the usual socializing. I met them in the doorway on my return from the men’s room. John’s body language told me he didn’t want to talk. I turned to watch them walk toward the elevator bank that lead to their rooms, not quite touching, but so close they could have felt each other’s breath. As they entered the elevator his hand went to the small of her back and guided her in like a dance partner.

Whatever I should have said, it was clearly too late. When I reentered the dining room polite pretense had been discarded and innuendo about the couple circulated like cigar smoke.  I wanted to share my regret at not warning her, but kept silent. Survival and discretion coexist.

And then, perhaps another month later, Sandra announced that she was pregnant.  Frank came by the office a week or so later to take her out to dinner and I congratulated him. His smile was if anything more radiant than Sandra’s.

“We tried so hard, and had just about given up.”

She carried the fetus well, with that inimitable glow that pregnant women achieve. I sometimes stopped by her desk to bathe in it. “Will you be coming back to us?” I asked.

“No, Frank wants me to be home with the baby.” Frank wasn’t the power player in their relationship, but she made it sound plausible. 

“We’ll miss you. No, hell I’ll miss you. Genuine is hard to find around here.”

Sandra left us two weeks before her due date, right after a bon voyage luncheon the other women in the office held for her. Human Resources assigned another woman- hefty, with little makeup and several older children, to replace her.

Just after the birth, baby pictures were sent back to us, which brush-fired another round of gossip. His obsidian hair shined in the photos. But work day gossip is near-visioned, and we soon shifted to more current rumors. 

Three months later Sandra brought the baby into the city for a company viewing. She’d given us little warning, saying she didn’t want to have to carry an armload of baby presents back onto the train. John was away at a long before scheduled seminar.

The infant had John’s coloring and hair, but good manners were observed and we commented on how well the baby looked and not who he might look like. Sandra carried herself in ember radiance, her glow softened into new motherhood.

After she’d said her goodbyes, I escorted her to the foyer. 

“Will you come back?”

She gave me the slight, demure smile one sees in Renaissance pictures of the Madonna. “No. I’ve done what was needed.” 

It struck me that Sandra had gone through and beyond us, had pledged herself to an inner vision, while we were still foundering in delusion. We hugged and I watched her wheel John’s only son out the exit door of our offices.

***