to her grandfather’s old desk and fingered the limp leaves of the coleus wilting in a pot on one corner. The poor plant looked as if it hadn’t had a drink since New Year’s Eve. If she were her father, she’d turn around and find Deirdre filling the doorway, holding a watering can.
But she wasn’t her father, and when she turned, no one stood in her doorway. She returned to her father’s desk, set her briefcase on it and settled into the chair. It was too big for her. Her feet barely touched the floor.
“A Seder-in-a-Box,” her mother said, waltzing into the office and carrying an ominous-looking computer printout of a multipage spreadsheet, “is an arrangement of traditional Pesach dishes that we pack into a box and ship to customers. The box includes some of that matzo we import from Israel, jars of chicken soup with homemade matzo balls, a tub of fresh-ground horseradish, charoseth, gefilte fish, macaroons, parsley—everything but the roast shank and the hard-boiled eggs. It was a big seller last year.”
Instant seder, Julia thought. Add eggs and stir. It sounded peculiar to her—but what did she know? She was only the president.
“So, your uncle Jay puts pictures of the different seder arrangements we offer—different sizes, some with wine and some without—on the Web site. People order it. It makes him feel like a big macher, contributing something worthwhile to the company.”
“How many sales do we get over the Internet?” Julia asked.
“That’s not for you to worry about.” She pulled Julia’s briefcase off the desk and hid it in the well, accidentally setting it on Julia’s left foot and nearly crushing her big toe. Then she spread the computer printout across the dusty blotter. “This is what you’re working on, okay? It’s an inventory list.”
“I’d really rather hear more about the Web site,” Julia said, wiggling her toe inside her shoe to make sure it wasn’t broken.
“When your grandmother comes in here, you should be doing something, not learning about the Web site. Okay? This is easy. You just look this over, see what we’ve got a lot of and what we should be ordering more of. You’ll notice the coffee continues to show a lot of activity, no thanks to your uncle Jay, the schmuck. Let him worry about the Web site. It keeps him busy. You all set? Are you hungry?”
Julia glanced at her watch. She hadn’t squeezed in any lunch before her mother had summoned her. She ought to be starving.
“I’ve got half a sandwich in my office, if you want it. Tuna on whole wheat.”
A cornucopia of gourmet noshes downstairs, and her mother was offering her a tuna sandwich. She’d rather remain hungry. “I’m fine,” she said.
“Okay, then. Get to work.”
Before Julia could respond, her mother was gone.
She directed her attention to the printout on the desk. Shesupposed that as president she ought to know which products were selling and which weren’t. It was as good an introduction to Bloom’s as anything.
But she didn’t want to think about how well the Gouda and Havarti and Feta sold—an asterisk next to the Havarti noted that offering free samples of the cheese had increased sales significantly. She didn’t want to read statistics on egg noodles and Red Bliss potato salad—or on bagels, the data for which filled three complete pages.
She wanted to figure out whether her mother and Uncle Jay truly hated each other, and if so, how much, and whether by attempting to fill her father’s too-large chair she had somehow positioned herself at the center of a tug-of-war. She also wanted to figure out exactly why Grandma Ida had bestowed upon her the dubious honor of taking her father’s place.
All in all this seemed a lot more complicated than hammering out an alimony agreement.
She was here. At last. The goddamn president of the company.
Jay hunched over his computer and simmered. He hated feeling this way—about his niece, no less. He’d never had a
But she wasn’t her father, and when she turned, no one stood in her doorway. She returned to her father’s desk, set her briefcase on it and settled into the chair. It was too big for her. Her feet barely touched the floor.
“A Seder-in-a-Box,” her mother said, waltzing into the office and carrying an ominous-looking computer printout of a multipage spreadsheet, “is an arrangement of traditional Pesach dishes that we pack into a box and ship to customers. The box includes some of that matzo we import from Israel, jars of chicken soup with homemade matzo balls, a tub of fresh-ground horseradish, charoseth, gefilte fish, macaroons, parsley—everything but the roast shank and the hard-boiled eggs. It was a big seller last year.”
Instant seder, Julia thought. Add eggs and stir. It sounded peculiar to her—but what did she know? She was only the president.
“So, your uncle Jay puts pictures of the different seder arrangements we offer—different sizes, some with wine and some without—on the Web site. People order it. It makes him feel like a big macher, contributing something worthwhile to the company.”
“How many sales do we get over the Internet?” Julia asked.
“That’s not for you to worry about.” She pulled Julia’s briefcase off the desk and hid it in the well, accidentally setting it on Julia’s left foot and nearly crushing her big toe. Then she spread the computer printout across the dusty blotter. “This is what you’re working on, okay? It’s an inventory list.”
“I’d really rather hear more about the Web site,” Julia said, wiggling her toe inside her shoe to make sure it wasn’t broken.
“When your grandmother comes in here, you should be doing something, not learning about the Web site. Okay? This is easy. You just look this over, see what we’ve got a lot of and what we should be ordering more of. You’ll notice the coffee continues to show a lot of activity, no thanks to your uncle Jay, the schmuck. Let him worry about the Web site. It keeps him busy. You all set? Are you hungry?”
Julia glanced at her watch. She hadn’t squeezed in any lunch before her mother had summoned her. She ought to be starving.
“I’ve got half a sandwich in my office, if you want it. Tuna on whole wheat.”
A cornucopia of gourmet noshes downstairs, and her mother was offering her a tuna sandwich. She’d rather remain hungry. “I’m fine,” she said.
“Okay, then. Get to work.”
Before Julia could respond, her mother was gone.
She directed her attention to the printout on the desk. Shesupposed that as president she ought to know which products were selling and which weren’t. It was as good an introduction to Bloom’s as anything.
But she didn’t want to think about how well the Gouda and Havarti and Feta sold—an asterisk next to the Havarti noted that offering free samples of the cheese had increased sales significantly. She didn’t want to read statistics on egg noodles and Red Bliss potato salad—or on bagels, the data for which filled three complete pages.
She wanted to figure out whether her mother and Uncle Jay truly hated each other, and if so, how much, and whether by attempting to fill her father’s too-large chair she had somehow positioned herself at the center of a tug-of-war. She also wanted to figure out exactly why Grandma Ida had bestowed upon her the dubious honor of taking her father’s place.
All in all this seemed a lot more complicated than hammering out an alimony agreement.
She was here. At last. The goddamn president of the company.
Jay hunched over his computer and simmered. He hated feeling this way—about his niece, no less. He’d never had a
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