Free A Place Called Home by Jo Goodman

“I’m ending this before there’s road rage. I’ll call when I get to work. I want to hear about the symphony.” She disconnected before Joel could reply and turned on NPR.
     
     
    A seven-story atrium was the centerpiece of the renovated office complex that Foster and Wyndham called home. Formerly a department store, the site was now the Heinz 57 Center, home to the headquarters of Heinz’s U. S. Consumer Products and Foodservice businesses. In addition to Heinz, a variety of other firms—accountants, real estate developers, attorneys, medical practitioners—rented the spacious floors while retailers on the ground level brought in pedestrian traffic.
    Thea passed on the elevators and walked up three flights, her heels clicking lightly in the empty stairwell. There were already more than a dozen people working when she walked into the lobby at Foster and Wyndham. An inflatable beach ball sailed out of one of the small conference rooms as she passed. She automatically batted it back and heard someone call, “Way to go! Three points!” Smiling, she walked on. It was a whatever-helps-you-think working environment that was first cultivated by Alvin Foster and suffered by his founding partner William Wyndham. Thea’s own father had been only a little more tolerant than his parent but the Fosters still liked to have a good time on their way to triple bypass surgery and stress-related breakdowns. Thea’s position was more practical: if inflatable beach balls were what it took to make the ideas flow, she didn’t have a problem. She shared her partner’s need to see results at the end of the day.
    “Good morning, Hank.” She stuck her head through the open doorway to Hank Foster’s office. The CEO was tipped so far back in his chair that he was practically reclining. His hands were folded behind his head and his feet were propped on one corner of his desk. Thea couldn’t tell if he was sleeping. He was wearing a pair of sunglasses with blue jewel-toned frames and mirrored lenses. “Nice shades. Indisposed or incognito this morning?”
    “Indisposed,” he said. “I was with clients at Rosebud last night.”
    “Drink too much, did you?”
    He shook his head. “No, we ended up at Primanti Brothers at three in the morning. I had a cheese steak with fries and coleslaw.”
    Thea knew the fries and coleslaw weren’t served on the side. They were on the sandwich. “Yum.” She meant it; it was a terrific sandwich. Primanti Brothers was a Pittsburgh institution and a must-visit for clients who wanted a taste of the city’s blue-collar cuisine. “You need some Pepcid?”
    “I need a stomach transplant.” He patted the offending portion of his anatomy which, even in his almost prone position, was distended above his belt line. “How can something I love so much do this to me? It’s not right.” He moved his feet gingerly off the edge of the desk and sat up slowly, pushing the garish sunglasses past the bridge of his nose until they rested against the blunt slope of his forehead. Now he regarded Thea with what looked like four eyes. “You have any luck with the Carver Chemical stuff?”
    “No. We were here until almost seven.”
    “Go easy, Thea,” he said lightly. “Your vacation will have been worthless if you come on like gangbusters.” When she didn’t respond, he went on. “What’s the word on your friends’ kids?”
    “Mitchell is going to keep them.”
    “You’re kidding.” Between the pairs of eyes his brows arched in surprise. He studied her for a moment. “You all right with that?”
    She nodded. “Sure.” Thea backed out the doorway. “Let me know about the Pepcid.” She was gone before Hank, who knew her just about as well as anybody, could guess that maybe she wasn’t as all right with it as she had been yesterday.
    In her own office Thea kicked off her shoes and put her purse and coat in the closet. She twisted the buttons on her black Donna Karan jacket so it opened casually to