ThisTimeNextDoor

by Gretchen Galway

  Nodding, she left. As he watched her go, he noticed a guy step out from behind a cubicle to whisper something to her. They looked back at him, saw he was watching, and quickly turned away.

  They knew. Damn it.

  The CEO of WellyNelly, Sylvester Minguez, burst into the office with his usual loud charm, striding right over to him and slapping him on the shoulder. “Mark! So awesome to see you, man!”

  Though Mark had tried hard over the years, it was impossible not to like Sylvester Minguez. The CEO of a promising tech start-up in the Bay Area who insisted people call him Sylly—pronounced “silly”—was determined to be liked, and what Sylly was determined to get, Sylly got.

  Well, not with everyone. “Hi, Syl,” Mark said.

  Flashing him a mock frown, Sylly closed the door. “You’ve refused the M&M's. I can’t believe it.”

  “I gave them up. Bad for my health.”

  “None of us are getting any younger, are we?” Sylly said, perching himself on the front of his desk next to Mark. His sharp brown eyes moved over him like the laser in a photocopier, taking in every inch, remembering everything. “You’re looking good. New threads?”

  Mark leaned back, crossed his legs, ankle on knee, and tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “You promised when I took the job you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  White teeth flashing in his confidently cheerful face, Sylly shrugged. “I didn’t.”

  “They know. It’s obvious.”

  “Word gets around.”

  “You could deny it.”

  “That wasn’t part of our deal,” Sylly said. “I can hardly erase your name from the source code. Your fingerprints are everywhere.”

  “Tell them it’s a different Mark Johnson. It’s not like my name is Sylvester Minguez or something crazy like that. There are thousands of Mark Johnsons in the world. We’re a dime a dozen.”

  “Not at WellyNelly. Not who seemed to know the source code on his first day as if he’d written it himself. You’re a legend around here. Of course people guessed.”

  Mark rubbed his face with both palms. “I should’ve used an alias.”

  With another whack to Mark’s shoulder, Sylly got up and sat behind his desk, grinning. “It’s great to have you back. Admit it, you’ve got to be a little bit proud of yourself. Look around, you did this. Your acorn has grown into a very strong, very profitable tree. Why wouldn’t you want to be a part of it?” He pointed a finger at him. “Openly. Not like some hermit taking wire transfers while he slums it with unappreciative children in Iowa.”

  “Wisconsin,” Mark said. This was pointless. He hadn’t come here to talk about his career, his ego, or lack of either. “I’m actually here to cash in on the referral bonus I know you’ve set up. The company website says we’re eligible for five grand if we get somebody we know to work here.”

  “As if you need the money. You know how rich you’ll get when we go public or sell?”

  “You MBA types are always saying that. How many people in the Bay Area have gone broke over the last twenty years waiting for their stock options to be worth something?”

  “You still can’t believe your little hobby is more successful than you ever dreamed it could be,” Sylly said.

  “I never dreamed it because I didn’t want it.” Mark reached over to grab a Nerf ball on the desk. Squeezing the orange foam in his fist, he looked around for the hoop, found it over the dart board near the mini-fridge. “My dad was dying, Syl. I wanted to help my mother get through it. That’s all.”

  “No, it’s not all. You helped thousands—hell, we’re pushing a million users now, Mark—get through the shitty tragedies of life.” For the first time, Sylly looked genuinely frustrated. “I just don’t understand why you’re not proud of what you made. WellyNelly helps people. It’s not spyware, it’s not boring corporate evil shit, it’s nice. We’re the good guys. Why are you ashamed of that?”

  “I’m not ashamed, I just don’t want…” Frustrated, Mark threw the ball, missed the hoop. “I don’t like all the attention.”

  Sylly held out his hands, palms up, looking around. “What attention? Who’s bugging you? So the staff here is curious to see what you look like. Hiding for years makes people curious. It’s not like people are chasing your car demanding autographs. Taking pictures of you clubbing.” He grinned.

  “They will if and when Welly goes public. You said yourself, imagine how rich I’ll get.”

  “You won’t be the only one, buddy,” Sylly said, rubbing his palms together. “We can console one another. Misery loves company. And we’re going to be very, very miserable.”

  Mark retrieved the ball, threw it at Sylly’s smug head. “How’s your mom?”

  “Excellent. Thank you. She uses WellyNelly to manage her diabetes.”

  “I’m glad. Not about the diabetes. That sucks.”

  “And your creation helps her deal with it. As well as me, my sisters, her doctor, the pharmacy, and the insurance company. Just like you envisioned.”

  Mark sat down. The only way to win an argument with Sylly was to keep your mouth shut. “Anyway, about that job referral thing. I know somebody.”

  “Vegetable or mineral?”

  He meant, was she technical. “I’m not sure. She’s got a degree in biology from Cornell. Doesn’t want to be a doctor but has a great personality, real smart, team player and all that bullshit. I thought you might find something for her.”

  Sylly’s dark eyebrows were high on his forehead. “She?”

  “It’s nothing like that.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He shrugged. “Really. I even assumed she was gay for a while.”

  Sylly tapped his fingers on his lips. “But now that you know she’s not, here you are.”

  Mark leaned forward, trying not to lose his temper. “Look, she’s my neighbor. She just moved here from New York and needs a job. We’re practically family. Her best friend is about to marry this guy that’s about to become my brother’s cousin-in-law…” He trailed off, realizing that sounded ridiculous. “Anyway, I just want to help her out. She’s fun. Has lots of energy. I wouldn’t recommend her if I didn’t think you’d like her.”

  “I’m thinking you wouldn’t recommend her if you didn’t like her,” Sylly said.

  “I do like her.”

  “And you want her to like you right back, don’t you?”

  Frustrated with an argument he hadn’t expected, Mark felt his patience give way. “Not all of us use the workplace as our personal harem, Syl.”

  Sylly’s eyebrows came down. Any hint of a smile vanished. The cold, hard steel that had made him CEO of a rising tech startup rose to the surface.

  Mark stared back at him. WellyNelly had settled a sexual harassment claim the year before. One of the marketing guys had been sleeping with one of the admins, and it went sour—or at least that was the guy’s story. The subject was taboo and Mark had never learned the details. “Sorry,” Mark said. “But you know I’m not like that.”

  Sylly’s hard look didn’t waver. “You swear you’re not just trying to get into her panties?”

  Infinitesimal pause. “I swear.”

  “Because you’re not just some low-level grunt around here, no matter what the paperwork says.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re the prodigal programmer, the native son, the founder. The brains of the outfit. The big daddy—”

  “Enough,” Mark said, cringing. “My God, give it a rest.”

  “As you noticed, everyone here knows exactly who you are. If you bring in women you’re trying to get naked, there are lawyers out there who’ll jump on us like flies on shit.”

  “I’m not trying to bring in women, plural. It’s woman, singular,” Mark said. He thought of something. “Is this a speech you give all the men in the company? Because that means you’re not allowing anyone to refer women to work here. Call me paranoid, but isn’t that asking for trouble?”

  Sylly looked down at his d
esk, fiddled with a pen.

  “What’s the ratio these days, male to female?” Mark went on, glancing toward the cubicles. “I’m seeing a lot of Y chromosomes out there. A case might be made WellyNelly is has a gender-based hiring problem, don’t you think?”

  The hard look in Sylly’s eyes faded. He pursed his lips together.

  That got him, Mark thought.

  “This is important to you?” Sylly finally asked. “It’s not just for show? You can’t just get her an interview and you’re off the hook?”

  “No, I’d really like to get her a job.”

  “Well, then, that’s going to cost you.”

  Mark let out his breath, ready to deal. “You can give her my salary, I was thinking. I don’t really need it.”

  Sylly stared, then rolled his eyes. “You know, for a genius, you’re full of some pretty stupid ideas.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Pay her your salary,” he repeated. He threw his head back, threw a disgusted look at the ceiling. “I swear, you’re impossible.”

  “It was just an idea.”

  “Even if she was a seventy-six-year-old lesbian without a vagina, there’s no way you’re opening yourself up to any possible claim that you were trying to compel her to have sex with you, you get my drift?”

  Mark put his hand over his eyes. “Nice mental image. Thanks.”

  “Got it?”

  He nodded. “You said it was going to cost me.”

  Sylly stood up and wandered over to the window, a smile creeping over his face. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while.”

  Mark stifled a groan. “This isn’t going to be good.”

  Flashing a grin, Sylly slapped his hands together. “On the contrary, my geeky hermit friend. It’s going to be excellent. For everyone.”

  Chapter 8

  “MARK’S AT THE DOOR!” BLAIR called from the top of the stairs.

  Rose looked over from her new ladder, duct tape in hand. She was coated in sweat, hair glued to her forehead along with clumps of dust, dirt, desiccated insect carcasses, and less identifiable nastiness. After Blair bought the ladder and made her favorite stir-fry for dinner, Rose tackled the dirty work. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

  In a minute she heard Mark clomping down the stairs. Her heart lifted, hoping for news about the job. And, she had to admit, it was just nice to see him.

  “So much for letting them freeze to death,” he said.

  “This is all for me. I was dying last night. I thought California was supposed to be warm.” One last strip and she decided she was done. “I used the whole roll, just in case.”

  “Who needs ducts when you have tape?”

  “Exactly.” She climbed down.

  “Hey, you fixed the light.” He looked around the dingy basement. “I think I liked it better before.”

  “I didn’t want Blair tripping and falling if she ever came down here.”

  He put out a hand to help her at the last step. His fingers wrapped around her upper arm, his knuckles brushing her left breast. If it were any other guy she would’ve thought it was intentional.

  “Let’s turn it on and see if it works,” she said.

  He plucked a wad of gray nastiness out of her hair. “Ew.”

  “Yeah. I wish I’d worn a hat. I can’t wait to take a shower.” She pulled the elastic band out of her hair, bent over and rifled her hands through the strands, shaking off as much of the dust as she could. “Okay, you’re killing me. Do you have good news or bad?” She straightened and combed her fingers through the tangles while Mark stared, silent.

  “I have good news,” he said finally. “I think.”

  “I’ll be grateful just to have an interview.” She took a deep breath. “And for your sake, I’ll try not to lie too much.”

  “You won’t have to lie at all, except for the parts about me. You can embellish that all you like.”

  She caught his arm in hers and guided him to the stairs. “Tell me about it while I turn on the heat. Is there a time scheduled for an interview or do they need me to send a résumé?”

  “Do you have your heart set on an interview?”

  “They need a résumé first. Sure, of course. I’ve got a few versions, but it would help if I knew what kind of position they were considering me for. Or,” she turned and smiled at him following her up the stairs, “rather, you were considering me for.”

  “It’s not that formal. You won’t need a résumé.”

  “Oh.” She fought disappointment. “Is it just an informational thing then?” He looked uncomfortable, so she said quickly, “I don’t mind. Really, I appreciate whatever you—”

  “I thought you’d like to start Monday. Since you were going to do that temp job next week, I figured you could just try this instead, see if it works out.” He strode away from her down the hall to the thermostat in the living room, flicked it on. “Let’s see if that works. There might be other leaks in the ducts, but you should really let John deal with his mother and the pros for that one.”

  “I start Monday?”

  “Is that good?”

  “Are you serious?”

  His face lit up with a big grin. “Would you rather start tomorrow?”

  “You’re shitting me. How could you possibly line it up that fast? I don’t even know what I’ll be doing.”

  “They’ve got a few positions and think you’ll be perfect for one of them.”

  “That’s crazy. They haven’t even met me.”

  “Some random people were going to hire an unknown temp to do their web design and you didn’t question that,” he said. “Here you’ve got me vouching for you and your degree from Cornell. That was true, right?”

  She nodded, her mind whirling with potential. She could catch up on her college loan payments. Have her hair done. Get an apartment. “This is great. I don’t know how you did it, but thank you.” On impulse, she flung her arms and hugged him, wiggling and laughing.

  Rigid at first, arms lifted in the air like a scarecrow, he slowly relaxed enough to pat her shoulders. Then he gently pushed her away. “You’re welcome.”

  “Wait until I tell Blair.”

  “I heard,” Blair said, coming into the room. “That’s amazing. How long have you worked there, Mark?”

  Rose saw a flicker of panic on his face. Unblinking, he stared at Blair. “Not very long, but they like my work.”

  An accomplished falsehood artist herself, Rose smelled something fishy. But he was always so nervous around Blair it was hard to tell. Was that blush because Blair had addressed him or because he was hiding something?

  “Stay for a drink,” Blair said, hooking her arm in Rose's. “How about a beer? John bought a case of Anchor Steam and we’ll never drink it. I’m pregnant and Rose likes the hard stuff.”

  Rose watched him trip over his own feet as Blair tried to guide him into the kitchen. “No no, thank you no, that’s nice of you,” he said, reaching out to the wall for balance. “Unless I’m doing you a favor or something, like you’re afraid you might drink it yourself and it’s bad for the baby. And me drinking it would be a heroic act.”

  Smiling, Blair looked up into his face, which was now flushed a rich rosy pink from the social exertion of his earlier speech. “It would be heroic,” she said. “Glass or just the bottle?”

  “Just the glass.” He shook his head. “I mean bottle.” His wild glance hit Rose, who wasn’t finding his thing for Blair so cute anymore.

  “Maybe it’ll relax you,” Rose said.

  Humming to herself, Blair got the beer, opened it, and handed it Mark with a smile. “I’ve got chips and guacamole, homemade, too. Interested? You’d be doing us another favor. The guac doesn’t store well.”

  He was still staring at Blair. His eyeballs were frozen open like a corpse. Rose’s fingers itched to reach up and close them for him like the sensitive homicide cop in a TV show. Instead, she guided the beer to his lips and said, “Sit down, eat, drink. Let
Blair lavish her domestic happiness on you while I take a shower. Then you can tell me everything you know about this company. Though it probably isn’t much, since you never leave your house and you’ve only worked for them a little while, right?”

  His gaze finally broke away from Blair. Gulping his beer, he looked off into the distance, then nodded and sat down at the kitchen table.

  Something was going on inside that handsome skull of his other than puppy love, but she didn’t know what. Feeling a creeping itch on her own skull, she remembered the urgency of her shower and left them there, hoping he didn’t faint from the anxiety of being alone with Blair.

  A job. Monday.

  And she didn’t even have to sleep with anyone to get it.

  * * *

  The offices for WellyNelly were in an industrial area of Berkeley, down near the bay in the patchwork of business parks, auto repair shops, restaurants, car dealerships, apartment buildings and semi-gentrified single family homes.

  Rose parked her car in the visitor spot of the company’s marked parking lot as she was told in an email. Not surprisingly, Mark had stayed home, telling her it was probably better she made her first impression on her own.

  And what an impression it would be, Rose decided, marching from her car to the front door. Without spending a dime, she’d outdone herself. Just a little flashy but not tacky, feminine but not slutty, professional but not stuffy. Though Mark had told her to just wear jeans and a T-shirt, she was well aware of the biased source of the advice and decided on fitted charcoal trousers and a black sweater adorned with her usual scarf, handmade jewelry, and smoky eye makeup.

  The woman at the front desk jumped up when she came in. “Rose?”

  Surprised by the immediate welcome, Rose paused in the doorway before holding out her hand and marching forward. “Nice to meet you,” she said, smiling with a glance at the woman’s badge. “Bridget?”

  The woman came out from around the desk. She was young, had short hair, wore no makeup, and made lots of eye contact. “Did you have any trouble parking?” Her handshake was firm but her skin was cold. Probably because the air temperature inside the building was low enough to kill tropical plants.