Salem's Daughters

by Stephen Tremp

  Debbie suddenly didn’t think taking the spot was a good idea. He would find out the car was hers. What to do?

  Always the quick thinker, she would tell him she sprained her knee. Yeah. That’ll work. And she’d say she wanted to work rather than get a doctor’s order to stay off her feet.

  Debbie started to limp toward her boss. Better to get this over with and move the car.

  Bernie Mortensen, all five feet four inches and two hundred thirty pounds including his usually bad comb over, zig-zagged east and west though the aisles of cubicles, shouting out at whoever took his parking spot. Debbie watched down the main aisle as he disappeared to her left, only to reappear three rows closer to her, then disappearing to the right.

  His voice faded, then came back. She estimated he would re-appear a few aisles closer and fake hobbled toward the spot. That’s when an intern bringing him his usual morning coffee appeared in the center aisle, looking back and forth for Bernie. What was her name? Beatrice maybe? Regardless, she was a sweet young thing everyone liked.

  Everything happened in a flash. Bernie crashed into Beatrice. She fell on her back. Bernie’s white shirt was soaked with hot coffee. Beatrice rose and tried to do something to calm him, but he was on the tips of his tip toes screaming at the intern. The young woman started to cry.

  Debbie scowled and balled her fists. That’s it. No more.

  In a flash she was between the two and bore down on Bernard Herman Mortensen. She jammed her finger in his chest and pushed him back.

  “Okay, now you listen to me, you obese little turd. You’ve been pushing people around from the first day I came here. And I think I speak for everyone here that you are a despicable excuse for a human being. How dare you yell at a young girl like that?”

  Bernie, never one to back down from anyone, slapped her finger away. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

  “I can and I will.” Debbie shoved her finger again into his chest, forcing him to take a step back. “Look around. Everyone knows you suffer from the banty rooster syndrome. That’s why you’re such a bully. Well, not anymore. Those days are over.”

  Debbie didn’t think Bernie could get any meaner. But she swore steam was about to shoot out his ears and his head explode. She wondered if she should fear for her safety.

  On his tip toes again, he waved a chubby finger in her face. “Mrs. Stevens, you are officially—”

  Debbie knew what was next, but wasn’t giving him the satisfaction. “I quit. You can give this job to someone else, you arrogant excuse for a human being.”

  Debbie looked around the department. A sea of heads stared over their cubicle walls at her. She did a quick salute to her former employees, turned on her heels, and walked out the door. She knew this was one burned bridge she could never cross again.

  Chapter 4 Treachery

  Bob Stevens couldn’t stop adjusting his full Windsor tie knot. This was a nervous habit he’d developed when he donned his first clip-on as a child going to church. Even posing for his high school prom, senior picture, or standing with his groomsmen at his wedding were a challenge to keep his arms at his side and leave his tie alone.

  Finally satisfied, no wait—a little more to the left, there, that’s it—he strode with pluck and resolve toward the boardroom on the posh thirty-second floor of the Plaza Towers. He passed numerous offices and break rooms, looking in at fellow executives and expecting them to interrupt their work and congratulate him.

  Instead, an eerie silence greeted Bob. No one left their chair to shake his hand. There were no smiles or encouraging words. Uneasiness tried to muscle in and shove aside his anticipation as he walked down the hall. The quiet was ominous, almost a warning, Bob thought.

  Debbie had bought him a new pair of Prada leather wingtips for this occasion. She said the shoes made him look more professional. But the hard leather soles, attached with dozens of tiny nails, made a sharp clacking noise against the laminated hardwood floor.

  The sound echoed off the walls with each step. What he wouldn’t give to be wearing his more comfortable fifty dollar rubber soled dress shoes from Kohls.

  Bob fought off of dread as his coworkers, many who were friends he had known for years, turned their backs as he passed their office doors. His gait slowed and he adjusted his Windsor knot.

  Probably nothing, Bob thought. He assumed they were jealous of his promotion, or scared of the inevitable corporate culture change with the merger. He picked up his pace. Not to worry. He’d be a good boss to them. The very best.

  All except for this one. His head turned to his nemesis’s office.

  He stopped at Ron Taylor’s door. Or Rotten Ronnie as he and Debbie called him. He would fire his insolent rival as soon as his promotion was official.

  Insult my wife at the Christmas party in front of everyone? I have a long memory, pal. Let’s make this quick and painless. You’re fired!

  Ronnie’s door was open but the lights were off. Strange. He clicked on the light. The office was empty. The lone remaining items were a desk, a chair, and an empty plastic waste basket.

  Bob kept walking. He was a bit disappointed. Rotten Ronnie must have been fired. He wanted the satisfaction of canning him. But as long as his contemptible rival was gone, then the day was only getting better.

  Bob picked up his pace, ignoring the irritating clacking of his shoes, and worked his tie knot again. He made a left turn down the next corridor, and approached the boardroom.

  Bob’s pace slowed as he looked through the glass walls, revealing a long oval table with twenty-four empty high back leather chairs. His manager Phil McKenzie, known as Big Phil around the office, met him at the door. Phil gave Bob an empty smile.

  “Good morning,” Bob said, looking again through the glass wall at the barren room. “Where is everybody?”

  Phil placed his arm around Bob’s shoulders. “Our meeting is in the HR office.”

  Bob was rendered almost senseless. But he didn’t have time to make conclusions as Phil turned him around and led him back through same halls where everyone again ignored him. He could feel his manager’s grip on his shoulder tighten into a hug as he patted Bob’s back.

  “Why Human Resources? Are there forms I need to fill out for the promotion?” was all Bob could manage.

  “Yeah. Something like that,” Phil said with a deep, gravelly voice.

  Phil opened the door with an indiscrete white sign and block letters that simply read HUMAN RESOURCESS and entered. The small impersonal office was barely large enough to accommodate the HR manager and a few Japanese executives he had never seen. And against the far wall, leaning back in his chair, was a smiling, almost mocking, Ronnie Taylor.

  “What the—” was all Bob could mutter, as he realized what was unfolding.

  Phil again placed his hand on his shoulder. “Bob, this is never easy.”

  Bob took a step back. “Wait a minute. Phil, you promised. My father worked here.”

  “And God rest his soul. Damn good man, he was.”

  Bob again looked around the office. The Japanese executives stared at him without expression. Rotten Ronnie covered his mouth, trying to suppress his laughter.

  “Phil. You knew my father. You go way back. You both came out of college together and helped build this company from the ground up. You’d be honoring him.”

  Ronnie stood and interrupted. “Let’s face it, Bob. You got into this firm because of your old man.”

  Bob turned to his rival and snapped, “Don’t you ever speak of Dad as my old man.”

  Ronnie placed his hands up in feigned fear and smiled wide, his big toothy grin looking much like a worthy bullseye for a knuckle sandwich.

  Phil stepped between them. “Bob. Please. Let’s not make this any more difficult than it needs to be.”

  Bob realized he was sweating and breathing deep. He wiped his brow and looked at the Japanese executives. They stood along the wall. Their arms were folded, saying nothing, staring back without expression.
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  “Phil. Wait. You’re on the board. Talk to them.”

  “Listen to me. I did talk to the board members. The best I could do is get you a very generous severance package. And you can retain your medical and dental benefits for a full year.”

  This was all happening way too fast. Bob felt sucker punched. He searched for something to say and took a few measured steps in front of the HR manager’s desk. His wingtips clacked loud in the small office.

  “Nice shoes,” Ronnie said with a smirk, resting an ankle over his knee and showing off his rubber soles.

  “But the merger. I can help.”

  Phil reached over to the Human Resource Director’s desk and picked up a manila envelope. He handed it to Bob. “You’ll be fine. Listen to me. You’re young and bright. And I’ve taken the liberty to write you an amazing letter of recommendation. It’s in the envelope.”

  Bob shook his head. He couldn’t think of anything else to say in his defense. “Clean and easy. Just like that, Phil?”

  “Quick and painless is more like it,” Rotten Ronnie jeered. “Oh, you can’t understand just how much I’m enjoying this.”

  Bob once more glanced at the Japanese executives, who stood looking like a row of blank-faced statues.

  “No.” Bob tried to give Phil the manila folder back. “I can’t accept this.”

  Phil sucked in a deep breath and pushed out his barrel chest. “Bob, let me level with you. What your father did was invaluable to Thorbough and Tomlinson. But you have to understand there is no such thing as a merger. There are only acquisitions. And Nippon International has acquired us. They now call the shots.”

  Bob again looked along the row of Nippon executives. They remained silent, but nodded toward Phil in support.

  “Please try to see this from my perspective. Your father, as great as he was, represented the old way we did things.” Phil sighed deep and shook his head. “And Bob, so do you. That’s the problem.”

  “But Ron here,” Phil eye-nodded toward Ronnie Taylor, who was still wearing the wide cheesy grin. “He represents everything we need for the position of Vice President of Sales for the Midwest.”

  Bob opened his mouth to speak, but Rotten Ronnie stood and interrupted. “Please Bob. Just stop. You’re embarrassing yourself. Do the right thing. Turn around and leave with grace and dignity.”

  Phil reached out his hand toward Bob, who reluctantly went to shake it.

  “No, Bob. I need your employee badge. And your parking pass. I’ve called ahead. Security will escort you out of the building and let you out of the parking lot.”

  Chapter 5 Burned Bridges

  The past fifteen minutes had been a blur. Fifteen minutes. That’s all the time it took for Nippon International to sever ties with Bob and literally kick him off their premises. Fifteen minutes compared to a lifetime of employment and security wherein he could build the rest of his life and plan his retirement.

  Ever since he was fast tracked four months ago to be the new Midwest Executive Vice President of Sales, Bob had run the personal financials over and over to the point where Debbie asked him to stop quoting the numbers. Of course, the next two decades would experience good years and downswings in the economy. Surely there would be more promotions.

  He factored everything into the countless equations and algorithms he developed using paper and pencil, Excel, and statistical software programs. Regardless of the scenario, after twenty-eight years, he would retire at the age of fifty-five with a cushy upper middle class lifestyle.

  Now, instead, that manipulative back stabbing Ronnie Taylor was sitting in the corner office he was promised. Bob sighed. He tossed the unopened manila envelope in his back seat in disgust as he drove. Still stunned, he just wanted to go home and gather his thoughts. Talk to Debbie. She was always a source of inspiration.

  Even though many of her ideas were less than practical, her enthusiasm would make them work. Oh, he’d have to call a certain percentage of what her ideas were as plain wacky. So far out you couldn’t even see the box. Debbie often went against the grain, but she somehow found a way to make them work.

  And now he needed Debbie and her gumption, wisdom, and perseverance. Debbie. His love and soul mate. She was more than just a wife and eventual mother to his offspring.

  She was his best friend and the smartest person he had ever known, having bailed him out of countless foolish situations. Yet she never tried to take credit or force him to acknowledge her brilliance that rescued him from the consequences of his male oriented decision making process.

  Debbie.

  Oh, crap!

  Bob grabbed his android from his inside jacket pocket. He looked at the time on his dashboard. Nine thirty. Good Lord Almighty. Bob hoped it wasn’t too late. He called his wife.

  Before he could say a word, Debbie answered and said with much excitement, “So how is my new junior executive? Bob honey, I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do this.”

  Bob didn’t know what to say. There was a long pause he could not fill.

  “Bob? Are you there?”

  “Honey, please tell me you didn’t give your notice.”

  “I did better than that. I quit. And I’m so glad I told that jackass of a manager off right in front of everyone. You should have been there.”

  Bob slammed on his brakes. He lost focus and almost ran a red light.

  “How’s your new promotion, Mr. Vice President of Sales for the Midwest. That sounds so dignified. It rolls off my tongue like honey off a hot buttered biscuit. I’m going to call my mom and dad and tell them it’s official.”

  Bob took a deep breath. He just had to say it. “I … I got fired.”

  Silence thundered.

  Several seconds later Debbie cleared her throat. “Um, fired? Did I hear you say fired?”

  “Yes, dear. Fired.”

  “Bob, honey, I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I. But I was just sacked.”

  “What happened? Phil. He promised. He and your dad helped build the company when it was little more than chicken shit.”

  “Don’t know what happened. Well, I do know now, but basically Phil took me into Human Resources where Ronnie Taylor was.”

  Bob forced back the urge to vomit at the thought of Rotten Ronnie and his smug arrogant smile, his mouth and gums lined with large polished monkey teeth.

  “Rotten Ronnie? Are you kidding? Bob, please say you’re pulling a joke on me.”

  The light turned green. Bob eased forward. He didn’t have the energy to step on the accelerator and ignored the beeping of the angry driver behind him.

  “Debbie. Sweetheart. I wish I could. But it’s true. The Japanese executives, and Phil, thought I was too much like my father. Old school, they said. Can you believe it? They told me Ronnie was more progressive.”

  “No. No, no, no. We can’t accept this. Bob, you need to turn around and get your job back. Forget about the promotion. Just get your old position back.”

  Bob almost rear ended the car in front of him.

  “Listen to me. There’s nothing I can do. My place with Thorbough and Tomlinson is over. What can you do to get your job back?”

  The reply took longer than Bob wanted.

  “Nothing. I burned that bridge down to way below sea level.”

  “I thought you were giving a two weeks’ notice.”

  “I’m sorry. But Bernie is such a jerk. He went into one of his tirades. He belittled a sweet innocent little intern. I couldn’t take it. So I told him off and quit on the spot.”

  Bob didn’t know what to do. But he understood they were both unemployed. He needed to take charge, not argue and instigate a yelling match. He spoke in a gentle tone. “Don’t worry about it. Where are you now?”

  “I’m on my way to Linda Ryan’s house. I have an idea. I’ll try to arrange a meeting at the bank today to sign the papers for Old Country Tuscany Olive Oil.”

  Bob’s ‘Numbers Rule the World’ mind kicked into high gear
. He couldn’t allow hope to stand in the way of reality.

  “Honey, listen to me. You no longer have a job. Neither do I. Translation, we’re both unemployed. The bank giving you a loan, as part of their due diligence, will look for one of us to be gainfully employed.”

  Bob could hear the despondency in his beloved’s tone. “This is really bad timing. I’m not sure what to do.”

  “Since we no longer have a paycheck, neither do I.” He entered the 131 South toward Caledonia. “Meet me at home. We need to figure out what the heck we’re going to do.”

  Chapter 6 Despair

  Debbie refilled Bob’s coffee cup and sat with him at the kitchen table. A month earlier she’d be pouring his second cup into a travel mug and they’d be walking out the door; him on his way to work, she to her new business.

  But this early July morning Bob still sat, mulling over the bills and budget. Instead of the papers being stacked in nice neat piles, they were spread out in a big mess. Debbie was concerned for her husband’s well-being. He looked disconnected, still in his morning robe, with four days of dark stubble on his face.

  “Bob, honey, are you okay? I think we need to get out of the house. It’s the Fourth of July weekend. We can take a walk. Or go see a movie.” She sniffed the air. “After you shower and shave.”

  Bob didn’t look up. He keyed more numbers into his calculator while shuffling through the bills. “This is not good. I don’t know how we’ll make it. We have about four, maybe five months’ worth of savings and investments—including my oh-so-generous severance package—of money to live on. Six if we really cut back. And that’s it.”

  Debbie had to inject enthusiasm into this conversation. It was bad enough Bob was descending into a twenty-four hour grump. Now she was feeling his anxiety.

  “We’ll both find new jobs, sweetie,” she said with a mixed tone of authority and encouragement. “It’s only been a month since we lost our jobs. We just have to be patient. The right doors will open up. Trust me. You’ll see.”

  Bob held up two statements and acted as if he didn’t hear a word Debbie said. “Look at our student loans. Together they total over a hundred thousand dollars.”