1 Executive Lunch

by Maria E. Schneider

  "What makes you ask that?"

  She leaned in and whispered, "That is what Allen told Patrick. He said you wouldn't last more than a month or two, but it's been nice…having someone that I can talk to."

  "It isn't as though if I don't succeed at this job, I'll leave the company," I said. "Not unless they fire me. But I can't do this on my own. If Patrick, Ross, Dan, Allen and Gary don't want me to succeed, I don't see how it is possible."

  "Oh, Gary loves you. He thinks you're doing a great job. I've heard him tell Allen."

  I knew it was probably a false endorsement from Gary, but Sally didn't. It might be enough to keep the others from out and out lynching me, but not much else. Dan already hated me, and now I had made sure Ross and Patrick hated me also. Allen couldn't even muster the energy to feel threatened by me. He sent people home that supposedly worked for me.

  The whole situation was depressing and rang too much of what Huntington had talked about--if someone like me really did find themselves with this opportunity they would have to claw desperately just to hang on. Huntington thought it would work in my favor, but I disagreed. If I didn't start looking a little more like I might succeed there would be no reason at all to approach me. If I didn't start succeeding a little bit, I might get out-and-out fired.

  With that in mind, I set out to find Ross and try to smooth things over. There probably wasn't any fixing the problem since I had no idea what the hidden rules were, but I could try.

  Patrick found me before I found Ross. "Do you have a minute?" His beetle-black eyebrows made a vee on his forehead. He looked like he was trying not to puke on my shoes.

  "Sure. I was going to talk to Ross about the schedule, but we can chat first." Patrick sat in the office next to Ross. I could just go from the fat to the fire. I stepped into Patrick's office. He shut the door behind me. Slammed it was more like it.

  He stepped around to his side of the desk and then sat facing me. Stubby fingers drummed the desk while he stared at me. He was in his forties, but had a full head of hair and only a small paunch around his middle. "I wish those thugs had just shot you. Then I wouldn't have to put up with a smart-mouthed woman in this job."

  I didn't know if he was mad because I had passed the buck down his way, or if he had a problem because I was a woman, or if he was truly angry because I was alive. "Look," I said, "we all know my group can't handle all the new work that Ross is passing around. The Mamba project fits into your group--"

  "Like hell!" he exploded. "I have all of my projects lined up. I worked it out with Ross beforehand! You can't go suggesting that I take on more work in front of Gary. That isn't the way it works."

  I thought about what he said for a minute. "So the way it works is that I go behind your back and get Ross to assign it to you before the meeting? Then when you walk in, you don't have any idea what is going on?"

  "What?" He scrubbed a hand back and forth across his bushy hair. The man appeared to have no idea that I was merely restating, in my favor, what he had already done.

  "You prefer that I manipulate the cards before the meeting rather than during?" I repeated.

  "Don't be a fool, Sedona. They gave you this job because you scared off some scum. You're hardly management material. You have no idea how to get this job done. There is no reason for Gary to be impressed with you."

  "Why is he impressed with you?"

  That stumped him for about fifteen seconds, but the man was good at angry responses. He stood up and leaned over the desk into my face. "Because I know my job. I do my job. I get my work done on time," he bellowed.

  "Sure, as long as you and Ross have an agreement. But then that just makes me the loser in all this."

  He snarled, "I don't care who loses. You fight your own battles and stay out of my way."

  There was no point in sticking around to get yelled at so I stood up and shrugged. "I take it that you and Allen got along just fine because Allen never protested the extra work?"

  It was a question, but he was breathing too hard to answer. I opened the door and walked over to Ross' office. "Hey, Ross."

  He waved me in. "Sedona! I got your message. Here's a new schedule." He tossed a presentation my way before grabbing a lunch sack and dumping its contents on the desk.

  I stared down at the schedule. Ross mumbled around his sandwich, "Took your suggestion about Mamba. See if that helps." He started typing with his free hand.

  It didn't take me long to figure out that he hadn't changed much. "Ross, you still need to move some of these dates out."

  He shook his head. "No can do, my fair lady. I'd like to you know, but the customer." He shrugged. "I can't tell them we can't make that date. I already promised."

  Grinding my teeth seemed like the right action. "But Ross, we aren't going to make the date."

  "Sure we will." He licked mayonnaise off his fingers and took a huge gulp of a soda. "We always do." He winked. "Come on, Sedona. You make the schedule, we both get a terrific bonus."

  "And we get fired if we don't make the schedule?"

  He coughed on his soda, startled. "Shit no. Look, I can move the dates out a week or two if that makes you happy."

  "Are you asking me to walk into Gary's next staff and lie about making the schedule?"

  Ross was not prone to spending a great deal of time on anything, especially something as mundane as logic. He shrugged. "Lie? I don't know if I would call it lying."

  "Well, if I tell Gary I can make this schedule," I pointed to it, "and I know that I can't, wouldn't that be a lie?"

  The confusion cleared. "Shit no! You're really new to this aren't you? I forgot. Look, Gary wants a schedule. He wants one that agrees with what the customer wants. That's all we are doing. We're just giving him what he wants."

  He finished his soda, crushed it and tossed it towards the trash. Since his office was only ten feet by fifteen it wasn't much of a shot, but he leaned back in his chair, dress shoes in the air and cheered. "Hey, I'll move them out a couple of weeks, but no more than that, okay?" He grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair, checked his square head in the glare from the computer monitor and walked out of his own office while I sat there trying to figure out a way to make my point. He clicked his finger back at me, fake gun style. "You and me, we're going to work just fine together."

  I stared after his retreating back. And why shouldn't he think we were in total agreement? His version of reality was so far from mine, he flat out wouldn't notice if I turned into an alien and started gobbling up his desk. He might even offer me his sandwich if he figured hunger was the problem.

  Turbo's office wasn't far. I didn't bother to knock. I slumped down in his guest chair and proceeded to tell him what happened. "I am willing to steal from a charity, Turbo, but lie to the boss? Isn't that going a little far? I'll be giving them an excuse to fire me!"

  Turbo looked at the open door. He started to speak, but then he just stared at the open door. With a loud sigh I leaned over and closed it.

  "Uh…" That was all he managed to get out before I continued.

  "Turbo, Gary doesn't seem to have any idea how poorly things are run around here! Shoot, I don't think I had any idea. I mean, I knew we were always trying to make ridiculous schedules, but I didn't know that was just because it is the way it is done." I thought of something. "Wait a minute. Does Gary know we're all lying?" That confused me more. "So if we're all lying, and he knows we're lying then…what is the point?"

  Turbo blinked at me.

  "Have you ever attended Gary's staff meeting?" I asked suspiciously. He nodded. "Was it full of lies?"

  He thought about it for eons. "Well. I don't think the people thought they were lying."

  Leave it to Turbo to turn a poker game into philosophical argument. "Turbo." I closed my eyes so that I didn't scream at the look of concentration on his face. "If we are all lying, then why do we have schedules?"

  When I opened my eyes, his face was much happier. He knew the answer to this one
. "Politics," he declared happily. "It has something to do with that."

  Great. My fearless mentor didn't get it either. I gently banged my head down onto his desk and tried not to cry.

  "Well," my brilliant friend advised, "look at the bright side. If people know you lie, maybe they'll think you'll steal from a charity, and we'll find our man!"

  I removed my forehead from the desk and glared at him from over the stacks of paper cluttering it. "But no one is going to know the difference between a lie and reality, remember?"

  He frowned. "There is that."

  Indeed. I banged my head down again.

  It didn't help.

  Chapter 24

  I was still tired and frustrated when I got home. After my late night on Monday, I could have used three or four days of sleep, but Michael interrupted my plans per earlier forgotten instructions.

  He called up to announce that Marilyn had showed up.

  "Send her up," I ordered, afraid he might run her off.

  Michael promptly escorted her to my door. No doubt, he didn't want to let her run the hallways on her own, although she was probably in better shape than when Michael had seen her before. Michael didn't look at either of us, but waited for further instructions after I opened the door.

  A cut on her face had been stitched closed. She had made an effort with her clothes too. I wondered if she had showed up bleeding on the carpet the last time before she finally made her way to the hospital. "Marilyn. What a surprise!" I grinned at her like we were long lost sisters. Her eyes slid to Michael, not sure if she was supposed to play a part. Immediately her eyes went from wary to hopeless.

  I threw the door open and waved her in. "Thanks Michael. If Mr. Harrison shows up here looking for me or Mrs. Harrison, you are not to show him up. You are to call the police and have him removed from the property immediately. I don't care if Ms. Harrison tells you it is okay, you are never to let him up here or anywhere on the property, especially my property. It is completely out of Ms. Harrison's hands. Understood?"

  His eyes flew to my face, an action I am sure he promised himself he would never do. Never look the insane in the eyes. It might be catching. "Uh, yes, ma'am."

  "Never," I repeated firmly. "I don't care if someone is dying, and he says he's a doctor."

  He nodded rapidly and backed away. He wasn't certain what to make of the situation, but with Marilyn standing next to me with a jagged scar forming down her cheek, he probably wasn't too eager to run into her husband.

  "Well," I said turning to my guest. "I won't bother to ask how you're doing. It's quite obvious your life stinks."

  I backed myself into the living room and waved at the couch, but instead of sitting, she stood next to it. I retrieved a couple of sodas from the fridge and handed her one. The fridge was running low again. I sighed. "I hope you're here about that job I mentioned."

  She nodded without looking up.

  "Good." I had thought of the perfect thing. "One of your jobs is going to be groceries. And cleaning. Have you ever cleaned homes before?" I wasn't looking forward to teaching someone how to clean. It didn't just come naturally to women as some men might assume.

  To my surprise, she nodded. "Sure."

  "Okay." I was still doubtful, but willing to make the best of it. "Here are rules. If you ever steal anything or find a way to let your husband up here, you're fired. No second chances. I am not interested in getting my face bashed in by a lunatic husband. If you keep going back, that's your business. You let him in my life, it becomes my business. If he breaks in here, be warned. I will shoot him."

  Violence was not new to her. She nodded without looking up from the floor.

  "Can you do this job?"

  Another nod.

  "I'll pay you eighty dollars for each cleaning."

  That got her head up where her eyes met mine for a fraction of a second. "How often," she swallowed, "do I clean?"

  I wasn't a messy person, so I figured I could get by with twice a month. On the other hand, she could probably use the money. Since it was Huntington's money, I was generous. "I can use you every week, but if you can't do that, try for every other week. I'll give you money for the cleaning supplies. Do you have a car?"

  She shrugged. "Sometimes."

  "Well on those times, get supplies and groceries. I'll make up a list of the staples I like to keep on hand, and then depending on when you're working, there may be additions."

  Now the worry was back. I could tell by the slump of her shoulders. "What day do I have to be here?"

  "That's up to you."

  Up came the head again. "What do you mean?"

  I took a seat on the couch even though she hadn't sat down. "Marilyn, you haven't been able to hold a job because your husband doesn't want you to have a job, right?"

  She didn't answer. She just looked at me like a doe waiting to be run over by a large truck.

  "I need you to show up every week to two weeks. Check the groceries and clean the place. You can come here anytime if you need a place to sleep or get away. At the moment, I only have this couch, but it'll have to do for now." Maybe I could get Huntington to put a bed in the study. I thought of another problem. "You don't have to call first, but if you need to go to the hospital, go there first and then show up."

  She watched me warily. "How am I gonna get in?"

  I went to my backpack. I really did need to get rid of it and carry only the briefcase. Huntington had given me two keys. "Here." I handed her one. Her eyes flew wide. She backed away.

  "Don't mark it. Don't tell your husband. Like I said, one chance. You can clean this apartment out of furniture and every scrap in it, but then you'll be where you are today. No job, no safety. Keep the key safe, and maybe it will be worth it."

  "I ain't no thief."

  She probably wasn't allowed out of sight often enough to be a thief. "I am trying to convince you that it isn't worth it to become one. I gather your husband does enough illegal stuff for the both of you." I had about a hundred dollars in my backpack. I took it out. "Here's some money. You must have the car today. Let's get the grocery and cleaning supply list going, and you can use the money for that." There was an ATM in the building. I would have to get more cash to pay her for the cleaning. "You get the supplies today. Do you have time to clean?"

  She looked panicked.

  "Never mind. Get the supplies. Come clean when you have the time. I'll pay you the eighty as an advance on the cleaning."

  "I…I don't know when exactly I can come," she spit out hurriedly, ignoring the money. "But I'll be here. You just don't make me go to no counselor or cops or nothing, okay? Every time I go to one of those, he gets mad. Real mad."

  I shrugged. One step at a time. "I can't fix your problems, Marilyn. If you want some kind of help, ask me for it. Right now all I can arrange is this. Maybe someday you'll clean enough houses you can make your own future."

  Her eyes shut down again. The future wasn't a place she visited often.

  Chapter 25

  The rest of the week was one big muddle. We still had projects due, and now that I was boss, I had to write up the final reports. Turbo was an excellent engineer, but his reports were lengthy and almost impossible for anyone non-technical to understand. Truthfully, I don't know who had cleaned them up before. It certainly wasn't Allen because he wouldn't know what to cut and what to leave in. Or maybe he hadn't bothered to do any progress reports.

  On Wednesday afternoon, Paul stopped by with his report. It clearly said that he was turning his stuff in on time, but when I pulled Ross' original schedules, they showed the project was supposed to have been finalized three months earlier.

  "Hey, wait a minute." I stopped him from leaving. "Your report says you are on time, but the original--"

  "Note the questions that were added after the project was assigned." He stepped back in, flipped a few pages and handed the report back to me.

  The test requirements and questions on the list were basic. "Paul, anyone
with half a brain would know we had to answer these questions when it was first assigned."

  He shrugged. "Not my problem. I didn't do the schedules. That would be your job." He stomped out.

  On Thursday, Ross left me a message wanting to know if I had cleared the schedule because we were going to have to talk about it in staff on Monday. Patrick sent no less than four notes trying to get out of the Mamba project, all of which I politely replied to, making sure that he knew I wasn't taking it. After the fourth note, Gary sent an irritated reply asking to be removed from the email trail. Implicit was the warning that we have it settled by Monday.

  "Impossible," I muttered. We had fourteen projects scheduled in the next six months. It was already the end of June. The team would barely be able to finish the six already assigned if all went well--and it never did. I sent Ross a message and told him to sell one of the customers on getting something extra, but having to wait for results. I also copied Patrick on the seven projects not yet covered. Then I sent a message to Gary and told him we needed an entire new team, and mentioned that I would be glad to head it up and handle the budget for it.

  When I got fired, I would teach a class on the most effective way to get noticed and summarily dismissed.

  Marilyn showed up to clean in the evening. The place needed it so I wasn't going to complain. The arrangement wasn't ideal, however. What if I needed her not to come? What if I really, really needed the place cleaned? I didn't have any idea how to reach her unless I asked Derrick where she lived. I may as well arrest myself for harboring a witness and save him the trouble.

  "Looking good," I told her when it became obvious she knew what she was doing. I retreated to the study rather than follow her around. Maybe Marilyn's mother had taught her how to clean before Marilyn ran off with Ted the loser. I still feared that one day I'd come back and half my stuff would be missing. Luckily it was mostly Huntington's stuff. I didn't know if I would have been so generous if it was my real home.

  That made me wonder how she had found me in the first place. "Hey Marilyn," I called out from the study, "How did you find out where I lived?"