“Jesus. I had a feeling that might happen. Who was it who called you?”
“I’ve no idea,” she replied. “The number didn’t show. And they’d already hung up...”
Chapter Sixteen. A Glass Half Full
“Right now, this is a job. If I advance any higher, this would be my career. And if this were my career, I’d have to throw myself in front of a train.”
Jim Halpert, The Office
ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, it had taken me more than an hour to rejoin them.
I lingered by the restaurant entrance, trying to unravel my stupid dream. I must have fallen asleep in the cab. I couldn’t remember the whole thing, only the basics. My subconscious mind must have used my biggest fears, combining them into a perfect custom-made nightmare. It had shown me the things I dreaded the most — the loss of a loved one (because Kira was my closest family, probably closer than my parents even) and the call to save humanity (a real horror for an irresponsible loafer like myself). In my dream, they’d even stripped me of my interface which was my only fighting chance. And the wretched acid jelly? With my blennophobia[10], that was the most terrible mob I could think of!
What a weird dream. Really. Too many coincidences. The death of Kira who indeed had barely escaped with her life — saved by the bell, or should I say by the phone call? And this weird connection between Panikoff and Valiadis...
I had to make sure it had indeed been only a dream. I needed to know if I still had the interface. So I summoned Martha.
“Hi, Phil!”
She hadn’t changed one bit. Same giggly smile, same skimpy dress, same bubble gum.
“Hi babe,” I’d have loved to talk to her but I didn’t have the time. “See you later!”
I walked into the restaurant nearly two hours after I’d left the Ultrapak office.
“Hi,” the beaming hostess greeted me. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Actually, yes. You’ve got a group celebrating here tonight.”
She raised a quizzical eyebrow.
I hurried to add, “Ultrapak office party?”
She nodded. “Please follow me.”
She led me across the dimmed restaurant past the bar and all the tables. Soft music played; a songstress was crooning something on a small stage.
We walked up a steep staircase — a challenge for a tipsy patron! — and arrived at their private room. I could see that the official part was already over. Mr. Ivanov, Pavel and a few of their deputies lounged in easy chairs around a low table apart from the rest, smoking cigars and sipping their cognacs.
The reps were crowded on a small balcony outside, laughing at Greg’s tall stories. Someone guffawed, then immediately choked on their own laughter, exploding in a bout of coughing. That just had to be Cyril.
I never liked office parties. Ditto for seminars, training classes and other team building activities. An office party is an introvert’s worst nightmare. Not a friendly after-work get-together with a few office buddies happily getting drunk but an organized outing scheduled and controlled by top management. Normally, its only purpose is to shape the workforce into an obedient, unthinking crowd, introducing them to the lemming mentality and corporate rat race. The said workforce would happily overdo on the free drinks, then the next morning it was back to the grindstone.
Each such “happening” tends to expose the worst in your fellow beings. It highlights things that are normally glossed over by the formalities of work etiquette, such as hypocrisy, vanity, backstabbing and shameless lewdness. Management praises company values, watching their workforce benignly from the height of their position, encouraging them to drink and be merry. It’s not every day middle-class workers can afford to come to a place like this! The workers applaud their bosses’ speeches until their hands are raw, then down their drinks and exchange whispered sarcasms about the speakers. At the height of the evening, company drivers are drinking with the IT experts, the advertising department is busy wooing the accountants while the boss’ secretary — who feels as if she owns the party — accepts a drink from the chief analyst who’d already assessed her potential and is about to proceed to a more palpable analysis of her personal assets.
“Phil!” Pavel shouted over the music. He waved to me, inviting me over to their table.
Dammit. I couldn’t expect a friendly work environment, not after the top brass had openly exposed me as their favorite.
I couldn’t help it, anyway. I headed over to them.
“Look who’s coming!” Mr. Ivanov roared. His face was crimson. He'd already removed both his jacket and tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves. “Phil, you bastard, come here to me! Come, I’ll give you a big hug!”
His Mood bar was maxed out. Alcohol seemed to work as an emotion enhancer. I hadn’t had the chance to check this theory yet, but it looked like I just might have to now.
I shook his hand, grudgingly allowing him to throw his arms around me. He gave me a bear hug and slapped my back. “Come sit with us!”
He motioned to one of his deputies who hurried to pull another easy chair up to the table.
“A cigar?” Pavel asked.
“No, thanks. I’ve just quit,” I replied with just a tad of guilt in my smile.
“Then you should drink with us,” Mr. Ivanov announced.
The same deputy had already arranged for an extra glass to be fetched and filled it with some prohibitively expensive brew.
I glanced at its stats. An 18-year-old whisky, market value: $313.65, chemical composition: 63.9% water, 36% ethanol, traces of various microelements.
The reverence for expensive brands which had already taken a considerable knock during my last shopping session had now sunk to a new low.
As for the rest, I could see their sincere albeit mercenary interest in me. And although I knew very well I was nothing but a golden goose to them, still their attentions admittedly flattered me.
I needed to get a grip. I shouldn’t let them fool me into submission. For me, Ultrapak was only a starting point. It would allow me to forget my financial worries and concentrate on personal growth.
Mr. Ivanov rose and delivered a lengthy speech, slightly staggering and constantly shifting his weight from his toes to his heels. Eventually everybody at our table rose, looking at him. My co-workers at the big table too stopped laughing and listened.
He kept speaking, nostalgically remembering the company’s early days eight years ago. He told us how hard it had been to set up their own production line. Told us about the arrival of “our Pavel boy here who was just a snotnose then”. His cigar dropped heavy clumps of ash as he poked it in the direction of the said Pavel and his deputies, describing their own respective arrivals at the company.
My hand got tired holding the drink, so in the end I lowered it. This was going to take a while.
“So finally, today our company has entered a new era by closing a deal with J-Mart,” he concluded. “All thanks to him!”
He nodded at me — thankfully without poking his cigar — and concluded, “Cheers everyone!”
Everyone screamed their approval of the toast and clinked their tumblers (or “flat-bottomed beverage containers”, as the system helpfully informed me).
I too touched my lips to my drink. It wasn’t that I was a complete teetotaler but I knew better than to get drunk with people I barely knew, let alone in my bosses’ presence.
I caught Mr. Ivanov’s watchful stare. He shook a disapproving head at my unfinished drink, “What’s wrong with you? Come on, bottoms up!”
“But I-”
“Drink, I tell you!”
The faces around me grew serious. I gave up, picked up the wretched whisky glass and downed it in one slug.
Mr. Ivanov’s face softened. I received a minor two-hour debuff to Agility, Perception and Self-Control. By the same token, my Mood and Confidence had risen slightly.
“Aha! That’s a good lad!” Mr. Ivanov commented, apparently pleased. “Move your chair over here so we can s
peak. I can’t hear anything with this music.”
I sat closer to him while Pavel and the others began discussing the Russian soccer team’s chances at the approaching World Cup.
“They can’t leave it alone, can they?” Mr. Ivanov commented, then changed the subject. “Where have you been?”
“I had to go home to let the dog out,” I replied in all honesty. Sincerity had served me well until now. “He’d been on his own all day.”
“Very good!” he replied. “The dog is man’s best friend, as they say. One should never leave one’s friends in trouble. So you live alone, then?”
“Technically, I’m still married, sir.”
“What do you mean, ‘technically’? Where’s your wife, then?”
I wasn’t too happy with his unceremonious interest but I saw no point in trying to avoid the subject. “We’re getting a divorce. She’s moved back in with her parents. It just wasn’t meant to happen, I suppose.”
“I’m so sorry,” he shook his head. “But I’ll tell you what: you two should try and make it work. Promise you’ll do it! Promise me now!”
“I promise,” I agreed with a smile. “There’s nothing else we can do, is there?”
“That’s my boy! Excellent! Give me five!” he slapped my hand. “Now tell me a bit more about yourself. What are your goals in life? What is it you’d like to do?”
“There’s not much to tell, sir. I’m no spring chicken anymore. It took me all this time to realize I’d been just drifting along. So I decided to get my act together, finally. I started looking for a job — which I’ve almost found, I hope, — I've been jogging every morning, I started reading good books...”
“What kind of books?” Pavel interfered. He must have been listening to our conversation all along.
“Just sales-related. I’ve almost finished No B.S. Sales Success.”
“Dan Kennedy?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you read Agile Selling? Great book!”
Mr. Ivanov shook his head. “What if you discuss your to-read list some other time?”
“We’re all done here!” Pavel leaned back in his chair and took a deep draw on his cigar.
“You said you’d almost found a job,” Mr. Ivanov chuckled. “Well, let me tell you you’ve found one. Tomorrow morning get back to HR and tell them you’ve been hired. Your trial period is annulled. Pavel, did you hear me?”
Pavel nodded.
“You’ve already shown us your worth,” the CEO concluded. “Now go and have fun with the boys,” he motioned me toward the big table. “We have things to discuss.”
He gestured to his deputy to fill up their glasses.
I was just about to ask him about my bonus when a new system message flooded my body with a wave of pleasure.
Quest alert: One-Day Chance. Quest completed!
You’ve successfully closed a sales deal for packaging products produced by Ultrapak, Ltd.
XP received: 1500
Additional XP received: 500 (for thinking out of the box)
+20% to Satisfaction
Very soon I’d make a new level!
A pleasant shiver ran over my body. It took me great effort not to betray myself to anyone. My Satisfaction was close to 100%. In order to achieve Happiness again, all I had to do was have a meal and a good night’s sleep.
The next message came as another pleasant bonus,
Your Reputation with Pavel Gorelov has improved!
Current Reputation: Amicability 5/60
I pulled myself together and turned to Mr. Ivanov, “Excuse me, sir...”
“What is it?” he seemed unhappy I was still sitting with them.
“One last question. The bonus for today’s deal, are you going-”
“The bonus? Pavel, did you hear that? The bonus!” Mr. Ivanov laughed. “Isn’t that typical! That’s the young generation for you! They don’t give a damn about ideals! All they care about is money!”
Pavel nodded and smiled without actually laughing.
My pulse was racing. I felt I would lose it any minute. I was dangerously close to getting up and telling them all to stuff their business where the sun didn’t shine. The bonus of a fraction of their multi-million deal would have covered my daily needs and then some. I could manage quite happily on it without the need to close any more sales.
I awaited their answer with a smile frozen on my face. If he thought this was funny, so did I.
Having finished laughing, Mr. Ivanov finally said, “This, I’m afraid, is up to your immediate superiors. Pavel? What do you think?”
“Well, formally, it’s out of the question. We’re already being accommodating as it is, accepting you without the obligatory trial period. But! As a one-off incentive compensation, why not? Tomorrow Hermann is wiring us the down payment. We could, I suppose, use that money to pay him a bonus of, say,” he paused, making mental calculations, “twenty grand[11]?”
Twenty thousand rubles? Were they taking the piss? I’d spent ten thousand just on buying the swimming trunks and that stupid three-visit gym membership!
And that’s when my Reputation with them had already improved. Had it indeed been even slightly lower, they would have ripped me off, that’s for sure.
“You’re not happy, are you?” Pavel seemed to be enjoying it. “Very well, let’s make it twenty-five. Enough said!”
“You can go now,” Mr. Ivanov ordered.
You can go now, human, echoed in my mind
I was about to explode. I stood up, about to tell them to get lost, but reconsidered. I wanted these bloodsuckers to pay me my money first. Until then, I had to keep up appearances and play by their rules.
“Thanks,” I said and headed across the entire length of the room for the exit.
I had no intention of staying. Pointless striking up friendships with people if you weren’t going to become their workmate. I was already busy thinking how I could make money with my abilities.
Halfway across the room, I noticed Marina’s slim outline on the balcony outside. Next to her stood one of Pavel’s toadies, a guy called Dennis, waving his hands as he explained something to her.
I slowed down. It looked as if the girl could use my help. Her Mood was still deep in the red. A large exclamation mark of a quest giver flashed above her head.
I decided to wait till they finished talking and walked over to the big table, taking a place next to Greg’s.
“Hi guys,” I said.
“Aha, here’s the hero of the day!” Cyril exclaimed. “Phil the J-Mart Slayer!”
“So, have they been sufficiently grateful?” an accountant girl nodded at the bosses’ table. She was faking indifference — but according to her stats, her name was Vicky and she was dying of curiosity.
“You could say that,” I joked darkly. “I don’t even know what to do with all their gratitude. Should I reserve a table at McDonald’s to celebrate? Or should I buy a vacation at my Granddad’s country shack?”
“Have they blanked you?” Greg asked.
“Well, technically I’m still not on the payroll. So they offered me a one-off compensation. Which is the equivalent of one of their whisky bottles.”
Wham! I’d never been a good judge of character. All of a sudden I was showered with messages reporting my improved Reputation with everyone within earshot. Indeed, sympathizing with losers is a signature Russian trait. Or was it simply that they’d had their Jealousy debuffs lifted?
As the news of my misfortune spread, new messages kept coming in. For a while, everyone fell silent. Then everybody began talking at once.
“Did you tell them it wasn’t fair?” Vicky the accountant girl demanded. “You’ve brought them half as much again of what we sell now!”
“You should have waited till you were officially hired before closing the deal,” a strange voice came from somewhere at the center of the table.
“What would you like to drink?” Greg fussed around me. “Vodka? Ah, no, you can’t, you
’ve been drinking whisky[12]. I’ll go get some from the ITs.”
“Don’t just sit here, have something to eat! Let me help you,” Vicky took a clean plate and piled it up with some mixed salad, a generous dose of Olivier[13] and a big helping of roast chicken. “Max, go tell the servers to bring him the main course!”
“Did they at least put you on the payroll?” Cyril asked, picking at a chicken bone.
I nodded gratefully to Vicky and turned to Cyril, “The chief said, I’m hired as of tomorrow.”
“In which case, welcome to the club!” he shouted. “Everyone has a drink? Here’s to our Philip...”
“I’d rather you call me Phil.”
“Good! Here’s to Phil!” he announced, absent-mindedly raising his chicken leg in the air.
My tipsy colleagues happily joined in. By now, they were in such a state they’d drink to anything at all[14].
I attacked the chicken and the salads. The others left me to enjoy my food in silence.
“Better now?” Cyril finally asked.
I nodded.
He motioned me out onto the balcony. He needed a smoke.
Greg followed us uninvited. Marina was still outside. Cyril and Greg lit up.
“Can I have one?” the girl asked.
Greg offered her a cigarette and a light.
“Phil, if you’ll excuse my impudence,” Cyril began. “How did you find Valiadis?”
“I have a nephew who’s also Cyril,” I replied off-key.
“That’s my little brother’s name too,” Marina said thoughtfully.
“I got it,” Cyril grinned. “You don’t want to say!”
“It’s not that,” I said, trying to come up with a half-truth. “You know Valiadis is on Facebook, don’t you?”
“So what?”
“His check-in is sometimes turned on. Not always.”
Restart_LitRPG Series Page 20
