by S Doyle
She pulled back at the last second and laughed. “Ha, that would have been a classic Three Stooges moment.”
I looked at her blankly.
“If our heads had butted,” she explained. “Three Stooges?”
“Never heard of them.” I had no idea why I lied about that. It just came out. As if only silly people knew who the Three Stooges were and I wanted to point out I wasn’t one of them.
One of people like her.
We made our way out of the office. I allowed her to pass in front of me and together we walked toward the elevators.
“So maybe we should meet or something,” she said.
“Meet or something?” Could she be any more vague?
“You know, to talk about our ideas. Things we can do to turn around the company.”
We stopped once we reached the elevator doors. “I can assure you we’re going to have vastly different ideas on how to do that. I don’t see the point in discussing them with each other.”
“Okay. Whatever.”
I ignored her sudden stiffness. “There will have been an annual budget in place. I’m going to recalibrate it, determine what expenditures are left, and give you a new budget around which to base your ideas. You stick to the numbers and we ensure a profit. Got it?”
“I know how a business operates,” she said snidely.
“Just checking. Your type often cares more about the product than the profit from the product.”
“I’m sorry, did you say my type? Uh, judgmental much?”
The doors opened and we both stepped inside. I was headed down to the third floor to talk with the accounting team. She was no doubt headed down to the main floor which housed the ornament factory and the shipping warehouse. I’d heard enough about the new ornament designer to know she liked to be among the workers who were actually doing the glass blowing.
I tilted my head. “Ms. Knews,” I said.
“Mr. Darling,” she replied, and then her lips twitched.
“I apologize. Perhaps I’m making assumptions based on your attire and toe rings.”
“You’ve got a problem with toe rings?”
I sniffed. “I don’t believe they are office appropriate, no, but if you’ll indulge me... Are you vegan or vegetarian?”
“Vegan.”
“Do you care more about art or money?”
“Art. Obviously. Money can’t bring anyone joy.”
“I would beg to differ. Do you own one cat or two?”
“One cat, my older one just passed away. And how did you…?”
“Because,” I said smugly. “You fit a type. An art over money, vegan, cat owning type.”
“You got that all from my toe rings?” she asked incredulously.
“Let’s just say, I’m very familiar with people of your sort.”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, pressing the loose material tighter around her breasts, which were surprisingly full given her slight body type.
“Now I’m a my sort. You know, Mr. Darling—and I’m not going to lie, I want to giggle every time I call you that, not sure why—I’m trying really hard not to be offended by you.”
“You’ll need to try harder,” I informed her. “I don’t pull punches. Not when I have a job to do. Make me an ornament I can sell for a profit and bring it in under budget and we’ll get along fine.”
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. I left her behind without another word but I had the fleeting suspicion she was giving me the bird.
Joy
Asshole. I flipped him the bird as he walked off, grateful there was no one around. The elevator doors closed and I hit the button for the main floor.
As always, the main floor of the building was a flurry of activity. There were twenty stations of people handcrafting the ornaments in various stages of glass blowing, molding, lacquering, and painting. With floor-to-ceiling windows that exposed us to the outside street and the walking traffic of LoDo, it wasn’t uncommon to see people stopping to stare at our work.
Art and Christmas in progress. Who wouldn’t stop to watch that?
My desk was situated on a slightly raised stage in the back of the room. This was so I could look out onto the floor and see all of the people working there. I didn’t have an office. Just a desk and coat rack behind me, which meant that at any given time I could be called upon to help one of the workers with a design or offer a suggestion. I’d only been at the company for a few weeks, but already my team was starting to understand how I worked.
I worked with them, not over them.
I was opening up my laptop when Cheryl, the team supervisor, wandered over.
“How did the meeting go?”
“It was fine,” I said with a frown, thinking about what an asshole Darling was. But whatever, he was right. I was art design. He was finance. The two worlds would never meet other than to bitch about budget. I just needed to put him out of my mind and think about new ideas.
“Wes wants me to save the company,” I told her. “No pressure there.”
“If anyone can do it, you can. It’s why he stole you away from our competitor.”
“Stole” was a bit strong. I’d been about leave Holiday Inc. and everyone knew it. They were crushing the creativity out of Christmas ornaments and I couldn’t stand by and let it happen.
Wes’s offer had come at the perfect time.
“I have some thoughts,” I said.
Cheryl smiled. “Awesome. Because I really like my job.”
I smiled back. “Who wouldn’t like making things that bring joy to people?”
“How was the new CFO? I heard he’s hawt!”
Hot? I wouldn’t know. I guess, maybe. I mean, when I first saw him I was, like, whoa. But that was just an instinctual reaction. Dark blond hair, super blue eyes, Tom Brady cheekbones, and a body that made a suit stand up and cry out to be worn. I’d felt underdressed immediately, and glancing down I could see the sparkle of my toe rings.
“Hawt, maybe. Asshole, definitely.”
Cheryl shook her head. “Why is that always the case with those money guys? It’s like they have to hand over their souls in order to earn a profit.”
“As long as he stays out of my way, I’m not going to worry about him. We just need to focus on our jobs of making great ornaments.”
Cheryl’s shoulders slumped. “We don’t make great ornaments. We make ornaments. Boring, generic ornaments.”
I already knew Cheryl’s disappointment. Because of budgeting restraints, this year Kane Co. had been limited to only three molds. Round reds, green ovals, and white icicles. Not the type of creativity an artist longs to be a part of. But I was here to change that.
My mind whizzing with ideas, I was startled when Jake jumped up on the desk, circled twice, and then slumped down into his cat pillow. Without thinking, I reached out to stroke his silky black fur, which he allowed for five seconds until his head popped up and he made the threat to bite my hand.
“No bitey Mommy,” I said instinctively.
Jake wasn’t a cat just anyone could love, but he’d improved now that I’d allowed him to come to the factory with me. Apparently, one of his issues had to do with separation anxiety. As long as he was near me, he was in a better mood. A better mood meant fewer sneak attacks on my ankles.
“Your cat’s a jerk,” Cheryl reminded me as she walked off.
“He’s just misunderstood,” I said, defending him. “Now, let me get to work. Save the company and all that.”
“You got it boss.”
I sat at my desk, opened my laptop, and then closed it. Instead, I opened the drawer underneath the desk and pulled out my pencils and sketch pad. I was always more creative with a pencil in my hand than designing on-screen.
Ornaments everyone would want.
I put the thought into my head over and over again, trying to will an idea to come into focus.
Instead, I thought of Mr. Darling and his my type this and your sort that
bullshit. He didn’t know me. He didn’t know anything about me except that I had toe rings, a cat, and I ate vegan. I wasn’t a type. I was a person.
I ended up drawing a dick because it seemed to fit my thoughts of Mr. Darling.
However, because this was a Christmas ornament company, I also drew a wreath that hung from it. A perfect design for Mr. Darling.
I would name it Jingle Balls.
2
Kane Co.
Four Months Ago
W.B.
“Okay, I need you both to just keep an open mind. I have two separate proposals and I want you to hear them both. Giving them each an equal shot.”
“Stop stalling, Joy,” Wes said. “Just pitch it.”
“Yes, come on already,” I urged her. “We’ve been waiting weeks for the big idea.”
Joy nodded to Cheryl, who moved forward and placed a box on the conference table where Wes and I were seated. Joy removed the top of the box and pulled out…
A dildo.
I was looking at a dildo with a wreath around it.
A Christmas ornament cock wearing a Christmas wreath. Made of glass, so not really an effective tool for someone looking to get off with it. I mean, what if it shattered while...
“I’m calling it our Racy Ornament line,” Joy said with a smile. “Adult themed Christmas ornaments!”
I blinked and turned to Wes. “I told you, you need to fire her. She’s utterly ridiculous.”
“He told you to fire me?” Joy asked Wes, who seemed grim. “Did you tell him that I wanted you to fire him?”
I blinked again. “What?” I shouted at her. “You told him to fire me? I’m not the one who walked into the conference room to present an adult themed Christmas ornament line. You’re insane!”
“And you, if you didn’t have that stick shoved so far up your ass, you would know this was a joke,” she fired back and pointed at Wes. “See? He’s laughing!”
I glanced over at Wes, who was, in fact, laughing.
“You knew this was a joke?” I asked him, feeling irrationally angry. Everyone knowing it was a joke but me, somehow I became the joke.
Wes wiped laughing tears from his eyes. “I didn’t think it was realistic that Joy would come up with an adult themed Christmas ornament line that we would have to sell in, you know, Target.”
“Clearly these are adult-shop-only appropriate.” Joy giggled.
She was giggling. In a business meeting. Something she often did. I found it utterly infuriating.
“I’m trying to save a company and you’re wasting my time with cock ornaments!”
“Oh, you’re trying to save the company?” she accused me. “All I’ve heard from you so far is how I can make ornaments for a penny that you can sell for five dollars. You do understand there are people down on the factory line who need to get paid, and not magic fairies who make ornaments for free?”
“Yes, I’m aware they are people. People who apparently are wasting their time by blowing that!” I said, pointing at the offensive ornament.
She shook her head and said, “Oh no. I blew that one myself. On my own time.”
She made a shape with her lips and suddenly I put her lips, that fake cock, and her blowing it all in the same image and it bothered the hell out of me.
“Okay, you two. Simmer down. I’m not firing either of you today and now you’re both wasting my time. Joy, pitch me the real deal.”
Joy nodded and Cheryl put another box on the table.
Joy opened the box and gently removed from the tissue paper what was a beautiful, elaborate gold wreath.
“Wow,” Wes said. “That’s beautiful. One of yours?”
“Yes. Now I know this is going to sound crazy, but you know who Christopher Radko is.”
Wes nodded slowly, but I shook my head.
“Who the hell is Christopher Radko?” I asked.
Joy rolled her eyes. “You know you work for a Christmas ornament company, right? Like, we’re not making widgets downstairs.”
I sneered. “Just tell me.”
“He makes, or used to make, high-dollar ornaments,” Wes explained. “He sold his company, but his originals, if you can find them, are pricey.”
I shook my head. “What’s pricey? No one is going to pay more than five dollars for a silly ornament.”
Joy snorted. “Radko ornaments sell for as high as sixty, seventy, even eighty dollars. He’s got signature ornaments that sell for over a thousand dollars.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said.
“No,” Wes said, shaking his head. He stood and moved the end of the table. Then he picked up Joy’s ornament and studied it. “That’s art.”
Joy smiled.
“You think you can create them at this level?” Wes asked her.
She nodded. “It’s about the mold. That’s where the work is, and the hand painting. We’ve got a really talented team. If we could take our top people and have them dedicated exclusively to creating a high-end product, we could sell it at a significantly higher price point.”
“A high-end Kane Co. ornament line,” Wes mused.
“High end costs money. It costs time,” I argued. “If you build these pieces of art and they don’t sell for what you’re charging, we could set ourselves back.”
“Look at this, W.B.” Wes said, handing the ornament to me. “People would pay money to hang that from their tree.”
I took the ornament and studied it. I had to admit it was beautiful. Bright. Shiny. It practically glowed from the inside and it made me want to keep looking at it. I glanced at Joy. I almost hated that she was this good.
“I’m going to need numbers. See how much it’s going to take to produce at this quality.”
She sighed. “I do know it’s a business, Mr. Darling. Cheryl, can you turn on the projector? I have a PowerPoint presentation that will walk you through the cost, production, quantity, and estimated profits.”
As Cheryl pulled down the screen and then went to plug in the projector, I walked over to Joy to give her back her ornament.
“PowerPoint,” I said quietly so only she would hear. “Impressive. I wouldn’t have thought an artist like yourself would know your way around a computer.”
“Well, you’re an asshole who doesn’t know me, so that doesn’t surprise me,” she whispered back.
“Did you really tell Wes to fire me?”
For some reason it was important I knew that. Yes, it was true. We’d been battling for two months over the direction for the upcoming new line. I wanted more for less and she wanted better quality materials. If I said up, she said down, and vice versa. We were never on the same page.
And yet, we had been working toward the same goal. I’d kind of thought it made us a team. If a fairly hostile one.
“I might have been slightly angry over your suggestion that we could replace glass blowers with a machine,” she muttered. “Has it ever occurred to you to leave your high and mighty office and actually see what we do?”
“I leave my office,” I countered.
“For lunch. Which you eat alone so it doesn’t count. You need to see how the ornaments are created. Be a part of it, so that you’ll understand it better. Instead you stick to your office and your numbers. And that’s it. All day long, just adding them up or subtracting them.”
“That hurt,” I muttered. And, surprisingly, it did. There was absolutely no reason it should. Not coming from someone I considered to be a flaky fruitcake, but somehow over the last two months this woman had managed to get under my skin.
I looked at her face and she was biting her plump lower lip. She didn’t like hurting my feelings. It went against her basic instinct for goodness. She was about to apologize, but I didn’t want to hear it. I held up my hand to stop her.
“Let’s hope your numbers add up and subtract accurately,” I said.
Then I took my seat at the table. Cheryl lowered the lights and Joy began to present her new line of high-end ornaments.
The elevator doors slid open on the main floor and I stepped out. Of course I came through the building’s main entrance every day. From the lobby I could see the stations of artists, although I’d never really paid much attention to their work. My only sense of it was that the downstairs always smelled of fire and fresh paint. No, when I entered the building I kept my head down, my briefcase in hand, and I focused on getting to my office quickly so I could get to work.
I never looked at what as being created.
I also didn’t look to the back of the floor where there was a slightly elevated stage area that I knew Joy used as her perch to oversee her domain. I certainly didn’t take notice of what flowy outfit she was wearing that day or pay attention to how she’d arranged her hair. Up in a ponytail when it was hot during the summer, or now, as temperatures started to cool, down loose around her shoulders.
Don’t look. Never look. You don’t care what she’s laughing about. Because when I crossed through the space from the entrance to the elevator, the sound of her laughter was not uncommon.
There were times I wondered if she was laughing at me. But of course that was ridiculous. I’d never done anything to warrant someone making me the butt of a joke.
Today the place was busy. People were firing up the glass—blowing it, shaping it in the molds that were laid out. Joy had gotten approval for five new sophisticated and complicated molds. They were doing a retelling of the five golden rings from “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”
Five magical golden rings turned into art that they planned to sell for fifty dollars an ornament. Shaking my head, I still couldn’t believe it was going to work, but I also knew it had been the best idea so far.
I had wanted to sell the building. The company owned it, and the real-estate market right now was crazy for any property in LoDo. Kane Co. could make a killing if they relocated the office space to somewhere cheaper, but Wes had been reluctant to part with his last solid asset until other avenues had been explored.
