He showered, and shaved, then put on his spare shirt and returned to his desk.
He was much earlier than normal, and most of the office was still in darkness, just a few of the younger, most extreme sycophants who always came in at the crack of dawn were busy at work.
Those who noticed his passage through the gloom looked at him in astonishment. At first he thought they must see his rumpled attire, but then he realised they were simply amazed to see him at such an early hour.
When he got back to his cubicle he slumped in his chair. In front of him the message-received light was flashing on the headset. Someone had sent him a message. He didn’t think he could deal with that. Not right now.
He stared at the pulsating light for a while, and then the blocks started up again: “We would advise you to answer it.”
“I know, I know. Give me a second.”
“Do not be so wary. This will be a good thing. Trust us.”
He was fairly sure that he could not trust them. Then they reminded him that they could hear him, and then he wondered whether he would ever get used to them.
Gingerly he reached across the table and lifted the headset, as if it were a poisoned chalice. Then he put it back on his head.
The brief moment of vertigo was swiftly replaced with the goggleVid message. It was one of the personal assistants. He did not recall seeing her before, so she must work on a different floor, and that always meant trouble. As usual the video was covered in the black squares that the commCensor applied to cover up any copyrighted images or objects, which was pretty much everything these days.
His stomach fell as he realised that she was young and rather pretty. That meant that she had to be an assistant or secretary to one of the executives. Ordinary managers got the older or less attractive assistants.
“Hello Mr Smith, my name is Melissa and I am Miss Amore’s personal assistant. Ms Amore has asked me to ping you with a request for a face-talk. She told me to ask you to drop in any time and she’ll see you as soon as she’s free. Okay then, bye. See you soon.”
Then she had waved to him as she hung up.
Oh God! This was going to be bad, he could feel it at the base of his spine; a cold shiver of fear. He could only think of the dire castigations that were now sure to befall him. Clearly someone must think that he had committed some major infraction to company rules to deserve the ire of such a high placed official.
The blocks tut-tutted at him, and told him he should not worry. They told him that they had this covered. They reminded him that he should trust them.
He had to climb two floors to get to her office and when he arrived he expected to be kept waiting in the foyer for at least half an hour. But instead he was whisked straight into her ample office. The receptionist even offered him tea or coffee. Clearly the poor girl did not realise that he was nothing more than a humble button pusher in the enforcement division. She must think he had some standing.
The department head’s office was vast. Mostly it was empty, but to one side was a bar that ran the length of the room. In front of this were two sofas facing each other and a large glass and steel coffee table between them. At the other end of the office was a large ornate wooden desk, and behind it an expensive looking leather executive chair.
That chair was facing the panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows, and the occupant of the chair was on a vid call. The receptionist motioned to one of the sofas and then gestured for him to remain quiet while her boss was on the telephone.
He sat, rather awkwardly, on the edge of the sofa, tea cup in hand, and wondered whether he could risk placing the cup on the pristine glass of the coffee table. He could see, in his imagination, the ugly ring that it would inevitably leave behind. He decided that he would hold on to it instead. Looking around the room he found that the walls were decorated in a number of prints, many of them verging on the erotic, and was rather surprised, not only at her choice of décor, but at the fact that they must surely be on the censored list of images.
He heard the faint click of the goggleVid being placed on its stand, he hurriedly looked away from one particularly engaging photo, and realised that the executive chair was now facing him.
For a moment, that lasted an age, he had the strangest feeling that the woman now rising from the seat was Sally, but as she approached him he realised that it was not she.
“Anthony, or can I call you Tony…” She held out a beautifully manicured hand as she approached him, and he rose to meet her a little too fast, almost dropping his cup of tea.
“Tony is fine, just fine by me.” He coloured from the near mishap with the tea then found he had to juggle the cup to his other hand to be able to shake her hand.
“Please, please sit. And what on earth has that silly girl given you to drink? I do despair at times. She is lovely to work with, but has not the slightest idea of what to do if left undirected. Do put that silly cup down, and I’ll get us something decent to drink. Vodka? Scotch? Or a gin and tonic, perhaps?”
Drink at work? He had never even heard of such an idea. When he did not answer, she assumed that he had left the choice to her, and had poured two generous Whiskeys for them both. She walked back from the bar and nonchalantly placed them on the table.
The blocks told him to put the cup down and accept the drink. They also told him that everything was under control. Clearly there were wrong, so he held onto the cup, as if it were the one dependable thing in the room.
He noticed that a little of the whiskey from his glass had sloshed over the rim, and wondered if he could get away with mopping the spill up with his sleeve without Miss Amore seeing. So busy was he, considering his options with respect to the spill that he did not notice, until it was too late, that she was taking the tea cup from him.
“Melissa, you silly girl, come and take this tea away.”
The receptionist scampered in at the first mention of her name, took the proffered cup, and scurried back out of the room, throwing Mr Smith a quick “Sorry, Sir.” on the way out.
The departmental head sat down on the sofa opposite him, and noticing the small pool of spilt whiskey commented, “Damn I must have spilt a little. Never mind, though. It gives the cleaning lady something to do.”
Then she smiled over at him, and once again he felt an eerie feeling that he was looking at Sally. The smile seemed warm and honest. “So, as you probably know, my name is Fulvia.” She leant forward and extended her hand across the table, to shake his hand again, “Good to finally meet you.”
“Good to meet you too,” he mumbled.
“You know, I think we are all astonished by what you pulled off yesterday.” The words, spoken in flat, neutral tone, lay on the air like the acrid smell of a car crash, an ominous threat, as yet un-enunciated.
The blocks tried to calm him, but he ignored them, his hands thick with sweat.
“I thought it was the right thing to do.”
She laughed, “Wow. I must say, I wish I had the balls to do that.”
Was there truly a hint of admiration? He felt confused. What did she mean, and what did she think he had done?
She stood, and came around the coffee table, walked passed him and around the back of the sofa. He kept his eyes fixed on the now empty seat opposite him. He heard her lean down, gently resting her hand upon his shoulder, then she whispered in his ear: “Weren’t you terribly afraid?”
And then he smelt her perfume. While light, and fruity it was different to the one that Sally wore, yet it had a similar effect. He lost all sense of where he was, and the hand upon his shoulder seared into his flesh.
After a timeless moment she pulled back, and withdrew her hand, but he felt for the faintest moment her lips grazing his ear-lobe as she stood. It felt like a hot coal had been drawn across his skin.
“I could not have done that. I mean to take the hunt to the hunter! I would be too scared. To go to a morality review early, and without being prompted? What if they had assessed that as arrogance? No, no
ne of us would risk so much!” She paused, “But you did.”
She walked back to her seat, and sat down. “I think we have been underestimating you for far too long.” She paused, and then put her drink down. “Still we can remedy that starting today. As your boss, I forget his name, was arrested this morning for falsifying his work reports, we find we are in need of a replacement. Your morality index has been recorded as 98%. And with your work performance figures for last year having been re-assessed as the highest in your department, we all feel that you would be the perfect man for the job.”
“Re-assessed?”
“Yes, your boss had, apparently, been assigning much of your work output to his own account. That was why he was arrested. You weren’t the only one, but as your output was the highest, he took more from you than the other members of your department.” She sipped her drink, then resumed. “By-the-way, you are in for a substantial re-imbursement. Virtually all of your demerits turned out to be due to your bosses’ fraud. The company is offering you three-for-one on that, to make up for all those false penalties.”
He was dumb struck. But the blocks were not. “We told you that we had this under control. Now accept the offer, graciously, and invite the nice lady out for dinner.”
He almost choked on the sip of whiskey in his mouth, but managed to cover it up.
“Arr. Hmm. Of course I would be more than happy to accept that offer. As always, I was glad to be of service.”
“Nicely put,” said the blocks, “Now ask her to dinner. You need her on your side. She has made the first move, now you must take it to the next level.”
He had not been home the last night, and now the blocks were asking him to skip another evening with his family?
The blocks seemed to understand his reticence, “Yes, but as we said, we have this covered. Your wife has been assigned an out of city posting, she left home yesterday afternoon. There is a note waiting for you, but you can read that when you get home. Your children are as obnoxious as ever, and are more than happy at your absence. We have this covered. Now ask her out.”
“Um…”
“Stop prevaricating and be sure of yourself. Do not ask her for a date; simply tell her. Say: ‘I will be having dinner at The Marrakech Al Ain, would you care to join me?’”
He repeated what they had told him. It took all his will power to keep eye contact with her, and for a moment he thought he must have fluffed it, as her eyes opened wide in surprise or shock. Then she blushed and smiled at him. There it was again, that warm smile. He just wasn’t used to it.
“Well, I don’t usually go out on dates with my staff, but maybe just this once. To help you celebrate your promotion.” She paused, and then went on, “But I am rather surprised that you frequent such places. Isn’t it rather expensive?”
He took a leaf from the blocks: “I have it covered.”
“Well, thank you! Should I meet you there?”
“If you give me your address I will pick you up, say at eight?”
She scribbled her address on a piece of paper and stuffed it into his hand. “See you then.”
Part 5 - Compassion
The Kubic Kat Page 8
