Alan Lennox and the Temp Job of Doom

by Brian Olsen

  Dakota sat silently for a full minute. Rage was building inside her, and she was struggling mightily to keep it contained. As calmly as she could, she met Richard’s eyes. “This is bullshit. I have a great deal to offer this company. I have no intention of wasting what could be the most productive and creative period in my life by sitting with my thumb up my ass playing video games in a smelly office with a bunch of mouth-breathing morons. So if you’ll excuse me, I am going upstairs with the organizational chart I spent the past three months building, and I am going to camp out outside the Chief Financial Officer’s office until he agrees to meet with me, at which point this black gay woman is going to point out to him the absurd mistake that is costing Amalgamated Synergy millions of dollars.” She stood up.

  “Sit down.” Richard’s tone was quiet, but firm.

  “I will not.”

  Richard pushed a button on his phone. “Marisol, get security up here.”

  “Security? Is everything...” came the reply.

  “NOW, Marisol.” He released the button. “I am going to make you an offer, Miss Bell, and you had better consider it quick. You can carry through with your threat, and I will fire you for gross incompetence. I have cause, clearly – in three months you have not completed a single task on your job description.”

  “Because...!”

  “I’m not finished. The CFO will not see you, not right away. You will be waiting a long time, and I will find out you are waiting, and I will fire you. I will then explain to the CFO that you are a disgruntled, unstable former employee and he will never see you.” He came around and sat on the edge of his desk, closer to her. “Now, you’re a smart girl. Smarter than me, probably. Maybe you can find some angle I haven’t considered, some way to get this information to the chief execs. But I have a good thing going right now. I have a good salary, a corner office, my own assistant. I spend my days practicing my golf swing and taking spa treatments, and I make it home in time for dinner with my wife and kids every single night. I went to my daughter’s school play last Friday. Before my promotion I hadn’t been to a play or a recital or a game in three years.”

  He stood up, walked back behind his desk again and sat down. Dakota said nothing. “So here’s that offer. You can go back downstairs, go back to your office, and wait patiently for somebody at AmSyn to discover this mistake for themselves and fix it quietly. Spend the time doing whatever you want – keep making that pointless chart, take a class, write a paper for a journal – anything, as long as you keep quiet. Do that, and when the time comes I will write you a sterling recommendation and arrange for your transfer to whatever department you want. Or...”

  They both turned towards a sudden knock at the door. A voice from outside called, “Mr. Mullins? Is everything all right?”

  Richard smiled. “Or, I have security escort you to your desk, put your personal items into a sad little cardboard box, and march you past the entire staff and out the front door.”

  Dakota sat silently. The knocking came at the door again. She rose.

  “I think,” she started. She stopped, then gritted her teeth and continued. “I think I’d like to take the rest of the day off, if you don’t mind, Mr. Mullins. I feel a cold coming on.”

  “Of course, of course,” he said. “Go home, get some rest. In fact, take the rest of the week off. I’m sure you’ll be feeling better by Monday. Right?”

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “I’m...sure I’ll be fine by then.”

  “Great, great, I’ll see you next week, then. I’m glad we talked.”

  “Yes,” she responded. “Me, too.”

  She walked to the door and opened it. As Richard apologized to the security guards for the false alarm, she slowly marched down the stairs, down the hall and back to her office. She ignored the stares of her officemates as she shut down her computer, picked up her purse, and walked back to the elevator bay. The doors opened, but she paused, hearing her phone chirruping softly from inside her bag. She pulled it out and saw a group text message from her roommates.

  Meet me at slot machine for happy hour 911, Alan had begun.

  be there after my racist audition, Caitlin had responded.

  On my way, Mark had added.

  Dakota quickly sent her reply: Oh FUCK yes. She stuffed her phone back in her purse and got on the elevator.

  Chapter Six

  Alan drinking

  Slot Machine was a lesbian bar located on East Fourth Street just off of Second Avenue in the East Village. Dakota and Mark had discovered it when they first moved to New York, and it had become almost a second home for them and their roommates. It was dark and dingy and smelt like cheap beer, and they loved it. That Dakota was the only lesbian of the quartet didn’t make a difference – the booze was cheap, the jukebox was astounding, and the women were friendly. It was also open in the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday, which Alan was finding very convenient.

  “I’m starting happy hour early for you, sugar, since it’s just you and me,” said DJ, the bartender, as she handed Alan his vodka tonic. “That’s four.” DJ was compact and muscular, with long, light brown hair she kept partially hidden under a white cowboy hat she rarely, if ever, removed. Alan and his roommates had gotten to know her fairly well since they had become regulars.

  “Thanks.” Alan took out a ten dollar bill, dropped it on the bar, and contemplated his now empty wallet. As DJ rang up his drink, he took a long, slow sip and then slumped face-first onto the bar.

  “You all right there, Alan?” DJ asked, bringing him his change.

  He lifted his head. “I’m having an existential crisis, DJ.”

  “Will a shot of Jäger help?”

  “It couldn’t hurt.”

  “One for me too, Deej,” Mark called out as he pushed through the front door. “What’s the emergency, man?”

  Alan stood up from his stool and whimpered.

  “Aww.” Mark stopped and opened his arms. “Come here, little gay friend.”

  Alan walked into Mark, who wrapped his arms around him.

  “Bad day?” Mark asked.

  “Mm mmvng n mggssdnchl csss,” Alan murmured into Mark’s shoulder.

  “Another one? You want to talk about it?”

  Alan lifted his head an inch. “Not right now. I’m hugging a hot straight guy and I haven’t finished.”

  “Our shots are ready.”

  “I’m finished.”

  They joined DJ at the bar, who had poured them – and herself – shots of Jägermeister. They raised their glasses.

  “To the meaning of life,” Alan toasted, “and other great works of fiction.”

  Together they downed the shots of syrupy sweet liqueur. Mark and Alan winced; DJ did not.

  “That’s eight bucks for the pair of shots,” said DJ. “Mark, you starting a tab?”

  “Yeah, thanks, DJ,” he replied, handing her a credit card.

  “Why didn’t you ask me if I wanted to start a tab?” Alan protested.

  DJ laughed. “Alan, you’re a hoot,” was her only response. She cleared away the shot glasses and handed Mark his usual PBR. “Not that I don’t enjoy your company, but would you boys mind grabbing a table? I have to finish setting up and Alan is depressing the shit out of me.”

  They took their drinks and moved to a table towards the back, near the far end of the long wooden bar. As they settled in, Mark asked, “So what’s the problem?”

  “Let’s wait,” Alan replied. “The girls are coming, let’s wait for them. I want everyone’s input. How was work? Are you finished or do you have to go back?”

  “I’m done.”

  “Thanks for the picture, by the way,” Alan said. “Nothing like random voyeuristic porn to brighten one’s day. I don’t know how you haven’t been caught.”

  “Right. Yeah. Funny story.” Mark hesitated. “Uh...how much did you like the picture? Did you really, really like it?”

  Alan’s confused reply was cut off before it could start by Caitlin b
ursting in the door. “Whatever you’ve got on draft that’s light, DJ, as quickly as humanly possible.”

  She breezed past her roommates and headed straight for the dartboard on the wall behind them. She plucked three darts from off the board and stepped back behind the line taped out on the floor. “Okay, here we go, triple twenties.”

  “No!” Mark protested.

  “Too late!”

  With three rapid thwips the darts fired off, one after the other. The first was just a little too high and too far to the left, scoring a single five. The other two darts stuck neatly inside the uppermost section of the board’s inner ring, scoring two triple twenties.

  “Hah!” she cheered, as DJ brought her beer. “It’s on the big dumb guy, Deej.”

  Caitlin had played in a darts bar league with her older brothers while she was still a teenager. Early in their friendship, Mark had made the mistake of betting her a beer that she couldn’t hit a triple twenty. She easily won the bet and immediately decided that the wager would be renewed whenever they went out drinking. Mark hadn’t been given a choice in the matter.

  She plopped down at their table, ill-gotten drink in hand. “No Dakota yet?”

  “Not yet,” Alan replied. “She said she’s coming. I guess she’s leaving work early.”

  “Dakota doesn’t leave work early,” Mark said. “Ever. I hope she’s okay.”

  “At least we won’t all be shit-faced by the time she gets here, like usual,” Caitlin said. “We can all get shit-faced together. And I really need to get shit-faced.” She took a long chug, then put the glass down with a sigh. “So what’s up? Bad day?” she asked Alan.

  “I want to wait for Dakota,” he responded. “Mark was about to tell me a funny story about the picture he put on Facebook.”

  “Oh, I didn’t see it,” she said. “Another dick pic?”

  “Yup,” said Alan. “So what’s so funny?”

  “Oh,” Mark responded. “Uh...well, okay. I should probably get this out before Dakota gets here so that there’s one less person to yell at me.”

  “Sounds promising,” Caitlin put in.

  “So, okay,” Mark continued. “I was training this guy Pete, and then this girl fell off an elliptical machine, and...wait, no, I want to wait for Dakota for that part. Basically, I took a picture of Pete’s nutsack and he caught me.”

  Caitlin laughed and snorted her beer. Alan handed her a cocktail napkin and asked, “What did he say? Was he mad?”

  “No, he’s a super nice guy and he’s really funny and smart and good-looking, and I think you guys would really like him. Alan, I think you especially would really, really like this guy. Seriously, he’s awesome, he’s super built. Like a competitive bodybuilder but not all veiny.”

  “Okay...” Alan said warily.

  “So I showed him your picture...”

  “What?”

  “...and he thinks you’re really hot and he’s hoping you’ll maybe want to meet up.”

  “Um. That’s...flattering, I guess. I’m not really in the mood for a blind date right now, though. Tell him thanks.”

  “Well, here’s what’s up. He sort of already has the idea that you want to go out with him, and I’m worried if you don’t he’ll figure out I was just screwing around and he’ll get me fired.”

  Caitlin spewed beer out of her nose again. “Ew, oh my god, I have to stop drinking until you’re done telling this story.”

  “Dude,” Mark continued, “I’m so, so sorry. I’m a total asshole, I shouldn’t have even said anything. It’s good, don’t worry about it, he probably won’t do anything.” He slumped down in his chair and drank deeply from his PBR.

  Alan moaned. “Fuck me. Fine. Whatever. He has nice legs and his right testicle looks promising. Give me his number, I’ll text him.”

  Mark brightened. “Oh, man, thank you so much! You are the best!” Mark dug out his cell phone and brought up Pete’s contact information. “Don’t feel like you have to sleep with him for my sake. Unless you want to.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Alan responded as he entered the number into his own phone. “I’ll text him tomorrow.”

  “He said to call him.”

  “Call him? How old is this guy?”

  “Not old! Not that old. Like...thirties?”

  “Thirties? Early or late?”

  “Mmmmmmmaybe...forties?”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake!”

  “Is it your dad?” Caitlin asked. “You can tell us if it’s your dad.”

  “Early forties, tops! Probably younger!” Mark sputtered. “He’s really muscular, it’s hard to tell. And he makes all these pop culture references that I don’t get. But you love that eighties shit!”

  “I like music from the eighties, not men in their eighties.”

  “Dude,” Mark said, opening his eyes wide, “I will seriously owe you for his.” He lowered his voice, and leaned in close. “Seriously.”

  “Oh, no,” Alan said. “You’re not getting out of this by flashing me your dick. Not this time. You are going to owe me a real favor.”

  “Done. But if you get drunk tonight and ask to see my dick it counts.”

  “Done. But if you get drunk tonight and insist on showing me your dick it doesn’t.”

  “Done.”

  Alan picked up his phone. “No time like the present.” He hit the new contact number and listened to it ring. After a moment, a deep voice answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. Is this...” He paused.

  “Pete,” Mark whispered.

  “...Pete?” Alan continued.

  “Yes. Who’s calling?”

  “Hi, this is Alan, I’m a friend of Mark’s?”

  “I’m sorry, who?”

  “Um...Alan, a friend of Mark’s from the gym. He said you wanted me to call you?”

  “Oh! Alan, right! I’m sorry, I’m at work, I’m a little distracted. It’s so amazing that you called! I didn’t really expect you to, to tell you the truth.”

  “Well, after that picture, how could I not?”

  “Don’t mention his nutsack!” Mark whispered frantically. “It’ll be awkward!”

  “Heh. Yeah, that was kind of embarrassing. Not my best side.”

  “Don’t feel too bad, you’re not the first guy Mark’s done that to.”

  Mark’s jaw dropped. “What are you doing?” he frantically mouthed. Alan gave him the finger.

  Pete laughed. “Awesome. I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse. So your straight roommate sends you naked pictures of muscular guys a lot, does he?”

  “It’s a whole thing. I don’t question it too much, I’m afraid it’ll stop.”

  Pete laughed again. “If I wasn’t one of the models I’d probably feel the same way. So this is by far the weirdest way I’ve ever met a guy, but what the hell. Do you want to meet up for a drink or something?”

  Alan laughed. “Yeah, sure,” he answered. “I mean...since you’re threatening my friend’s livelihood, it seems I have no choice.”

  “I am? I wasn’t going to...oh, is Mark there?”

  “Yup.”

  “Make him sweat. Serves him right.”

  “I am shocked, sir, shocked at the perversion you are insisting upon. It is only because Mark is so important to me that I will submit myself to such degradation.”

  “This date is sounding better and better. I have to get back to work, but are you free Friday night?”

  “Yeah, I’m free. Friday night it is. Best just to get it over with.”

  “Super! I think. I’m a little confused now as to whether you’re into this or not so I’m going to hang up while I’m ahead. I’ll text you.”

  “See you Friday.” Alan hung up.

  Mark was looking at him with a mixture of love and shame. “Whoa. Was that for real? What does he want you to do?”

  Alan hesitated. “It’s...pretty hard-core. It’s difficult to explain, it’s kind of a gay thing. I’m not sure you’d get it.”
>
  Caitlin was watching him with open skepticism, but Mark didn’t hesitate. “Okay. Forget it. Forget the whole thing. No way you’re going out with this guy. I can get another job.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. I’ve already told him I’d meet him.” Mark started to protest again, but Alan cut him off. “Mark. Stop. I’m meeting him. It’ll be fine. I want to do this for you.”

  Mark sat silently for a minute, then stood, bent over and wrapped his arms around Alan. “Thank you,” he said in his ear. “All your drinks tonight are on me, buddy. I’ll tell DJ to put them on my tab. I’m gonna get you another vodka tonic.” He walked to the bar.

  Caitlin shook her head. “You are so full of shit.”

  Alan smiled. “He seems nice, kind of funny. He was never going to rat Mark out.”

  “Are you going to tell Mark that?”

  “Oh, hell no.”

  Mark returned and had barely set down their drinks when Dakota finally arrived. She walked back to join them at their table, a look of abject misery on her face.

  “Dakota!” Caitlin said. “Oh, honey, you look awful!”

  “What happened?” Mark asked. “Why’d you leave work early?”

  “I can’t,” Dakota replied. “I just can’t, not yet. Let me get a drink in me first.”

  On cue, DJ arrived with Dakota’s usual scotch, neat. DJ lingered for a moment, but Dakota ignored her as she held the drink in her hand, took a deep sniff, and sighed. Alan thought maybe Dakota hadn’t paid at the bar and DJ was waiting for cash, but the bartender finally wandered away unpaid. Oh, right, he remembered. DJ carried a massive torch for Dakota, who was oblivious. DJ wasn’t really Dakota’s type.