by Brian Olsen
That was how Mark felt now. He hadn’t been taking the whole AmSyn thing very seriously – he thought of himself as a straightforward guy, and he had a hard time wrapping his head around the idea that there was some grand conspiracy at work involving him and his roommates. But all that mattered now was that his best friend was hurting, and he could fix it.
“No,” he said. “We’re not leaving yet.” He stood up. “Come on.” He marched resolutely towards the staircase.
“We can’t!” Dakota said, following after him. “She’ll call the police!”
“So?” he said. He stopped and turned towards her. “So she calls the police. It was a party, we were invited, we wanted to say goodnight to our hostess. What’s the crime?”
“I work for her! She runs the entire division, she’ll fire me!”
“You hate that job. Everyone there is a dick, your work is meaningless, and your boss threatened you. Forget about all the weirdness for a second. This is your chance to blow the whistle on him. I thought you wanted to get that asshole?”
At the mention of her boss, some of the fire came back to Dakota’s eyes. Her back straightened. “Let’s go.”
Mark led the way up the stairs. He found a closed door with muffled voices coming from behind it. The women seemed to be arguing. He knocked once very loudly, then, his determination giving way to reason, several times more gently. “Pickle?” he called out. “Can we talk to you for a second?”
The door flew open to reveal a steaming Muffin. “Are you kidding me?” she roared. “Are you the fuck kidding me right now?”
Behind her, Mark could see Pickle sitting on the bed, clutching a pillow. Cookie was next to her. All around the room was evidence of another resident of the penthouse apartment – photos on the bureau of Pickle hand-in-hand with a handsome man, men’s clothes peeking out from the half-open closet, even a slight indentation on the side of the bed Pickle wasn’t sitting on, worn in from a sleeper stretching out in the same position night after night.
Mark peered over Muffin. “Pickle, I’m sorry. It’s not about...that. It’s something else. Dakota needs to talk to you. It’s important.”
For a moment, Mark could swear Pickle’s mingled sadness and confusion turned to absolute rage – directed not at him, but at Dakota behind him. He almost stepped back, he was so shocked to see her pretty face marred with such violent emotion. But almost as soon as it appeared, it was gone, and she smiled softly. “It’s fine,” she said. “They can come in.”
“Absolutely not.” Muffin didn’t move.
“Muffin,” Pickle said, growing annoyed. “I appreciate your loyalty, but it’s not necessary. I’m not going to do anything stupid. Just...don’t leave the apartment. Wait for me downstairs?”
When she still didn’t move, Pickle gave Cookie a nudge. Reluctantly, Cookie rose and grabbed Muffin’s arm. “Come on, Muff, let’s go clean up.”
Muffin glared. “Fine. We’re right downstairs.” This was directed more at Mark than it was at Pickle. Muffin and Cookie brushed past them and down the stairs.
“Come on in,” Pickle said. Mark and Dakota walked into the room, and Dakota closed the door behind them.
“Thanks,” Mark said.
“What did you want to talk to me about, Dakota?” she said, avoiding Mark’s eyes.
“It’s...I don’t know where to start, exactly,” Dakota replied.
“Start with your boss,” Mark prompted.
Before Dakota could speak, Pickle cut in. “Look, if this is a work thing, can it wait until Monday? I’m really not in the mood...”
“It can’t, I’m sorry,” Dakota said. “I can’t be seen talking to you in the office.”
Pickle smiled. “How exciting. You sound like you’re in a spy movie. Take a seat, blow your whistle. What’s the problem with Richard?”
Mark remained standing as Dakota pulled out the chair from behind the vanity and sat. He listened as she told Pickle the story she had told Caitlin, Alan and him two nights earlier. He watched Pickle intently as she listened, but her face betrayed no reaction. She nodded from time to time to encourage Dakota to continue, but otherwise remained impassive. When she was finished, Dakota waited patiently while Pickle sat, silent. After a very long moment, she spoke.
“First off,” she said, “let me apologize for Richard’s treatment of you. If it’s true, it’s absolutely unacceptable.”
“If it’s true?” Dakota said.
Pickle held up a hand to stop her. “Second, let me assure you that your job is in absolutely no jeopardy whatsoever for bringing this to my attention.”
“Oh,” Dakota replied. “Thank you. That’s good to hear.”
Mark was relieved that Pickle was so receptive to Dakota’s story. He was also fascinated at the transformation in her, from the pint-sized pixyish flirt he had first met to the smooth, confident professional he saw now. It was a huge turn-on.
“I will have a conversation with Richard about this,” Pickle continued. “There was no reason for him to go to such extreme lengths to prevent you from speaking with the Chief Financial Officer, since the CFO already knows.”
“He knows?”
“Of course.”
“He knows AmSyn hired hundreds of people for no reason whatsoever?”
Pickle looked put-out. “I think that’s an overstatement.”
“How is it an overstatement?” Dakota’s tone rose in irritation. She sat forward on the edge of the chair, leaning towards Pickle. “I’ve been working there for three months and I haven’t been asked to do an ounce of work. I just explained to you how the Marketing Department is completely useless, and there’s one in every New York division!”
“The Marketing Department is not useless. It was created out of a brainstorming meeting between the chief executives and the heads of all the New York divisions, including me.”
“But...but...why? What possible value does it bring to the company?”
Pickle looked as confused as Dakota did. “Don’t you have an MBA? How can you possibly not understand what a Marketing Department does?”
Now Mark was confused. “I thought the point was what this particular Marketing Department doesn’t do?”
“Yes!” Dakota cried. “Exactly! You can call it anything you want, call it the Public Relations Department, the Human Resources Department, call it the Department of Motor Vehicles if you want, it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t do anything!”
Pickle jumped to her feet, knocking a pillow to the ground. “Now you’re being ridiculous. It’s the Marketing Department. It handles Marketing. I’m sorry if you feel undervalued but this is really something you should be taking up with your immediate supervisor. This whole conversation is completely inappropriate.”
“Pickle,” Mark said. She turned at the sound of his voice, still fuming. Gently, he took her by the shoulders and spoke to her calmly. “Elizabeth. Tell me something, one thing, that Dakota’s department has done since you created it.”
“Mark, I don’t want to be insulting, but you...” she trailed off.
“Work in a gym, I know. It doesn’t matter if I understand. Just describe some work that’s been done.”
“They’ve done marketing,” she said patiently. “They do market research.”
“But specifically? What’s one specific thing they’ve done? Anything.”
He could see that she was struggling to understand his point. Slowly, she said, “They’ve hired staff.”
“That’s just start-up,” Dakota said. “What have we produced? What recommendations have we made? What projects are we working on?”
“Well...” She stopped. He saw her earlier confusion beginning to return. “I’m sure there’s something.” She broke away from Mark and sat back down on the bed. “I’m feeling very stressed, I can’t think when you put me on the spot like this.”
“Let me ask you this, then,” Dakota said gently, mimicking Mark’s tone. “What happened at that meeting? The one where you
set up the department? What was the intention behind that decision?”
Pickle looked up at her. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I...” she said. “You know, I can’t really remember. Isn’t that silly? We were unanimous, I remember that. I think...someone said it would take some of the burden off of Branding, but that can’t be right...we had just hired more personnel for Branding, they’re overstaffed...” She looked back at Mark. The confusion in her eyes was turning to fear. “It doesn’t make sense. But we all agreed, we barely even had to talk about it.”
“Whose idea was it?” Dakota asked.
“Nobody’s,” Pickle replied quickly. She frowned. “I mean, obviously it was somebody’s. I suppose. I just...can’t remember anyone actually suggesting it. We were all talking about how our holidays had been, Dexter had taken me to Hawaii for New Year’s Eve and I was telling Tim from the uptown branch about our trip...and suddenly we were all talking about how to implement the new Marketing Departments at the various divisions. As if...we all just knew...”
“This was after New Year’s Eve?” Dakota interrupted.
“What?” Pickle snapped out of her reverie. “Yes, it was this past January.”
“But Richard said he was promoted to head of Marketing in December.”
“Yes, that’s right. He didn’t have much to do that first month, obviously.”
“How could he have been promoted to the head of a department that didn’t exist yet?”
Pickle was silent. Mark asked, “Did you promote him?”
“No,” she said quietly. “I don’t know who promoted him. He showed up, all the paperwork was done. He was confused, he didn’t understand what he was supposed to do. He asked about the Marketing Department and I said we didn’t have one. I gave him a corner office and he stopped asking questions. After that meeting I gave him a budget and he started hiring staff.” She looked at both of them. “It doesn’t make any sense, does it?” She looked as if she was hoping they would tell her otherwise.
“No,” Dakota said. “It doesn’t.”
“I still have no idea what’s going on,” Mark said, “but I am way, way more creeped out.”
Pickle was sitting on the end of the bed, her head in her hands. Mark was worried about how still she was. He was about to sit next to her when Dakota rose and kneeled in front of her. Gently, she took her hands. Pickle lifted her head to meet her eyes.
“I am so sorry,” Dakota said. “I don’t know what’s going on any more than you do. I can see you’re having trouble with this, but there’s more, and I need to tell you about it.”
“Dakota...” Mark started.
“She’s not behind it, Mark,” Dakota said, “That’s obvious. But maybe she knows something.”
“Behind what?” Pickle asked.
“I’m not sure, exactly,” Dakota answered. “You’re my supervisor’s boss at AmSyn. Mark met you at the gym on Wednesday, and you...struck up a conversation with him without knowing he was my roommate. Our roommate Caitlin is an actor who got called in for an audition by AmSyn, also on Wednesday, for a project they wouldn’t explain to her. And yesterday, our other roommate Alan got called in to work a temp job at AmSyn starting Monday. Any one of these things could be a coincidence, but all three of my roommates being sought out by the company I work for, or by someone working for it, within the span of two days?”
“But Mark and I...that really was a coincidence!” Pickle protested. “I only started going to that gym because I got a free membership.”
“How did you get a free membership?” Mark asked.
She looked at him. “Company perk. AmSyn owns your gym. You didn’t know that?”
Mark’s jaw dropped. “No! Wait, that’s not right. We just got bought, but by some big chain, not your company...” He thought for a moment. “Massive Fitness! That’s the one.”
“Massive Fitness!” Dakota said. “AmSyn owns them! They’re on my chart!”
“It’s irrelevant,” Pickle said. “I had noticed Mark around the gym, but I hadn’t gotten up the nerve to talk to him.” She turned to him. “You only came over because I fell, and that only happened because the elliptical machine I was on was broken.”
“I thought...” Mark started, then continued sheepishly. “I thought you were distracted by my good looks.”
Pickle laughed. “No, sorry. The peddles stopped short suddenly.”
“But still,” Dakota said, “AmSyn bought Mark’s gym? That’s another coincidence to add to the list.”
“Tell her about the game!” Mark said.
“What game?” Pickle asked.
“Oh,” Dakota started, “I forgot about that one. Our roommate Alan and I both play this game called Work It. It’s...”
Abruptly, Pickle stood. She remained motionless for a moment, staring into space. Mark exchanged a concerned look with Dakota – he had hoped Pickle’s erratic behavior had stopped. “Pickle?” he asked. “Are you okay?”
She looked at him blankly, then broke into a warm smile. “Of course. Forgive me, I was a million miles away.” She turned back to Dakota. “Thank you for bringing Richard’s unprofessional conduct to my attention, Dakota. I’ll speak to him on Monday.”
“Um...thanks,” Dakota responded hesitantly. “But what about AmSyn?”
“What about it?”
“All the stuff we’ve just been telling you,” Mark said, a bit louder than he intended.
“Somebody at Amalgamated Synergy is messing with me and my roommates,” Dakota said. “I want to know why.”
“You’ve been working too hard,” Pickle replied, dismissing Dakota’s concerns with a wave of her hand. “It’s making you paranoid. Why don’t you go home, forget about AmSyn for a while and enjoy the rest of your weekend? Play that game you just mentioned.”
“Yes, the game, that’s what I was trying to...”
“Stop,” Pickle said sharply. She was looking at Dakota with a coldness that disturbed Mark. It wasn’t sexy. “Take the hint. You’ve ruined my party. I want you to leave.”
Dakota was speechless. Mark started to speak in her defense, but Pickle interrupted him by putting an arm around Dakota and walking her towards the bedroom door.
“On your way out, would you be a lamb and ask Muffin and Cookie to make a pitcher of margaritas? I need a tequila night desperately.”
Dakota was about to protest when Mark caught her eye. He indicated silently for her to go, hoping he could get through to Pickle in private. Fuming, she stormed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her.
“That was...mmph!” Before he could get three words out, Pickle was on him. She had started at the door and taken a running leap. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and kissed him, forcing his lips open with her tongue. He staggered backwards under her weight and fell onto the bed, Pickle riding him all the way down.
He tried to talk himself into resisting, but he was finding it difficult coming up with a persuasive argument so he wrapped his arms around her instead. She broke off their kiss and moved herself down his body. He lay there, still, as she nuzzled his neck, then began taking off his tie with her mouth. In a few seconds it was undone – he wondered if this was the executive’s version of the cherry stem/knot trick.
He felt her hands moving down to his belt. He took the opportunity to lift his head slightly, so he could pull the tie out from underneath his neck. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of one of the framed photos on the dresser – Pickle and her fiancé on a beach. He wondered if it had been taken on their Hawaiian vacation this past New Year’s. They looked happy.
“Stop,” he said. “Wait.”
She ignored him. “Lift your hips so I can get your belt off,” she said.
Instinctively he obliged, and she pulled the belt free and tossed it on the floor. She started to undo his pants and he reached down to grab her hands. “Wait! What about Dexter?”
“Who?” she said, as she pulled her wrists free.
“Dexter!
Your fiancé! The guy who lives here with you!”
“Don’t worry about him.” She got his pants undone and hurriedly scooted herself further down his body.
“I can’t do this!” he cried out. He didn’t physically try to stop her – he didn’t have quite enough moral fortitude for that – but his conscience wouldn’t let him stop talking. “I don’t want to be that guy anymore!”
“He fucks other girls,” she said simply, without any trace of emotion.
“He does?” Mark was stunned. “He cheated on you first?”
“Yeah, sure. Why not?”
“Pickle!” he said sharply. He sat up, and she reluctantly stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. “Does your fiancé sleep with other girls or not?”
“Yes,” she said, not entirely convincingly. “Girls. Guys. Farm animals. Whatever you need to hear. So can you stop with the guilty act and fuck me already?”
“Does he really? Are you just saying that to get me to sleep with you? Because that is fucked up.”
“Mark,” she said, more gently. She put her hand to his cheek. “You’re not the bad guy here. Okay? You’re not breaking any promises. I am. Let me worry about Dexter. You lie back and think of baseball scores. I want this to last.”
She put her hand on his chest and tried to push him back down. He felt himself obliging, and knew that once his head hit the bed it would be all over. “But...” he started. “What about your friends? And Dakota?”
“They’re not invited.”
“But they’re right downstairs! They’ll come looking if we don’t come down!”
For the first time since she had attacked him, she stopped to think. “You’re right. Shit. We don’t have time.”
Just as she said this, they heard loud footsteps stomping up the stairs. Mark hopped up and quickly did up his pants. “Where’s my belt?” he whispered to her. She tossed him his belt, and as he put it on she grabbed his tie from off of the bed.
There was a knock at the door, and they heard Muffin’s voice call out, “Pickle? Are you okay? We saw the girl come down, why is the boy still in there?”
“It’s fine, Muffin, he’s leaving. Just give me a second.”
