At risk of sleepily veering left into the lane meant for the airport, from which there would be no return other than by plane, Maserov tried to imagine how she saw him. He was a desperate man trying to save his job, his family and even his marriage while simultaneously attempting to negotiate a fair settlement for deserving victims of sexual assault for whom he felt sincere compassion. He had never tried to pretend to be any more than that. This was the man Jessica Annand wanted to hold and to kiss. And on a fading cracked leather seat that trembled under the burden of his car’s twenty-seven years’ service and its tortoise-like progress in the traffic on Kings Way, Maserov felt great. Then the lights changed.
Had he been unfaithful to his wife? The one thing he’d always had was his integrity. Was he on the slippery slope towards becoming Betga? But then, Eleanor had been unfaithful to him. Hadn’t she? Probably, but he couldn’t be sure. Anyway, all he had done was kiss Jessica, nothing more. But that was more than he knew for sure Eleanor had done with the drama teacher. Was it the drama teacher? Or was it the PE teacher? Was it a mitigating factor if he reasonably thought his wife had been unfaithful before he had kissed Jessica, unequivocally an act of infidelity but a trivial one, incredibly trivial? But perhaps it wasn’t an act of infidelity at all. He was separated, after all. And the separation had been at Eleanor’s instigation and against his will. If you kick your husband out of home what do you expect? What had Eleanor expected? They hadn’t ever discussed it.
But the real guilt lay not so much in the act of kissing Jessica but in how much he had enjoyed it. He had replayed it in his mind over and over. But memories fray and need to be refreshed. He would have to do it again. But that’s not a way to live, kissing someone repeatedly so as not to forget what it was like. Where was the future in this? Did Jessica envisage a future with this separated man with two children who would sooner or later probably be without a job? Did she want to be a mother? He already had two children. Would she want to be a stepmother and, if so, what kind of stepmother would she be? Perhaps she would agree to be a stepmother on the condition they have their own children together. Had he already left Eleanor in his mind? Wasn’t it a bit early to be imagining a blended family with Jessica? He hadn’t even reached Sturt Street.
The only things he knew for certain were that he didn’t want to be without his children and that he wanted to kiss Jessica again, just once before he died. He was already living without his children, which felt like the beginning of a slow death. That had to change. Then the phone rang. It was Betga.
‘She hasn’t changed her mind?’ Maserov asked before saying ‘hello’.
‘You don’t say “good morning” or “hello” anymore?’ came Betga’s voice through speakerphone.
‘Good morning, Betga. She hasn’t changed her mind, has she?’
‘No, not as of the time I left last night.’ There was a pause. ‘No, if you’re wondering, she’s still not letting me stay the night.’
‘No, that wasn’t where my mind was headed.’
‘Where’s your body headed, Torrent HQ?’
‘It will be. First I have to appease the gods at Freely Savage by doing something inane for HR.’
‘Is this Hamilton trying to fuck you up?’
‘Yeah, I think so.’
‘Listen, as long as you’re going into Freely Savage, could you pop your head into Featherby’s office?’
‘What? No, why on earth should I do that?’
‘Featherby keeps calling me. Says he’s in a bad way and wants the support of the Freely Savage Survivors. He doesn’t know it’s me he’s talking to. I keep telling him that he has to have left before he can join. But he calls ’cause he’s convinced he’s going to get canned. Says Hamilton’s playing mind games with him.’
‘Like what?’
‘Oh, you know, walking down his department’s corridor towards the end of the day, joking with the lawyers whose workstations sandwich Featherby’s but never stopping to talk to Featherby. That sort of shit.’
‘Is that all?’
‘No, he says he gets told of departmental meetings after other people and then has to reschedule with clients. Then, when he comes late, Hamilton berates him for being late in front of everyone else at the meeting. Sometimes he comes into Hamilton’s office to keep a scheduled appointment that Hamilton’s secretary has called and Hamilton stays on the phone for up to an hour without acknowledging his presence in the room.’
‘Betga, I would kill to be the victim of such benign mind games.’
‘I don’t know,’ warned Betga. ‘He certainly sounds freaked out.’
‘Well, he might be but frankly if you guys, the FSS, aren’t willing to help Featherby he sure as hell isn’t my problem.’
‘We’re not willing to help him yet. Once he leaves he qualifies for our emergency assistance package.’
‘Well, that distinction, important as it is for you, doesn’t really change anything for me.’
‘Okay, but if you see him while you’re there —’
‘Yeah, what? What should I do if I see him?’
‘Observe and report back.’
‘Will do, captain. Is there anything else I can help you with?’
‘Actually, there is. It’s in the nature of parenting advice. Do you mind?’
‘No, not at all. Not that I’m holding myself out as any expert.’
‘Okay, listen. You know I’m trying to improve my bond, my relationship with my daughter.’
‘Marietta, yes.’
‘Well, Carla is using me as a babysitter, which is fine, but it means I’m often alone with Marietta, I mean really alone, for long periods of time. And she’s not yet two.’
‘Where are you going with this?’
‘Well, I don’t know if I’m allowed to admit this,’ said Betga tentatively over the phone, ‘but . . . how do you deal with the boredom? I mean . . . I love her, I absolutely love her. But often, I mean not infrequently, it’s like watching paint dry. She’ll jump up and down, kind of sing, I suppose that’s what she’s doing. Roll around. She’ll put two of her soft toys together in a kind of . . . I guess it’s an embrace or maybe they’re kissing. I’m supposed to be endlessly fascinated by all this. But I can’t wait for her sleep time. Is there something wrong with me as a parent . . .?’
‘No, there’s nothing wrong with you.’
‘Well, how do you deal with it?’
‘So here’s what you should do if you’re getting bored. When you’re certain you’re completely alone and that no one but her can hear you, talk to her as you would to an adult. Have a conversation with her about how you feel about her, about Carla. Talk to her about your life, about your family, about the things you believe.’
‘She’s not yet two.’
‘It’s not for her in the first instance. But if it relieves the boredom then you’ll be making it more pleasant for yourself and she’ll benefit from that too. She’ll feel it. Grab these moments with both hands before she grows up and you’re an embarrassment to her.’
‘Wow, that sounds like incredibly good advice.’ Betga was impressed. ‘Thanks, Maserov.’
‘Glad to help. I’m at the car park now so I have to go. I’ll call you when I’ve got the authority to make an offer but it may not be till late afternoon.’
‘Okay,’ said Betga. ‘I’ve got a suggestion. If it’s bad news, if you have any kind of problem, text me. Otherwise meet me at Carla’s place and tell us the figure there. I’ll have a bottle of something sparkling in the fridge and we can turn it into a celebration.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah, I think it will make her feel better about settling if we present it that way.’
‘Okay, I gotta go now,’ said Maserov. ‘I’ll text you if there’s a problem. Otherwise, see you there.’
Maserov was reaching for his phone to end the call when he heard Betga say, ‘You can bring your girlfriend.’
VI
Just walking through the s
treet-level entry foyer, hearing the sound of his shoes on the marble floor as he made his way to the elevator, was enough to resurrect in his viscera the essential paradox of Maserov’s professional life; he was absolutely terrified of losing a job he absolutely hated. When he reached his old floor he made straight for Emery in order to begin this morning’s absurd task by visiting a friendly face. Seeing Maserov walking towards him, Emery stopped what he was doing and readied his body for a conversation with someone who would soon be kneeling beside him.
‘They haven’t fired you yet?’
‘No,’ Maserov answered in a low voice. ‘I’ve been at Torrent Industries. I’m only back because HR have got me doing another stupid survey.’
‘Is it good for you that you’re the one chosen to conduct these surveys?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Not really. I think it’s Hamilton trying to sabotage me, stop me from doing a good job at Torrent Industries.’
‘Hamilton’s trying to fuck you up?’
‘Yes, I’m pretty sure that’s what this is about.’
‘I don’t think he knows who I am,’ said Emery.
‘You’re lucky.’
‘Why don’t I feel lucky?’
‘’Cause you’re not really lucky. You’re a white-collar wage slave and you’re too smart to think you’re lucky.’
‘Yeah, I’m too smart to think I’m lucky,’ said Emery, exhaling. ‘Why don’t I feel smart?’
‘’Cause you’re a white-collar wage slave.’
‘Yeah. Well, you know what my answer is.’
‘Answer to what?’
‘To your stupid survey.’
‘You don’t know the question yet.’
‘No, but whatever the question is, make my answer the same as Fleur Werd-Gelding’s answer. Are you asking Fleur Werd-Gelding?’
‘Yes, of course I’m asking Fleur Werd-Gelding.’
‘Then make my answer the same as hers. That’s what I did last time and I’m still here.’
‘Do you want to be here?’
‘No, but I’m terrified of not being here, so make my answer the same as hers. Will you?’
‘I promise I will.’
‘Thanks Maserov. You’re a good friend.’
It was only a few feet along the hall to Fleur Werd-Gelding’s workspace but it somehow felt like a much better neighbourhood. Maserov wondered how she’d managed to do that.
‘Fuck off, Maserov,’ she said without looking up, affecting a manner consistent with being snowed under with work that was difficult, urgent and more important than other Second Years could ever understand, let alone assist with. But Maserov was a slightly different man following the events of the previous night and however transient the difference might prove to be, and however conflicted he might feel about those events, they formed a protective armour that Fleur Werd-Gelding wasn’t able to pierce.
‘But Fleur, you haven’t heard the question yet.’ She looked up at him and something made her abandon the perfect invective she seemed ready to unleash. Instead she paused as though registering some difference in him, a difference she wouldn’t have been able to name but that generations of breeding had led her to notice, a kind of pre-rational recognition of someone else’s self-confidence. Then she asked, ‘Okay. What is it?’
‘HR wants to know how you would feel if, at the end of each month, all employees, fee-earners and support staff, were required to anonymously write something positive about another staff member and place it in a jar. They’d call it an “Affirmation Jar” and the contents would be read out at random at a gathering of all members of the department during end-of-month drinks.’
Fleur Werd-Gelding considered whether it was worth her while to come back with something disparaging yet still clever but her heavy workload led her to fall back on, ‘Fuck off, Maserov.’
‘I thought you might say something like that but I just wanted to let you know that HR is monitoring your responses to these questions.’
‘Yeah, I don’t care.’
‘No, but you might care that they’ve perfectly, I mean exactly, correlated all your responses with those of another fee-earner.’
‘Yeah? I’m still not caring.’
‘Fleur, as far as HR is concerned you’re in a category with one other person.’
‘Who?’
‘Emery.’
‘Who’s Emery?’
‘Emery! He’s another Second Year.’
‘I don’t know who he is.’
‘He’s sitting about fifteen feet away from you on the same side of the building. If you walk that way you’ll know immediately who he is. He’s the man who won’t want you to realise that he’s looking at you as you pass by.’
‘None of the men want me to realise that they’re looking at me as I pass by.’
‘He’ll be the worst at hiding it.’
‘And why do I care?’
‘Because according to some metric HR has come up with, you and Emery think exactly the same way. Don’t you think they’ll have some say in who gets to go where, or even who gets to stay?’
‘No, of course not. HR are the lickspittles of the partners.’
‘Maybe. But when the partners are busy, which they always are, they delegate certain decisions.’
‘Not those decisions. There’d be no point in . . . doing things for them. They know the power to make those kind of decisions brings them all sorts of . . . benefits. They wouldn’t delegate that.’
‘Can you know that? For each one? I mean, when they’ve already received the benefits? At precisely the time they’re being asked to make a specific recommendation, can you be sure you can rely on them? Can you trust any particular one of them? After all, you can’t sue them for breach of sycophancy.’
‘What are you saying, Maserov?’ She looked up at him.
‘That you can’t afford to alienate HR. Why do you think I’m doing this? Don’t you think I know I’m going to be annoying the shit out of everyone I ask?’
Fleur Werd-Gelding now looked up at him in a way she never had before. Not only was there at least some superficial logic to what he was saying – he had to know his questions were indeed annoying the shit out of everyone he asked – but yet he seemed calmer, less afraid than other people and calmer than he himself had ever appeared before. Additionally, she’d heard some talk about his working inside Torrent Industries HQ. Unquestionably Maserov was different now. She couldn’t ignore that. Perhaps it was good different. Was there any sense in befriending him? She could at the very least cease and desist talking down to him.
‘So what exactly are you saying . . . about me and . . .? Emery, is it?’
‘You should get to know Emery. Work with him. They think well of him and might ask him who he wants to take with him.’
‘Take with him? Where?’
‘They haven’t told me that. Only he knows that.’
‘When did they tell him?’
‘Not long ago. Maybe as recently as this morning.’
‘Do you think he’ll choose me?’
‘Hard to say. But you’d be wise to make sure of it.’
‘Why are you telling me all this?’ Maserov was saved from having to invent an answer to this by the ring of his mobile phone. He took it out of his pocket and held his hand up apologetically to Fleur Werd-Gelding and whispered, ‘Got to go.’
It was Jessica calling him from Torrent Industries.
‘Have you been to see Malcolm Torrent yet?’
‘No, not yet. I’m still at Freely Savage,’ he whispered into his phone. ‘Is everything alright?’
‘Don’t see him till you’ve talked to me. Promise?’
‘I promise?’
‘As soon as you get back here, call me. Okay? I’ll meet you in your office.’
‘Is anything wrong?’ he asked but Jessica had ended the call too early to answer.
Was that deliberate, he wondered in the elevator leaving the offices of Freely Savage. People with good news
don’t normally end their phone calls prematurely. Maybe it was the nature of her news, personal. But even if it was personal and bad, what could be so urgent? And if he was a good lawyer, shouldn’t he be thinking first of his client’s case and only then about his personal life? The two had become inextricably linked so perhaps he could be forgiven. But who was there to forgive him? Eleanor?
Maserov made his way from the east end of Collins Street to the west end via, first, a brisk walk down the hill to Swanston Street and then, as his anxiety rose and the gradient flattened, via an ungainly trot suggestive of an urgent need for knee surgery. But the aetiology of his ungainliness was not orthopaedic. It stemmed from the dissipation, like fog in the sun, of the protective armour of self-confidence from the previous night that Fleur Werd-Gelding at Freely Savage had been unable to pierce.
As he sweated with emphysematous exhaustion in a westerly direction towards the reclaimed Melbourne swamp that Uber drivers and the state government referred to as Docklands, he kept wondering why Jessica wanted him to speak to her before he spoke to Malcolm Torrent about settling the cases. Was it something about the sexual harassment claims or was it something personal between them? Which was better? Which was worse? He granted himself the luxury of not having to decide since Jessica was going to tell him whatever she had to say irrespective of his ranking of relative disasters.
He got to the Torrent Industries building and as he waited for the elevator he suddenly wondered if his kissing of Jessica the previous night had amounted to sexual harassment. Then he told himself that was ridiculous. She had initiated it. He was not her superior. Okay, at law their respective positions in an employment hierarchy was irrelevant. Even a subordinate could sexually harass you, although that hardly ever happened. But she had initiated their kissing, hadn’t she? Was he on the slippery slope towards becoming Mike Mercer? He resolved to check the legislation.
‘You look terrible!’ Jessica said to him, waiting for him in his office.
‘Of course I look terrible. I ran all the way here.’
Maybe the Horse Will Talk Page 22
