by Mel Walker
A disturbed Paul took in the grill as if noticing it for the first time. "Yeah, and I'll have a double cheeseburger, with the waffle fries. Grill the onions. Can you melt cheese and put them on the fries? Yeah, with the melted cheese. Diet coke and why the hell not, a slice of that chocolate layer cake."
Justin stole a glance at Krystal, but it was she who spoke what was on their mind, "Yeah, you'd better get that medical."
"Now you see what I’m saying," Paul said, laughing for the first time.
* * * * * *
"God damn voice mail." Justin slammed down the phone without leaving a message. The light tap on the door disturbed him even more than the voice mail. "Come in," he yelled louder than he meant. "Great," he muttered as Marcus stepped into his office.
"You got a minute?" an eager-faced Marcus asked as he stepped in.
"Actually, Marcus I don't. I have to go to the floor. They have an issue with the pressure on one of the valve gauges which they don't even realize." Justin stood hoping to dismiss Marcus.
"Mind if I walk with you? I want to chat about something."
Justin hesitated for a second, "... uh sure Marcus, but try to keep up."
"As if that would be a problem old-timer," he pricked at the old wound. At age forty Marcus was seventeen years Justin's junior. They both had enjoyed similar success at the start of their careers however when prompted to middle management, unlike Justin who became comfortable with the lifestyle and too frustrated with the paradox of corporate politics to push any further, Marcus continued to adjust and play the games necessary every step of the career ladder.
Justin did support Marcus and his ability to navigate the corporate ladders but often questioned the level of productivity to be gained by playing the games.
"You'll have to put on the coat and hard hat; you do remember the protocols? I know it’s been a while since you dealt with a production environment," Justin couldn't help place the dig as even though he had settled into a middle management position he consistently navigated to have under him a production section with responsibilities for hard product.
"You mean the four rules plastered on the door or the heavy yellow tape marked everywhere on the floor that I can't cross. Remember Justin they give tours to middle-schoolers down there. Not a lot of brain cells required."
"Really because that’s what they say on the floor about the signs leading to the upper levels."
The duo exited the elevators. Each scanned their badge and stepped through. Security verified their IDs as they stepped into the small office.
"I'm here to take a look at Line 12, a possible valve integrity issue," Justin said to the foreman on duty. As chief quality officer Justin didn't require an appointment nor did he even have to send a courtesy email for a visit to the plant floor. However, with all the nervousness of the organization and the fact that he showed up unannounced with another employee in tow, his visit didn’t go unnoticed. The foreman slipped on a lab coat and hat and accompanied the pair onto the floor, an unusual practice.
As they walked through the area, Justin noticed that work on several of the lines was interrupted as their visit had caught the attention of several of the workers.
"Carl Rovell, sir.” The foreman introduced himself and shook their hands.”
“Justin Grant and my colleague Marcus Levin.”
“Nice meeting both of you.” The foreman followed them a few steps before speaking, “With all that is going on sir, if there is an issue I will personally take responsibility. My men have been how do you say it, a little distracted lately.” Carl raised his arms up in surrender.
Justin raised his hand, mimicking the motion. "I'm not here to start trouble." Justin continued to walk as the foreman hesitated; he looked around then fell in behind Marcus as they attempted to keep up with Justin who had increased his pace.
"Justin I want to explain what is going on with Barry and me," Marcus said as Justin continued to walk.
"Barry?" Justin attempted to feint recognition as he turned around a sharp corner and continued, "oh, you mean Mr. Boyton, that's what I was told to address him by, but it’s nice to know you two are on a first name basis."
"Damn it, Justin, it's not like that," Marcus tapped him on the shoulder, but Justin ignored it continuing to march forward, "will you wait up a second?"
Justin finally paused and stepped across the yellow line on the floor. Marcus followed as Justin raised his hand stopping him. He pointed down to the yellow line and pointed waving his index finger back and forth, don't cross.
The foreman stayed on the other side of the line alongside Marcus.
"Marcus, can you tell me how what the pressure per inch a valve twelve forty-two should be set at for the manufacture of General Modification's product catalog number fourteen ninety-six?" Justin queried as his focus was drawn to an adjustable valve waist high along a three-foot metal piping which seemed to run the length of the wall.
"How the fuck would I know off the top of my head. But I could look it up on the computer back at my desk in two minutes." Marcus yelled across the floor.
Justin shook his head, disappointment on his face. "Carl would you please tell him."
A smile crept across his lips as he stood erect, "three hundred and sixty psi sir."
"Exactly," Justin said as he adjusted the value with a slight twist. He removed what looked like a needle from his rear pocket, screwed on a display screen on the top and stuck it into the valve. Not satisfied with what he was seeing, he adjusted the valve further. Reading the display screen one more time he nodded, "that'll do it."
Justin straightened up and walked back over the line toward the foreman. "Here you go," he said as he handed the device to him, "that valve’s tolerance is slowly degrading. Please order a replacement and in the meantime add a twice-daily reading to maintain its integrity."
"Yes sir, of course." The foreman stared at the device. "Sir, may I ask. What exactly is this?"
Justin couldn't help but smile, "it’s a prototype, one of a kind so be extra careful with it. It is a pressure sensitive valve pressure odometer. It’s accurate up to a tenth of a milliliter."
Carl continued to stare at the device, "how is that possible? The best device on the market is only accurate up to three times that tolerance."
Marcus glanced down at the device, "that's because that device isn't on the market. It was invented by that man right there."
The foreman alternated his glances between the device and the rapidly disappearing pair of visitors.
"Justin? Wait up."
Marcus trotted to catch up with Justin. "About Barry ..."
Justin stopped suddenly and twirled toward a surprised Marcus. "Why don't you tell your buddy Barry about this incident next time the two of you have lunch together. Explain to him what work actually looks like. Tell him people do matter and that as long as General Modifications sells real products, he is going to need real people not career corporate politicians."
Justin could tell from the look on Marcus' face the remark caught him square in the gut. As he turned and walked away, he had a strong desire to turn around once again as he was sure Marcus was still standing in that very same spot with that very same stupid look on his face.
Justin realized that he might lose the inevitable war, but on this day, for this battle, he was the victor.
* * *
Chapter Twelve
The off-key baritone voice of Peter blared as his interpretation of one-hit wonder Right Said Fred’s classic I’m too Sexy blasted from the truck’s speakers. He had one hand on the steering wheel, and the other pumping his fist in the air.
"Oh no. You weren't kidding you really had this CD in your truck." Leslie Grant uttered between giggles. She raised her hand to her mouth afraid that she would laugh so hard that she would drool. "My god Peter that song must be thirty years old."
"Don't hate on the classics." He said as he directed the car through the light traffic. "Don't make me switch over to my MC
Hammer CD - can't touch this."
"Enough, enough already," she held her side, "if you do that I’m likely to burst out of this blouse."
"So Hammer it is." Peter continued as he reached toward the CD player.
Leslie's hand intercepted his, a tingle racing up her arm as they touched. "Please Hammer doesn't hurt me," she joked knowing Peter would get the play on words.
"Ah, I see you are a Hammer fan, trying to play all coy and all." Peter lowered his hand yet Leslie's hand remained linked into his.
"Me? Coy? What would ever make you say that?"
A mysterious glance crossed his face as he turned back to face the traffic. His thumb began to circle the top of her hand. She didn't pull it away. "I'm thrilled you stopped over to the shop. I think we made great progress today ... .on the partnership."
She leaned back in the warm bucket seat, her hand still intertwined with his, "yeah we certainly did. I can't believe how the day got away from us. Until you mentioned closing time, I didn't even realize it was past seven."
"Time flies when .... well you know the rest."
"It most certainly does."
"I wish we had met a while ago Leslie."
The statement caused her back to stiffen up; she gently removed her hand from his, "...how so?"
He let her question linger for a second as he turned onto Brighton Avenue," besides the obvious?"
She wasn't sure how to interpret the statement, so she waited for him to continue,
"You make a wonderful partner, and in a short time, you've already affected my business like no other. You’ve changed my entire life."
"Life? Really?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
A deep exhale escaped her lips, "are we talking about the same thing here Peter?"
It was his turn to reach across the seat, his right hand meeting hers yet again. "I won't jeopardize our business relationship, Leslie. We both know how good this can be. But there obviously is more here. Am I wrong?"
Leslie's eyes looked for an escape. The little game of curiosity and flirtation had escalated quicker than she had ever foreseen even in her dream fantasies. She was suddenly short of breath. Her words lost.
Her silence caused Peter to continue. "Tell me I am wrong and I will never bring it up again. I will be the perfect respectful gentleman." She turned to face him, his blue-grey eyes connecting with hers. His desire; his want of her evident in those eyes. The yearning so strong Leslie felt her knees quiver.
It took all her strength to utter, "Peter... I am married."
"You have been every step of the way. Yet, we are here."
"It's not that simple."
"It can be,” his eyes challenged her.
"It never is,” she countered"
"Speaking from experience?"
"I’m speaking as an adult."
The hum of the engine kept the pair company. Peter removed his hand as he turned onto Pearl Street and slowed the truck. "I'm sorry if I overstepped my boundary."
Her rapid shake of the head caused him to stop. "That's not it Peter."
"You're not ready? Is that it? " He was fishing, seeking anything that would keep his dream alive another minute.
"It’s not who I am. It’s not ..."
Peter cut her off, "It’s not who you were. Maybe you were that person years ago, but it’s obvious you are not happy Leslie. I don't know what the issues are, and quite frankly I don't care. All I know is that when we are together, you light up. I know you feel it. That's only the start. I know I can make you happy Leslie. The moments we share could be like that always."
Leslie squeezed her hand into a fist, her knuckles turning white, "Please stop the truck, Peter."
"Your house is right down the street; let me drop you off in front."
"Stop the truck!" she said this time more forcefully.
Peter pulled the wheel to the right and pressed on the brake pulling to the curb at an angle. He shifted into park. "This is silly."
"Yes, it most certainly is Peter." Her hand hovered over the handle as the truck slowed.
"I want you to be happy Leslie. We can do great things together. We already have, and we've barely started."
Now with the truck stopped, Peter turned toward her, giving her his complete attention. A slight haze flashed across his eyes as he locked in on her once again. The focus is so intense she couldn’t look away.
Leslie paused the bravado from a second ago disappearing as quickly as her long ago vows. "I know you think you know what is going on with me, Peter but trust me you don't."
"Then tell me. I am a friend too. Lean on me."
"Leaning on you is how we got here. You are part of the issue."
She wasn't sure how the words slipped out; she knew it was a mistake the minute they left her lips. The twinkle in his eye and the quick rise of his upper lip confirmed it for her. "I gotta go, I’ve said too much."
"You've not said enough." Peter jumped out of the driver’s door as Leslie began to exit the passenger side. He raced around the front of the truck just as she slammed it.
She knew instantly that he wasn't going to let her go and right at that moment, standing mere yards from her house, she was conflicted as to what direction to turn.
***
Justin pulled back the dusty sheet in the attic, the motion causing a wave of dust which instantly clouded up the already dank air. The attic was more like a crawl space. It stood a mere six feet tall at his apex, sloping down on each side of the house whereby it sloped all the way down to six inches in the corners. Home to the seasonal Christmas decorations, the attic also was home to a host of Justin's old tools and failed experiments. They all had followed the same workflow.
Originally a concept, usually thought of during a boring meeting in the office, Justin would doodle on his pad. Once home he would lock himself in the workshop and put together a prototype. Some would be successful, most didn't. The non-successful ones usually ended up in the garbage. A few, after many iterations and multiple failures, became future projects, ones Justin promised himself he would return too once he got another burst of inspiration or a revised game plan.
After his run in on the plant floor, Justin felt inspired. The valve odometer reminded him of a failed experiment involving a robotic arm. Walking through the floor and passing the bottling machine reminded him of the conveyor mechanism which would resolve the challenge he had initially with the robotic arm. But where did he place it? As he pulled up another sheet, he waved his hands to clear the air. He couldn't believe his eyes. He hadn't seen it in forever.
Leaned against the wall it stood, covered in dust it still evoked a happy memory, something which had been in short supply recently. The twenty by the thirty-four-inch frame of their wedding portrait. It wasn't just the fact that it was the wedding portrait but that it was a hand-painted original. Leslie had painted it herself, painstakingly slow paint job. It had taken her over six months - the frame, a mahogany teak wood from a tree in California. Justin had located the wood on a business trip and hand-picked it out. He convinced a logger to cut it and ship it.
He remembered he and Leslie working together for the first time on the piece - their very first frame; so many hours of him working structure as she worked on the painting. They were newlyweds, they didn't have much but they had their passion, and they had time. All the time they would ever need, or so they thought.
Where had the time gone? What had become of us?
Justin coughed as the dust continued to swirl. He stepped gingerly across the beams of the house as he worked his way toward the lone small window in the attic. He twisted the handle and pushed. It was stuck. Taking a deep breath, he put his shoulder weight against it as it gave way. The wave of fresh air filled his nostrils, cherished like a deep sea diver coming up for air. Justin took a deep breath as a movement down the street caught his attention.
It was a man practically jumping out of a pickup truck. At the same time, a woman began to exit on the passenge
r side. Justin's heart nearly stopped as he recognized the woman immediately - Leslie.
She was exchanging words with the man. Justin strained but was too far away to hear a sound. As his thoughts vacillated from watching to racing down to meet her, the man leaned into Leslie and hugged her. To his surprise, she hugged him back. "One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand.." Justin stopped his count. This was not a friendly goodbye hug.
Then it happened.
They kissed.
Justin stepped back from the window as if punched in the gut. "whaaaa??"
He couldn't believe his eyes. His momentum took him back into the attic as he inadvertently turned - the wedding portrait staring at him, mocking him. Without thinking, he stepped over to it and lifted it by the frame. He didn't even realize how his foot came through the painting; the artwork ripped down the middle, much like the tear in his heart.
"Fool....idiot," he continued to mutter as he dropped the ruined painting. The sound of the truck engine caused him to race to the window. The vehicle pulling away quickly, but not quick enough.
My Workplace, the sign on the door announced. He watched as the truck raced past the house, its rear displaying the store name once again along with its slogan: colleague, collaborator, customer –come to your new workspace. My Workplace.
Justin not only knew his wife was unfaithful but he now also had a name.
* * *
…. A few minutes earlier.
Leslie bolted from the truck and was surprised to be greeted by a rapidly approaching Peter. His hands raised, a look of desperation on his face.
"Sorry, Sorry, I apologize." He said as he approached. "I didn't mean anything by it." He lowered his hands by his side as he took a deep breath, the look of distress easing.
She, however, kept her arms crossed, still on guard.
His eyes softened as if realizing her discomfort, "Listen, why don't we just forget the last few minutes? Chalk it up to male foolishness."
Leslie lowered her arms to her side. She attempted to assess his stance. "I'm not too sure Peter. I feel like...."
