Jennifer Government: A Novel (19 page)

“You’re right,” John said. “You don’t know my business.”

After a while, the foreman went away. John folded his hands on his chest and closed his eyes. Tomorrow, he thought, he would bring a couple of beers.

H
is new title was US Alliance Liaison. He didn’t know exactly what that meant; it was something to do with making sure Nike was doing its part for the team and the team was doing its part for Nike. Last night he’d met Liaisons from General Motors, Microsoft, and Johnson & Johnson. It was amazing to think they were all on the same side. What they could do with all those marketing budgets working together!

He and Gregory met in a bar on Sunset every night, or almost every night. When Gregory didn’t show, John downed scotches and picked up women. But mostly Gregory showed. John was into his third drink and eyeing a girl with curly brown hair when Gregory sat down. “John.”

“Hey, buddy.”

“You get the installation done?”

John drained his glass. “Half of it. We’re putting the rest in tomorrow.”

“Get someone else to do it. You’re going to London.”

“What’s there?”

“Our interests. You’ll get more information when you arrive.”

“All right,” John said, but he was annoyed. London would not be eighty degrees with a light breeze; London would not provide opportunities to network with the type of people he wanted to meet.

“You’ll be working with the Shell Liaison. You do what he tells you. Understood?”

“We’re taking orders from Shell now?”

“It’s called teamwork.”

“O—kay,” John said.

“I have to go. Collect your ticket from the office and call me from London.” He studied John. “Also, it may be a good idea for you to keep a low profile. I’m told the Government is looking for you. The little matter of fourteen dead teenagers.”

“Hey,” John said. “You know I only ordered ten.”

“You can explain that to the Government,” Gregory said, looking at his watch, “if they ever catch up with you.”

“It’s not the whole Government,” he said, disgusted. “It’s just Jennifer. The bitch never quits.”

Gregory raised his eyebrows. “Jennifer?”

“Long story,” John said. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

Gregory considered. “Don’t expect the company to help you, John, if the Government gets you for this. It won’t accept responsibility for a criminal act.”

“Then maybe the company should hand over the billion dollars my criminal act just made it.”

Gregory was silent.

“Uh-huh,” John said. He smiled at the girl with curly hair.

“Does it bother you, John? That you’re responsible for those kids?”

John looked at him. “How do you mean?”

“Forget it,” Gregory said.

“Hey,” John said, nettled. “It’s my job to increase sales. Is it my fault that was the best way to do it? If the Government had the muscle to enforce the law, it wouldn’t have made economic sense, but they don’t, and it did. This is the world we live in. If you don’t take advantage of the rules, you’re a sucker.”

“I see,” Gregory said. He was disappointed, John realized. You could never do enough for some people. No matter how much you delivered, they always wanted more. “For now, deal with your Government problem. And call me from London.”

“Sure.” He tried to end on a positive note. “You can count on me.”

He watched Gregory’s back until he disappeared onto the street. He had overstepped his mark there. He had mouthed off. The talk about Jennifer Government had thrown him. The idea she was still tailing him gave him the creeps.

“Another?” the bartender said.

“Sure,” John said. He looked around the bar. The girl with curly hair was still there, talking with her friend. She looked at him, smiled, and looked away. She was maybe sixteen. John smiled back at her. He could end L.A. on a positive note, too.

G
eorgia picked up on the first ring. John was pleased: it was eight A.M. in Melbourne, and most P.A.s would be taking advantage of his absence. John liked Georgia Saints-Nike; he’d used her since Maher. The only thing she lacked was a knockout body and a penchant for skimpy outfits, but John had been down that road before and it never worked out. Other managers got jealous, your diary never got organized, and after you’d been fucking them a few months they turned whiny and disobedient.

“Georgia, good girl, in early. I’ve got some work for you.”

“Hi, John. How’s L.A.?”

“Great.” He was calling from the airport gate; he had his finger plugged into his other ear. “I’m going to London today. Has the Government been around?”

“The Government?”

“You know: cheap suits, dour expressions, always asking for money.”

“No, John.”

“You haven’t heard from Jennifer?”

“Jennifer Maher? No, John.”

“Okay.” Superficially, that was good; fundamentally, it meant Jennifer was chasing him but being sneaky about it, which was bad. “If they come knocking, I’m in Cuba.”

“Cuba?”

“Or some country I might actually visit, I don’t know. Make something up.”

“All right, John. Can I get a number for you in London? An address?”

“I don’t know where I’ll be. Just use my cellphone.” The flight had started to board: attractive women in short skirts were processing business-class tickets. “I have to go. If anything’s not clear, get John to sort it out.”

“He’s still in a coma.”

John blinked. “Still? How long is that guy going to take to get back to work?”

“The hospital said it’s hard to tell.”

“Jesus,” he said. “Those places have no accountability. Look, I’ll call you from London.”

“With an address?”

“Sure, yeah. You clear on my instructions?”

“Yes, John.”

“Good girl,” he said. “I can always rely on you.”

“Business class?” one of the women called. “Business class?”

“Right here,” John said, handing her his ticket. He looked into her eyes and smiled.

T
en hours later he was wandering around the Heathrow lounge looking for anyone with a JOHN NIKE sign. He did two vague laps, then settled into a plastic bench seat with his briefcase on his lap.

After a long time, a kid wearing baggy pants and a puffy jacket wandered into the lounge. “You John?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry I’m late, man. The airport is, like, two hours out of this city.”

“Really?” John said. “Well, how about you turn around and go back there.”

“Say what?” said the kid.

“You see those things on your feet? That’s my company. There are some people you can leave waiting for thirty minutes, and I’m not one of them. I don’t get met by trainees, especially when they’re an hour late. So go back to London and tell your boss that when a real person wants to talk to me, I’ll be at the Hilton.” He stood.

“Dude,” the kid said, “no need for hostilities. I’m a Liaison, too.”

John started. “You’re the Shell Liaison?”

“PepsiCo. We’ll be working together with Shell.”

“Pepsi.”

“So are we cool?”

“You’re the Pepsi Liaison.”

“Straight up.”

John sighed. Consumer marketing could be so tiresome.

“So can we move?” the kid said. “My Ferrari’s double-parked.”

“I
’ve never been to England before,” the Pepsi kid said. He had mentioned his name, but John hadn’t bothered to remember
it. “I gotta say, I’m disappointed. I thought it would be all cottages and meadows and shit. But it’s just another city.”

“Mmm,” John said. He looked out the window as they roared past a Mini.

“I mean, I’m glad it’s not all, you know, European Union and police. But I thought there’d be
some
differences.”

“Where’d you get the car?”

“I just asked my P.A. to get me something hot.” He glanced at John. “It’s a 550 Barchetta. You like?”

“It’s all right.” He decided to get Georgia to rent him a Porsche.

“You wanna drive?”

“No.”

“Twelve cylinders, dude, it’s like wrestling a crocodile.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-four. But trust me, I’m competent.” The kid swerved through lanes. “Hey, I saw this old British movie, all the people spoke so different, you could hardly understand them. But everyone here speaks American as good as you and me. What’s with that?”

“It’s a smaller world these days,” John said. “Where are we going?”

“Oh, sorry, man. We’re going straight to the stock exchange. Didn’t they tell you? Shell’s buying out ExxonMobil. They launch a hostile takeover bid in…” He looked at his watch. “Thirty minutes.”

“That’s why we’re here? To watch a bunch of bankers?”

“Brokers, dude. It’s a serious event. If this one comes off, US Alliance controls two-thirds of the world’s heavy fuels.”

“And what are we meant to do?”

“Crowd control.” The kid grinned.

John said, “I’d really like to speak to the Shell Liaison.”

“We’re meeting him there.”

John said nothing. This was very screwed up. He wondered if he should call Gregory.

“And what’s with these road signs?” the kid said. “ ‘Motorway?’ What’s wrong with ‘interstate?’”

“They don’t have states. They call them shires.”

“Why?”

“They just do.”

“Huh,” the kid said. He was silent for a while. “Well, I guess that’s different.”

Buy was halfway into a new shirt when the buzzer went. He buttoned and hurried into the kitchen. He could see Jennifer in the fuzzy screen of his intercom, wearing a long coat.

He suddenly decided not to answer. He shouldn’t have called her in the first place: that had been pathetic. He might as well have said, “Hi, Jennifer, this is Buy with a cry for help.” He felt embarrassed at his failure to competently kill himself.

The buzzer rang again. On the intercom screen, Jennifer shifted impatiently. He pushed the button. “Hi.”

“Oh, good. You’re still here.”

“Uh,” he said. “Yes. Come on up.”

He buzzed her in. His apartment looked plain and embarrassingly bachelorlike. Buy wished he had some flowers, or knickknacks, or something.

She knocked. Buy took a breath and answered the door.