Pink Slips and Glass Slippers (13 page)

“Yes sir, I studied it this morning.”

“And?”

“I know with you I can be brutally honest, sir.”

“Go on.” Henry crossed his arms on his tie clip.

“It goes against everything I believe in.”

“Be more specific.”

A waiter appeared and Henry and Chase paused. He said, “Excuse me for interrupting, but would either of you care for a cocktail?”

Henry said, “I’ll have a dry gin martini, up, three olives please.” Chase frowned, thinking maybe he’s more like my father than I thought.

Chase said, “Ginger ale please.” Henry’s eyebrows crossed, Chase said, “I’m still a little under the weather.”

The waiter said, “Right away,” glanced back at Henry, and took his cue to leave.

Henry hit right where he left off, saying, “What don’t you agree with?”

“Sir, you brought me in to build Pharmical. I’m doing that. I think ‘The Butcher’ is going to destroy this company.”

“Don’t call Marvin that name! I hate that. He’s doing exactly what I asked him to do.”

“With all due respect, he’s doing the opposite and you know it.”

“Bullshit. His plan will drive our stock price to the moon.”

“I disagree. I’m sick and tired of management by buzzwords like ‘workforce reduction.’ He wants to dump a brand new division before it gets a chance to demonstrate why we added it in the first place.”

“Are you talking about that ICS anomaly?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

“My astute protégé, in case you haven’t read anything lately, outsourcing’s the wave of the future and Wall Street loves it.”

“Then why have any people in Durham? If it were up to Marvin, he’d ship us all to India.”

“I’m not sure why you’re fighting this. Outsourcing a broken division saves us forty percent and drives our stock to a record high.”

“What about our total quality initiative?”

“What about it?”

“It starts with building rapport with our customers. That’s what ICS does. Our customers don’t want to be put on hold by some guy named
Achmed
.”

“Listen to yourself. You sound like a racist relic. We aren’t turning our business over to a bunch of illiterates. Outsourcing allows us to go global, to communicate in all languages, and extend beyond the U.S. market. Besides, ICS’s fill rate is not cutting it.”

“The division’s only five months old and isn’t even fully staffed.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“It’s nobody’s
fault
. Building a division takes time. Hell, our strat plan takes five years.”

“So?”

“So why cut it now?”

The waiter had been hovering with the tray in the air. Both men ignored his not-so-subtle tactics. He finally set both drinks on the table and decided not to ask for a food order until they asked.

“See the bigger picture. The only number that matters is our stock price. I don’t need Marvin to tell me Todd Hollis sold us a bill of goods with GenSense. Plus, I’m not a fan of that gal he duped us into taking.”

“You mean Brooke Hart?”

“The blonde with more T & A than brains?”

“No, the woman who’s been busting her butt ramping up a brand new division.”

“She doesn’t fit in at Pharmical.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“From what I’m hearing, she’s a lightweight.”

“Henry, I’ve observed Brooke Hart in action and I like what I see.” The moment the words left Chase’s lips, he winced.

“I’m not sure what you
see
beyond the obvious. Now that you mention it, I heard you were carrying her around the parking garage.” Henry pressed both fists against his temples and fixed a glare.

The words hit Chase hard. Though Henry had stepped out of the day to day operations, he obviously maintained his gossip mongers. He could only imagine what was said to the old man. “That’s absurd. I’m not sure what you heard
,
but she fell and injured her ankle—on company grounds. I was the only one around. What was I supposed to do, abandon her?”

Henry gulped his martini, then with an exaggerated swallow, glared into Chase’s eyes. Chase lifted his ginger ale and sipped while locking his gaze with Henry. The stare down looked like O.K. Corral to the fidgeting waiter perched tableside, pad in hand. “Excuse me gentlemen, are you ready to order or would you care for another cocktail?”

Henry held his stare until Chase glanced down at the menu. Neither man felt hungry, but Henry said, “I’ll have a Reuben.”

“Very well, sir. And you?”

“Huh? Oh, I’ll have a roast turkey on wheat and an iced tea.”

Henry flicked his finger above his long stemmed glass and the waiter nodded, then fled as if the table needed an exorcism.

“I’ve known you a long time and have always been able to count on you. I’m going to impart some advice and I want you to pay close attention.”

Chase gulped, but didn’t utter a word. He maintained eye contact, but with less intensity, like a student listening to a professor.

Henry said, “I need you on board with these changes, plain and simple. Trust me on this one. You don’t have to like it, but you have to stop fighting it. And, watch yourself with Marvin.”

Feeling bile in his throat, he swallowed hard. Chase paused, then, as if raising a white flag, replied, “You win.” Chase felt internal combustion. The pancakes burrowed inside like a flaming bowling ball and his temples pounded. For the first time since joining Pharmical, he felt paranoid.

The duration of lunch remained somber and tense. A series of questions rattled inside Chase’s head—he didn’t dare ask to spare Brooke Hart from the gallows right now. He still didn’t understand why she was on The Butcher’s block, but decided to approach Henry after things settled. His ally would agree with his proposition, just like always. Chase felt relieved Henry didn’t ask about Heather. He didn’t know how he’d handle that question.

Driving back to work, Chase was crestfallen—like his hot air balloon had an ice pack clinging to it. He hated battling Henry, whose diatribe bit like a rabid dog. Am I just overly sensitive because of the flu? No, something bugged him beyond his stomach. His paranoia intensified—did “The Butcher” now aim his cleaver at me? Recalling the board’s wish for an outsider, did Marvin Wixfeldt battle Henry’s recommendation?

The innuendo about Brooke Hart stung. Chase recalled
All the President’s Men,
wondering who played deep throat to Henry. He didn’t see “The Butcher” that day, but who knows.

Beyond the constant job pressures—which included making the tough calls—Chase Allman was being asked to go against his instincts. To rip up his plan, toss it in the air, and expect it to land with a better picture. It felt rotten.

***

With three new hires in tow like ducklings, Brooke ventured to the company’s cafeteria. Though the menu reminded her of dorm food, she thought lunching there would make a positive impression. Plus, the deep employee discount would keep Greenberg off her tail. She hoped her invisible boss wouldn’t be upset she didn’t invite him. Brooke thought of her expense report hound as a diaper—always on her and full of you know what. Surveying the choices on the wall made her draw a similar conclusion.

The newbies didn’t seem to mind. Brooke’s three hand-picked client service representatives beamed, flashing enthusiasm that only new hires could. They all followed in their new boss’s footsteps, ordering salad bar and diet sodas. A good sign, Brooke thought.

Though salad bar wasn’t a dream lunch, all four women seemed to savor every bite. Brooke led upbeat conversation, hoping to offset the boredom of filling out all the forms on day one. She still remembered that day, though it seemed longer than five months. As they finished, Brooke felt a twinge in her stomach—that time of the month or bad hard-boiled eggs. Or both. She said, “I know you have plenty of paperwork to sift through, so I won’t keep you any longer. Good luck and try not to get too many paper cuts.”

After a chorus of thank you’s, Brooke excused herself, and bee-lined to the nearby bathroom. She slinked into the handicapped stall at the end, deciding the leg room was worth the risk. Relieved she made it in time, she relaxed, and started marveling at how much she was enjoying her job. She no longer stared out her window, feeling emptiness; she finally felt like a contributor. New hires always rejuvenated her. Going to the employee cafeteria provided a boost of company pride, even though the salad dressing left a sour taste that lingered like stale coffee.

Coffee?
Her mind wandered…I wonder when Chase made his pit stop at Starbucks. I hope Marcus didn’t tell
A-Man
I ordered his coffee. Or, that he saw me the other day. Would Chase care?

The door to the bathroom whooshed open, startling Brooke. She heard two women giggling, and waited until they entered their stalls. Standing to exit, Brooke heard the voice and froze. “C’mon give me a break, he’s my boss.”

The other woman replied, “Ruthie, don’t tell me you don’t drool all day. He’s got to be the most eligible bachelor in Carolina.”

Ruthie? Eligible bachelor?

“Oh stop it—someone’ll hear you.”

Brooke held her breath like Houdini under water.

“Relax, I don’t think Chase Allman is coming in
here
anytime soon.”

While both women cackled, Brooke released her breath one molecule at a time. With eyes wider than the toilet seat, Brooke feared she sat in a danger zone, but guessed they didn’t see her feet. As far as they knew, judging from their carefree banter, she was invisible. But, she couldn’t take any chances. Brooke did what any grown woman would have done: she plopped back down, lifted her legs up and out of sight, and cupped her ear. Brooke then covered her chest, hoping they wouldn’t hear her heart pound off the tiles.

Ruth’s turn, “Well, he’s not a bachelor.” Brooke nearly gasped.

“Oh come on, Ruthie, his wife’s completely out of the picture and you know it.”

“Lucy, you’re not supposed to know that. You’re the only one I’ve told.”

“Why does he still wear a ring?”

“With this company—are you kidding?”

“True. I feel bad for him though. He’s such a nice guy—he deserves better,” Lucy said.

“I do too. I know he blames himself, but he shouldn’t. I wish that gold-digger would go away for good and let him get on with his life.”

“Aren’t you dying to find out what really happened?”

“I know enough already. I also know not to ask too many questions—he asks me for advice all the time. He trusts me.” Giggles.

The door slid open, and both women suspended their booth chat. Brooke felt like Janet Leigh in the shower, hoping the footsteps wouldn’t land in front of her stall door. Maybe the handicapped sign would divert the new visitor. Through blinking eyes, Brooke gasped as she viewed the lady’s shoes clicking below. Oh, God, no! She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. Then, she heard the door next to hers open and swing shut. Her eyes popped open and fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings as she exhaled and mouthed
thank you.

Brooke heard two flushes within seconds of each other and heard the clacking. This was too much excitement for one bathroom break. Brooke shook and feared she’d fall. She gripped the handles tightly, mouthing another
thank you
to the ceiling. Even though her backside tingled like a funny bone, she didn’t dare move.

Once the coast finally cleared, Brooke escaped. Her head never felt cloudier.

***

“T.G.I.F.” The words from the radio announcer hung in the air like Carolina humidity. Chase had forgotten what day it was, and considered ordering three quad espressos. Usually, Friday meant high day, but today, his head spun like a broken top. Scanning for parking, a car pulled out from the curb. Chase hit the brakes, and ended his daze. Front spots always brought a smile to his lips. After a hurried parallel park, he exited while peering inside the tinted windows.

Chase was early. He wanted to see Brooke, but he didn’t want to see her. Glancing at the line inside, coast clear. Standing by Marcus? Nope. He sighed while wiping his brow. He hadn’t seen her all week and definitely didn’t want to run into her today. Still unable to connect with Henry, the whole mess made him queasy.

Chase ordered his usual, and Tonya and Marcus both thought he looked tired. Chase said he looked forward to relaxing this weekend, which brought, “Amen to that, A-Man,” from Marcus.

Back at the office, he dialed Henry’s line again. Lucy answered and said, “He’s in another meeting, but I’ve given him your messages. I’ll remind him you called again,” with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Chase, Dixon’s been holding on line one.”

Dixon?
“Oh, thanks Ruth. Send it in.”

After one ring, “Dixie-dawg, what’s up?”

“You are, Boa. I landed the usual prime tee time with your name on it.”

Chase rubbed his temples, glancing at his calendar, then said, “You know, dawg, you’re timing’s perfect. You’re on. See you then.”

“Bring your wallet this time.”

“Whatever. Later, dawg.”

After the week from hell, Chase needed an escape. His best friend possessed uncanny intuitive abilities today. He still had a call to make, hoping she’d meet him for lunch.

***

“Yes.” Brooke’s voice broke through the office silence like a shout in a library. The cubicle heads shot frowns at her. “Finally, full strength,” she said with a lowered decibel. Brooke couldn’t wait to inform Shane that she nailed her goal—and with two weeks to spare. He’ll be so proud.

She sipped her espresso and grimaced. How does he like this stuff? I put in extra Splenda and cinnamon, but it still tastes like mud. She couldn’t believe she missed him again this morning, even though she arrived a half hour earlier.

As Brooke reached for her cell, her ringtone exploded in her hand. This would be weird, she thought, as she checked for Shane’s name on the screen.
Oh shit.

“Melissa, uh, hi. I’ve been meaning to call you.” It was partially true.

“I’m freaking out! The wedding cake’s destroyed.”