Russell Wiley Is Out to Lunch (16 page)

“Jesus,” she says. “Couldn’t you have held it just a few seconds longer?”

“What? You didn’t come? I thought you were coming.”

“This happens every time.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Yes it does.”

“Let’s keep going. I can go again.”

We stare at each other for a few seconds while my penis shrinks inside her.

“Forget it,” she says. “Just get off me.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Thursday is a new day. I wake refreshed, ready to drink heartily from the half-full glass of life. All my socks and underwear are freshly laundered. The apartment is clean. And the history books will show I had sex with my wife last night. Maybe it wasn’t pretty. But as with any finished project, I should honor its completion. I’m determined to head out into the world with a new spring in my step. A renewed sense of purpose. An unwavering confidence in my decision-making abilities.

“Is this tie OK with this shirt?” I ask, holding the curtain back, standing in a shaft of morning light.

Sam props her head on her hand and squints at me. “I prefer the other one.”

“I’m already late.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I guess I was just seeking some kind of validation. I wanted to make sure I don’t look like a total dweeb.”

Sam yawns, stretches, snakes a bare leg out from under the comforter. “Do you even need a tie anyway?” she asks.

“I just want to look good. I have to leave now.”

“So why ask for my advice if you don’t want to take it?”

“When I say now I really mean five minutes ago.”

“So you’re going to go like that?”

“That was my plan. Pending your approval.”

“Go then.”

“Is it that bad?”

“No. It’s OK, I guess.”

“What’s the matter? Is the tie too much?”

“No. The tie’s OK.”

“I need to change my shirt?”

“No. The shirt’s fine.”

“So what’s the matter?”

“I don’t like the belt.”

“What are you grinning at?” I say to Lucky as I push my office door shut and hang my jacket behind it. He smiles but says nothing. I smile back. “Yeah, I guess it does take one lucky cat to know another,” I say. “What’s that? Thanks. I like this tie too. And the belt’s cool, right?”

I grip his hard plastic paw, trying to draw an extra burst of superpower energy to get me through the day ahead.

“Strength,” I say, as my wish for the day.

I sit at my desk with only one thought in mind: I need to get the Livingston Kidd proposal in to the art department. I can’t avoid it any longer.

But first, I call Meg Wilson and ask her to stop by. After steering clear of everybody yesterday, I have to catch up with people and find out what’s been going on without me. Meg is my most senior manager. She’s been at the company fourteen years. She knows where the bodies are buried and how to get things done. She serves as my unofficial deputy, occasional career coach and most reliable bullshit detector.

“So how’s the mood out there?” I ask.

“You really want to know?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, everyone’s sad about Ben, yada yada. And rumors are flying that he’s only the first. That we’re going to have another round of layoffs. Erika and Sally seem pretty shaken up. But the boys are excited to have the new girls on the team. Roger is counting the days till his extreme makeover. He’s got a thing for Sally, it seems.”

“Really? That’s interesting.”

“Apparently, she reminds him of Drew Barrymore.”

“Uncanny. Must be the black hair and the fact that she’s Chinese.”

Meg shakes her head. She’s one of the few women at the company who does nothing to conceal the gray in her hair. “Did you know this was coming?”

“I was as surprised as anyone. If Henry had asked me, I would have told him Ben was irreplaceable.”

“That’s for sure. As long as you know what you’re getting yourself into. Events are a ton of work.”

“That’s the other thing,” I say. I look away from Meg, gazing thoughtfully toward the window. Lucky smiles his assent toward my jacket on the door. “I’m so overwhelmed with other stuff, I was thinking of having Erika Fallon report in to you.”

“No thanks.”

“Come on. It makes perfect sense. You and Kelly have more experience with events than anyone.”

“Kelly and I already have more work than we can handle. I used to have two people reporting to me, remember?”

Meg is resisting. But I’m not ready to give up. What would Henry do? I ask myself. And then the words start flowing.

“I was talking to Henry about this yesterday. I told him you were the best person I’ve got. That we needed to keep you challenged. To make sure you stay motivated. How perfect would this be? It’s a chance to expand your empire. You’ll have two extra people to manage. A lot more visibility with sales.”

“Why would I want any more visibility with sales?”

“Events are fun,” I say. “Aren’t they?”

“Let me think about it,” says Meg. “I’m assuming there’s a title to go with it. And of course more money.”

“You know how tough things are with the budget right now,” I say. “And Henry can be funny about titles. Let’s meet with Erika and Sally first. See how things shape up. We can keep it informal. I’ll have Barbara schedule a meeting before lunch.”

“Don’t worry,” says Meg. “I’ll set it up.”

When Randy Baker shows up at my office, the pages of my Livingston Kidd proposal are once again spread around my desk, in no particular order. I’ve been putting Randy off for days. He’s expecting me to place in his hands a finished proposal, clearly articulated and beautifully designed, filled with never-before-seen-but-already-proven-successful ideas that will convince his client to keep spending with the
Chronicle
. But I’m not quite there yet. And today I’m having trouble concentrating.

I look up, all set to apologize and play for more time. But something in his expression makes me hold my tongue.

“Hey, Russell,” he says. “Just got a call from the assistant over at Livingston. Meeting’s canceled. They’re only interested in big, integrated programs right now. They want to hear what Time Warner and Viacom can put on the table before they start talking to individual titles.”

“Typical,” I say. “We’ll be fighting for scraps again.”

“Tell me about it. They wouldn’t even commit to a new date. We probably won’t hear back for two or three more weeks.”

“Shit, I wish I’d known sooner. I pushed everything else to one side for this.”

“Sorry, Russell. I know you’ve been working flat out.”

“Don’t worry. Not your fault. I’ve got plenty of other stuff I can get to.”

For once, I’m grateful for the way our clients choose to jerk us around.

Once Randy leaves, I close my door and do the robotic version of my funny little dance.

I walk down to the conference room at a minute past eleven. Erika and Sally are already inside. I sit opposite Erika. She’s wearing a tight-fitting green turtleneck with ruffles at the collar. It’s the kind of thing she might have worn in high school to conceal a hickey. I realize how much I would have hated a guy like Judd 2.0 in high school. Meg arrives, sits next to me.

I look over at Sally, who seems to be holding back a mischievous Drew Barrymore–like smile. Somewhere along the way, I have a vague recollection that Drew dyed her hair black for a while.

Meg coughs, and I turn to her. She is looking at me with wide, expectant eyes.

“Let’s get started,” I say. “I’ve asked Meg to join us so we could all, um…catch up, plan our next steps.” I realize I’m staring at the conference table. I raise my head, glance at Sally, then fix Erika with the self-assured yet humble look of leadership that befits my new role as her boss.

“First, I want to acknowledge that…” I sigh heavily. “Ben’s gone. It’s upsetting for all of us. It’s not going to be the same without him.” Erika and Sally nod but don’t speak. I realize there’s another side effect of Ben’s departure: I will no longer be invited to participate in inappropriate discussions of Erika’s love life.

“But we can’t let Ben’s departure throw us off course. We’ve got a lot we still need to accomplish.” I adjust the knot of my Italian silk tie and smile knowingly. All morning long I’ve been reminding myself that I’m a vigorous married man who still gets laid on school nights by his eager wife.

Before I lose my vigor, I explain that I’ve asked Meg to work directly with the two of them over the next few months to ensure we keep everything—from budgets to planning to execution—on track. “Meg will be your contact,” I say. “To make sure you get all the approvals you need from senior management and any help you need from the marketing and creative departments.”

“Great,” says Erika. “I brought the project list you asked for.” She hands us each a copy. I study the list.

“Excellent,” I say. “Very organized.”

I sit back and let Meg take charge. She asks Erika to run through the status of each project, discuss all the issues of timing and expenses and travel and invitations and signage and product samples and goody bags. Details are noted. Procedures are clarified.

I lose track of some of the finer points, but I’m impressed with the professionalism that radiates from Erika, the inexplicable fun that Sally seems to find in every aspect of her job, and the competence with which Meg steers the meeting.

“You’ll let me know,” I say as the meeting winds down, “if you need me to attend any of the major out-of-town events.”

“Sure thing,” says Sally.

I look at the project list again. “What’s next? DC? Wasn’t Ben planning on being there? Do you need me?”

Erika Fallon looks at the list and thinks a second. “I think we’ve got that one covered. It might be good if you came down to Miami for the conference we’re sponsoring next month.”

“OK,” I say. “If anything changes, let me know.”

“That was great,” I say as Meg and I walk back down the hall together. “I knew you could handle it.”

“Just remember, you owe me,” says Meg. “Big time.”

Judd is loitering outside my office when I get back, clutching a large, blue, three-ring binder.

“Have a minute?” he asks. “I know you’re busy, but it’s been tough to get on your calendar.”

I pause in my doorway, look at my watch, and count two elephants in my head.

“It’ll have to be quick. I’ve got to get a Livingston Kidd proposal over to the art department. Liz Cooke is waiting for me. We have to get something to Randy Baker by end of day.” This isn’t exactly true anymore. But I’m guessing Judd doesn’t know that.

“I’ll be quick.” He follows me into my office. Beneath the transparent plastic pocket on his binder’s spine he has inserted a small typed card that reads:

D-SAW

Confidential

I realize immediately that Judd has mastered the two basic requirements of being a consultant: 1) Packaging existing data into a new physical format designed to impress management; and 2) Demonstrating the lost art of printing something out on a small piece of card.

Judd opens the binder. He’s arranged it into four sections, each with a typed label on the tab. I read the tabs quickly:

Focus 1

Focus 2

WICTY Presentation

YANA

“These are the key documents from the last go-round,” he says. He turns the binder toward me and flips it open at the WICTY Presentation tab. “I think we can use them to take away some key learnings to inform our process this time.”

“OK. What exactly did we learn back then?” I ask. I flick through the pages quickly, moving toward the tab marked YANA. I shouldn’t let it bug me that Judd’s already seen Henry’s mystery file. I’m just curious to see what it contains. When I get to the end of my old WICTY presentation, I turn the blue divider page as any casual reader would, revealing the document beneath.

“Tell me what you think of this,” says Judd, resting his hand flat on the page before I have a chance to start reading. “I’m going to propose we take the updated prototype out to a whole new series of focus groups. A lot has changed in the last four years. I think we could get some great new perspectives.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Henry thought so. He said you could help with the presentation once the transcripts come in.”

“Just tell me what you need. I’ll make sure it gets done.”

“Thanks, Russell.” He snaps the binder shut and hands it to me. “I’ve only made three copies of this binder. One for you. One for me. One for Henry.”

“OK. I’ll guard it with my life.”

Judd gets up, walks to the door, and turns. “Hey, fancy grabbing a drink after work tonight?”

“Sounds great,” I say with enthusiasm as I struggle to invent a plausible excuse.

“Five thirty good?”

“Oh shoot. I’ll have to take a rain check. Sam and I have yoga tonight.” I stretch out my arms and swivel slightly in my seat. “Have you tried it? It’s a great workout and really helps your flexibility.”

Judd hesitates a moment. Maybe it’s just the idea of me doing yoga. But I realize he knows nothing personal about me—and that the name “Sam” could be taken either way. I’m not about to help him out on that one.

“That’s cool,” he says. “Some other time.”

“What about next week?” I ask. “I’m here all week. How does Thursday sound?”

“That’s good,” he says. “Oh shit. I’m heading to DC next Thursday. Meeting with a research company.”

“No problem,” I say. “We’ll figure something out.”

I turn my attention to the mysteries of the YANA file.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It’s a warm October evening. Sam and I are taking a walk around the neighborhood. Other couples are out too, strolling arm in arm. Families are gathering out on their stoops. The restaurants on Seventh Avenue are filling up.

My hands are in my pockets. Sam is holding a brown box with metal-edged corners—an empty musical instrument case she found discarded on Union Street. Our conversation stalled a block or two after she picked it up. We left off somewhere on the road from Garbage Picking to the Value of Objects to the Difference Between Hobbies and Real Jobs without quite getting our heads around the question Why Is It When I Say the Word Passion You Immediately Want to Talk About Sex?