The Job (24 page)

I stood up.

“Darling, I’m not…”

“For Christ’s sake, Ned, she just told me you sent her an e-mail late yesterday, turning down the job. So what’s this “I-was-going-to-talk-about-it-with-you-last-night’ crap

“I just knew this was not the right move….”

“You still should have discussed it with me.”

“Okay,” I said sheepishly, “I was wrong.”

“That’s not good enough, Ned. Once again, you’ve shut me out….”

“I’m not shutting you out….”

“Well, that’s what it feels like. Because by shutting me out, you’ve also made it very clear that you really don’t want me in your life.”

She was crying.

“Lizzie, please…”

“Well, do you want to know something? I don’t think I want you in my life anymore.”

She grabbed her coat and stormed out.

I put my head in my hands. I really was in a nosedive. Plummeting toward the ground. Willing myself to crash. And simultaneously wondering, Why was I piloting myself on this self-destructive arc?

I grabbed the phone and called Nancy Auerbach. Kim, her assistant, told me I had just missed her, and that she was out of the office for the rest of the mornine. I asked if there was any way she could get a message to her, informing her that I’d had a change of heart and was still interested in the Charlotte job. Kim said she’d do her best.

Then I punched in the number of Lizzie’s cell phone. When she heard my voice her tone became cool.

“Listen, darling,” I said, “I know I’ve been acting like an out-of-control idiot-” “Ned, I really don’t feel like talking with you right now.”

“Lizzie, please… You don’t know how bad I feel….”

“I don’t care how bad you feel.”

“Look, I’ve just called Nancy Auerbach, and I’ve decided to go for the Charlotte interview.”

“You do whatever you want, Ned. You always do.”

“Hang on, don’t you want me to do the interview?”

“If you want to move to Charlotte, that’s your business. But I won’t be coming with you.”

“Lizzie, don’t say that….”

She hung up. When I tried to phone her back, I received a recorded message informing me that the cellular phone I was trying to reach had been switched off. Lizzie never turned off her phone. This scared the shit out of me-as did her sudden attack of emotional hypothermia.

Wondering what to do next, I drifted into the kitchen and made myself a cup of coffee. I stared out the window. A cold, ashen day. For the first time since quitting I suddenly had a huge, overwhelming need for a cigarette. Without stopping to contemplate the stupidity of what I was about to do, I threw on my black parka, ran over to our local grocery store, bought a pack of Winstons, returned home, found an ashtray hidden behind some espresso cups, tore open the top of the cigarette pack, screwed one between my lips, lit it up, inhaled deeply, and felt that warm, benevolent caress of nicotine wash through my bloodstream.

Within three minutes I had sucked down my first cigarette. It tasted wonderful. I finished the coffee. I reached for the pack, lit another. Then Nancy Auerbach called. From the static on the line, it was obvious she was on her cellphone.

“So Kim gave me your message,” she said.

“That’s great news you’ve changed your mind about the Charlotte job.”

I took a deep, steadying drag on my cigarette-and said, “Nancy, the situation’s changed again. I’m going to have to pass on the interview.”

“You’re joking?”

“I wish I was.”

“What happened?”

“You know what happened. You told Lizzie about me turning down the Info Systems interview.”

“But I only told her because I presumed you had talked it over with her.”

“Well, I hadn’t.”

Despite the static on the line I could hear Nancy sigh loudly.

“Ned, this is not a game….”

“I know, I know.”

“And from talking to Lizzie, I can’t believe that she objected so strenuously to the possibility of a Charlotte re-lo.”

“It’s my decision.”

“I really wish you’d at least fly down there and size up the opportunity.”

“It won’t work for us.”

“You know, with your record, an opening like this shouldn’t be rejected so lightly….”

“I am aware of that.”

“Okay, Ned. It’s your call. But remember: There are only six more days left on your program. And your options aren’t exactly overwhelming.”

After I finished speaking with Nancy I lit another cigarette. And called Lizzie at her office. She was “in a meeting.” I called back an hour later. She was still in that meeting. Thirty minutes afterward I called again.

“Sorry, Mr. Allen…,” her assistant said. So I phoned again half an hour later. And a half hour after that. Just before 1:00 P.M.” I finally got through to her.

“Are you trying to embarrass me, Ned?” she said quietly.

“Look, I simply had to talk to you….”

“And I simply didn’t have time to speak with you this morning. Not that I particularly wanted to…”

“Lizzie, sweetheart, I know I’ve been a jerk-” “Ned. I’ve cot some news.”

My heart skipped four beats.

“I just found out that I have to go to Los Angeles this evening,” she said.

“Sherry Loebman, who runs our West Coast office, ended up in the hospital last night with a burst appendix. She’ll probably be out of commission for at least a couple of weeks and they want me to mind the store while she’s recuperating.”

“I see,” I said.

“Maybe I could hop ac heap flight over the weekend….”

“Ned, I really think what we need … what I certainly need right now … is space.”

Space. The most dreaded word in the marital lexicon.

“Space?” I said.

“Why do you need space?”

“You know why.”

“I don’t.”

“Things aren’t right.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if, at least, we tried to talk through …”

“Yes. Of course. But after I’m back from L.A. I really think the time away will do us some good. Clear the air. Give us a little critical distance.”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

She fell silent. All I could hear was the slight hum of the phone line. Finally she said, “I don’t know what I want right now, Ned. A lot of stuff has been building up….”

“I know, I know, it’s been a fucking awful couple of weeks….”

“Not weeks, Ned. We haven’t been connecting for months. Way before you got fired.”

“I don’t get this.”

“That’s part of the problem….”

“Define the problem. Please.”

There was a difficult silence. Then she said, “I simply don’t trust you right now, Ned. Because I’m not exactly certain who I’m dealing with anymore.”

Long, stunned silence.

“Oh, Lizzie, Jesus…”

“Look, I’ve got to go back into another meeting. I’m catching the six P.M. American flight.”

“Can I at least take you to the airport?”

“I’m really tied up all day-I’m sending one of our interns over with my key to pack a few things for me. Her name’s Sally, she’ll be dropping by in about an hour. And I’ll be leaving straight from the office for Kennedy.”

“I’m going to call you in L.A. Every day. Where are you staying?”

“Ned, let me call you.”

“Where are you staying,” It was no longer a question.

She sighed with resignation.

“I’ll be at the Mondrian.”

“Lizzie…”

“Got to go.

“Bye.”

I sat there, holding the receiver, feeling lost. I finally put down the phone. After a moment I picked it up again, index finger poised over the numbers. But I didn’t know who to call. For the first time in my life, I didn’t really know what to do next.

“I’m not exactly certain who I’m dealing with anymore.”

Nor was I.

Hi there, Mrs. Ruth Edelstein? It’s Ned Allen here, from PC Solutions. I hope this is a convenient time to talk….”

Mrs. Ruth Edelstein sounded around ninety years old.

“Whatcha say your name was?”

“Ned Allen. PC Solutions. Now, I note from our records that you bought a GBS Powerplan computer from us in September of nineteen ninety-five….”

“It was my son.”

“Sorry?”

“My son Lester, he bought the computer.”

I glanced up at the monitor in front of me.

“But, according to our information, the computer was registered in your name.”

“That’s ‘cause Lester bought it for me.”

“Then it is your computer?”

“Never use it. Sits gathering dust on the breakfront. Total waste of money.”

“Well, surely, your son bought you the computer so you could use it.”

“Nah. Lester bought it ‘cause he and that cheap wife of his moved out to Phoenix, and he had this numbskull idea that he could keep in touch with me using this… whatchacallit?”

“E-mail, perhaps?”

“That’s it. I tell him, I’m seventy-seven years old, I’ve got arthritis, you expect me to type you a hello every morning? You feel guilty about not bringing me to Phoenix, drop a dime, pick up the phone.””

“Well, e-mail is probably the most cost-efficient way of communicating….”

“Lester is a big-deal dermatologist, he doesn’t need to worry about a two-buck phone call.”

“Well, say you did start using the computer. Wouldn’t you want the most up-to-date software package available? Because that’s what PC Solutions is offering you this month. An incredible software bundle, including Windows 95, Netscape Navigator, Visual Basic, Power C, the new nineteen ninety-eight Grolier Encyclopedia, Al Unser, Jr.” Arcade Racing-” “Al Unser, the racing car guy?”

“The very one. And I have to tell you, Mrs. Edelstein, once you start playing this game, you’ll never want to-” “Me, a racing car driver? That’s your idea of a joke?”

I kept plowing ahead with my spiel.

“Now, were you to buy all this software separately, it would cost you over a thousand dollars. But PC Solutions is offering you this fantastic bundle for just three twenty-nine, ninety-five, including next-day FedEx delivery.”

“Young man, did you hear me the first time? Never once have I touched that dumb computer….”

“Don’t you think it’s time to learn?”

“No.” And she hung up.

I let out a tired sigh, readjusted my headset, moved the cursor down to the next name and phone number on my screen, clicked on dial, and waited for the ringing phone to be answered.

“Hi there, Mr. Tony Gottschalk? It’s Ned Allen here from PC Solutions. Hope this is a convenient time to talk….”

It was the Wednesday after my program had ended, and I was on day three of my new job. Check that: my new temporary job. After turning down the potential media-sales gig in Charlotte, I’d spent the last six days of The Program trying to find something, anything, that might tide me over while I continued to hunt for a permanent position.

“Now I know you’re going to cringe when I mention it,” Nancy Auerbach said.

“Try me,” I said.

“Have you, maybe. considered something in tele sales

I cringed.

“I know, I know,” Nancy Auerbach said.

“After being a sales manager, it’s kind of a comedown. But you said you needed the money. So …”

“Tell me the name of the company.”

And that’s how I ended up at PC Solutions: “The At-home Computer Superstore.” The guy who hired me, Burt Rubinek, was a class-A geek: bad skin, Coke-bottle glasses, a polyester short-sleeve shirt (even though it was early March), a plastic pen holder in his breast pocket. Our interview was a virtual non-event. I entered his little cubicle of an office, where he was bent over his wastepaper basket, cutting his fingernails. When he polished off his pinky he acknowledged my presence with a brief nod, silently flipped through my resume, and then said, “If you’re willing to do this job, times must be tough.”

I gave him my rehearsed reply: “I’m in a transitional phase at the moment. But, believe me, I can sell.”

He stared down at my resume and muttered, “We’ll see about that.” Then he told me the terms of the job. I was going to be placed in “the software section,” initially pitching a $329 software bundle package. The pay would be five bucks an hour, forty hours a week, no overtime, no medical. But I’d get a 10 percent commission for every bundle I sold. The minimum quota was fifteen units a week. If I failed to reach that quota, I would be out, no exceptions to the rule.

“Fifteen sales a week shouldn’t be hard,” I said.

He chewed on a cuticle.

“I like an optimist,” he said.

“You start Monday.”

So, finally, after eight weeks of out placement counseling, I had landed. In a job that I already despised-even before I had started work there.

“Think of it as a stopgap,” Nancy Auerbach had said during our final “formal” conversation together.

“And even though, officially, your program is over at the end of today, I’ll keep my ear to the ground for anything in senior sales that might suit you.”

“So,” I said, “I suppose I really blew it, not following up on the Charlotte job.”

“It’s your marriage not mine—although in my marital experience, talking things through with your spouse usually avoids a lot of grief. But I hope things work out, Ned. On all fronts.”

From my daily conversations with Lizzie, I couldn’t really tell how things were working between us. For the first week of her absence she maintained the ill-at-ease-with-me tone that she’d adopted prior to her departure. But when I called her on the day my program finished-and told her about landing the tele sales gig-she thawed for a minute or two.

“You really don’t have to take a demeaning job like that.”

“I need the money….”

“As I’ve said, over and over again, I’m happy to support us….”

“I need to be doing something,” I said, lighting up a cigarette.

“I’m bored shitless. And I miss you.”

She ignored that last comment and said, “I’ve got some news.” My heart now skipped five beats.

“Sherry Loebman-the woman I’ve been sitting in for-has had all sorts of complications since her appendectomy. And I’ve volunteered to continue filling in for her.”

“For how long?”

“I’m going to be here for at least another two weeks.”

“I see,” I said.

“Am I still an embargoed person in L.A.” or can I come visit?”