“Sit down, Jason,” she said. “Congratulations on the Lockwood deal. I never thought you were going to close it, but I guess we should never underestimate you.”
I nodded, smiled modestly. “Sometimes you just have to say the right words, and it all falls into place,” I said. “I figure that ought to demonstrate my meat-eating credentials to Gordy.”
“Dick Hardy already put out the press release on the Lockwood deal,” she said. “I assume you saw it.”
“Not yet.”
Joan got up and closed her office door. She turned to face me. She heaved a long, loud sigh. Not a good sigh. The circles under her eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them before. She went back to her desk. “Gordy’s not going to move me into Crawford’s position,” she said wearily.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s something about me Gordy doesn’t like.”
“There’s something about everyone that Gordy doesn’t like. Plus there’s the fact that you’re a woman.”
“And not one whose pants he wants to get into.”
“Call me naïve, but isn’t that illegal?”
“Yeah, you’re naïve, Jason. Anyway, it’s an age-old tradition, using consolidation as an excuse to shed the employees you don’t like.”
“He can’t be that blatant.”
“Of course not. Gordy’s smart. There’s always a way to justify laying someone off. I didn’t make my number because you guys didn’t make yours last quarter. The merger team thinks I’m an unnecessary layer of management anyway. Fat to be trimmed. They’ve decided to get rid of the AM job entirely. So Gordy’s just going to fill Crawford’s DVP slot. You or Trevor or Brett. Meaning that whoever gets the nod is going to be under a lot of pressure. That’s an awfully big job now.”
“He wants to lay you off?” Now I felt really bad. Here I was, angling for a promotion, and she was losing her job. “I’m so sorry.” Then the unworthy thought came into my head: I’d just asked her to speak up for me, and she had corporate cooties. Would it rub off on me?
“It’s fine, really it is,” she said. “I’ve been in talks with FoodMark for a while.”
“That’s the company that runs food courts in shopping malls?” I tried to say it neutrally, but I guess I didn’t succeed at hiding what I thought.
Her smile was wan and a little embarrassed. “It’s not a bad place, and it’s a lot less pressure than this job. Plus, Sheila and I have been wanting to travel more. Enjoy life together. It’s just as well, as it turns out. Plasma displays or burritos, what’s the difference?”
I didn’t want to express my condolences, but congratulations didn’t seem in order either. What the hell do you say? “I guess it’s all good, then.”
“Well,” she said. “Did I ever tell you I’m a vegetarian?”
“Maybe that’s the real reason,” I said, a halfhearted attempt at black humor. I thought of Kate’s steaks a couple of nights ago, which were unappetizing charred slabs, enough to turn anyone into a strict vegan.
“Maybe,” she said with a rueful smile. “Whatever. But you might want to go easy on Trevor Allard today. He’s had a tough break.”
“What happened?”
“He just lost the biggest deal of his life.”
“You’re talking about Pavilion?”
She nodded, compressed her lips.
“All for missing one appointment because of a flat tire?”
“Once would have been acceptable. But not twice.”
“Twice?”
“This morning he was on his way to the rescheduled meeting with Watkins, the CEO of Pavilion. Well, guess what? His Porsche died on the road again.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish. Electrical system malfunctioned. A real freak coincidence, his car dying two days in a row. He hasn’t even had a chance to get his cell phone replaced, so he couldn’t call Watkins’s office in time. And that was it. They’ve signed with Toshiba.”
“Jesus!” I said. “Just like that?”
“The deal was already factored into next quarter’s numbers as committed business. Which is a disaster for all of us, especially with the integration team poking around in every corner. All of you, I should say, since I’m out of here. Though I’m sure you’re more focused on what this does for your chances at the promotion.”
“No, not at all,” I protested lamely.
“The tables seem to have turned. Now it looks like you drive a bigger piece of the number than either one of them.”
“Temporarily, yeah.”
“Gordy’s all about momentum, and right now it’s on your side. Let me just say one thing, though. I know how much you want this job. But be careful what you ask for. You never know what you might be stepping into.”
Ten minutes later I was checking my e-mail, still feeling dazed, when I noticed Brett Gleason standing in my office doorway.
Whatever he wanted, it wasn’t good. “Hey, Brett,” I said. “I thought you had a presentation at Bank of America.”
“I lost the directions,” he said.
“To Bank of America? They’re on Federal Street, you know that.”
“Lot of floors. Lot of offices.”
“Can’t you just call your contact?”
“Guy’s new and he’s not listed on their website, and besides, I don’t remember his last name.”
“You don’t have the guy’s number?” Why, I wondered, was he in my office? Gleason talked to me as little as possible, and he sure never asked my help on anything.
“That’s gone too.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“You think it’s funny?”
“I’m not laughing, Brett. What are you talking about?”
“The Blue Screen of Death.”
“You had a disk crash or something?”
“Permanent and fatal error. Someone screwed with my computer.” He gave me a sidelong look. “Which also wiped out my Palm Pilot when I hot-synced it this morning. All my contacts, all my records-they’re all gone. The IT dweebs say it’s totally unrecoverable. Some prank, huh?” He turned to leave.
I thought, but didn’t say, that if Brett had printed out his schedule, he wouldn’t have had this problem, but I kept my mouth shut. “You don’t seriously think someone did this to you, Brett, do you?” I said to Gleason’s back.
But he kept going.
An instant message popped up on my computer screen. It was Gordy, and he wanted to see me immediately.
15
Gordy was wearing a crisp white button-down shirt with a big blue KG monogram on the pocket. He didn’t shake my hand as I entered. He stayed seated behind his desk.
“You locked in Lockwood,” he said.
“That’s right.”
“Booya.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t know how you finally got ’em to sign on the dotted line, but I’m impressed. We needed the deal. Bad. Especially the way Allard and Gleason’ve been dropping balls lately.”
“Have they? I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Please,” Gordy said. “Christ. Practice your bullshit on someone who doesn’t know better. Gleason blew off a presentation at Bank of America. Gave them some lame excuse about his computer getting wiped out or something. He’s roadkill, far as I’m concerned. And now Trevor.” He shook his head. “Fact is, I like golf as much as the next guy”-he gestured toward his putter-“but you don’t blow off a seventy-million-dollar client for nine holes at the Myopia Hunt Club.”
“You’re kidding,” I said, truly surprised. That didn’t sound like Trevor at all.
“I wish,” said Gordy. “He doesn’t know I know it, but I got the lowdown from Watkins at the Pavilion Group. I tried to turn it around, but Watkins wasn’t having any of it.”
“Trevor was playing golf?”
“He figured he’d get away with it. Stood up Watkins two days in a row claiming car trouble. One day he says he’s got a flat, the next day the alternator goes or something, and both days he says his cell phone isn’t working.”