27
“Steadman,” Festino said. “Tell me you didn’t just shoot Cal Taylor.”
“Sit down, Ricky,” I said.
“I don’t believe this. Is it the body snatchers? The merger integration team? That who gave the orders?”
I wanted to say, It wasn’t my idea, but that was too weaselly. Though true. I said, “Have a seat, Ricky.”
He did. “How come Gordy didn’t do it, huh? I figured he’d want to do it himself. He enjoys that kind of thing.”
I didn’t reply.
“I gotta tell you, as your friend, that I don’t like what’s happening to you. You’ve gone over to the dark side.”
“Ricky,” I tried to interrupt.
But he was on a roll. “First there’s that ridiculous Queeg Memo. Now you’re Gordy’s executioner. This is not good. I’m telling you this as your buddy.”
“Ricky, stop talking for a second.”
“So Taylor’s the first to swim with the fishes, huh? The first guy voted off the island? Who’s next, me?”
I looked at him for a couple of seconds before looking away.
“You’re kidding, right? Don’t kid a kidder, Jason.”
“The lower thirty percent are being let go, Ricky,” I said softly.
I could see the blood drain from his face. He shook his head. “Who’s going to go over your contracts if I’m gone?” he said in a small voice.
“I’m really sorry.”
“Jason,” he said, a note of wheedling entering his voice, “I’ve got a family to feed.”
“I know. I really hate this.”
“No, you don’t know. Entronics covers my wife’s and kids’ health plans.”
“You won’t just be cut off, Ricky. Your benefits will be continued for up to eighteen months.”
“I’ve got school tuition to pay, Jason. You know what that school costs me? It’s like thirty thousand bucks a year.
“You can-”
“They don’t give financial aid. Not to guys like me, anyway.”
“The public schools are great where you live, Ricky.”
“Not for a kid with Down’s syndrome, Steadman.” His eyes were fierce, and they were moist.
I couldn’t talk for a couple of seconds. “I had no idea, Ricky.”
“Is this your decision, Jason?”
“Gordy’s,” I said at last, feeling like the coward I was.
“And you’re just following orders. Like Nuremberg.”
“Pretty much,” I said. “I’m so sorry. I know how much this sucks.”
“Who can I appeal this to? Gordy? I’ll talk to Gordy if you think it’ll help.”
“It won’t help, Ricky. He’s made up his mind.”
“You can talk to him for me, then. Right? You’re his golden boy now. He’ll listen to you.”
I was silent.
“Jason, please.”
I was silent. I was dying inside.
“You of all people,” he said. He stood up slowly and went to the door.
“Ricky,” I said. He stopped, his back to me, his hand on the knob.
“Let me talk to Gordy,” I said.
Melanie stopped me outside Gordy’s office. “He’s on the phone with Hardy,” she said.
“I’ll come back.”
She glanced through Gordy’s venetian blinds. “His body language tells me he’s almost off.”
Melanie and I talked for a bit about her husband, Bob’s, plan to go in with some guys to buy a franchise for a Chilean sandwich place that was really popular in downtown Boston. I didn’t know how he’d scrape together the money. Bob worked for an insurance company.
Finally, Gordy was off the phone, and I went in.
“I need to talk to you about Festino,” I said.
“Guy freaks out on you, you call Security. He could do that, you know. Go off the deep end. I can see it in him.”
“No, it’s not that.” I told him about Festino’s child and the special school, which we’d all assumed was some hoity-toity prep school where the boys wore little blue blazers and beanies.
Gordy’s eyes grew beady. I stared at his pompadour, because I couldn’t look into his eyes. It seemed puffier than usual. He looked like he’d had his hair colored recently. “I really don’t give a shit,” he said.
“We can’t do it.”
“You think this is a charity? Some frickin’ social services agency?”
“I won’t do it,” I said. “I won’t fire Festino. I can’t do it to the guy.”
He tipped his head to one side, looked curious. “You’re refusing?”
I swallowed and hoped it wasn’t audible. I had the feeling I was about to cross some kind of office Rubicon. “Yeah,” I said.
A long, long silence. His stare was unrelenting. Then he said, slowly and deliberately, “Okay. For now. But after TechComm, you and me are going to have a talk.”
TechComm was the huge trade show, where we always threw a swanky dinner for our biggest customers. Last year it was in Las Vegas. This year it was in Miami. Gordy was always the master of ceremonies at the dinner, and he liked to keep the theme a secret until we got there. “I don’t want any disruptions before TechComm.”
“Sure,” I said.
“You know something? I don’t think you have what it takes.”
For once I didn’t answer.
28
I wanted to get out of the office on time today. Kurt had Red Sox tickets. I had to get home and change out of my suit and kiss Kate and get over to Fenway Park by seven.
I was packing up my fancy leather briefcase when I saw Doug Forsythe standing at my office door.
“Hey, Doug,” I said. “Come on in.”
“Got a sec?”
“Of course.”
He sat down slowly, with a tentative look about him. “You know, what you said yesterday? I really took it to heart.”
I nodded. I had no idea what he was getting at.
“I’ve been thinking. And-you’re right. Entronics is my home.”
I was stunned. “Really? Hey, that’s great.”
I noticed an instant message pop up on my computer screen. It was from Gordy. CALL ME NOW, it said.
“Yeah,” he said. “I just think it’s the right thing.”
“Doug, I’m so happy to hear that. Everyone’s going to be psyched that you’re staying.”
Another IM. WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? GET OVER HERE!
I swiveled around to the keyboard, typed, IN MEETING, GIVE ME A MINUTE.
“Yeah, well,” he said. He didn’t sound happy, that was the strange thing. “I guess it’s for the best.”
“Doug,” I said, “say it like you mean it.”
“I mean it. It’s the right thing. So…So that’s it.”
“You want us to match Sony’s offer,” I said, taking a stab at it. “And I told you we would. Forward the e-mail to me, or the letter, and I’ll get right to it.”
He inhaled slowly, deeply. “No need,” he said. “I don’t want to hold you guys up for more money.”
No salesguy in the history of Western civilization has ever said that. Or at least said it and meant it. I was immediately on alert. What was going on?
“Doug,” I said, “I gave you a promise. Now, don’t make me beg.”
Forsythe stood up. “Really, it’s fine,” he said. “Here I am, and here I’ll stay. I’m fine with it. I’m cool, I really am.”
He left, and I sat there for a few seconds, baffled. I turned back to the screen and saw another IM from Gordy. NOW! it said. WHAT THE HELL??!!
I IM’d back: ON MY WAY.
As I escorted Forsythe out of my office, I noticed Trevor Allard in his cubicle, darkly watching me. The background on his computer desktop was a photo of his beloved Porsche Carrera. I wondered how much Trevor knew about Forsythe’s job offer, how much he’d been urging Forsythe out of here, pouring poison in his ear. And what he knew about Forsythe’s decision to stay.
Gordy was leaning all the way back in his office chair, arms folded behind his back, beaming like a lunatic.
“What took you so long?” he said.