Grow the fuck up. She might give the Beater that one, but she wouldn't give him the rest of it, at least not until she knew what it was. If you had to surrender, you at least ought to get to know what you were surrendering to. They owed her that much, Mark most of all.
Just do the videos. Hope for the best. Wanna jam? Can you top it, lover? Not today.
She had just stepped out into the hall when the door directly across from her own opened, and she was face-to-face with the guy she'd punched. He froze, staring at her as if he thought she was going to pop him again. That was a good one. Or maybe he wanted to pick a fight, get his own back on her. He didn't look like the type, but you never knew. Maybe she should offer him a free shot.
Or maybe she should pop him again, for staring. "You want something?"
He shook his head wordlessly. His face looked pretty swollen, and there were three or four flesh-tone squares spotting his cheek.
"You know you can get toxed on that shit?" she said. He blinked at her uncomprehendingly, and she tapped her own cheek.
"Stuff builds up in your system, and you get off. Watch out, it can make you a little stupid."
Now he looked thoughtful; probably trying to decide whether he was toxed or not. Life was pretty fucking hard when you couldn't tell the difference.
"Wait!" he called.
She turned to him disinterestedly. "Yah?"
"I was just wondering…" He came out a little farther into the hall, touching his wounded face. "I was just wondering why you hit me."
"It was a mistake, all right? You got in the way."
"I see." He shrugged. "Well, then, why did you want to hit the other guy? Or anybody?"
"Is that supposed to be important to you?"
"I thought that since I wasn't going to get an apology, I might get an explanation."
Gina laughed. "You want a lot, don't you? Homeboy, you just keep asking. Who knows, maybe someday someone'll put an egg in your beer."
He almost looked like he understood. Hell, maybe he did. She headed toward the elevators.
12
"You're good," Manny said, resting a hand on the covered tray in front of him on the table. "There's really no question about that, never has been. You do good commercials, but you're not doing enough of them."
Sitting across from him, Gabe eyed the cover on his own tray. You didn't eat while Manny talked. First, Manny had to explain to you why he would sully his lunch hour with a subordinate. LeBlanc had once suggested making lunch with Manny an Olympic event. Well call it the biathlon-first, you see how much torture you can absorb, then you see how much food you can eat in his presence before you vomit. Right? We need that, right?
Gabe had to press a finger on his injured cheek to keep from laughing. Watch out, it can make you a little stupid. He shifted in his chair, accidentally pressing his cheek harder.
"And checking the time logged on each assignment, anyone can see you're taking too long on the commercials you do produce." Manny stared at him evenly, waiting for an answer.
"I'll try to pick up the pace," he managed, barely moving his lips. His voice sounded strange and distant, as if he were speaking from behind a character facade in a wannabee program.
"Gabe. Trying isn't good enough." Manny shook his head slowly. Like a bad actor in a camp movie, Gabe thought; the whole situation seemed more and more unreal. Except for the throbbing in his face, which had begun again in hot earnest. "You're just going to have to do it, before the next quarterly figures go Upstairs. I can just about guarantee that when they graph your time spent against your number of completed assignments, they'll start talking personal audit. That's everything you've got in memory, on chip, in long-term storage. They'll want to see it all, and they'll question every requisition you've made in the past two years. You'll have to explain and justify everything, completed projects, fragments, the whole thing."
Manny paused to let him digest that one, but all he could think about now was the aroma that had started to seep out from under the covered tray in front of him. It turned his stomach. He slipped another patch out of his shirt pocket and applied it to his cheek. The throbbing receded after a few moments, but the smell of the food became even more nauseating. Something fried, he thought, besides himself. Watch out, it can make you a little stupid.
"And if you're thinking of dumping everything you have, you'd better reconsider." Manny leaned forward, bracketing his own tray with his forearms. "As low as your numbers are, a bare cupboard will look very suspicious. They could get the idea you've been working on some project of your own, unrelated to the job. I don't have to tell you what will happen if they think you've been abusing corporate equipment." Manny's serious expression changed suddenly. "Is everything all right in your personal life?"
Gabe winced. What was he supposed to say? Well, let's see, this morning, my wife left me, and then I came to work and got punched in the face by a complete stranger. Now I'm apparently toxed on painkillers I shouldn't be toxed on, and they've made me a little stupid. Did you mean besides that?
He became aware of the rather long moment that had passed since Manny's question and shrugged awkwardly. "Everyone has problems."
"Yes, I suppose," Manny said. "But I don't think you'd care to work under the conditions of a personal audit. You'd be monitored every moment. Even while you were sketching out the barest scenario, they'd be listening and watching on-line. Most people would find it impossible to work under those conditions, but the Upstairs Team would be expecting you to up your productivity. The Upstairs Team does not understand the creative individual, you see. Therefore, it's the responsibility of the creative individual to adjust, to be creative enough to learn how to play the game their way."
The game. House of the Headhunters rose up in his thoughts, fragmenting his concentration. He'd put on far too many patches trying to kill the pain in his face, he realized. That was what she had meant, the woman who hit him. A little stupid, that was a good one. Or as Marly would have said, A little stupid, hotwire? Looks to me like they broke the stupid-stick on you.
Manny was looking at him oddly now, and he realized he was smiling. He turned it into a grimace and touched his face.
"Clooney told me Gina Aiesi hit you, is that right?" Manny said, resting one hand on the cover of his tray.
"Accident," Gabe said. "Just one of those dumb freak accidents."
"I see." Manny toyed with the handle on the cover. "You'll take what I've told you seriously, now, won't you, Gabe? I'd hate to see one of our best people get into difficulties after such a long career." He hesitated, and Gabe waited for him to hint that perhaps he needed a little consultation with Medical on the possibility of implants to improve his concentration. Instead Manny uncovered his tray, signaling the onset of actual eating.
Gabe followed suit and then sat there with his numbed, swollen jaw, looking down at the pork chop, the mashed potatoes, the corn on the cob, and the mixture of celery and carrot sticks.
"Ah," Manny said. "Direct from our executive kitchen. Rediscovery Cuisine is the one food trend I can really get my teeth into. So to speak." He favored Gabe with a cordial smile as he picked up the knife and fork and began to saw away on the pork chop.