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“Come on, come on.” Tom whispered into the receiver. His hands fidgeted and twitched all over his desk, to the calendar, to his computer, picking at the fuzz on the armrests of his chair. Finally, he heard her voice on the other end.
“Rebecca speaking, how may I assist you?”
“Rebecca?” He hissed into the phone. Would she instinctively sense his panic, his consternation, would she clue in quickly without needing a lot of explaining? Of course she would. They were soulmates.
“Yes, hello? How may I assist you?”
“It’s Tom. Tom Ryder,” He said and exhaled with relief.
“Tom Ryder? I don’t have anything on my desk regarding you. What is the problem?” Her voice was cool. She knows something is wrong. She is concerned, Tom thought. Some people did not know how to show concern and it scared them.
“Our plan, Rebecca,” Tom said quickly. “Something went wrong. Something seriously went wrong.”
“Our plan?” She sounded more distant and frightened with each passing sentence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Tom. Mr. Ryder. What plan?”
“Good, good,” Tom said, looking around his office in a state of sudden paranoia. “They could be listening. What was I thinking?”
Before he could add anything more he heard a roar from outside his door. There was a crash and slamming of doors. Another roar. Definitely coming from the foyer. “Holy shit, something weird is going on here, Rebecca. I’ll call you tonight.”
“Call me tonight? What the hell...”
“I have your number,” Tom said. He stood up with the phone halfway to its cradle.
“You do not!” He heard her voice become tiny, “And I want to clear something up right now...” He hung up. See? It’s all clear, don’t worry he thought. We’ll get through this.
He opened his door and stepped tentatively into the hall. There was some sort of commotion happening at the receptionist’s desk. Tom followed the noise down the hall and stood at the corner near the water cooler. The receptionist was hiding her head in her thick hands and Wally and the recruiting manager looked as though they were squaring off in the center of the room, each man’s bulk nearly taking up the whole of the foyer.
“Wally, listen to me, we’ll get it straightened out,” the recruiter was saying.
Wally’s face was flush, and his massive chest was moving up and down hysterically. His wild bulging eyes wandered the room and rested on Tom. Tom felt his scrotum tighten. “They me$$ed up our pay!” Wally shouted at him. Pay? Tom thought quickly. Did he even have any pay coming? “Our pay!” Wally shouted at Tom again when he obviously did not get the response he was after. How should Tom respond? Indignant, perhaps. Outrage? They said they would straighten it out, though. Tom did not dare to reply. “My money!” Wally roared anew, and the recruiter flinched.
“Wally. Walter. Listen to me. There was a mistake...”
“Goddamn right there wa$!”
“The new commission structures have a few bugs, that’s all. It will get straightened out before the end of the day, I am sure of it,” the recruiter was saying, but his pleas fell on deaf, dumb and blind ears. Wally paced around the office, the receptionist letting out a small squeak whenever he passed close to her. He lashed out with one hand and hit the wall, a large framed picture with the word SUCCESS and inspirational sayings fell to the floor, the glass shattering. Tom heard a few office doors open and close just as quickly. It seemed most people in the office knew what was happening and chose wisely to stay away. Tom was not one of them.
“Thi$ will get $traightened out now, $am. No one me$$es with my $$$.”
“Wally, just relax...”
“You relax, I $$$ my $$$. You think $$$ can $$$ $$$$$$$$ $$?”
“Wally!”
“$$$$ $$$, $$$$ $$$ $ $$$$$ $$$ $!”
“Take it easy, Wally.” The recruiter now looked worried, not scared. Tom looked at Wally. The man’s face was extremely red, now, unnaturally red. He was sweating openly; it ran in rivulets down the folds of his face and chest. His shirt was now soaked through.
“$$$ $$$$ $$$$$ $$$$$. $$$$? $$$$? $$$!” Wally said and then stumbled back and held on to the receptionist’s desk to support himself. The receptionist gave out a final scream and leaped toward the exit, leaving her shawl and coffee where they sat. “$$$ $$$.” Wally puffed. He reeled from the desk and swayed in the center of the room for a second, looking like he was going to explode, covering the walls with Wally. Then in an instant his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he pitched forward, slamming the waiting room magazine table into the floor, pages of insurance propaganda floating all around his head.
“Oh, my God!” the recruiter said, throwing himself on his star producer. “Tom, call 911.”
“The police?” Tom hesitated.
“Ambulance, Tom! 911! Hurry!”
“$$$,” Wally gurgled.
Tom found the receptionist’s phone and desperately tried to think of the number for 911. It was listed on an information sheet taped to her computer. He punched it frantically while watching Wally’s face. The man had been so torn up about his paycheck he had a heart attack, or something. Could Tom be that tore up about anything? Another failure on his part. That much passion looked so painful. Wally’s thick eyelids were flickering up and down. If he died, Tom thought morbidly, the man would insist on loonies, not pennies, for his eyelids. And those heavy lids would clutch those dollars for eternity.