The moment I log in for the day on Monday—before Caitlin or Armin are in, before I’ve even poured myself a coffee—an email from Greg pops up. Come see me now.
Shit. I peek toward Gregory’s office. His light is on, but his door is closed. He’s never here this early. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rise; he must have been waiting for me to come in. I stare at the email for a solid minute, mind racing in all the wrong ways.
“You all right, Jolene?” asks Rhonda, who is standing up to wipe her desk trinkets with a sharply chemical-scented Lysol wipe.
I nod, broken from my trance. “Just haven’t had my coffee yet.”
Rhonda smiles and says, “Oh yes, the most important meal of the day,” as she wipes down the yellow Yankee candle she’s had on her desk for years but isn’t allowed to actually burn.
I make my way toward Gregory’s office; my legs are bags of sand. By the time I reach the doorway, my blood is made of pure cocaine and dread. I open the door, and Gregory is sitting at his desk tilting a Pepsi toward his mouth and licking his mustache. “Shut the door when you come in,” he says, casual as can be.
The hollow click as his door shuts stiffens every muscle in my body.
I take a seat without being asked, the alternative being standing until my knees buckle.
He stares for a moment, and I blink back at him in a silent standoff. Finally, he weaves his fingers together and speaks. But his words completely throw me: “What do you want?”
I stare at the crease between his eyes, the question not fully seeping into my brain.
“Is it money? Job security?” he continues.
I nod. Because . . . yeah?
“I can’t offer you a lot of money, but I can make sure you keep your job.”
“Uh” is all that comes out, because his words are the exact opposite of what I braced for.
He taps his fingers on his soda can. “You’re a lot more cunning than I imagined. But I suppose I’d do the same if I were you. I still can’t figure out how you found out about Sheila.” Then he holds up a hand, even though I haven’t tried to say anything. “No, wait. We shouldn’t go over any more details about my personal life.”
Relief hits like a fire hose. I nod a little too hard. Details are not my friend here.
Gregory’s chin juts upward. “It gets to be tough when you’re the boss—a lot tougher than people think. I have a target on my back, sure. But being extorted is a first—by an assistant, no less.” He gives me a coy grin.
I lean back in my seat and look around his office. Every object—the signed baseball in a glass case, the nail clippers on the desk, his special golden Supershops mug—compounds and lowers my spirit. On the wall behind him are framed awards, all meaningless, the kind designed by corporate to keep employees like him—like all of us—in line. It’s all so useless.
Yet he’s the upper echelon of this office—and more broadly, the world.
For once, I’m able to stare at him longer than a few seconds without shuddering away. He holds himself proudly, his sausage fingers woven together confidently. Gregory’s below average in every facet one could evaluate a human on. He acts boastful and controlling, but really, he’s paranoid and insecure.
It’s so obvious now: people show most of who they are up front. It just takes someone to really watch.
So why can’t I take advantage of this man? He’s made so many assumptions that he basically extorted himself, and I’m just along for the ride. He’s used his sad sense of power to control everyone in this office for years. Just this once, I can control him.
“Could I be off probation? My job security guaranteed?” My voice is solid and clear.
Gregory’s jowls shake unpleasantly. “Unfortunately, you still have to go through the motions. That HR guy takes his job far too seriously, so you’d be raising an alarm. But I assure you, even if he recommends your dismissal, you no longer have anything to worry about.”
My lips quirk. I can’t help it. Even if I fail now, I’m going to be okay.
Gregory smiles back, like we’re equals in this situation. “In fact, it was getting too hard to warrant, with your improved performance. I’m not sure what your secret is to getting the IEC forms completed so quickly or the innovative ideas you’ve had lately.” Gregory pauses, staring expectantly. I shrug and try not to shift my eyes. “In any event, we likely would’ve had to keep you, without all this trouble. Nevertheless, come layoff time, you won’t need to worry.”
My heartbeat skips. It’s official. After all of it, I get to stay.
It should be a relief. It should. But an odd feeling, like my arteries have switched directions, bubbles in me.
I don’t have to even be nice to them anymore.
A hollow spot opens in my chest. I swallow through it and stare at my new colluder.
Gregory grins. “But please know that if you mention my affair to anyone, I will figure out a way to ensure your position here is terminated.”
I nod steadily. That horrible knowledge is staying in my vault forever. The end to human suffering needs to start somewhere.
“We’re done here.” He gestures toward the door.
As I walk out, the distinct click of nail clippers and ricocheting nail debris sounds behind me.
Outside Gregory’s office, I can see Armin and Caitlin are just arriving. Rhonda eyes me as I pass and seems like she wants to say something, but I don’t have to worry about her anymore. I don’t even have to be nice. And that’s freedom.
I sit down and see that an email from Gregory to Cliff has appeared.
Hello Clifford,
After our discussion, here are my recommendations for the new office arrangement. If all looks good, let me know if we’re clear to proceed next week.
I click open the attached file. It’s the same document as the one I printed out when this all began, with everyone’s names and possible consolidations, but this time people’s names are highlighted.
My eyes zoom in on my name first. My row is yellow, and beside it, new text: “Promote to Document Lead.” Beneath it, Caitlin has been marked to be let go. I take a moment to internally celebrate.
But I can barely take joy in it, because underneath Caitlin’s name, Rhonda has also been marked as a layoff. I close my eyes. She’s retirement age, and I doubt she’ll find another job. This is going to devastate her.
Armin’s name has been highlighted in a different color, though. I flip back to the email and read the rest.
Also attached are the latest reports on Armin Habib. This past month he’s been spending more time away from his desk and he is lacking a sense of urgency about his work. Are we able to move forward with a termination, as discussed?
Greg
My chest tightens. Since I’m off the chopping block, Gregory must be desperate to fill his quota of firings with cause. Anything to save the company more severance payouts. This man is truly management material.
I want to yell at Armin, who is currently away from his desk, going through the boardroom and testing the chairs to assess whether he should steal one for his desk. He can’t lose his executive accounting manager position before the wedding. If our fake universe falls apart, so will our real one.
Armin finally returns to his workstation with a new chair, letting out an audible huff as he mutters, “This fucking place with the cheap-ass chairs causing us all to need chiropractors.”
I send him a DM.
Jolene: Armin, stop messing around. Rhonda is literally reporting your every move to Gregory, who’s fucking looking for a reason to terminate you.
He clicks open my message. His face remains blank as he looks at me, then to Rhonda, and back to his screen as he types.
Armin: Don’t know if you know, but last night I prevented our moms from booking a belly dancer.
Armin: Also, maybe you should stop reading everyone’s emails, Jolene.
He gets up and wheels the chair he was testing back to the boardroom.
Anxiety crawls up my spine with every squeak of the chair wheels. What’s happening in his head?
Rhonda shakes her head and logs his every move.
Just after lunch, I’m working through some charting for next month, when Rhonda heads to the boardroom, notepad and water bottle in hand. As soon as she’s out of sight, Armin grabs his coat and marches toward the elevators.
Shit. This will absolutely be the last straw for him.
I beeline toward Armin and cut him off just as he makes it into the hallway. “Hey, what are you doing?”
He takes a pointed step around me. “I’m just going to make some copies at the color printer on eleven.”
“Don’t do it. You’ve got your jacket.”
Armin’s gaze flashes toward Garret, who is emerging from an office with his ears perked toward us, before he pulls closer to me. “Okay, fine—I’m going to pop out. Was trying to be subtle, but you’re blowing it for me here, Jolene.”
He takes another step toward the elevator, and I return the favor by stepping in front of him again.
“Come on, Jolene.” Now he’s getting loud.
“If you leave, you’ll lose your job. Gregory is setting you up.”
Garret’s eyes widen as he pretends to look at a folder while standing in the middle of the hall.
I turn his way. “How’s that folder coming, Garret?”
He snaps it closed and stalks off to his desk.
I make myself tall, getting in Armin’s face. “Rhonda is going to notice.”
He lets out a huff. “Well, everyone’s watching us now anyway. So I guess that’s that. I’m going regardless.” He takes a step closer to the elevator, then stops. His eyes soften as he turns back to me. “You know, this weekend at dinner, when you asked me if lying was the right thing to do, you were right.”
I shake my head a little too hard. He’s going to ruin everything for himself. “No, I wasn’t,” I say. “I was just thinking out loud. It wasn’t even about you; I was projecting!” My voice has a panicked hitch in it I could do without.
Armin shakes his head. “I’m starting to wonder if any of this matters anymore. My mom is sick, and I’m tired of lying. Every day, all she wants to talk about is the wedding. This isn’t how I want to spend the rest of our time together.”
My hand darts out to squeeze his wrist, automatic and abrupt. “You’re not thinking straight. We can still help your mom.” Both our eyes dart to my hand grabbing him. I quickly retreat as flames radiate up my face.
Armin says his next words lower. “Jolene, are you . . . Is lying, reading people’s emails, everything, maybe getting to you?” He tilts his head. “This job might not be worth what it’s doing to you, you know? Life is—”
“I’m fine!” My voice takes an unfortunate squeal. “Things are finally going good now.” Armin drops his eyes to the floor as words scramble on the tip of my tongue, as I will myself to find the right thing to say. “The truth isn’t always the best policy. You knew that when you chose to lie.”
Armin’s shoulders drop, but it’s the plea in his gaze that stops me in my tracks. “You know what appointment I’m going to today?” he asks. “We’re talking to a lawyer about afterlife things. I have to be there. It’s more important than this crap job.” His words come out in a choke.
“Oh.” My chest constricts. What am I doing? “I—okay. You’re right. Go. I’ll cover for you.”
The realization is like a deflation. He doesn’t need this job like I do.
“Wish your mom well for me.”
“We’ll talk later.” He half smiles as he walks away.
When I make it back to the pods, Rhonda’s emerging from the boardroom and heading to her desk. Her gaze shifts to all the empty cubicles before zeroing in on Armin’s.
She has no idea that the only job she should be worried about is her own.
What’s going to happen to her? She doesn’t have a son who can look after her. Her Silver Timings matches always come up short. Just like me, this job has always been all she had.
And it’s like a reflex. I don’t know what I’m going to say as I walk over. “Knock-knock,” I murmur, tapping on the wall of her cube. Rhonda jostles in her chair to look at me, smiling. “Can I come in?”
“How can I help, dear?”
It’s an excellent question. I stare blankly at her before blurting out, “I’m just thinking about the next Morale Boosters event.”
Rhonda’s face drops. “Unfortunately, it looks like things are quite slow for a while on that front.” Her cheeks pull down, the empty weekends and evenings stacking up against us.
“Maybe we can come up with something to do then? Like I heard you talking about a book club?”
Rhonda’s voice is hollow. “I don’t think anyone was interested in that idea.” Then she tilts her head toward me, curious. “Do you read?”
“Not really. But I don’t think reading is, like, the main point.”
“Of a book club?” Rhonda looks at me with sincere confusion. Then her shoulders drop. “I know what you’re trying do.” It’s the meek way she holds herself that tugs at me. “Don’t worry. I’m not that lone—”
“Do you still know how to crochet?” I nod at the plush coaster sitting under her mug.
“Of course.”
A light bulb goes off. “Rhonda! I have this neighbor girl. It’s sort of a long story, and she’s really awesome and so interested in learning to crochet but having trouble. Would you come teach her? And me too? Maybe this weekend?”
“Jolene, you don’t have to . . .” Again she seems to shrink into herself; her fists curl in.
“I’m not doing anything.” I march to my cubicle and hold up the zebra, only partially aware of the curious onlookers. “She made me this. She’s really trying to learn.” Rhonda blinks. Her stare turns wistful as I march back toward her cubicle. “Do you think you could help her? Even teach me too?”
I hand Rhonda the zebra. She flips it over in her hands and mutters, “The stitches are pulled too tight. That’s why she ran into trouble.”
“So you’ll do it? We could meet this weekend.”
“This weekend?” Rhonda blinks—the edges of her eyes shine. Finally, she nods.
“And maybe we can get coffee after? Weekends are pretty open for me these days.”
It’s Caitlin’s chuckle that breaks it. Our eyes both draw to her. She’s watching us with her twisted smile.
Rhonda’s expression turns to stone in an instant. “Unfortunately I’m all booked up. Carl visits me on weekends.”
I rest my hand on her wrist—the second time I’ve been compelled to do that to someone today. “Rhonda, you know I’d appreciate the company too.”
Rhonda’s expression softens. Her posture weakens.
“Where was Armin going before you talked to him just now?” Caitlin pipes in.
“To the eleventh-floor printer,” I mutter.
The shift in Rhonda’s expression would be imperceptible if I didn’t know her so well.
But I do.
“Sorry, dear, but I’m too busy.” Her lips purse as she turns toward her computer. “Maybe when my son slows down at work and has more than weekends for visits.”
A shaky instability thrums through me as I reluctantly step away. It’s the same feeling as when I first walked into the boardroom the day the email that I forgot to white-text for Caitlin was discovered.
I won. I should be thrilled right now. But Mr. Barcode keeps watching me with his beady eyes. I swallow an empty feeling down. It would’ve been nice to crochet a friend for him.