NINE

Monday morning at Alt Corp.

A pretty, young blonde stared at her screen.

‘Good morning Sarah,’ a voice interrupted.

‘M-morning, Mr Garçon,’ the girl said, standing up as if to attention.

Garçon regarded her thinly. He probably noticed that she’d been ten minutes late this morning. Sure, she looked the part, smartly dressed in a figure-hugging skirt, her white blouse buttoned down low to give the boys a view. But she felt like shit. It’d been a heavy weekend and Sarah Lee was struggling to stay on top.

She removed her glasses, rubbed her eyes. Lifted her coffee and took a sip, watching as Garçon led his two visitors to the lift opposite. There was the usual loud talk and revelry between the three men. Backs were slapped, bravado rolled out. The lift reached 20 and they were sent on their way.

Good riddance, Sarah thought.

This particular pair had been in a lot, lately. Sarah hated how they stared at her: Goldsmith, the more flamboyant of the two, seemed to have developed something of a fondness for her cleavage.

Garçon made his way back through the office.

Sarah called as he passed.

‘Sir, I need to talk to you.’

Garçon stopped.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s about Johnny.’

Garçon walked on as if the topic held no interest for him.

‘You’ve got to give him another chance, sir,’ Sarah called, following him through the open plan, hot coffee still in hand.

‘I’ve got to do nothing of the sort,’ Garçon warned her, waving his finger.

He started walking again.

‘But, sir,’ Sarah persisted, bobbing along after him on her high heels, ‘the man lost his wife. The tragedy of –’

‘All death is tragic, my dear’ Garçon said, cutting across her. ‘Take Mrs Lewis over there,’ he pointed to an older woman in the open plan whose ears suddenly pricked up, hearing her name mentioned, ‘lost her husband of forty years barely a week ago. Back at work today.’

Sarah cringed as Mrs Lewis crumbled at her workstation. But Garçon walked on, oblivious.

‘Give him one more chance, sir,’ she pressed, smiling weakly at Mrs Lewis before following Garçon into his office.

A billboard drifted by the window, its spectral smile ever alluring. The neon glow was killing Sarah and she was glad when Garçon dimmed the blinds.

He dropped his cell to his desk, sighed.

‘Sarah, this is not the –’

‘Please!’ she insisted.

Her impudence surprised her. It surprised Garçon too. He paused, fixed his eyes upon her, waited.

‘A-after all,’ she continued, voice now shaking, ‘If we’ve got a new project on the horizon, there’s no better code guy on the books.’

Garçon considered this for a second. His gaze lingered on the secretary, trying to read something from her. But Sarah kept her face straight.

‘Close the door, please,’ he said.

Sarah was taken back.

‘S-sorry?’ she stuttered.

‘The door, Sarah. Close it.’

Oh, Christ, she thought. Had she gone too far? Was she too pushy?

Sarah did as Garçon asked then gingerly sat in the empty chair across from his desk. She put her coffee down slowly.

‘You’ve met Mr Goldsmith and Mr Flynn,’ he said. ‘They’re part of a new VR project I’ll be heading up. Something very,’ and here Garçon searched in his mind for the appropriate words, ‘cutting-edge, shall we say.’

‘Johnny’s all about the VR,’ Sarah said quickly. ‘That’s all I was trying to say. I didn’t mean any harm.’

She stopped, noticing that Garçon wasn’t listening to a word she was saying. He leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the wall behind her. There was a slight twitch building in one eye. A mere flicker but definitely something.

‘Sir, are you feeling alright?’

He lifted his hand to shush her, went to speak then smiled instead. It was a guilty smile; as if unsure whether to say whatever was on his mind. Then he leaned forward, head tipped to one side.

‘Sarah, I’m on thin ice,’ he said. ‘But this project, this new VR we’re working on could save my bacon.’

Sarah went to say something but again Garçon interrupted her.

‘My wife,’ he said, ‘she put me out of the house last week. I’ve been sleeping here. In this office. On that couch right there.’ He pointed to the plastic sofa. ‘Pretending I was working late, working early. I’m telling you all this, but I don’t want anyone out there to know.’ He nodded to the window looking out onto the open plan. ‘Do you hear me?’

Sarah nodded.

‘I mean it, Sarah!’

‘Yes, sir.’

She felt very uncomfortable, now.

Garçon smiled faintly.

‘You’ve picked a good time to ask about Johnny Lyon,’ he said. ‘Right now, I really need a code guy. Really, REALLY need a code guy. One who can work around the clock. One who knows VR like Johnny does.’

Sarah raised an eyebrow.

‘I’ve been foolish, you see.’ A naughty look drew across his face. Skin-crawlingly creepy. ‘Very foolish.’

Sarah felt like a deer in headlights, unable to even blink.

‘What have you done?’ she asked.

Garçon cupped both hands around his mouth, whispered his next words, as if they were top secret: ‘I’ve lied.’

Still Sarah didn’t blink, couldn’t blink.

‘I’ve lied,’ he said again, ‘to people you wouldn’t believe you could lie to; people whose whole raison d’être is against lying.’

‘Lied about what?’

‘Time. I told them we could have the project finished within a week. It was the only way.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh, indeed.’

Something of his old swagger was coming back.

‘Sarah, I need you to bring Johnny Lyon to me. Take the rest of the day off, and go find him. Tell him I need him back. Can you do that?’

‘Yes, sir.’

She picked up her coffee. Noticed her hands were shaking.

Garçon stood up from his desk.

She didn’t know why, but weirdly Sarah found herself perform a curtsey as she backed out of the office. The coffee slopped from her cup, spilling over the floor and Garçon’s perfectly polished shoes.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered as she scrambled for a tissue, bending down to wipe his feet. ‘I’ll just –’

But Garçon’s eyes were on the door now, head tipping to indicate she should leave now.

Sarah hurried out of his office, into the open plan area.

Across the way, Mrs Lewis was still crying, several of her colleagues trying to console her.