CHAPTER FIVE
Quintrell, after determining that I was not going to give him any intel on the mysterious phone caller—loose lips sink ships—returned to his desk.
No one was supervising me, and before I embarked on the dark art of industrial espionage, I decided I should orient myself with the basics of the job and figure out how the phone worked. This mostly involved pressing random buttons. When that front was settled, I turned to focus on gathering intel. Apparently everyone else shared Quintrell’s reaction, because the entire office had averted their gaze from the door. Which was fantastic, actually, because it provided an excellent opportunity to snoop. I walked over to the door, crouched so I was out of sight, and listened. It can’t always be secret cameras and keyloggers. Sometimes the old-fashioned, low-tech ways are best.
Lawrence and Vanetta weren’t yelling at each other. Quite to the contrary, there was a familiarity between them—like old friends talking.
“Vanetta,” said Lawrence, sounding even smarmier than his suit. “You’re looking good. Not rested, but good. The lack of sleep suits you. It’s like college.”
“It’s nothing like college,” said Vanetta.
“I don’t know,” said Lawrence. “Working around the clock, you sleeping with strange guys on sofas, deadlines looming. You have to admit that it rings a bell.”
“Who told you about Archie?” asked Vanetta, sounding tired and resigned.
“It was Archie? I was going to place my bets on Quintrell.”
I noted that Lawrence knew Quintrell’s name when he wasn’t around, which was interesting. His disaffection was an act, at least somewhat.
“Why are you here?” asked Vanetta. “It’s obviously not to help us work.”
“I’ve been working,” said Lawrence. “I’ve been having meetings. I just got back from Los Angeles, and I come bearing news.”
“I don’t want news,” said Vanetta. “I want this game done.”
“I’ve bought us some extra time, actually.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Well, it comes with a catch. We need to voice and animate all of the peppermints.”
There was a long pause.
“This is a puzzle game. It’s abstract,” said Vanetta. “The candy is meaningless.”
“Then you won’t mind giving them voices.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The main character of the game is a male peppermint. White, please. Give him a good Anglo-Saxon name, like Peppermint Tom. Or Jake. How about Jake?”
“What are you talking about?”
“And Jake has a girlfriend, maybe Sally? Is that too ethnic? She should also be white. But don’t worry, I worked in some racial diversity for you.”
“Stop talking and explain what you’re talking about.”
“There should be a wise old black peppermint,” said Lawrence. “Not like a magical Negro, but, well, you know, a little like a magical Negro. He’s going to help Jake learn how to manage the peppermint planes. And can maybe Sally get kidnapped? Maybe by some angry monster mint, or is that too on the nose? Maybe they could be Hispanic mints. I know how important diversity is to you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about money. DE wants to make a pilot. A little cartoon show. And cereal. They’re also really keen on cereal, but that’s a different discussion. Do you know how much money has been made from Angry Birds merchandise? That’s the space we’re after.”
“This game is seven-eighths done, Lawrence, and there are no talking mints. We can’t redo it now.”
“We’re not redoing it; it’s still your game. It’s just being reskinned a little. Now the mints will talk and have personalities.”
“This is not…” started Vanetta, and I felt I could feel how tired she was just by proxy. “How much extra time would this buy the team?”
“Weeks? Months? It depends what corporate thinks of the direction. Have your new boy Archie put something together—we’re thinking of a kind of fifties retro ‘let’s go out to the movies’ look.”
“I never should have taken your money,” said Vanetta simply.
“Of course you should have,” said Lawrence. “You’re going to be rich, Vanetta. You’re going to have your own stable of Quintrells when this is over.”
“Archies,” said Vanetta.
“Yeah,” said Lawrence, “I don’t know why I keep thinking Quintrell. I guess he suits you.”
“We’re not going to have a magical Negro peppermint.”
“Corporate wants racially diverse peppermints, Vanetta.”
“First of all, that doesn’t mean magical Negro characters, and second of all, they’re peppermints.”
“Peppermints that will have voice actors.”
“No old black peppermint,” said Vanetta.
“You know, I’ve just pitched it wrong. I mean like an elder statesman who just happens to be black. That’s what I mean. They’re asking Morgan Freeman to do it—apparently someone at DE has an in with his people.”
“I—Wait, Morgan Freeman?”
“Who wouldn’t want Morgan Freeman? Get busy living or get busy dying? I love that flick.”
“They’re mints.”
“It’s not like we’d have him be in blackface or anything.”
“Jesus Christ, just stop talking.”
“Maybe he could be a green spearmint or something. There are other kinds of mints. Chocolate mint. No, that’s not a good one. Stick with spearmint.”
“I’ve made a deal with the devil.”
“You’re giving me too much credit, V. You always do. I’m just a guy that likes money. And you’re going to make us so much money. A stable filled with Archies. You’ll be like Calista Flockhart.”
“You know, I don’t even want to talk about Archie. It was just a moment of weakness.”
“I don’t mean Calista Flockhart. Caligula. I meant Caligula. And as to your ‘moment of weakness’: Don’t try that with me,” said Lawrence. “I’ve known you too long. You’ve had plenty of moments of weakness. You present yourself as the moral one, but you keep me around because you want the very same things I do.”
“You want to tell Archie about the new direction, or should I take care of it?”
I didn’t catch the answer to this question because just then a new man showed up who I did not have clothes for. He was tall and thin and had a haircut that hung down long on one side and short on the other. His hair was mostly black except for one long wisp that was, through some bit of cosmetological magic, neon green. In different clothes, he could have been taken for one of those scruffy homeless guys that you’d see on the Loop. He had the thinness of someone who wasn’t a stranger to heroin.
But he was dressed as preppily as anyone here—save for Lawrence, anyway—in navy-blue chinos and a collared gingham shirt with a bow tie.
I didn’t know what to make of him.
“Were you eavesdropping?” he asked.
“Welcome to Cahaba Apps,” I said, stepping away from the door. “Can I help you?”
The wisp of green hair reminded me vaguely of a snake. He was a sad Medusa, this fella. And he was definitely giving me a “turn to stone” glare.
“Who the hell are you?” he said. “Why are you listening at Vanetta’s door?”
“I’m the new receptionist, Dahlia,” I told him. “Some call me Nu-Cynthia. Who are you?”
“I’m Tyler Banks. I work here.”
Quintrell hadn’t mentioned Tyler, but it wasn’t as if we had gone through an employee audit. Who was this guy?
“You certainly look much better rested than your compatriots.”
I thought this was a good, Human Resources–approved compliment. “You look well rested” = good. “You sure know how to fill out those pants” = bad. See, I am employable. I know things.
“Yeah, well,” he said, smiling as he brushed the snake hair aside. “I’m from the main office. I’m not part of this clown car.”
Tyler struck me as a little smug and a little vain, but I couldn’t help but like anyone who would describe this operation as a clown car.
“I’ve temped lots of places,” I said, exaggerating a bit, “but this has been the weirdest first hour of work ever. Did you know everyone sleeps here?”
“This place is a Dumpster fire,” said Tyler. He was mixing metaphors, unless the clown car had gotten trapped inside this Dumpster and was now being consumed by flame, but it was hard to quibble with the overall picture.
“I’ve seen. What do you do?”
“I put out Dumpster fires,” said Tyler.
I looked at Tyler differently now, because he was management. He didn’t dress like management, particularly, but this was not an industry that did overly value suits. My toile scarf meant nothing here.
“I see,” I said. “Do they know you’re here? Vanetta and Lawrence, I mean? How long have you been around?”
“This is my second week in this office,” said Tyler. “Usually I’m in Austin.”
Yes, Tyler looked like someone who was usually in Austin. He looked like he should be diving from a stage at SXSW. I felt a sort of kinship with him—prickly Medusa or not—because I realized that we were on the same team. We were both here to report to Digital Endeavors. He was on the up-and-up, and I was on the sly. Although it was weird, I suddenly thought, that DE should want this redundancy. Did they not trust Tyler? Maybe they thought he was sabotaging the project. Or maybe he was the guy who had sent the whistle-blower’s letter.
Or, and this thought suddenly seemed salient—maybe I was wrong about who my client was. It struck me that it might be good to befriend Tyler Banks, to get a sense of what DE management was like. I gave it my best shot.
“You doing anything later?” I asked.
“No,” said Tyler, who walked away. Befriending accomplished!
I didn’t have much time to celebrate this victory, however, because Lawrence ran out of Vanetta’s office, and a chair sailed through the air after him, just missing his head.
Lawrence actually made a “woo-woo-woo-woo-woo!” noise, the sound Curly from the Stooges makes when he is performing comedy high jinks. There was a spring in his step, as though he thought this was all very funny.
“Tyler, Cynthia,” said Lawrence.
“Everything under control back there?” asked Tyler.
“Very much.” Lawrence smiled. He honestly was insufferable. “Vanetta and I were just celebrating by throwing around some furniture.”
Vanetta appeared in the doorway and looked less like a Stooge and more like an Avenging Angel. All will burn before Vanetta!
“Did you just throw a chair at Lawrence?” asked Tyler incredulously.
“Did you know about the new platform?” asked Vanetta.
“Wait, what new platform?”
“Oh,” said Vanetta. “I see. Digitial Endeavors isn’t keeping you in the loop either.”
“When he tells you, you’re going to throw that chair at him yourself.”
But Lawrence was hightailing it out of this conversation, inching ever closer to the door. By the time Tyler seemed ready to approach him, he was already past me and at the doorway leading downstairs.
“Must run, everyone,” Lawrence said merrily. “I’ve got another meeting.”
“Someone tackle him,” said Vanetta.
But he was gone. I’m not sure I would have been up for tackling him in any event.