Awakening, 2nd edition

by Kuili, Ray N.

  Next, the voting. The same scheme that we discussed an hour ago. There ’re only two rules.

  One: Everyone must vote.

  Two: You ’re permitted to vote for anyone but yourself.

  It’s that simple. And , last but not least , the winner. Only one, precisely like they told us. That ’s it.

  Michael went silent.

  “What took you so long?” Chris asked pathetically after a brief pause. “That ’s exactly what I ’ve been asking for. Man, I ’ve been begging for it! We could ’ve saved a couple of hours, had you been prompter.”

  Michael smiled.

  “Things sound right when they ’re said at the right time.”

  Chris shook his head wearily.

  “The right time for this proposal was two hours ago. Anyhow, this is great stuff.”

  He looked around again and asked, “Any comments? Thoughts? Concerns?”

  “What concerns?” Brandon said. “The son of a gun has just nailed it.”

  “Mike, you’re a genius, ” purred Joan. “This is just what we need.”

  “Now what?” Ross asked , once nearly the entire group had expressed their support .

  “Now it’s straightforward, ” Chris ’s voice came immediately. “It ’s 5:00 p.m. already. Come morning we all need to talk about our pasts. So we better be ready. It ’s about time to disperse and think through what we ’re going say.”

  Everyone began rising to their feet.

  “Paul, what about you?” Chris asked.

  Paul added a huge tongue to yet another sketch , looked at the resulting grinning mug as a proud parent might look at his baby , then lifted his head.

  “What about me?”

  “Aren’t you going to do the same?”

  “Which is?”

  “You know, to disperse, to think . . .”

  “You go ahead and disperse, ” Paul said. “And I ’ll think.”

  And he returned to his sketching.

  “That’s a gift, ” Stella heard. “A real gift!”

  She took her eyes off the notepad.

  “Hey, Kevin. What are you talking about? What gift?”

  “To be able to look so fresh after a long workday. That ’s a gift, trust me.”

  Stella grimaced.

  “You’re just trying to flatter me. I wonder why?”

  “Not at all, ” Kevin protested, lowering himself into the chair in front of her. “I ’m just thinking out loud. By the way, am I bothering you?”

  “Nah . . .” Stella waived the question away. “My past is too boring anyway.”

  “Somehow I find that hard to believe, ” Kevin crossed his legs. “You don ’t seem to be a woman with a boring past.”

  “That’s a loaded statement, don ’t you think?”

  “Ouch . . . I ’m sorry. I didn ’t mean anything bad—”

  “Relax,” Stella smiled. “I know. Just giving you a hard time. I meant it though. I don ’t have much to say compar ed to someone like Robert.”

  “Yeah, it’s hard to compete with Rob on this one, ” Kevin agreed, studying a menacing stuffed grizzly bear in the corner of the lobby. “Same goes for Michael, of course.”

  “Michael?” Stella wondered. “What ’s so interesting about his past?”

  “What do you mean?” Kevin looked rather astonished. “It ’s not every day that you go to court for something like that . Oh, shit! You can ’t possibly know—”

  “With something like what? And what is this , “Oh , shit ”-ing supposed to mean?”

  “Never mind, ” Kevin ’s astonishment vanished momentarily, swiftly replaced by what looked more like embarrassment. “I ’ve got a loud mouth, that ’s all . Just forget it.”

  Suddenly he rose and started to st raighten his shirt.

  “I’m sorry. You were busy. I shouldn ’t have interrupted.”

  “Wait,” Stella leaned forward. “Where are your manners? You think you can waltz in like this, flatter me, intrigue me and then all of a sudden realize that I ’m busy?”

  “But you are busy.”

  “Correct me if I ’m wrong, but somehow you didn ’t care about that five minutes ago. So why don ’t you finish what you ’ve started?”

  “It’s nothing really, ” Kevin pulled a face as if he was suffering from severe toothache. “Guy talk .”

  “Sounds more like girl talk to me.”

  “Yeah . . . Listen, why are you here?”

  “Where else could I be?”

  “Outside with everyone else .”

  “Because all the seats are taken, and I don ’t feel like sitting on the grass, ” Stella ’s finger pointed to the bucolic scene outside the window.

  Leadership candidates, like classic poets , sweated over their notes in the lush grass. Alan clearly stood out of this writing crowd in his snow -white half-unbuttoned shirt. It was easy to imagine him tossing his notepad aside, jumping on the table and filling the green surroundings with a fresh sonnet.

  “Independence is a sign of a true leader, ” Kevin noted, turning back to Stella.

  “Right. As well as the ability to stay focused. Are you done with the subject -changing or do you want to give it another shot?”

  Kevin smiled.

  “Maybe. Are you always this stubborn?”

  “Of course. Another sign of a true leader, isn ’t it?”

  “I wouldn’t say so. There ’s a difference between being stubborn and being persistent.”

  “Call it what you want. So what about Michael?”

  Kevin slowly settled back into the armchair and gave Stella a long look—this time rather a somber one.

  “I’d prefer that you talk to him directly about it . It might just be a coincidence, but he ’s only told this story to a few of the men.”

  Stella glanced back just as seriously.

  “Did he ask you to keep silent about this?”

  Kevin shook his head.

  “Then I think I ’d like to hear this from you.”

  Kevin sighed like a prisoner facing inevitable execution.

  “Why?”

  “Because if it was a coincidence, I could ’ve been there myself. And if it wasn ’t a coincidence , it was nothing but a sneaky attempt to recruit some supporters. You ’ve just hinted at that yourself, haven ’t you? If that ’s the case, I have every right to know about it too. Agreed?”

  Kevin scratched his chin.

  “Sounds logical, I give you that.”

  “Then give me the story too.”

  “I’m not a big fan of making enemies. Especially in a situation like this.”

  Stella smiled gently.

  “Too late. You ’ll be making an enemy if you choose to stay silent after everything you ’ve just said.”

  Kevin looked around the vast lobby spotted with bright squares of sunshine. Then , unexpectedly sharply, even hostilely , he asked , “Do you remember heading out with Joan and Paul yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were first, then two other people left shortly after you. And then Michael all of a sudden told us what had happened to him last summer. Apparently , he was that close to being locked away for good. He was accused of beating up his wife on a regular basis. Got off clean.”

  “Accused . . . So really did do it ?”

  “Oh yes. And , to quote him, he was “Proud of having taught that bitch a lesson.” Now, is that enough for you?”

  “Oh, I don ’t think so, ” Stella slowly lowered her notepad to the coffee table. “We ’re just getting started.”

  “LA Conference . . .” Alan finished writing and circled the words thoughtfully. This is a good one. This little incident certainly made some news. The LA Times had mentioned it, and as for the online buzz , that had kept up for at least a few weeks. And , most importantly, the buzz was positive. People liked what he did, even though he should ’ve shown more restraint.

  He skimmed through the list again. That should do it. There ’s more material already than
it’s possible to fit into forty minutes. Looks more like two hours, actually. Alan went through the notes, this time unhurriedly. Yes, that ’s enough. But unfortunately it ’s not about witty stories and funny incidents. Not at all.

  He rose from the bench and stepped onto the soft grass. There wasn ’t a single soul around—everyone had gone back to their rooms to get ready for dinner. It ’s time to follow the others, especially now that all the preparations are over. All the key points are in place ; the rest is just a matter of improvisation.

  Over the years, giving presentations had become a significant part of his job, and at some point he found out that he was really good at it. This discovery came bundled with the realization that he didn ’t need any scrupulous preparation. Moreover, scrupulous preparation had a tendency to make the task of delivering a smooth speech more difficult .

  All he needed was to come up in advance with some key points, glance over them right before the presentation, walk to the podium and , upon seeing the many—sometimes hundreds—f aces in front of him, sense somewhere deep inside this distinct, moving feeling of inspiration.

  And the words would flow easily, and there would be no need whatsoever for notes, reminders , teleprompter s or other such devices . Not that his speeches really inspired his listeners—you can ’t seriously expect to inspire the people in front of you if nine out of ten of them come to work strictly because of their paycheck. But at least they listened to him, and their attention was authentic.

  These people will listen to him too.

  Unfortunately, their attention had nothing to do with success. In fact, it had nothing to do with anything! The situation that just yesterday had seemed like unbelievable luck turned today into a steel trap.

  Alan clenched his tenth. What freaking genius came up with this wicked idea to invite over ten ambitious, more or less equal managers, and ask them to pick a leader amongst themselves? Now Clark ’s sly smiles all of a sudden make sense. But it ’s too late now! Too late!

  All right, we’ve managed to come up with the rules. Wasn ’t an easy task—we lost a day on it —but we got there in the end . Suppose we ’re going to play by these rules (although it doesn ’t take a genius to predict that some players won ’t). Let ’s keep dreaming and suppose that come Friday we vote. Then what ? Alan kicked furiously at a stick that had the misfortune of being in his path . And this unstoppable ascent, this entire fantastic career growth that has taken so much effort and sucked up so much time is no longer in his hands. He no longer has any control over it. And who does? These people do. The se people he had never met until yesterday, who he will never meet again after this Friday and who—surprise, surprise—care only about their own careers.

  On the journey to power, you take one step at a time. To an inexperienced outsider it may seem sometimes that a power player has just wished upon a star and risen to the top fast out of pure luck. But in reality it ’s a tedious, exhausting job with no room for mistakes. If anything, it resembles the careful motions of a sapper rather than the breathtaking stunts of a jet pilot. You go slowly. You calculate. You place bets. You think. Sometimes you have to run, as if you were running for your life. And sometimes you have to freeze. But , above all, you should always know what your next step is and where it ’s going to take you. Preferably, you should know two , three , or even four steps in advance. This is how you rise to power. Because , just like a sapper, those who navigate the minefield of power only make a serious mistake once.

  Winning in this odd place means taking an impressive, extremely important step. Losing this game means making that ultimate bomb squad mistake. No one cares, of course, who will walk away wearing this Leader tag. The only thing on everyone ’s mind is what will happen upon his or her return. You come back with the prize, and you make a name for yourself in the minds of your company ’s top brass. You come back as “A great participant with unquestionable potential ,” or , in other words, one of the ten losers —and you can kiss your unstoppable ascent goodbye. And , while you ’re at it, make sure to kiss goodbye any stoppable ascent. Any kind of ascent! There ’s nothing in between. You come back with your shield or upon it . . .

  He came to the constantly moving line beyond which wet sand was diving into the lake , and started strolling along it. Lazy feeble ripples only emphasized the peaceful calmness of the dreamy surroundings. It was so incredibly stupid to come here . . . The freaking documents had contained a line or two about the evaluation. It wasn ’t even in fine print. It had said loud and clear: Come, participate, learn, and we will evaluate you and we will report back. I t would ’ve been so much smarter to call in sick, to leave town for a family emergency, to come up with something, anything —just to stay out of it!

  It would’ve been a piece of cake to opt out without raising any suspicion. But who could ’ve known? Who could ’ve suspected the truth? Everything looked so unbelievably good, so right. Who could ’ve known what kind of a trap this whole thing really was?

  Well, come to think of it, there were some who knew. Those who had sent him here. They knew for a fact what this place was all about. Could it be that this is the ultimate test of sorts? An easy way for the big shots to decide what to do with yet another “young and talented employee?” Whether to bring him closer to the inner circle or to lock him in the basement forever? It’s definitely a possibility. Sure, there ’s always the option of finding another company to work for, but that would mean flushing a monumental five-year effort down the toilet. All the connections, all the intimate familiarity with the company ’s inner politics and customs, all the tribal knowledge, all of this would mean nothing anywhere else. No, this is not a real option. At least not yet. There ’s only one way—“Yo! Alan!”

  Alan turned around. Joan was walking towards him from the table where he had spent the last few hours, some papers swinging in her hand .

  “Don’t you need this ?” she waved the papers abo ve her head, and he recognized his notepad. “You ’ve worked hard on this, haven ’t you?”

  He waited for Joan to come closer and then shook his head.

  “I was going to come back for it.”

  “Sure you were.” She obviously didn ’t believe him. “Whatever you say, mister, ” and she shoved the notepad into his hand.

  Alan took it, feeling for a moment a brief touch of thin, cool fingers, and smiled.

  “Thanks. Really, I left it there on purpose. Just wanted to take a walk without having to carry anything around.”

  Joan looked at him, squinting. Alan met her look calmly and for a few seconds looked back into her inquisitive bluish eyes in the same studying way.

  “So what’re you doing here?” he asked finally.

  “I was under the impression I was helping a colleague. Turns out, I ’ve been wasting my time and underestimating your planning abilities and foresight.”

  Alan glanced at the notebook in his hand.

  “You mean you came here just to give this to me ?”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “How did you know it was mine? They ’re all the same.”

  “My dear Watson, I thought you were sharper than that. It doesn ’t get any simpler. You ’ve spent the whole afternoon here . Then you were gone, leaving your notepad behind. So I figured I ’d better pick it up in case you need ed it later and before it gets all wet. Now, from my window I can see the table but not this spot, so I didn ’t know that you were nearby.”

  Joan spoke without taking her eyes from his face and , for whatever reason , he suddenly felt that two -minute -old touch again, a s if her light fingers had once more slipped momentarily along the skin of his palm.

  “But apparently this was just the way you wanted it and the last thing you needed was my help.”

  Wrong, Alan almost said, but stayed silent.

  “Right?” she asked with a naive expression , as if she really believed that her presence here could be justified only by the usefulness of the little errands she might be able to ru
n for him.

  “Of course not, ” Alan smiled, trying to drive away the sensation of the invisible touch. For some reason, it had become persistent.

  “Glad to hear that, ” Joan suddenly got rid of her teasing tone and became serious. “There ’s something else I wanted to tell you.”

  “Go ahead.” His eyes glanced at her moving lips covered with bright—though not too bright—lipstick.

  “You have no idea what a difference you ’ve made today. You should ’ve seen yourself. I was sure you ’d refuse to go to that flipchart and then someone else would refuse too, and the boys would start fighting, and this whole thing just wouldn’t work properly from the outset . But you ’ve done it! And it was so natural and with so much dignity . . . I ’m proud of you. Not that I have any right to say that, but that ’s how I feel. You ’ve made it work!”

  The dusk that fell over the lake had almost turned into darkness by now. Joan was more attractive than ever , with that special alluring type of beauty that transforms every woman in the thickening twilight. Alan furtively licked his lips , which all of a sudden felt very dry. She was well within arm ’s reach. “You ’re in my private space, ” a line from some movie , crawled into his mind.

  “Then you came up with this idea to use tasks . . . That was brilliant! No wonder we ended up implementing so many things that you ’d proposed.”

  She prattled, while he kept struggling with an overwhelming desire to extend his hand and touch this face that was showing up vaguely white in the dark. And not only the face . . .

  But Joan obviously wasn’t noticing what was happening to him and just kept talking—about his contribution, and the great job he had done at that flipchart, and how few people would ’ve been able to handle themselves with such dignity. Alan looked at her pale shoulder-length hair moving in the light breeze and felt his muffled heartbeat.