by Susan Wolfe
“Maybe he needs a scapegoat for the problems with the 6.0, but he’d be crazy to replace Andrea. And anyway,” Mark asked, his voice rising to a higher register, “why tell me? She’s my peer, and it’s just totally embarrassing.”
“Boy, no kidding.” Ken was frowning, searching for an answer in the air beyond Mark’s right shoulder.
“Okay,” Mark continued, “but even aside from Andrea, putting me under Glen makes no sense, either. Does it?”
Ken returned his gaze to Mark. “My guess is Glen wants to be more than just a sales guy, so Roy thought up this ‘reorg’ to give him a bigger title.”
“Glen could never be more than a sales guy. He’s completely incapable of thinking beyond his next deal.” He slumped a little, his smile burning even brighter. “So Roy’s just sacrificing me to Glen.”
“He probably figures he can’t afford to lose Glen, and he’s counting on you not to quit. Thinks you’ll keep doing your job no matter where you are, because that’s the way you’re built.”
“Great,” Mark said bitterly. “I thought consistent execution was a good thing.” Please stop smiling.
“It is a good thing. You’re the most reliable person on our team, and a critical person for this company. What you need to decide now is, should you stay here and fight this, or should you set it aside and go on vacation?”
“If I go, I’ll feel like shit the whole time. Why did he tell me this now?”
“Because he was thinking about his own comfort instead of yours. Not good leadership. Think you can change his mind?”
Mark resisted a moment before admitting, “No.”
“Then do you need to be here for your team, or should you head out of here now and spend some time with your family?”
He stared at Ken for a moment, then puffed out his cheeks and finally let his smile collapse. Georgia almost gasped with relief. “I should go with my family. They’re sitting at home surrounded by suitcases, completely freaked out. And my team will probably go ballistic if they see me here. Listen, if I give you my cell phone number, will you call me about absolutely anything that involves my team and this reorg?”
Ken gave an emphatic nod. “You have my commitment. So if you don’t hear from me, you know it’s business as usual.”
“Thanks, Ken. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the support. You, too, Georgia. Thanks.”
Ken closed his door and turned to Georgia. “Boy, I tell you, Roy’s taking quite a chance with Mark. And that Andrea comment, which was probably just made for Mark’s benefit . . .” He exhaled slowly.
“You think Roy really is losing his marbles?”
He shook his head. “Nah. This isn’t degenerative. He’s pretty much always had intermittent marble loss.” Georgia snorted. “The truth is that Wall Street loves Roy for slashing costs and getting our profits up, while the rest of us have to live with ever decreasing resources and his ham-fisted interpersonal skills. I have to say, Roy’s a good person, but I’m beginning to have doubts. Would you follow that guy into battle?”
The notion almost made her laugh. She would never follow anybody into battle if she could possibly avoid it. Which of course wasn’t Ken Madigan’s point, or a position he would admire. So she solemnly replied, “I hope not. Sort of like following General Custer.”
She was perched on the edge of a deep brown leather armchair in Roy’s lavishly decorated office, and taking notes while Roy briefed Ken on expected quarter-end deals. “By the way,” Roy said, “I’ve decided not to fire Buck Gibbons over this Larkin thing.”
“Even though he grabbed his subordinate’s genitals? Why is that?” Ken’s mouth was tightening into a straight line. Uh-oh, she’d seen that look before.
Roy’s starched white sleeves were rolled up, and he waved a hand dismissively. “I asked Sally to look into it, and she doesn’t think we have to.”
Ken sat forward, his feel planted on the oriental carpet. “We probably don’t have to, Roy, but that really isn’t the question. The question is what’s best for the company.”
“I talked to Glen about it, too,” Roy added, “and he’s confident he can keep the situation under control. Seems this guy Larkin isn’t much of a salesman anyway, so he might not be here long.”
“Roy, he’s gone to Quota Club three years in a row.”
“That right? Well, Glen isn’t very impressed with what he’s done lately.”
“This sounds exactly like retaliation, Roy, and it’ll really set us up for a lawsuit. It will also have a terrible impact on employee morale, which won’t do much for Sally’s efforts to reduce attrition.” Ken’s tolerance for bullshit seemed a little diminished since his conversation with Mark Balog. Interesting, when he flushed like that, his hair looked more orange.
“Who said anything about retaliation?” Roy asked. “Talk to Sally about putting some kind of warning in Buck’s file as soon as the quarter’s over. Just go over the content with Glen beforehand, so we don’t upset Buck. We’re done here.” And not a moment too soon. She hurried out after Ken, who marched right past his office and kept on going.
“This pisses me off,” Zack pronounced a few minutes later after Ken described the conversation. “I gave Ben Larkin my word that he wouldn’t lose his job.”
Ken had regained his composure. “I feel angry about it, too, Zack. We’ll just have to do our best to keep him from getting fired. I’ll warn Buck not to retaliate. Glen, too.”
“Which might work if they believed for one second they could get in trouble for retaliating. How successful can Ben possibly be with a manager who hates him now?”
“That’s always a problem, Zack. If I were Ben, I’d start thinking about my alternatives in and outside the company. Keep in mind that the situation he was in was already pretty intolerable. I doubt he was going to put up with that indefinitely, in any case.”
“Yeah. The situation was pretty intolerable, and now I’ve made it utterly intolerable. This place sucks sometimes.”
“Every place sucks sometimes, because things aren’t always fair. The company is very fortunate to have you here, committed to doing the right thing. That’s about all we can ask of ourselves.”
Was it? thought Georgia as she headed back to her cube. How did being committed to the right thing help Ben Larkin, if the right thing didn’t get done?
Katie-Ann stood holding the front door at 7:30 while Georgia climbed the stairs. “Hurry up. I’m starving.”
“Me, too. Sorry I’m late, and it’s my turn to cook. Should we just do macaroni and cheese?” She dropped her computer bag on the carpet.
“Dinner is served,” Katie-Ann announced, opening the oven door with a flourish. “I got this whole turkey leg for only four dollars.” She peered into the dark interior. “Just hope it’s not all dry . . .”
“I’m sure it’s wonderful,” Georgia grinned as she handed her the potholder. “Serious protein. How ’bout I make salad, while you set the table and tell me about your, let’s see, fourth day of school?”
Soon they were seated on folding chairs at the card table in the living room, paper towels across their laps. “Anyway,” Katie-Ann was saying, “I kind of felt like a freak at lunch. This group of girls were all polite enough to my face, but something about the way they were watching each other the whole time gave me the willies. One of them said she liked my skirt, but she had this little smirk on her face, you know? Assimilation might be harder than I thought, Georgia. Every single thing is just so . . . new every day. Kinda wears me out.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. It does get better, though. Pretty soon some of the new stuff will start to seem familiar.”
Katie-Ann took a sip of milk. “I guess. Honestly, I wish Daddy was here. I could sure use one of his stories about now. Something to bring tears to a glass eye.” Georgia snickered and then they were silent a long moment, their dull knives scraping the chipped, mismatched plates as they sawed on the (frankly dry) turkey leg. The air in the room suddenly thr
eatened to turn stale.
“I know!” Katie-Ann said. “Why don’t you tell one of his stories? You’re a good story-teller.”
Georgia snorted and held her hand up. “No, no. Only Daddy can tell a Daddy story. And anyway, we’re leaving that stuff behind us, remember?”
“Well, but not the stories. The stories don’t hurt anybody, and it’ll seem more like he’s here with us. Just for tonight. Come on, Georgia. Please?”
Georgia tapped two fingernails on the green vinyl surface of the card table. “Tell you what. If you want, we’ll do one together. How ’bout the Scroggins boys?”
Katie-Ann squinted, appraising. “Fun, but not enough Daddy in it. I know. How ’bout Grandma Griffin and poor old Mr. Haney? You start.”
Georgia relented with a smile, and set down her fork. “Okay. Well, when Daddy was little, he and Uncle Levi lived with Grandma and Grandpa Griffin over the old dry goods store. Grandpa Griffin was down there watching the store every day, doing the same exact thing, day in and day out, for less and less money. Daddy thought that was what he’d be doing when he grew up. I think Grandpa Griffin actually told him that sometimes, to help him imagine becoming a man, but Daddy couldn’t stand the idea. Almost made him feel like not growing up at all.”
Katie-Ann sighed luxuriously, her eyes already dreamy and unfocused. “Poor little Daddy. Can you imagine, with his creativity?”
“But then when Daddy was around nine, rumors got out that a Wal-Mart City Discount Store was coming, practically right next door in Searcy. Okay, your turn. Want more turkey?”
Katie-Ann handed over her plate, and held both hands up in front of her, like she was receiving a basketball. “Well, the instant Grandma Griffin heard the rumor, she knew they needed to sell their scrawny little dry goods store and get out while the gettin’ was good. But everybody else had heard the rumor, too, so the trick was to find someone to sell it to.” She paused and took her refilled plate from Georgia. “How’d she zero in on Mr. Haney, exactly?”
Georgia helped herself to a few more ropey strands of turkey. “He was that teacher who got his high school student pregnant over in the next county, remember? Had to find new work in a real big hurry. Don’t remember how Grandma Griffin figured out he had the money, though.”
“Okay, anyway,” Katie-Ann continued, “she came and found little Daddy one afternoon, when he was skipping rocks across the pond out behind the store. Told him she was going to do some make-believe with Mr. Haney, and would he help? ‘But it has to be our secret, okay, George? Just you and me. Your papa doesn’t put as much store in make-believe as we do.’
“So, Daddy and Grandma Griffin did play-acting out by the pond every day for the better part of a week. When Grandma Griffin told him Mr. Haney would be coming the next day, Daddy got so excited he did somersaults all the way around the pond.
“And the next afternoon, little Daddy sat in the corner of the store with his fire truck and made noises for it, while Grandma Griffin showed Mr. Haney her tax returns and let him look over the inventory. When she told Mr. Haney her asking price, he practically laughed in her face. Truth be told, she knew her price was too high, even without the Wal-Mart. But it was what she needed to buy the stables over in Piney, so otherwise what was the point?
“She and Mr. Haney commenced to arguin’, and all the while Daddy’s heart was beating faster and faster, and he was scared he’d have to go pee at the crucial moment, but he just kept making those engine noises for his truck. And when Grandma finally excused herself to go out back with a customer to look at a new blade for his bush hog, that’s when Little Daddy went to work. Okay, now you tell what he did,” she instructed, picking up her fork to spear a radish while Georgia took over the story.
“Well, he kept making his fire engine noises louder, until he was practically shouting ‘Clang! Clang!’ to get Mr. Haney’s attention. Sure enough, Mr. Haney strolled over and smiled down at him, and asked whether he planned to be a fireman.
“ ‘Maybe,’ little Daddy mumbled, looking shyly at the floor. Then he looked up. ‘Are you from the tax office?’
“ ‘The tax office!’ Mr. Haney laughed. ‘Why, no, young feller! What makes you think that?’
“Little Daddy shrugged, like this, and answered slowly. ‘Well, I just noticed she didn’t show you her red book. And that brown book’—he nodded toward the one they’d been going through—‘is the one she keeps for the tax office.’
“Mr. Haney was quiet a moment, while Daddy went back to rolling his fire engine, and then he said, ‘You say she keeps a red book for somebody else?’
“Daddy shrugged again and stared at the floor, like this, pretending he was suddenly wary.” Katie-Ann giggled at the pantomime.
“ ‘She does, doesn’t she, young man?’ ” Georgia continued in a fake, deep voice. “ ‘She must have forgotten to show it to me, ’cause I’m definitely not the tax man. Why don’t you help your mama out, and show me where she keeps that red book?’
“And that was when Daddy gave a long, scared look at the cupboard underneath the shelves of fabrics, and then looked up at Mr. Haney. ‘Don’t know where,’ he said solemnly. ‘And anyway, Mamma would hit me with the belt for sure.’ And then he ran out, and they left Mr. Haney by himself in the store for a good fifteen minutes. Okay, Katie-Ann, now you finish up.”
Katie-Ann had laid her knife and fork neatly across the center of her empty plate, and was tilted back in her chair, listening. She leaned forward and rested her forearms on the table, not really seeing Georgia or anything else in their living room. “Once they’d given Mr. Haney plenty of time to study the jacked-up sales numbers in the fake ledger, Grandma Griffin came back and they recommenced to arguin’. Before the bank closed that day, they had written up and signed a bill of sale for almost Grandma’s original asking price. She took his money straight over to Piney the next morning and bought the stables.”
“Yay!” Georgia said quietly.
“She and Grandpa Griffin were just hooking up the stove in the new home place a few days later, when Mr. Haney came calling. Little Daddy spotted him coming up the path, so he shouted to Grandma and then squished himself into the front corner of the room, where he could see Grandma, but Mr. Haney couldn’t see him. Seems Mr. Haney’d finally figured out about the Wal-Mart, and was experiencing some buyer’s remorse.” Georgia guffawed. “Said he was gonna turn her in to the IRS if she didn’t give his money back.
“And little Grandma stood her ground in the doorway, in her print dress and that apron, just looking sweet and confused with her big, round eyes. ‘Lan’ sake, Mr. Haney, now what would the IRS want with the likes of me? I pay my taxes. You saw the forms your own self . . . Now, Mr. Haney, you took all the time you wanted to study over my ledger. There some other book you might be calling a ledger? . . . Are you suggesting you did business in reliance on the word of a nine-year-old boy? Oh sorry, Mr. Haney, I know I oughtn’t to laugh.’ Until finally, Mr. Haney stopped yelling threats and turned away, saying he’d be back with the sheriff. Which of course he never was.”
“Well, he couldn’t,” Georgia scoffed. “Lucky for Grandma Griffin, he wasn’t exactly a pillar of the community, with that pregnant child bride of his. Needed to be a right good neighbor to keep from getting run out of the community altogether. So little Daddy not only escaped the dry goods business, but he got an actual taste of the most thrilling work he could possibly think of.” She dropped her voice an octave and pumped her fist in the air. “ ‘The mastery, Georgia! The adrenaline pump!’ He was hooked for life.
“And so very proud of his daredevil little mama. The fact that she got the money for the stables was secondary. What he really admired was her gumption. That was when he realized he was no shopkeeper like his father but was Grandma Griffin’s son first and foremost. And he’s never looked back.”
Katie-Ann was staring into space over Georgia’s shoulder. “Gumptious Grandma,” she murmured. Then she snapped back into the present and looke
d ruefully at Georgia. “I sure miss her, Georgia, but aren’t you glad she didn’t live to see Daddy locked up in that jail? Might’ve killed ’em both.” They were silent a moment. “She kind of retired after Mr. Haney, didn’t she? Went back to taking care of the family and helping Grandpa Griffin with the stable.”
“Well, sort of,” Georgia clarified. “Credit where credit is due. She did get a good price for some sorry-looking swaybacks over the years.”
Katie-Ann chortled. “That is so true. Remember that appaloosa yearling with the short leg?” She stood up with her empty plate and started lurching with one stiff leg into the kitchen, while they both laughed.
“I remember perfectly,” Georgia said. “So anyway, that was that. Grandpa Griffin knew plenty about horses from back in Ireland. He rebuilt the stables, and Little Daddy loved those horses. He worked hard, learned everything he could, and did whatever Grandpa Griffin wanted him to. But his heart had been stolen by Grandma Griffin’s special talents, and there it remains to this day.”
“To this day,” Katie-Ann reiterated. She set her plate in the sink and leaned against the counter, one bare foot on top of the other as she gazed through the kitchen window at the stucco building across the alley. “Not bad,” she decided, turning to Georgia. “Not quite Daddy-caliber, maybe, but I sure forgot about school for a while. You know what, can we have ice cream for dessert? I got that really dark chocolate stuff from Dove.”
“Hope you don’t mind the road trip.” Zack’s ample body was cushioned by the white leather seat of his black Lexus convertible, and his wraparound sunglasses made him look like a bug in a tan suit.
“You kidding? It’s gorgeous out here.” Georgia was sunk deep in the passenger seat, and they were inching toward the 4th Street exit in San Francisco. The morning sun glinted off the little ripples in the Bay, and a line of pelicans wheeled in formation above the water. The breeze from the bay was blowing sharp and fresh over the snaking line of cars, holding its own admirably against the exhaust. Too bad they couldn’t just hang out in Golden Gate Park all day.