His office was bigger than mine, although not by much. His window also looked out at the trees behind the Integrated Technologies building, instead of down at the parking lot like my own. Instead of a modern desk with an option to lift the deck for standing, like I had, Sanders had dragged an ancient, massive wooden desk that looked like someone had shaped it out of an ancient redwood they’d illegally felled. The heavy and blocky desk suited Sanders, who’d settled behind it. I heard his office chair groaning whenever he shifted his weight.
“You can close the door behind you, Ms. Davies,” he said, as I stepped into the room. Another bell started sounding inside my head alongside its companion, but I did as requested.
Turning around, I found Sanders gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. I sat down, my concern mounting as I watched him mesh his fingers together, then undo it, not sure quite what to do with his hands. My anxiety meter continued to rise inside my head as I waited, fighting the urge to growl at him to just get started, stop delaying! Did he have any idea how much tension he was putting on me? I had a million other things to do-
“I’m not sure if you’ve been listening to some of the news about Integrated Technologies recently,” Sanders finally began, and I felt my hopes plummet. I didn’t need to be a psychic to see where this conversation was headed; I’d had it myself with other employees, usually ones that weren’t performing up to the standard.
But that was exactly why this didn’t make sense! I was one of the hardest working employees at the entire company, and I never failed to hit my monthly targets, often exceeding them! I might not have a boyfriend, or a husband, or much going on outside my career, but this was where I focused all my energy! I shouldn’t be at any risk!
I pulled out of my mental shock to see that Sanders was waiting for a response. “Sure, I know the company’s been going through a downtown,” I said, my voice a little faint, sounding almost like it was coming from someone else’s mouth. “But I didn’t realize that it was this bad!” Maybe I just had to lay off some of the direct hires who reported to me, my own job was safe, and Sanders was just the worst ever at delivering this news-
“It’s come down from the top that we need to get leaner,” Sanders droned on, totally oblivious to the agony his words inflicted on me. “And so there have to be cuts at every level of management, including at the highest executive levels. Even one of our C-levels is going to be stepping down.”
Probably with a fat compensation package, I suspected sourly. Millions, to help him ease into unemployment without too much pain.
Sanders was starting to say something else, but I couldn’t bear to sit and wait any longer. “Just tell me straight, please, Mr. Sanders,” I cut in. “Am I getting fired, or is my job safe?”
He didn’t answer, and the pain on his face answered my question without having to use any words.
I slumped back in my chair. For a second, I couldn’t manage to hold onto a single thought; they all flitted away whenever I reached out to try and grab them. They buzzed like flies, all circling around that central message, the one I could barely bear to even contemplate.
I’d been fired.
I, Eileen Davies, the one who put my career first, unlike all the other women I knew, had just been fired.
Me. The one who passed up multiple relationships, the opportunity to settle down and be a good little housewife, because I instead wanted to climb the corporate ladder. I’d made myself into the perfect corporate woman, the kind of woman who would easily grace the cover of a business magazine or a quarterly newsletter. I didn’t have any scandals in my closet, always had remained loyal to my company, did everything I needed to climb that ladder, pulling myself up past the glass ceiling.
I was supposed to be one of the success stories.
And now, instead, I’d just been told that I’m getting fired, all because some CEO with his head stuck up his ass wanted to reassure the stockholders after a bad quarter?
“Eileen,” Sanders said, his voice sounding as though it was coming from a long distance away. “Eileen, are you okay? You haven’t said anything.”
My eyes snapped to focus on him, and he leaned back further in his chair, eliciting a squeak of protest from its tortured springs. “I know that this isn’t what you wanted to hear at this time,” he said.
“Isn’t what I wanted to hear?” I echoed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
The swear word slipped out without conscious thought, and a tiny little part of my brain, the part not recoiling in shock at recent developments, noted that this probably wasn’t a good attitude for a successful businesswoman.
I ought to accept this gracefully, discuss severance packages, make sure that I didn’t burn any bridges. I’d need to find another job, and that would require recommendations from my previous company, more specifically from my former boss. If I started cursing at Sanders, I might ruin my carefully cultivated business image.
But screw that business image. The shock was finally starting to drain away, but red-hot anger poured in to take its place. I stood up, felt a tiny little prickle of gratification to see Sanders lean back further. The oaf was afraid of me!
“Do you know how much I’ve done for this company?” I spat out, realizing that I was shouting but not caring. “Do you know how much I’ve sacrificed? Do you know how many things here would fall apart without me, because I’m the one who has to do everything to cover for everyone else’s shitty half-assed attempts?”
“Eileen,” Sanders said, but I wasn’t stopping.
“No, you don’t,” I answered my own question. I stabbed a finger out towards the man, and he recoiled like it was a striking snake. “You’re just going to sit there, fire me so that you can preserve your own fat ass, after everything that I’ve given up for this company! Why me? Why not any of the other Associate VPs?”
I glared at him, demanding an expression. Sanders’ mouth worked up and down a couple times before he could produce any sound, giving him the appearance of a drowning, gasping flounder.
“It wasn’t my decision,” he finally got out.
Of course. Just covering his ass, as usual. I opened my mouth, ready to send out another torrent of long-deserved abuse, but Sanders scrambled to grab the phone off his desk.
“Look, Eileen, this isn’t a bad thing,” he insisted, despite all evidence to the contrary. “Since you’re being let go, you’re going to get a severance package, and I’ll make sure that it’s generous. You can find a new job, take on a new challenge, explore doing something else that you might have wanted. Think of this as an opportunity!”
“What are you doing with the phone?”
He hesitated. “Don’t make me call security to have you escorted out,” he said. “It won’t look good for the others.”
Really? “I’ll leave,” I told Sanders, stabbing a finger towards him again, “but not because I care about what the others see. Especially after you just treat me like this, after my years of putting in work for this place.”
“It wasn’t in my control-“
“Don’t even try,” I cut him off. “If you cared enough, you would have fought for me to keep my job. Instead, you’re going to get to see how quickly things fall apart without me here. I hope it all comes back to bite you in the ass.”
I turned around, intending to stalk out the door on that last comment, but even Sanders couldn’t let me have that little victory. “That’s not very nice,” he muttered behind me.
That was it. The last straw, the one that broke the camel’s back – or in this case, shattered my last ounce of control on my temper.
“Not very nice?” I shrieked, spinning around and flying towards him, hands up in claws, vision burning red. “Not very fucking nice? You just fucking fired me, and you’re upset because I’m not being super fucking nice to you?”
He scrambled for the phone. “Security!” he bleated into the receiver.
“You better call the medics, too!” I found my pad of paper in my hand
s, threw it at him. It fluttered to the ground, so I switched to my pen. That, at least, bounced off his sweaty, gleaming forehead. “Call everyone!”
Security arrived more promptly than usual; maybe they’d been briefed that they might have to remove a few unruly employees. Charlie gave me an apologetic look as he took one of my arms, gently but firmly led me out of Sanders’ office.
I managed to keep myself together, burning mostly on anger, until I was outside. I hadn’t even had the chance to collect my things from my office. Charlie, at least, ducked up and brought down my purse with my keys and wallet inside.
I knew I ought to thank him, but honestly, what was the point now? Who gave a rat’s ass what Charlie thought?
I unlocked the door of my car, collapsed into the driver’s seat, and buried my head in my hands. The anger ebbed away, replaced by desolation and frustrated sadness.
What the hell was I going to do now?
Chapter Three
Eileen
* * *
From there, things just went from bad to worse, even though I wouldn’t have believed that such a thing was possible.
How could things get worse than being fired, you might ask? Apparently, God looked down and took that as a challenge, to see just how much shit he could dump on me in a single day.
I stopped at a little bakery on the route home, one that made the best donuts and pastries I’d ever eaten in my life. Normally, I kept myself to a strict standard, only eating a single pastry when I’d done something extra-special to earn it. Today, I mutely pointed to half a dozen different delectable from behind the glass case, shaking my head when the guy asked me if I needed a box to keep them safe until they reached their destination.
I’d finished one by the time I reached my car in the parking lot, and ate two more before sticking my key into the ignition. Morosely, I licked sticky sugar off my fingers before setting them on the steering wheel.
“Okay, Eileen,” I said aloud to myself in the empty car. “Take stock of the situation. Focus. What do I do next?”
The business part of my brain spoke up, like an eager star pupil sitting at the front of the classroom, her hand waving in the air. I knew that she gave good advice. She pointed out that I might have done some damage to my reputation at Integrated Technologies with the way that I’d been fired, but I could probably repair that with a couple well-placed calls. Sanders would cave and agree to sign any letter of recommendation that I put in front of him. I’d find another job somewhere else, some other company that could use my organizational and management abilities. I’d be in high demand.
Once my severance check arrived, I’d have enough to tide me over and keep me comfortable for the job hunt. I’d been taking a few more vacations recently than might be prudent for my bank account, vainly hoping that on one of them I would finally have the strength to put aside the company phone, but if I didn’t eat out much and stretched my remaining bank account balance, I’d be fine. If I was careful with my spending, that severance check could easily last me a couple of months.
I ate another donut. I felt a little better.
Yes, everything would work out. I’d need to adjust my plans a little, but maybe this was a good thing. I straightened up behind the wheel, considering this new concept. Yes, I’d been getting a bit stuck in a rut, as of late. I needed something to give me a kick in the pants, get me out and searching for my next big opportunity! This might be a blessing in disguise!
I paused. “That’s taking things a little too far,” I told myself. This definitely wasn’t good news, no matter how much I tried to put some good PR spin on it.
But I’d recover. I’d go home, spend a few weeks lazing about on my sofa and watching daytime television as I waited for recruiters to get back to me, and then I’d happily accept another position with a fifteen percent bump in pay.
I could turn this around.
I ate the last donut, and then turned my car around, aiming it towards my house.
I heard the sirens from three blocks away and slowed down as I craned to see what was going on. It sounded like there were multiple sirens going, and as I stopped at a red light, I saw a fire truck go racing through the cross-way, its lights and horn blaring. Something was on fire?
Yes, that was it. My nose caught the scent of burned wood, drifting in through my car’s vents. What had caught on fire? Someone’s house?
I should have seen it coming, just one more little bit of shit landing on my head from the giant bird called Life. But somehow, I remained completely oblivious as I followed the fire trucks towards my house. I kept on thinking that they’d turn off on one of these side streets, veer away from my house...
...or, at least, what used to be my house. I finally had to stop as I reached where the big red trucks blocked passage through the street, staring slack-jawed out the window at the smoking pile of burned timbers and rubble. The burning pile that, until just a couple of hours earlier, had been my home. The rubble that contained the remains of everything I owned in this life.
“Stay in your car, ma’am,” said a nearby police officer as I opened my driver’s side door and climbed out.
I felt unsteady on my pumps and needed to keep one hand on the roof of the car to keep from falling, but I still managed a passable glare at him. “That’s my house,” I told him, pointing at the source of the black smoke rising up into the sky.
His expression turned a little more sympathetic. “Ah, sorry ‘bout that. Anyone else home?”
“No, it’s just me.” For once, it was a good thing that I didn’t have any pets. Lisa, my best friend, had been pushing me recently to consider adopting a dog, but I kept on holding off, insisting that I didn’t have the time to care for it. A cat was, of course, out of the question. I knew what kind of comments would follow a single woman who adopted a cat in her thirties. “What happened?”
The cop shrugged. “Gotta ask the firefighters about that.”
He turned away, apparently content to not ask me any questions. I bent down to wrench the keys out of my car, then headed towards the nearest firefighter I could spot.
I crested six feet in my pumps, putting me at the same level as the firefighter, although without his muscled bulkiness. “You say that this was your place?” he asked as I came up to him.
Was, not is. I didn’t miss the past tense. “Yes, I live here,” I said, pushing back with the present tense. “What happened?”
He glanced over at the building. There weren’t any flames coming out, but one of the other firefighters still kept a hose pointed at the wreckage, looking almost bored, like he’d been sent out by his wife to water the lawn. “Looks like there was some sort of electrical short,” said the man in front of me. “Old building?”
“Old house,” I said. “I liked it. It had a lot of charm that you don’t find in most of the prefab places these days.”
He nodded, sucking in a bit of air between his teeth in a manner that I found especially annoying. “Yep, sure, I’ve heard that before,” he said, somehow making those innocent words sound like I’d been the idiot here. “Lots of old wires in those walls, though, tend to get frayed. Probably just sent a spark into the insulation, and whoosh. Fire’s through all the walls and partitions.”
“So what do I do now?” I asked, failing to keep some of the annoyance out of my voice.
He looked back evenly at me. “Give it a bit to cool off, and you can go take a look to see if there’s anything you want to take away,” he said, in a manner that made it pretty clear I wouldn’t find anything. “We’ll file a report, and you can get a copy to submit to your insurance company.”
“And that’s it? What am I supposed to do?” I felt my legs waver under me, growled at them to not give way, not show weakness in front of this man. “Where am I supposed to sleep tonight?”
The firefighter shrugged; clearly, this was beyond his ability to care. “Dunno. We’re about done here, but you probably want to wait another hour or two.”
&nb
sp; I ignored his advice, making my way up the torn-up lawn, gouged with divots from the firefighters’ crossing. The man holding the hose glanced over at me but didn’t say anything. I came up to where the front steps had risen, now just a charred block of concrete that led to nowhere.
It had been a lovely little house, a cottage that the previous owners before me decided to expand into a full residence. They’d added more room to the kitchen and a cute little live-in second unit accessible from the back, which I kept on intending to rent out to a boarder when I had the time to set up an ad. I loved the way that the rooms nestled together, how the house had real character, its own charm that was individual and unique, not stamped out in some factory.
Now, next to nothing remained of the building. I saw a few charred scraps of paper that might have come from the books in my study, a pile of melted plastic that could possibly have once been my computer. In the back area, I found my blackened refrigerator, a couple shattered piles of glass that had probably been my cups and wineglasses.
My foot bumped against something. I bent down and picked up a mug from amid the ashes, miraculously unbroken. I brushed some of the soot away, revealing the logo printed on its side.
Integrated Technologies.
Perfect. The only surviving item from my house was a reminder of the place that had fired me this morning. A sob ripped its way out of my throat.
The voice inside my head, that goody two-shoes who sat in the front of the classroom, piped up with cheery advice. I’d need to get a place to stay for tonight, probably call Lisa and see if she could let me borrow her couch. I’d need to contact the Social Security office to get a new card issued, figure out how much of my financial records were backed up online, look for apartments-
“No!” I grabbed my head, shouted at that horribly chipper little voice. I couldn’t bear this, couldn’t think positively right now! I dropped down onto my knees, not caring if I got my skirt dirty in the mud. I leaned forward, holding my head in my hands and blocking the light with my palms as they pressed against my face. I shook, and finally, the tears came out, hot and fast and soaking my sleeves as they ran down.
The Woodworker Page 2