First thing, Gus wanted to know what the hell had happened to the booth graphics.
“We brought you over here to manage these things, Halley,” he said. “Where are the Tantalus graphics? Where is the theme that Max worked so hard on?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I submitted the work orders . . .”
I trailed off. I was afraid to name Molly, afraid he would confront her and she would tell him my secret.
“Well?” he said. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Everything seemed to be on track. I’ll look into it and get back to you.”
“I’m very disappointed. I had hoped to offer you that Level 3 position after we were done here, but I’m going to have to rethink that decision now. This is a disaster.”
The binder I was holding fell and hit the floor with a loud thud. I stooped down to pick it up, hands trembling, as Gus walked away. I felt the urge to sit in a quiet room for a while and think about what he’d said, what it meant for me and how I should react to it. He’d delivered the comment so casually, carelessly—to him this situation couldn’t have been anything more than a passing annoyance—but what he’d said potentially affected the rest of my life. It was chilling, that one person’s whole life was another person’s passing annoyance.
There wasn’t time to think too much about it though. Already there were a hundred other details that needed attending to. Without Celeste there to help, it was even more hectic than a normal meeting. We were fully booked for the gala, but some of the managers still had VIP clients they wanted to invite, so I sent Marion to figure out how to add more seats. Jamie had a headache and wanted us to find her some Tylenol. Nurofen was unacceptable—she didn’t want any of that foreign stuff—it had to be Tylenol. I assigned Grace to the task. Gus’s luggage was finally found and someone needed to wait in the hotel lobby for it to be delivered. Marion went. Everywhere I looked, I thought I saw Rousseau. Every gray suit. Every pair of glasses. Each one shot me full of fire. None of them turned out to be him.
At 11:30 a.m. it was time to start getting ready for the booth announcement—the big moment when we would officially launch the Tantalus. Both Gus and Anthony still thought they were announcing, and I looked forward to seeing who would crush whose spirit when the microphone came out. I pulled the boxes of Tantalus-branded champagne glasses out of the storage closet. The conference hall catering company started delivering bottles of champagne. Alec prepped the promotional video that Darren had scripted and produced. At 11:45 a.m. Grace and I started filling champagne glasses, which disappeared as quickly as we could fill them. Darren stepped in to help.
A crowd began to form. Waiters arrived with the hors d’oeuvres I’d ordered: smoked trout in Parmesan sesame cups, panzanella-stuffed mushrooms, goat cheese and fresh figs on leaves of endive, prosciutto wrapped prawns. They got lost in the swarm of grubby, grabbing fingers. Alec set up a small platform where our announcer (would it be Gus or would it be Anthony?) would stand. Darren and I continued to pour champagne. We got down to our last box of glasses.
Anthony and Gus approached.
“Ready for me, Halley?” Anthony said.
I looked at him, as Gus said, “Halley, I thought you told me I was making the announcement.”
Anthony looked at Gus, then at me, then back at Gus. And in the brief moment when they locked eyes, something strange happened. Anthony appeared to grow physically taller at the same rate that Gus appeared to shrink. I’m sure I imagined it. But it was easy to guess who was going to win this battle. Gus glowered at nobody in particular, knowing he was out-ranked. “Of course, Anthony, if you want to make the announcement, be my guest,” he said. He mumbled “wanker” under his breath as he walked over to stand in the crowd of onlookers, away from his stolen limelight.
I gave the last glass of champagne to Anthony as he stepped onto the platform. Alec handed him the live microphone. The crowd buzzed around, speaking to each other and eating hors d’oeuvres and drinking their champagne, ignoring him.
“Thank you, everyone,” Anthony said, his voice completely drowned by chatter, “for coming to celebrate with us the launch of this revolutionary new device, the Tantalus.” I heard Alec turn up the volume of the microphone from behind the wall, the brief hum-buzz rising and falling as he got the level right. “We are proud of the dedication and foresight of the hundreds of innovators who got us here today. This technology represents a huge step forward for the entire world.”
Miscellaneous attendees came up while Anthony spoke and put their used glasses and dirty plates on the coffee counter next to him and walked away. Occasionally someone looked over at him as if he’d just randomly shown up to ruin their party. I glanced over at Gus, who watched this with an amused smirk on his face, and I felt unexpectedly embarrassed for Anthony. For all his dignity, in that moment he was just as disrespected as the rest of us. The chain of insult ran down our ranks: he took it from customers, Gus took it from him, and we took it from Gus.
Anthony went on to describe Findlay’s mission, then he introduced our thirty second promotional video, which Alec played with perfect timing. The video’s loud rock music filled the air.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” Anthony said, “let us raise our glasses and toast the millions of lives that will be changed by this device. It gives me great pleasure to officially release the Tantalus for sale.”
Glasses chinked. Conversations resumed, or, in some cases, continued uninterrupted. The whole thing was pretty anticlimactic. That’s it, I thought to myself. All that work and anticipation, and the world moved on.
Gus pulled his phone out of his pocket and I heard him mutter a “Jesus” under his breath.
“Is something wrong?”
“Seven missed calls from Molly. Did she try getting you too? She probably wants to talk about the booth graphics.”
I made a point of stacking dirty plates, averting my eyes. I knew what she wanted. Now that she had me at a disadvantage, she was going to tell him about Rousseau. The final nail in my coffin.
“Are you going to call her back?” I said.
He started dialing a number. “I don’t have time right now. If you hear from her, tell her I’ll call her later.” He held the phone up to his ear and I heard him whisper “ciao bella” as he walked away.
I followed him. Waiters passed by collecting dirty glasses and plates. Gus paused to lean up against one of the booth’s display tables and discretely finish his phone call. A waiter approached and I seized the opportunity to bump into him, causing him to spill his tray and its contents—scraps of trout and panzanella and goat cheese mixed with splashes of champagne—all over the back of Gus’s suit. Gus jumped aside in shock and dropped his phone on the floor, then turned around to see what was happening. The waiter apologized profusely and produced a small towel. While everyone’s attention was on Gus and his soiled jacket and the mess on the floor, I nonchalantly kicked the cell phone into the storage closet and shut the door. Gus pulled his arms out of his jacket, held it up for examination and tsked. Clothing-wise, this was not his week. He rolled his eyes and held the jacket out to me.
“Halley, find someone who can clean this.”
“Will do,” I said. I moved toward the storage closet to collect my things. I could feel the cell phone glowing inside like a beacon. I prayed it wouldn’t ring, and that no one would open the storage closet door before I could get to it. Already Gus was searching the floor where he’d dropped the phone. As my hand reached the door handle, Max walked up.
“Hey, can you get me a glass of champagne?” he asked. “I didn’t get one when they were being passed around.”
“Sorry, we ran out,” I said, distracted.
Max’s lips flattened into a look that said “You had one job.” The annoying normality of his condescension focused me. I rolled Gus’s suit jacket into a ball and put it on the floo
r in front of the closet door.
“Give me a minute,” I said.
Keeping my eye on the closet, I went behind the counter where there were several empty glasses and a few partially empty glasses others had drunk from. I wiped off one of the empties with a napkin and poured remnants from the other glasses into it until I had a suitably full glass of miscellaneous backwashed champagne. The bubbles masked the tiny chewed up food particles. Max had walked across the aisle to talk to someone, and I ran over and put the glass in his hand. He didn’t look up from his conversation. I watched him take a drink and I gagged a little.
I got back to the closet door and picked the jacket up off the floor just as Gus approached again.
“Have you seen my phone?” he said.
I pretended to look around. “Nope.”
“Fuckety fuck fuck fuck,” he groaned. “Someone is trying to give me a heart attack. We have to find it immediately.”
“Probably one of the wait staff picked it up,” I said. “I’ll go talk to lost and found.” I saw Alec walking toward us with his eye on the storage closet and estimated I had about five seconds to get in there and get the phone out before I was busted.
“No,” Gus said, “I’ll go.”
As soon as his back was turned I dove into the closet to collect my prize.
35
I was in the back of a taxi on my way to the casino where the gala would take place that night, when my phone rang. In the millisecond between the moment the chirp of my ringtone reached my ears and the moment my eyes locked on the caller ID of the device resting in my hand, I hoped with absurd, habitual optimism that the caller was Rousseau. But it was my dad.
“Are you in Paris yet?” he said.
“Yeah, the launch was this afternoon.”
“How did it go?”
I hadn’t talked to my parents since New Year’s Day. Despite my mother’s directive to never go home again after I missed Grandpa’s funeral, they’d been angry that I hadn’t visited for the holidays, and our last few conversations had been stilted and uncomfortable.
“Fine,” I said. “Not too exciting.”
“Oh, well I just called to say good luck.”
“Thanks. That was really sweet of you.”
Neither of us said anything for a few seconds. I watched the traffic through the window. It was nice, just existing there in space for a while together.
I broke the silence. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, just watching TV,” he said. “I’m supposed to stay off my feet for a day or two. I hurt my back taking our new mattress back to the store.”
“What, why . . . Didn’t you just take one back a couple months ago?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t quite right.”
“Hmm,” I said, as the proper response gathered in my mind.
“I thought it was going to be a good one,” he said, “when I tried it in the store. But I ended up not liking it.”
As he spoke I pictured the Sam’s Club parking lot, ringed with gray slush, shoppers traipsing to and from their cars carrying four-year-olds in thick white tights, their breath blowing in front of their faces in puffs. And my dad, struggling to carry the almost-but-not-quite right queen-sized mattress up to the sliding glass doors.
“The good news is, the new one seems perfect,” he said.
I almost laughed, because that was the same thing he’d said about the last one. In my head the words “What do you think it is about you that causes you to be like this?” took shape, and then I realized those were my mother’s words. Jesus fucking Christ. Rousseau was right. I couldn’t avoid it. I was becoming just like them. In my judgment and my malaise, I was my mother. And in my perseverance, my refusal to accept anything less than perfection, and my idealistic belief that something better was out there waiting, I was just like my father. Like the Wheaten family, no matter how much I tried to avoid it, I would get hit by that train.
Findlay had given me hope that I could change, get ahead, be a different person. A better person. With each new level, I would acquire a measure of dignity and status that would rearrange my cells into someone brighter and shinier. A movie star version of myself, new and improved. Only, it was all a farce. No amount of distance or workplace validation would turn me into that person, not in any meaningful way. No matter how successful I was, no matter what Findlay level I reached, I would always be Halley Faust.
“I had an idea the other day,” my dad said.
“Oh yeah?”
“I want to start the family farm back up again. After your grandpa died, it got me thinking. I’m not getting any younger, and this is something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time. I guess I should just go for it.”
“That’s really great, Dad,” I said.
“Would you want to help? Once we started making a profit, I could split it with you. Could be pretty good money if we can get it going.”
I didn’t say anything. Surely he knew what my answer would be.
“Hey, your mom just walked in,” he said. I heard Guthrie barking in the background. “Want to talk to her?”
I hesitated. “Sure.”
He whispered, “It’s Halley,” and I heard the phone change hands.
“Hi.” My mother’s voice was expressionless, our years of expectation and disappointment like extra layers of skin.
“Hi,” I said, mirroring her tone.
“How’s the product launch going?”
“It’s fine. The sales meeting was yesterday, we had the booth announcement at noon today, and now I’m on my way to the casino to set up for the gala.”
“Great . . .” she murmured.
That old familiar feeling rose in my throat. The anxiety and dissatisfaction brought about by our disconnect. “It’s not that big of a deal,” I said.
“If it’s not a big deal then what are you doing there?”
“I didn’t . . . I mean it is a big deal. You know, for the company. I just meant it’s not as glamorous as it sounds.”
“Hmm,” she said.
I wanted to break through that barrier between us and live in some warm place with her, where I could tell her everything and she would accept me exactly as I was. Where I could be myself and be loved.
And yet, it occurred to me that I hadn’t accepted her exactly as she was either. I could have changed the course of the conversation by saying “I love you” or “I miss you” or “you’re doing a good job,” but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. So, maybe this was just our way. Whoever said families are supposed to be happy anyway, or that parents are supposed to understand their children? Maybe it was all bogus, all the qualities parents should have. Maybe we were doing fine, exactly as we were.
My taxi stopped under the porte cochere of the casino and I stepped out onto the sidewalk. I handed the driver a twenty and waved for him to keep the change.
“Well . . . I should get back to work,” I said.
“Yep,” she said. “Good luck.” Then she hung up, and I smiled.
36
The rigging had been installed overhead. The circular bar, which was meant to look like it was made of ice, had been built in the center of the floor. On a normal day this space was used as the casino’s dinner theatre, and a third of the room was dominated by black graduated balconies set with tables and chairs. Another third of the room was a stage. Between the stage and the balconies was the floor, which usually held more tables but had been cleared out for my gala. The room’s walls and balconies were back-lit and covered in black cloth that was full of tiny holes, so that when the lights were turned up the holes glowed like thousands of stars.
Celeste arrived shortly after me. She crutched her way to the table where I was monitoring setup and sat beside me without saying anything. For now, our job was to watch and wait, like scientists at the table of an elaborate experiment
. Would all of the elements come together as planned? Which parts would go wrong? Which parts would surprise us?
Entertainment had already begun to arrive and the bartender was stocking the ice bar with liquor and glasses. Electric white plastic cubes were positioned around the floor area to be used as pedestals for dancers. Gauzy white curtains were hung around the perimeter of the room. A giant red carpet was rolled out from the event space all the way through the casino lobby and outside where the buses would drop off. Near the entryway there was a column holding a crystal sphere with an etching of the Tantalus inside, lit up by a spotlight. When guests arrived, “bodyguards” with dark sunglasses would stand on either side of the crystal as if it was some kind of relic.
I phoned Lorraine at the hotel to make sure Gus, Anthony, and Clive had their tuxes. The tux shop was supposed to have delivered them to the hotel by noon and the concierge agreed to hang them in the men’s closets.
Susanne from the DMC arrived with the bow ties and flowers I’d bought as party favors. We went over the agenda and timing one more time, and then Susanne went to find the catering manager to go over it with him.
Celeste started to doze off in her chair.
I nudged her with my elbow. “How many pills did you take today?”
“Enough that my fucking leg doesn’t hurt,” she said.
I backed up a couple inches. “Want me to call you a cab?”
“No,” she said. “I’ll just drink some coffee.”
As I left to order her an espresso, I got a phone call from Anthony. “Halley,” he said, somewhat exasperated, “my tux doesn’t fit. It’s too small.”
Damn. “Okay,” I said, “look at the tag. Are the measurements correct?”
He paused. “I’m looking at the tag. What are these, centimeters?”
I sighed. “Hold on a second.” I jogged back to the table where Celeste sat like a drunkard, and started rifling through my binder. “Okay, tell me what the tag says.”
The Insatiables Page 22