Lesser Creatures

by Peter Giglio

  * * *

  Sitting at his desk, Steven Lingk paged through every news report he could find online. He searched desperately for any mention of his name, but everywhere he found it, his revelation was reduced to nothing more than a footnote and dismissed as the ramblings of a lunatic.

  He pounded the keyboard with clenched fists, and his coffee mug toppled off the edge of the desk and crashed upon the marble floor. A wide crack ran through the middle of the church’s name on the face of the cup, and rivulets of coffee bled from the gap like water through a breached dam.

  He heaved a sigh and jabbed a button on his phone. “Meredith,” he said, “can you please come in here?”

  Meredith Burns had worked for Lingk long enough to reply to this request with action rather than words. She rushed into the office, looked around, and her hawklike eyes pinned his blunder.

  “I’ll get a towel,” she said.

  He forced a smile and waved off the mess with a flick of his wrist. “Don’t worry about that.” He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Please, sit.”

  She pressed her skirt with a few rapid sweeps of her hands, then gracefully dropped into the chair and crossed one leg over the other, smile firmly in place. Always in place. A well-trained employee, indeed. One of the best, he pondered, which made this conversation all the harder.

  “Meredith,” he said, “do you still believe in the cause?”

  She titled her head at the offense but didn’t stop smiling. He couldn’t tell if her expression of disbelief (at least that’s how he interpreted it) was an act or genuine. He wouldn’t tolerate insincerity; never had. He paid too well for anything less than full-on commitment. After a long pause, she said, “Of course, Pastor. Why, of course.”

  He leaned back, steepling his fingers into a triangle. “Julie Stewart, the reporter from Globe who you recommended—what’s your connection to her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, are you friends? Do you both attend the same book group? Do you—”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t know Ms. Stewart personally, if that’s what you’re asking.” She sounded defensive now. Understandable, thought Lingk, but not ideal.

  “Then why, Meredith, did you recommend her for the interview?”

  “Because…” Her smile faltered. Just for a moment, which was all it took for Lingk to assess a degree of guilt. “Because she did a piece last year that touched me. It covered starvation in Africa and had a genuine, compassionate quality, one that I thought would benefit her approach to the cause.”

  “I see.”

  “None of us knew what your great revelation would be, Pastor, so I—”

  “So you what?”

  “I really didn’t know the full scope of the issue, how sensitive it would be. You’ve always operated with such transparency in the past that—”

  “And if you had known?” He placed his hands flat on the desk and leaned forward. “What then?”

  “That’s hard to say.”

  “Would you have advised me to keep the truth to myself?”

  “Again, Pastor, hard to say. Perhaps I would have. The truth has a way of…of frightening people. As you know, I’ve been with you since the beginning, remember well the opposition to our cause. These things take time. I could have shared a lot of market research with you. We could have strategized.”

  The way she’d stressed the word “truth,” as if she didn’t believe his revelation, troubled him. “I’ve looked at the data myself,” he said, “I know people are tired of running just to stand still, tired of the tax burden brought about by Glory’s Children, frustrated that our society had made fewer technological advances over the last decade than any generation since the industrial revolution. That’s why I had to tell people, to take much of that burden away. The truth, in this case, really will set us free.”

  “I understand, but—”

  “I’m going to ask you one more time, Meredith, out of respect for the years of faithful service you’ve given this church. Do you still support the cause?”

  She swallowed hard and looked down, trembling. “I do,” she said, nearly choking on the words. He knew then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, she was pledging allegiance to the two children she was raising by herself, not to him. He’d lost her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have no choice but to let you go.”

  Her tears became sobs. “I still believe,” she pleaded.

  He stood, shaking his head. “No. You don’t. You have ten minutes to box your personal belongings.” He pressed a button and lowered the mic of the headset to his mouth, then said, “I need a security escort for a termination.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Even the impending Friday Roundtable couldn’t throw Eric off his game. He got through morning emails quickly, finished up an overdue report for the accounting department, and even spared a few minutes to sip coffee and wander around.

  “Morning,” he said, leaning in the doorway of Ted Mallory’s office. He didn’t like Ted, but making amends felt right this morning, even if all that amounted to was banal chitchat.

  Ted looked up from his computer screen, a dumb smirk creeping across his corpulent face. “What’s gotten into you, Cooper?”

  Eric shrugged, took a sip of coffee.

  “Slinking about with a friendly smile,” Ted said. “That’s my job.”

  Eric chuckled. “I won’t put you out of work. Promise.”

  Ted frowned. “You know something the rest of us don’t. Is that it? My God, you do. You’re gloating. Is that was this is?”

  “Settle down, Mallory. I’m doing no such thing. Scout’s honor.”

  “Ha! You weren’t a fucking Boy Scout, Cooper. You’re up to something.” Ted waggled a finger and stood, eyes narrowing. “Hmmm…yeah, up to something.”

  “Shit, Ted, nice talking to you, too.” Eric glanced at his watch—twenty minutes ’til the meeting—then turned to leave.

  “Aren’t you worried?” Ted asked.

  Eric spun. “What, worried about the meeting? Why should I worry?”

  “Change, man. Change! Everyone’s on pins and needles around here, and now you’re strutting around like a Cheshire cat. Tell me what you know. Please. I’ll give you my timeshare in Paradise Springs for three weeks. Just tell me!”

  “Chill out, Ted, I’m just happy ’cause I dumped Melody last night.”

  “So that’s it, then? You dump a fine piece of ass that any guy in this office would be—”

  “She’s all yours, man.”

  “Yeah, tell that to my wife.” Ted choked a hollow, I-hate-my-life laugh, then managed a thin smile. “Scout’s honor, huh?”

  Eric spread his hands wide. “I don’t know shit.”

  Ted checked his watch. “Yeah, well, let’s get moving. We’re gonna find out what’s going on soon enough.”

  * * *

  Stragglers were routine at Roundtables, a weekly opportunity for Director of Marketing Frank Allen to share information with The Five, his team of junior executives. Today, however, The Five were in place before Frank, the room alive with whispered gossip.

  “Downsizing…”

  “Pay cuts…”

  “New leads…”

  But Eric didn’t take part in speculation. Just smiled and sipped coffee, occasionally pretending to listen to the barrage of mostly fear-laden gab. His mind was not really in the room. Instead, he made plans. Other than the unpleasant chore with his mother, he had the weekend all to himself, and he hadn’t been a single man for a long time. There weren’t many who would claim him as a bona fide friend, but he knew it wouldn’t be hard to talk an acquaintance or two into a night at the club. A skilled wingman wasn’t needed anyway; once he turned on the Cooper charm, he was in control. At least he hoped the magic hadn’t died. Regardless, it would just be nice to unwind and flirt at his leisure, no strings attached. The act alone, the mere thought of it, excited him. The chase. The illusion of instant youth. Several m
artinis without Melody chiding, “You’re drinking too much.”

  Stacy Sweeny, Frank’s administrative assistant, peeked into the room, a carafe of coffee in one hand. “Morning, all,” she said in her thick Texas drawl. “Frank’ll be with you shortly, just getting a few things sorted out. Can I warm up anyone’s morning sunshine?”

  A chorus of “yes” went around the room, followed by the clatter and swoosh of proffered mugs, and Stacy swished around the rectangular table (not round like the meeting’s moniker suggested), playing waitress to a pack of ungrateful, head-nodding slugs.

  Eric knew Stacy pretty well, had flirted with her a few times. Nice girl. Maybe she’d like to join him tonight? No, too young. Now was the time to break that old habit.

  “Hey, Coop,” she said, topping off his mug.

  “Can’t believe you went to college for this,” he said. It was a running gag between them that she’d initiated, not an insult.

  “A girl’s gotta start somewhere,” she said with that perfect smile of hers.

  Don’t ask her out. Don’t ask—

  “So,” he said, “Maybe later—”

  Frank Allen stepped into the room, and everyone, including Eric, turned their attention to him. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, sounding hurried and almost out of breath.

  “We’ll talk later, sugar,” Stacy whispered to Eric.

  He nodded politely, hoping he’d avoid her for the rest of the day. Much as he hated to admit it, Frank had saved his ass with his tardy arrival, giving Eric a little longer to consider his fatal weakness before slogging into another mess.

  Then it set in: how terrified Frank looked. This wasn’t going to be a little change; nothing as simple as a salary freeze or another cut in the company’s 401K.

  Eric’s comfort waned but didn’t die. He still had plenty tucked away in various bank accounts if times got tough, and no one could take away his newfound freedom. But it concerned him that Frank wasn’t saddled with folders and paperwork. Whatever this was, it was either too simple or complex to boil down into a happy pie chart. Either way, what was coming couldn’t be good for anyone; not even the boss himself.

  “The last thing I want to do is point fingers,” Frank started, “but you all know as well as I that AdCom has been taking a beating. Consumer confidence is down among the general population, and the only steady flow of revenue in our economy comes from the second-life dole. The upshot is that advertising dollars are being slashed at an alarming rate, and since no one can really get a handle on the motivations of second-lifers, we’re left with one option. If we plan to survive, we have to think outside the box.”

  “Booze and fast food,” Eric said.

  “Excuse me?” Frank said.

  Eric chuckled. “I’m sorry, Frank, but I’m telling you their motivations.” Nods went around the room. “Booze and fast food. That’s what they buy, and why it’s so damn rare for burger and taco chains, not to mention those in the whiskey game, to even think about ad-buys. It comes down to proximity. A second-lifer steps out of decontamination on Second Street, boom, they go to Burger Time on Second Street with their fresh credits. The chain has been very good about putting a location near every facility.”

  “We have to change the playing field, Mr. Cooper,” Frank said. “Otherwise, we’re all out of a job. Simple as that.”

  Now The Five, even Eric, were nodding in his favor.

  “Our studies,” Frank continued, “indicate that second-lifers watch a lot of television. Why do you think that is?”

  “Have you watched television lately, Frank?” Nadine Snyder asked. A thin woman in her late fifties with gray pixie-cut hair (a strange juxtaposition of age and youth, Eric thought), Suzie rarely said anything, but when she did, it was damn insightful.

  Frank allowed a little laugh to escape. One could read his disposition toward Nadine as respectful, but Eric knew differently. Frank was afraid of her. She knew more about the ad game than the rest of them combined.

  “Can’t say I catch many programs these days,” Frank admitted.

  “That’s just it,” Nadine said. “Why would you? The top-rated show is Yarn Wars. I watch a little before bed and it puts me right out. Saves me a fortune on sleeping pills, but it’s about as entertaining as watching paint dry.”

  “Why do second-lifers watch it?” Ted Mallory asked.

  Frank pointed at Ted. “Bingo,” he said, then sat down and crossed his arms on the surface of the table, leaning forward. “The board of directors has given that same question a lot of thought, Ted, and they’ve done their homework. Thing is, second-lifers aren’t animals. They observe the living and are fascinated by hours and hours of minutiae. The thought process behind this is simple. By eliminating complexity from the message, we can actually influence them. And what’s less complex than a thirty-second commercial?”

  “We’ve tried,” Eric said.

  “Yes, we have,” Frank replied. “Over and over again, we’ve done our best, and I want you all to know how grateful I am for your efforts, but we’ve got forests of dead contracts to show for it and more money going out than coming in.”

  “So what’s the game changer?” Lyle Reed asked.

  Frank bit his lower lip and looked down.

  “Come on, Frank,” Marcia Reed said. She and Lyle were a brother-and-sister team, twins, and Eric found them creepy. He often wondered why siblings would work so closely, and suspected a strange, perhaps even aberrant relationship bubbling below the surface of their arrangement. Rarely did he interact with them.

  “You’ve kept us in suspense long enough,” Marcia added.

  Frank nodded and sighed. “Let me just say that I was initially opposed to our new strategy, and I understand if your first reaction is less than enthusiastic, but several months of working with the board has brought me to a somewhat optimistic conclusion.”

  “Which is?” Eric asked.

  “That this is not only our best plan. It’s our only plan.” Frank rose and dragged the Polycom from the middle of the table. He pressed a button and said, “Stacy, we’re ready.”

  A few moments later the door opened, and Stacy led a woman in a business suit into the conference room. Except, she wasn’t just a woman; she was a second-lifer.

  Gasps went around the table, but none of them belonged to Eric. He could hardly breathe, his heart racing, his comfort completely dead. She was much more than a mere second-lifer to him, and when their eyes met, recognition lit her otherwise dead face.

  “The Five,” Frank said, “is now The Six. I would like everyone to welcome the new member of our team, Monika Janus.”

  As Stacy helped Monika to her seat at the table, everyone but Eric stood, a traditional symbol of respect when welcoming a new member to the team. Though they all still appeared shaken by the unexpected turn, they were clearly, unlike Eric, internalizing their shock admirably. Frank glared at Eric and gestured for him to rise.

  Eric closed his eyes, using his hands to push himself up from the table, his legs shaking, a surge of bile threatening at the back of his dry throat.

  “Ms. Janus,” Frank said, “is our secret weapon in understanding the second-life market. Her reactions to our strategies and visions will guide many of our decisions and make us the most sought-after advertising firm around.”

  Tears broke through Eric’s lidded eyes as his mind drifted.

  CHAPTER 6

  Two Years Earlier

  “I think it’s romantic,” she said.

  Eric watched two second-lifers shamble across the field, no more than fifty yards from where he and Monika picnicked, and didn’t think he could agree with her less. Arguments were common lately, her moods swinging between sweet and agitated more than ever, and he was finding it harder to placate her, harder to bite his tongue and not stand up for himself. A male and female corpse holding hands was hardly romantic.

  Tethering, that’s what the scientists called it. Theory was that certain second-lifers, the stupidest of
an already stupid lot, clung to those who seemed to know where they were going.

  He grunted, took a bite of his sandwich.

  “What’s your problem, Coop?” She pointed at the staggering duo. “That could be us someday.”

  “Don’t do that, Mon. You might attract them.”

  She frowned. “They’re not flies, you know. They’re…they’re us.” The second-lifers turned their heads and gazed at the living couple. Monika waved like a child, then the creature in the lead, the female, turned away and tugged at the hand of the male, who begrudgingly fell in step like a dog on a leash.

  Eric shook his head slowly. “No. They’re not me.”

  “I think they’re in love,” she said.

  He laughed. “Give me a break. You’re starting to sound like that Glory’s Children guy.”

  “Steven Lingk?”

  “Yeah, that’s the freak I’m talking about.”

  “I like freaks,” she said, popping open a plastic container of cantaloupe slices.

  “Takes one to know one.”

  “I swear,” she said, “I sometimes wonder what I ever saw in you. You’re a mean man, you know that?”

  “Let’s not mistake honesty for cruelty. You know I love you.” With his hands around her waist, he pulled her close. She didn’t resist.

  “Do you?” she asked around a mouthful of fruit.

  “I do. You just try my patience sometimes.”

  She chuckled as she folded into his embrace. “I love you, too,” she said.

  * * *

  Their love was real, for him and her. But that didn’t make it healthy or right. Every day they fought, trading the most common threat, “I’m leaving!” Despite that, neither could leave. Both had tried. And failed.

  Inexplicable. Illogical. Dangerous as hell…