Sorcerer

by Greg F. Gifune

  “Wait,” he said. “How am I supposed to know if I’m interested when I don’t have any particulars? I don’t know what the job is or what your company does.”

  “It’s a multifaceted company,” she told him as she sank back down to the bench. “A great many tentacles, if you will, involved in a great many ventures. It’s better to attend the interview and speak with Mr. Hope directly. He can give you the specifics and discuss things with you in detail. If I didn’t think there was a position you’d be qualified for or worth training for, Jeff, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you. Look at me, I was a secretary and was trained to be a recruiter, something I had no experience or even interest in until I was hired and saw the potential not only in the position, but in myself.”

  “Is this a company or a cult?”

  “Oh, definitely a cult,” she cracked. “But you don’t get your official robe and hood until you eat your first baby under the light of a full moon.”

  Jeff couldn’t take his eyes from her. “The interviews are today?”

  “Yes, Mr. Hope will only be in Boston a few days. His time is limited.”

  “What the hell,” he heard himself say, “I’ve got nothing else to do anyway.”

  “Awesome!”

  “Where and when?”

  She consulted her watch, which from the looks cost slightly more than his car. “The next available slot is around noon, 11:45, to be precise.”

  “Good, then I have time to run home, get into a suit and grab a resume.”

  “Not necessary. You’re fine. Listen, have you had breakfast?”

  “No, actually, I—”

  “I’m starving.” Jessica stood up, straightened her skirt and picked up her briefcase. “Want to join me for a bite to eat then we can head over to the interview? I’m staying over at the Plaza. They have a nice restaurant there. I hate eating alone, don’t you?”

  Jeff willed himself to remain seated. “I’m flattered, but my wife wouldn’t—”

  “It’s OK, really.” She smiled at him the way a child might smile at a puppy. “You love your wife and you don’t fool around. I respect that, says a great deal about your character. But I was talking breakfast, not a weekend in Aruba. I’m thinking coffee, maybe a bagel and some conversation, nothing spectacular or adulterous. Unless,” she said, leaning closer, “sharing a pitcher of orange juice constitutes cheating, in which case we’re into some seriously scandalous shit.”

  You ass, he thought. She wasn’t making a pass, she was just being nice. Or could be she’s afraid if she let’s me go now I’ll blow off the interview later.

  “Come on, breakfast’s on me.” She offered him her free hand. “OK?”

  Still mesmerized, Jeff placed his hand in hers. “OK.”

  -3-

  Afterward, Jeff and Jessica took a cab to a small office building tucked away on an out-of-the-way side street in a drab neighborhood not far from the waterfront. They rode in awkward silence, Jessica fiddling with her cell phone—perhaps texting someone, he didn’t look closely enough to know for sure—and Jeff trying desperately to remain calm and appease the tempest raging in his head. He’d no longer wanted to go to the interview, but had gone along anyway, allowing Jessica to lead him there as she might a pitiful, guilt-ridden dog on a leash. But all he could see, all he could think about, was Eden. And the very thought of her devastated him.

  What have I done? Why did I—what have I done?

  The building was old and dreary, just one in a line of several brownstones that had been converted into office space. Most looked unoccupied, and but for one burned-out carcass of an automobile near the end of the block, there were no parked cars or any signs of life whatsoever. Jeff took it all in, his depression and regret growing stronger with each passing second. Just tell her you’ve changed your mind and you’re no longer interested. Tell her you’re going home.

  When the cab lurched to a stop Jessica put her phone away and turned to him, making eye contact for the first time since they’d left the hotel. “Ready?”

  Looking into her eyes he found it impossible to be angry with her or to feel anything but the primal attraction that had gotten him into this in the first place. He nodded submissively and forced a smile.

  Once inside the unmarked building they arrived at a modest reception area, but the desk where a receptionist should’ve been sitting was empty. The office space was clearly a short-term rental, had a transient, unfinished feel and possessed no indicators that identified it as belonging to or being associated with any particular company or cause. Just beyond the reception area a row of plastic chairs sat in a line against the wall along a narrow hallway leading deeper into the building. Jessica told him to have a seat then slipped into the first office, closing the door behind her.

  The building was eerily quiet, the usual din of city noises hushed here. Somewhere far off, the sound of a slowly dripping faucet echoed about with maddening repetition, but he couldn’t quite hone in on its point of origin. At the very end of the hallway, in an open doorway which led to another part of the building he couldn’t make out from there, Jeff noticed a man who looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties standing in the shadows. Was he waiting for an interview too, was he an employee, or was this F. Hope? Dressed in an inexpensive black suit, a white shirt and a skinny black tie, the man was unusually tall—probably close to seven feet—and thin to the point of appearing emaciated. He was bald with pointed features, his face long, drawn and skeletal.

  Though he was a good thirty feet away, Jeff raised a hand, offered an apathetic wave and mumbled, “How’s it going?”

  He watched Jeff with the dark, sunken eyes of a man shackled with profound sorrow. His pale thin lips parted, as if he were about to respond, but then he seemed to think better of it, and with a slight nod of his head, turned and disappeared through the doorway.

  What the hell am I doing here? Go—I—I should just go. Now, right now.

  Jeff dropped his face into his hands and fought the desire to weep. He’d never felt so alone in his life. After a moment he looked up. There was no one else around, why not just get up and leave?

  He was about to do just that when the office door opened and an elderly man poked his head out. “Mr. McGrath?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please.” The man stepped back and opened wide the door. He was dressed in a cream-colored summer suit, his snow-white hair neatly combed into place, straight back and away from a face with badly aged features. Jeff guessed that in the man’s youth those same features had been chiseled, and he’d probably been quite handsome. “Won’t you come in?”

  On shaky legs, Jeff entered the windowless office. Sparsely furnished, with only a meeting table and two plastic chairs, there was a box of donuts, a coffeemaker and a stack of Styrofoam cups at one end, and a clipboard with a standard employment application at the other. On the far wall, another door through which Jessica had apparently gone prior to his arrival stood closed.

  “Hope,” the man said, offering his hand, “Foster Hope.”

  “Jeff McGrath.” As they shook hands Jeff was struck by how clammy Hope’s palm was. Like shaking hands with a corpse, he thought. And is he kidding with that name?

  “Since I’m sure you’re wondering,” he said with a wry smile, “yes, that is my real name. You don’t honestly think I’d make up such a thing, do you?”

  “No, sir,” he answered, attempting a smile of his own.

  Hope released his hand and motioned to one of the chairs. “Take a seat.”

  Jeff slid into the chair closest to the door as the old man sat in the other. Hope shifted his position so he was facing Jeff. With a small frame and pale complexion, he was rather unremarkable, except for a pair of piercing green eyes that were so bright they looked artificial. Jeff figured them for contact lenses.

  “So you’re looking for work.”

  It wasn’t a question but he answered it anyway. “I am.”

  “Hardly uncommon t
hese days, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Rough economy right now,” Jeff agreed, “lots of people out of work.”

  “I’m actually semi-retired,” the old man said. “As luck would have it I did quite well for myself, but my time’s passing. There comes a day in everyone’s life when it’s time to step aside for the next generation of go-getters.”

  “Plenty of go-getters,” Jeff said, “just not enough jobs.”

  “Of course it was a different time when I was coming up. I went to war when I was young, but once it was over and I came home my father built a house for my new family and me and we settled in nicely. Things were different then, easier, not so complicated as the world’s become since. At any rate, he was quite talented in that regard, my father, one of those men with a natural gift for building things, you know the type. I always envied him that, as I had absolutely no skill in those areas whatsoever. I’d always been a good talker, though, had the gift of gab as they say, and I’m a good negotiator, so I became a salesman. Ms. Bell told me you’re in sales too.”

  The very mention of Jessica brought visions of Eden crashing down on him again. Guilt struck him like a baseball bat to the back of the head.

  “Well at least up until a few months ago, eh?” Hope smiled as if pleased. “Car audio, wasn’t it?”

  Jeff nodded.

  “Are you feeling all right?” Mr. Hope adjusted his already perfectly positioned necktie. “You look a tad peaked.”

  “I apologize. I’m just tired, haven’t been sleeping particularly well.” Jeff cleared his throat and sat up straighter in the chair. “So what exactly does your company sell?”

  “Oh, I’ve been in sales for years now, little of this, little of that, but a long while ago I found my niche in insurance.”

  Inwardly, Jeff cringed. In sales circles the only thing worse than selling cars was selling insurance. It was the end of the road for most salespeople, and unless you were exceptionally good at it and more than a little lucky, insurance was one tough way to earn a living. “I don’t mean to be rude, but if it’s a position in insurance sales you’re offering, I—”

  “I don’t recall offering anything.”

  Jeff drew a deep breath. “I understand. I’m just not interested in—”

  “Tell me about your last job.” The old man put an elbow on the table and let his chin rest in his hand, those severe green eyes glittering like emeralds.

  “I worked for a company over on Tremont Street,” Jeff explained. “Unfortunately the big discount chains made it impossible for us to stay in business. Twelve years and just like that I’m out on the street.”

  “Dreadful,” Hope sighed, “positively dreadful. Do you have a family?”

  “I’m married but we don’t have children.”

  “Does your wife work?”

  “She’s a receptionist.”

  “At least you’ve got her income.” He seemed more upset with the situation than Jeff was. “It’s unforgivable the way companies treat people nowadays. Shameful, particularly in this economy, or lack thereof, I should say.”

  “Well, I like to think that any good salesman isn’t unemployed long.”

  “That’s a sound philosophy, young man.” Hope looked away a moment, as if he’d slipped into deep thought. “I understand you’re not interested in selling insurance, and while that is part of what we do here at International Facilitator, Inc., it’s only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. We sell many things and offer many services. Tell me Jeff, do you have your heart set on a sales position, or might you be interested in a slightly different line of work?”

  “Sales and sales management are the only things I’ve ever done.”

  “Then maybe it’s time to try something new.”

  “Maybe it is.”

  “Remember the old tale about the man that discovers a genie in a bottle, frees him, and is granted three wishes?” He smiled warmly, revealing a large set of chalk-white teeth that were obviously dentures. “Have you ever thought about the wishes you’d make if you were that man?”

  Oh spare me, Jeff thought, here comes one of those lame scenario deals where he makes a point, shows you how clever he is then thinks your answers will actually give him some deep insight into who you are. “Not really, no.”

  Mr. Hope slowly blinked his eyes. “I know it sounds silly, but it’s actually a good way to gage a person. One’s answers tend to reveal an awful lot about the individual.”

  Fine, just play along. “Makes sense.”

  “If you could have only one wish, Jeff, what would it be?”

  “You mean besides world peace?”

  His answer seemed to amuse the old man. “Yes, besides that.”

  “I’d like to be financially independent.”

  “Go on.”

  “If I never had to worry about covering the rent or credit card bills, car payments—all of it—if I could live without having to worry about all that stuff and just be financially independent, I’d be the happiest man in the world.”

  “You want to be rich then?”

  “That’d be nice, but I’d be happy just being comfortable enough to be able to pay our bills and live life without constantly having to worry about money.”

  “And what would you say if I told you I could grant such a wish?”

  “Let me guess. You’re a genie.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something?” The old man laughed heartily and waved a liver-spotted hand in the air. “No, no, I’m just a businessman, Jeff. Although, at the risk of sounding rather crude, a very successful, wealthy businessman.”

  “Well you certainly have my attention, sir.”

  “Good, because the position I think might be right for you pays quite well. If you’re able to perform your job successfully, it could easily yield a level of compensation that would make your wish for financial independence a reality. So as you can imagine, we don’t just interview anyone for this kind of position. It takes someone special. Are you special, Jeff?”

  “I’d like to think so.”

  “You seem like a nice young man, a bright, articulate, hardworking and conscientious fellow, someone who could not only use a break, but someone who deserves one.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

  “Jeff, I’ve spent my life reading people. In sales you have to immediately discern a person’s strengths and weaknesses, you know that yourself. The best salespeople are excellent judges of character, and use that to their advantage. I’ve been around a long time. I know a good man when I see one. You’re just down on your luck, that’s all.”

  Jeff crossed his legs and attempted a relaxed posture. “So what kind of position are we talking about then?”

  “Specifically, I have an opening for a negotiator. My company employs several to handle negotiations with clients when it becomes necessary or when it’s beneficial for us or both parties. I’ve found those with sales backgrounds tend to be perfect for the positions.”

  “I see,” Jeff said, though he had no idea what he was talking about. “So, negotiations as in…”

  There was a soft but sudden knock on the interior door. As Mr. Hope turned in its direction, it opened and a mousy middle-aged woman in a frumpy dress leaned into the room, her brown eyes comically large due to a pair of eyeglasses with black plastic frames and unusually thick lenses. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but you have an extremely important phone call.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Gill. Tell whoever it is I’ll be with them momentarily.” He struggled to his feet with a weary sigh as the woman retreated, closing the door behind her. “Jeff, go ahead and fill out an application.” He slid the clipboard over to him. “It’s just a formality, really, but a necessary one. I won’t be long. This shouldn’t take but a minute or two. And help yourself to a cup of coffee, perhaps a donut.”

  Once Hope had left the room, Jeff took a look at the application. It was generic and unimaginative and requested little beyond the basics: full name, address, social se
curity number, phone number, education and work history and two lines for references, one personal, one professional. He considered the application a moment, unsure if he wanted to continue. You’ve come this far, he thought. Might as well stick it out and see what happens. What happened earlier is over and done with, and nothing can ever change that now. He sighed, ran a hand over his face and back through his hair then picked up the pen lying next to the clipboard. A new and lucrative career could solve all their problems. You’ve done some stupid-ass shit in your life, but you really stepped in it this time, boy. You fucked up, and huge, but this might be a way to do something right. If this job pays as well as Hope says it does and you get it, you could go to Eden with some good news for a change. Clear your head and get in the game, moron, this could be your one chance to really come through for you and your wife. And you owe her, you piece of shit.

  Jeff poured himself a cup of coffee then filled out the application.

  While awaiting Mr. Hope’s return, he heard strange shuffling sounds in the hallway behind him, and then muffled voices beyond the door on the back wall. Jeff couldn’t be certain but one of the voices sounded like Hope. The tone indicated he was reprimanding someone, though it was hard to tell for sure.

  Not long afterward, Foster Hope returned to the room, closed the door and sat in the chair he’d occupied earlier. “I apologize for the interruption. I’m sure you understand these things are often unavoidable.”

  “Perfectly understandable, sir,” Jeff said, game face firmly in place.

  “Where were we?”

  “We were about to discuss specifics regarding the negotiator position.”

  “Of course.” He crossed his legs and assumed a more relaxed posture. “I’m from the old school—call me foolish if you will—but I’ve never believed in the need for formal written contracts unless it’s absolutely necessary to protect both parties. In my day, for the most part, a person’s word was sufficient. And do you know why, Jeff? Because in my day one’s word had significance and meaning, it meant something beyond words or even intentions. It had weight, do you understand?”