Terminated

by Ray Daniel

  sixteen

  A fat woman walked a fawn pug down Newbury Street. I watched from my table as they stopped at the base of a maple tree that grew from a square patch of dirt in the concrete. The two of them formed an obstacle that parted the crowd like a boulder in a river. The pug sniffed at the base of the tree and expelled an enormous physics-defying dump. Its dump expelled, the pug stood on the patch of dirt under the tree and scratched backwards as if to say, “Take care of that.” The woman said something inaudible to the pug and picked up the mess with an inverted plastic bag. She continued down the street with the pug’s leash in one hand and a clear plastic bag of crap in the other. I tweeted:

  Sidewalk cafes are overrated.

  Nate and I sat in front of Ciao Bella. I drank a glass of Caol Ila Scotch. Nate drank Pellegrino water. I told him about Kevin. He expressed condolences. He asked how I was. I said, “Fine.”

  I wasn’t fine. A hole had been blown in my mind. I stared at my Scotch as my brain rewired itself around the fact of Kevin’s absence from my life. Nate’s voice was a muffled buzzing across the table from me. I willed myself to focus on him.

  “There was nothing you could have done,” Nate said.

  I slurped some Scotch and said, “We seem to be saying that a lot lately. There was nothing we could have done about Carol, or Alice, and now Kevin.”

  Nate frowned and sipped his water. “Something is spinning out of control,” he said. “I only wish I knew what it was.”

  “Well, not to be self-centered, but I think it all started when you fired me.”

  Nate glanced at me, then away. He said, “I’m glad you’re not being self-centered.”

  I let his comment hang in the air.

  He sipped his water and asked, “Did you get a chance to look at Bronte’s booth?”

  Nate was ignoring the elephant at the table. Eventually, I was going to find out why I was fired, but I played along for now.

  “Yeah, I visited the booth. Nasty sharks.”

  “Figuratively?”

  “Literally. Big aquarium full of them.”

  “Other than the sharks,” said Nate, “did you learn anything about their business?”

  All I had learned so far was that Margaret Bronte liked it when you kissed the line of her jaw just above the neck, and that she had skilled fingers. I decided not to share any of this with Nate.

  “I met Margaret Bronte. She seems like quite a lady. She asked about you.”

  “What did she ask?”

  “She asked why I was hanging around with ‘that fossil.’ Her words, not mine.”

  “And what would your words be?” asked Nate.

  I considered responses: That backstabbing fossil? That enigmatic fossil? That curious fossil? None of these options seemed helpful. I let the question go. I said, “She couldn’t understand why you’d fire me. She thinks I’m brilliant. I agreed with her.”

  My Scotch was empty. I tinkled the glass toward our server. She nodded and looked at Nate, who gestured for another Pellegrino water.

  I said, “Man, you are putting those away.”

  “The water? It’s healthy. You should try some.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not drinking to get hydrated.”

  “I suppose not. Look, fossil jokes aside, Margaret’s right. You are a brilliant programmer. That’s not in question.”

  I said, “The question is: ‘Why did you fire me?’”

  “Yes, yes, we’ll get to that. But I have to ask, if you’re so brilliant, why didn’t she try to hire you? Did she ever call you?”

  I peered at Nate. This didn’t add up. If he’d started the rumors, he wouldn’t have asked that question. Unless he was taunting me. And Margaret herself said I was brilliant. Why hadn’t she tried to hire me? Maybe last night was her first step.

  “Margaret didn’t call me. Nobody called me. Apparently, there were rumors about me.”

  “What kind of rumors?”

  Nate seemed honestly surprised.

  “The bad kind. According to Margaret, they say I went off the deep end and had to be escorted out of MantaSoft.”

  Nate said, “Well, that’s ridiculous. We both know that’s not true. I assume she didn’t mention that she was in talks that would pay her fifty million dollars.”

  “It didn’t come up.”

  “She doesn’t want anything to screw up that deal. I think her ‘fossil’ comments were intended to drive a wedge between us.”

  “That’s funny, because I would have thought that you firing me would have driven a wedge between us.”

  Nate frowned and said, “I have to hit the head.” He got up and went inside to the restaurant. Served him right, drinking all that water. I sipped my Scotch and watched shoppers mill around on the sidewalk. I felt better when I watched people. I watched them carry their bags, drag their kids, and struggle to parallel park. I watched couples looking for a place to eat, arguing about directions, and walking quietly hand in hand. I watched people live, and as long as I watched them, I could keep the image of Kevin’s exploding chest out of my head.

  My mind returned to Nate. To my surprise, I wanted to trust him. I wanted to think of him as my father again. I wanted to use him as my rock and my sounding board.

  I didn’t really want to know why he fired me. I just wanted a friend. Bobby Miller was right. I should just let this drop. I could quit when Nate got back, and we’d never need to have this uncomfortable conversation.

  Carol appeared in Nate’s chair. She said, “Screw your courage to the sticking place, baby.”

  I said, “Thank you, Lady Macbeth.” She disappeared as Nate sat in the chair.

  Nate said, “OK. What do you want to know?”

  Screw your courage to the sticking place. I said, “Before he died, Kevin told me that knowing why you fired me would be the key to figuring out who killed Carol.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I want to know why.”

  Nate said, “It’s like this—”

  The server interrupted us, asking for our order. While I looked at the menu, Nate chose a bottle of wine. The menu was a dizzying assortment of Italian terms. The categories were incomprehensible: zuppe, antipasti, insalate, and something called secondi piatti. I gave up on the menu.

  “What kind of wine did you get?” I asked.

  “I got us the Vino Nobile di Montepulciano. It’s from Avignonesi, Italy and—”

  “Red or white?”

  “Ah. It’s red.”

  “Thanks. I’ll have a steak.”

  Nate ordered the filetto di manzo e gamberi, and I got another Scotch.

  Nate said, “You are drinking too much.”

  I said, “I put my liver on an extensive strength and conditioning program this year. It’s paying off.” Unfortunately, the Scotch was not having the effect I wanted. I wanted to forget Kevin on that bridge, but still remembered the pink mist, the burping sound of the machine gun, and the sheet-covered body. Waking up naked next to Margaret seemed to have happened in another life.

  Nate said, “I fired you for two rea—”

  The server arrived with the wine. She started her rendition of wine-presentation theater. She showed Nate the bottle. He nodded. She started on the cork. The delay was maddening. She took the cork out and handed it to Nate, who examined it and handed it to me.

  I tossed it into a sidewalk trashcan using excellent foul-shot form. Swish! The server and Nate looked at me, then at each other. He made a “please continue” gesture. She poured a little wine into the glass. Nate sniffed it, sipped it, and said, “That’s fine.” The server poured the wine.

  Nate said, “What were we talking about?”

  “Stop fucking with me,” I said. “You said there were two reasons you fired me.”

 
Nate stuck up his index finger and said, “First, Jack told me to replace you with Roland.”

  “What? Roland was just some asshole. I don’t think he ever wrote a line of code.”

  “It made no sense to me either, but Jack can be impulsive. He and Roland flew cross-country together. Roland must have impressed Jack, and apparently he had some ideas on the project.”

  “I can just see that conversation.” I slipped into a British accent. “Here’s what you do, Jack. Fire that bloody idiot Tucker and put me in charge. I’ll get Rosetta out the door toot sweet.”

  “I don’t think the British use the phrase toot sweet.”

  I drank some Scotch and said, “Roland’s an idiot.”

  “He’s an idiot with amazing political skill.”

  “The project wasn’t even late. I can’t believe you just caved.”

  “I didn’t ‘just cave.’ Jack pushed me for weeks before I gave in. Jack even told me that he’d fire me and then replace you himself. I told him I was OK with that. I’ve had a good career. Something else pushed me over the edge. It was the real reason.”

  Our dinner arrived. My steak looked like a piece of dead cow that had been grilled to perfection. As for Nate, it turned out that filetto di manzo e gamberi was just steak with an Italian accent. We settled in front of our meals and cut into our steaks. I was right. Done to perfection, but I wasn’t hungry.

  I said, “You were saying about the second thing?”

  Nate chewed and thought. I could see him considering his words.

  “It was Carol,” he said.

  “What was Carol? She was doing a great job. OK, she was a little sloppy there at the end, but she was training Alice.”

  “It had nothing to do with her performance.” Nate cut into his steak and chewed, then sipped his wine. I started drinking the wine myself. I couldn’t remember whether it was a bad idea to drink wine on top of Scotch. The poem was either “Wine after whiskey, mighty risky” or “Whiskey then wine, you’ll be fine.” It didn’t matter. I was drinking it anyway.

  I said, “Well, then, what was it about Carol?”

  “Carol asked me to fire you.”

  “What?” I blurted. A couple next to us looked at me. Maybe I was getting loud. I whispered, “Why would she do that?”

  Nate continued, “She was lonely. She broke down in my office. She said that your job was destroying your marriage, that she was desperate to get you out of MantaSoft.” Nate sipped his wine. “She said she’d do whatever it took to get you back.”

  I stared into my Scotch, turning it in my hand and watching the ice cubes click over each other. A duck boat drove by. The guy in the boat said something about “shopping district,” and the people in the boat laughed and waved and quacked at pedestrians. My jaw clenched, and I loosened it by drinking my Scotch, forcing it past the lump in my throat. Nate was silent.

  I said, “You fired me because my wife cried in your office?”

  “No. I fired you because I wanted to save your marriage.”

  “You had no right,” I hissed. The couple in the next table looked at me again. I ignored them.

  “I had every right. I was your boss. I could fire you if I wanted to.”

  “You had no right to take my personal life into account. My personal life was my business. If Carol was unhappy, that was my business. I was doing the best work of my life. You had no right to take that all away because I might have trouble at home.”

  “I didn’t want your marriage on my head.”

  “It wasn’t your concern!”

  “Of course it was.” Nate sipped his wine. “Look, I’ve had a very successful career. I built that career on people like you—people with an insatiable desire to prove themselves. I find these neurotic people and let them create miracles. It works great, except for the family problems.”

  I tried to say something, but Nate overrode me. “Do you have any idea how many families I’ve ruined? I watched people lose touch with their kids, fall into affairs, and get divorced because they were addicted to their jobs. Jobs that I gave them and addictions that I supported with praise, money, and promotions. I built my career on their misery and told myself that it was none of my business. It was different with you.”

  Nate drank some wine and continued.

  “Tucker, you were, you are, like a son to me. I wasn’t going to add your marriage to all the other ones I’d destroyed. Jack wanted you fired anyway, and it had reached the point where it was going to happen whether or not I did it. I figured that firing you would give you a chance to reevaluate your life and maybe fix things with Carol. It didn’t work out. Carol got killed that day, and after the funeral you dropped out of sight. I should have called you sooner. We should have had this talk before, but I’ve been avoiding the subject. I’m sorry.”

  Nate cut into his steak with renewed concentration.

  My plate was full of uneaten meat. I pushed it away, aligning the knife and fork in the universal signal of “please take this.” I went back to drinking Scotch. Nate sipped his wine.

  I gazed at the tree where the pug had pooped and said, “Well, it pisses me off. I appreciate what you were trying to do, but you ruined me. I’ll bet Carol and I could have worked it out without me being fired.”

  “You think so?”

  “Things were getting better. We might have had some thawing there at the end. Carol was talking about going away for a couple of weeks and reconnecting. Carol and I hadn’t … ah … connected … for months. She wanted to go back to the Cape for a vacation. Of course, I wouldn’t have been able to go.”

  “Why not?”

  “Work, of course.”

  “You wouldn’t have had work. That was the point.”

  I stood up. I needed to get away from Nate. I tripped over the three-inch stone wall that surrounded the cafe.

  Nate said, “Be careful.” As I started to walk away, he called out, “Are you still working with me on this Bronte thing? I need you.”

  I said, “Ask me tomorrow.” I turned up Fairfield toward home. I still hadn’t called Charlene.

  seventeen

  It had been a long, long day. The four Scotches weren’t making me feel any better, and my right foot seemed to have developed an extra toe that got caught on every sidewalk crack.

  “Hi, baby.” Carol was walking next to me on the street.

  I said, “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “Did Nate upset you? Poor baby.”

  I fumbled my headset out of my pocket, stuck it in my ear, and hissed, “You got me fired!”

  “I tried to save our marriage.”

  We had reached the corner of Boylston Street. I decided to take a left and walk along the street rather than cut through the Prudential Center. I didn’t think this was a good conversation to have in a mall.

  I said, “You couldn’t give me one success in life? You couldn’t let me see this one project through?”

  Carol scoffed. “Oh, please. Success? What was success to you? Making a new virus? Since when—”

  “It was my project. It was my chance to prove something.”

  “Prove what? What did you need to prove so badly?”

  “I was going to prove to you and to everyone that I’m not just a fuck-up who accidentally brought down the Internet. I wanted to show I could do a real job.”

  “I didn’t need you to prove anything except that you loved me.”

  “Why did I need to prove that? Of course I loved you. I married you.”

  “That’s not proof ! You treated me like crap. You just married me to show yourself that you were a stable guy. I felt so blessed to be part of your solution to low self-esteem.”

  I was struggling to keep my voice down and to avoid looking at Carol. It’s one thing to walk down the street talking to yourself on a headset. It’s another
to look at somebody no one else can see.

  I said, “Why don’t you get lost? Walk toward the light, or whatever it is you people do to move on.”

  Carol slowed and I stole a glance at her. Her lip was jutting out. She sniffled and wiped at her nose with her hand. She stopped walking. I turned and looked at her.

  She said, “You never gave a shit about us, did you?” Tears were streaming down her face. “You don’t care that Nate tried to help. You just care that you were replaced by Roland.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. I closed my eyes to collect myself. When I opened them, Carol had disappeared.

  I was panting, staring into the spot where she had been. It was a mess. It was all a mess. Maybe we could have fixed it. The vacation on the Cape might have been just the thing to tear down the wall. I’d never know because some psycho had murdered Carol before we had a chance. Probably the same one who had killed Kevin and made Charlene a widow.

  The thought brought me up short. I walked on toward my house. I didn’t want to talk to Charlene in the street.

  eighteen

  Click and Clack had mounted an assault on their feeding sponge and were rapidly shoveling bits of freeze-dried seaweed into their mouths. They ignored me as I entered the kitchenette craving sugar. I opened the freezer and pulled out a pint of Emack & Bolio’s Chocolate Moose ice cream. I’d bought it as a dessert for last night, but Margaret and I never got to eat it.

  I broke out an ice cream paddle and carved the ice cream into a bowl. Got a spoon and slid onto one of the tall chairs in front of the counter. The whole time I kept an eye on my silver BlackBerry as if it were going to bite me. For its part, the BlackBerry was silent, waiting. It knew that it would get its chance.

  Click and Clack waved their claws, eating. I said to them, “I’ll call her. Just let me finish my ice cream.” I walked around my apartment, eating as I went. I stayed out of my office. I knew that if I got in front of my computer I’d surf the web until it was too late to call. When I finished the ice cream, I put the pint back in the freezer, washed my bowl and the paddle, dried them, and put them away. Now there was nothing on the counter but the crabs, Kevin’s cell phone, and my BlackBerry. It was time to make my move. I grabbed the BlackBerry and dropped into the living room sofa. I looked out the front window at the afternoon sun and pressed the K key. It used to call Kevin at home. Now it would just call Charlene.