Taking Stock

by C J West

  “C’mon. You know where that’s from. I know you do.”

  “No idea.”

  “You’re kidding! Rat Patrol. Desert GIs fighting the Germans. The fifty caliber mounted on the jeep.” Stan held out his fists, jerking them back and forth a few inches as he spun in place firing at some imaginary foe. “A true classic. Come on. The sand blowing off the dunes and the jeep in mid-air.” Stan noticed the binder on the table. “You spend too much time reading crap like that. It’s rotting your brain.”

  “Have you read it?”

  “Bits and pieces. I can only take it in small doses.”

  Stan swiveled a chair and sat across from Sarah with only a blank notepad and a single pencil. How could he come to a status meeting without a printed report? Would Herman tolerate such a waste of his time? He certainly disregarded theirs, but this couldn’t be acceptable in a company like BFS. Stan began scribbling notes as if he sensed her displeasure with his lack of preparation.

  At 2:08 p.m. Herman was still nowhere in sight. Stan had almost finished scribbling a high school caliber status report. BFS was nothing like PFCC.

  She wanted to ask Stan what he thought of the binder and the work he was doing, but why? Stan was along for the ride, doing the minimum to collect his check. His opinion would be random and juvenile. Why distract him from hacking together his last minute notes? He was trying to appear more than marginal, futile as that effort was.

  Sarah ignored Stan and reflected on Herman’s lecture about working the plan. Getting permission to investigate the letters was going to be difficult. Touting her idea so soon meant belittling his objectives and Herman wasn’t the participative management type. He wasn’t looking for the best way to manage the team. He valued discipline above all.

  Herman tromped in, whipped the door shut, and took a seat at the head of the table. He carried the blue binder and a stack of battered manila folders, presumably needed as he stomped from meeting to meeting intimidating various people around the company. He pulled one particular file and pushed the others to the corner of the table. He focused on her coldly, not angrily, but an emotionless measurement that said he’d make his decisions based on the facts. He’d promote her or terminate her and feel nothing. He didn’t care which way it went.

  “Glad you’re still with us,” he said to Sarah then turned to Stan. “Prepared like never before I see, Stanley. She’s rubbing off on you.”

  The reprimand had no effect. Utterly unprepared and with little skill or enthusiasm for auditing, Stan looked squarely at his hulking boss without a hint of fear for the man others cowered from.

  “Always,” Stan said. “After eight years, if someone even thinks the word embezzlement, I’m on ‘em.” The excited tone could have been pulled from a 70’s TV show where the enthusiastic rookie overestimates his ability and sails headlong into trouble. So fitting for Stan.

  “Well Mr. Excitement, I wouldn’t be so glib if I were you. If Miss Burke here finds something you’ve missed, you’ll find your ass in a sling.”

  “Roger that ten-ninety-one control. If she finds something I’ll be the first to issue the code twenty.”

  Stan got stranger every minute and Herman didn’t look the least bit surprised. Sarah couldn’t tell if he understood the gibberish or if he was avoiding being drawn into Stan’s adolescent banter.

  Herman grinned. “Stan spent his childhood watching Adam-12. He knows every code they used on the radio and he enjoys showing off something he knows that we don’t. At least it proves he can learn with prolonged exposure.”

  “A good sign,” Sarah said, refreshed by Herman’s professionalism.

  “I tried confusing him with military jargon and call signs, but that just encouraged him.”

  “Were you a pilot?”

  “No. Army logistics.”

  Logistics sounded about as exciting as accounting and probably about as dangerous. Herman tired of small talk. “Ok, Stan. Tell me where you are and we can get back to work.”

  Stan barely glanced at the paper in front of him, “I’m ready to sign off on fifty vendors.”

  “Fifty? It’s nearly May, Stanley.”

  “I’ve got packets out to the rest, but the follow-ups are dragging.”

  “Stan, the AP vendors are a forth of the plan. At this rate you won’t be done until September. How are we going to finish if you can’t get the vendors done by June?”

  “I didn’t write the plan, Boss. I just follow orders.”

  “Good thing Sarah’s on board. At least now we’ve got a chance.”

  “Good thinking, Captain. Maybe she can fix the transporter beam while she’s at it.”

  Herman turned away flabbergasted. “Sarah, I’m going to put you on payroll verification.” He waited for a nod, but this was not a time to object. “I want you to check every employee on file. I want to know they exist for sure. Shake their hands, you understand?”

  “Shake every hand. Right.” How hard can that be, she thought.

  “I mean every single one. Audit their hours and document which people are working their fair share and which aren’t. I’m not looking for an extra fifteen minute break. I’m looking for extra weeks of vacation, people not showing up, that sort of thing. The security system on twenty-two should be a big help.”

  Sarah nodded half-heartedly.

  “What? You have a problem with payroll?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “C’mon spit it out.”

  “We’re working hard to track down money leaving the firm.”

  “Embezzlement usually involves taking money from the firm. Computers, desks, stuff like that, they get noticed.”

  “But we aren’t doing anything for client services or investments.”

  “You think we should pay more attention there?”

  “Right.”

  “We did extensive work on client services controls last year. This year they’re in the middle of a major systems implementation. Imagine the chaos down there with us and the IT guys crawling all over the place. Nothing would get done. Good thinking, but we’ll give them a pass this year and hit them next year when they’re more comfortable with their new system.”

  The explanation restored some respect for Herman’s plan and his coordination with the rest of the company, but she needed to see those letters. If something was wrong at BFS, the answer was in the complaint file. She couldn’t let it go.

  Sarah hesitantly slipped the letter from the binder and angled it toward Herman. He knew by her reluctance that she was looking for permission to step outside the box. He didn’t look pleased.

  “What’s this?”

  “A complaint letter from client services. There are dozens more.”

  “Probably nothing.”

  “What if it isn’t?”

  “We screw up sometimes. Legitimate complaints get attention. The customer screams and we pay them for their loss. When that happens, you can be sure we investigate.”

  “Who? Stan?” she scoffed.

  Herman scowled and for a second Sarah wished she’d kept her attitude in check. “Whoever’s closest to the problem digs in.”

  She couldn’t help herself, “Are they equipped to handle stuff like this?”

  Herman picked up the letter. The aggravated look said she’d done enough pushing for her first week on the job.

  He locked eyes with her when he was done.

  “So you found a crusade already?”

  “If you let me follow through on this, I’ve got a chance to uncover a real problem.” She felt like a child begging for chocolate cake.

  “Rather than follow the plan and muck through pay stubs.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. You’re not going to go dig through one letter. That’s not a program, that’s a witch hunt. Nothing good can come of it. If you find something, it looks like Stan’s missing problems left and right. If you don’t, it’s time we can’t account for. Either way I lose.”

&
nbsp; Sarah took a deep breath to protest, but Herman stopped her.

  “If you’re doing this, you’re going back to January one and I’m holding you personally responsible for us meeting plan. We miss plan, it’s on you. I’ll add your little adventure to the plan and you get yourself in gear.”

  Herman reaffirmed the meeting for the same time next week, stood and left almost before she realized she’d gotten what she wanted. It didn’t feel like victory. She’d been tricked into working doubly hard. Herman positioned himself to share the credit and linked her success to Stan’s meager output. How could he have survived eight years? His only interest was for old TV shows. Herman, on the other hand, seemed able to outmaneuver her without really trying.

  Auditing was going to be different than consulting and she’d have to adjust. If Stan was slow, she’d have to pick up the slack until she learned the rules. He’d made it this long. Herman had to know his limitations.

  At least she had no worries about Herman tempting her into bed. The shaved head and the age difference would see to that. He was gruff and direct, but what he wanted was clear. If she finished the plan and he got his bonus, Herman would be a happy man.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gregg had been heartsick the last three hours. Too distracted to work, he stared at the papers on his desk and waited for the office to empty. At eight he climbed the concrete stairs to the twenty-first floor landing. He froze there, looking up at the final flight that led to Erica. No one would overhear the rejection that rolled off her lips; no one would see him drag himself downstairs, dejected once again. How would he console himself if she said no? The finality of this visit had him stuck. If she said no, he’d move on. He couldn’t keep embarrassing himself, not after a third rejection.

  Knowing how likely that rejection was made climbing the next step painfully difficult. He’d made a similar walk two years ago, encouraged by office mates who saw the chemistry as clearly as he did. The results were disastrous. She denied feeling anything and he couldn’t understand why. He felt the spark anytime they were alone together. He could see it when their eyes met, but when he moved closer, she pushed away. Years later nothing had changed. He still got the same tired questions about their relationship and he was sickened every time he said they were good friends and nothing more. He changed when she was in the room and she did, too. Feelings flowed between them without words, without movement or expression. The distance she pushed between them might have made sense when they worked together in client services, but she was upstairs in IT now. It was time to move beyond the polite excuses about work and not ruining their friendship.

  She dated other men, forceful men who didn’t give up. Persistence earned them a few dates, but she took no pleasure in the meals and movies they shared. Even those truly enraptured quickly understood their pursuit would be fruitless. Gregg bided his time jealously watching each relationship bud then wither from neglect. Simon was the latest. Soon another would spring up to take his place and flowers would begin to arrive in the lobby. Gregg couldn’t watch that again. He should have pushed his way into her life earlier. Would he have succeeded where the others failed? Or would he have slowly soured and given up? It was time to find out.

  Why was she so afraid? She knew he was thinking long term. How many women would jump for a dependable guy who wanted to settle down and raise a family? Why did he fall for the one thirty-something who wanted to stay unattached indefinitely? It couldn’t be true. He looked at her and saw a loving wife and mother. And he wasn’t someone to fear. So what was holding her back? If he knew, he could persuade her to unleash her true feelings or at least admit she had them.

  Gregg took a step up.

  He recalled Melanie’s words. “It’s obvious she’s got the hots for you. Just snap her out of denial and she’s yours.”

  She was in denial. She wouldn’t admit feeling anything but friendship. The energy between them had been welling up for the last four years behind hints and glances and Gregg was brimming full. She kept from simmering with a friendly smile and an unwavering focus on all things impersonal. One kiss would change that. When their lips touched, the pressure would be released and they’d be overwhelmed with irresistible passion. Even she couldn’t deny it then. Getting to that point without endangering their friendship would be tricky, but it was time to take that risk.

  He took the steps faster.

  His hands reached out before him. In his mind’s eye he wasn’t in the stairwell, but her office. Erica had thrown her work and her inhibitions aside and admitted what Gregg had known since they met. He felt her body beneath him. Her warm lips pressed into his. She finally released her libido from the emotionless prison she kept it locked up in.

  Gregg touched the door handle and the image faded. The promise of intoxicating bliss and the threat of humiliating rejection lay down the hall past the silent cubicles. He looped his way around to her office unsure which he’d find.

  She focused on her work with angelic determination. Her head tilted toward him as he stopped outside her door, but her eyes remained on the screen as if it had hold of them. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  “Hey.” She smiled and relaxed back into her chair. “What are you doing up here so late?”

  “I thought I’d make sure you’re eating.”

  She knew this was a continuation of Melanie’s dinner party, but feigned ignorance. “Eating’s optional. I’ve only got two days left. Sunday we go with what we’ve got. Brad doesn’t care how broken it is. But you know he’ll blame me for every little issue that comes up.”

  He stepped further inside, angling for a way to get closer. The office was a disaster. Several feet of carpet and a cluttered desk lay between her and the only available seat. There was no room beside her to stand and chat. Unsure what to do next, he crossed then uncrossed his arms trying to look casual. With nowhere to sit or even lean close by he was stranded in the middle of the floor facing her over the two monitors. She smiled at his uneasiness and met his eyes with the unspoken question: why are you doing this again? He wondered why he’d chosen this place for his final try. Casually getting that kiss would be impossible here. She’d never let him get that close.

  “So you’re too busy to stop and eat?” he asked hopefully.

  She nodded toward the empty pizza box on top of the trash can. “I walked to Ossimo a while ago.”

  “I’m a bit late then.”

  “Or really early. Can I take a rain-check?”

  “Sure. How long will you be in work-yourself-to-death mode?”

  “Until Monday then things get ugly.”

  “I can’t believe you volunteered for this.”

  “It doesn’t have to be this way. Brad’s taken three people off my team in the last four months. Things were fine before that.”

  “He have a more important project?”

  “Not that I know of. He’s got them doing piddley crap. They think he’s punishing them for something, but they have no idea what it could be. Some of them are starting to look for ways to get even.”

  “He has that effect on people.” If Brad wasn’t related to Marty, Gregg would have dropped him on the carpet in client services a week earlier.

  “Be glad you don’t work for him.”

  The tension was gone. They were chatting like they did over the cubicles when he first started at BFS. He longed for those days. The closeness was leading to something then. Now it was pushed down below the surface. Whenever he ventured toward romance she got nervous and deflected his advances with never ending banter about work. When he backed off, everything returned to normal. They were doomed to chats about work and weather and he wondered how long he could keep it up.

  “So what about that rain-check?”

  “Can we play it loose? Say Wednesday or Thursday depending on how things go.”

  Gregg said goodbye and walked away with something he never imagined he’d get. In his mind it was a date, but only next week would tell if she
’d be anything more than cordial.

  He’d been waiting a long time for this chance. Another handful of days would be a breeze.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The hard wooden bench hurt her bum as she concentrated on the edges of her fancy black shoes. Mr. and Mrs. Ortiz had made her stop tapping because it made too much noise, so instead she brought her little shoes closer and closer together without touching, lining up the patterns carefully. She moved them closer and closer until they touched ever so lightly. When they did, she eased them apart a few inches and started again. Closer and closer. She had a napkin in her lap that she twisted. It dropped lots of little white pieces. When she brushed them off, they fell like lost snowflakes down to her little black shoes and then the marble floor. She wasn’t allowed to go down there and pick them up.

  She dreaded having to sit still on the bench so long. It was impossible to be quiet when mom was so close, but she did her best so she could talk to mom at the end. Just a few minutes after it was over, that’s all she ever got, but it was worth all the sitting in the world. Purple Bunny would be glad to get a hug, too.

  Tired of tapping and wringing her napkin, she stood up on the bench and looked at the faces. Usually there was someone who would smile and make faces to entertain her. Lots of people had pencils and pens today. They were writing things down, messy things mostly and she couldn’t figure out the words. A few people smiled at her, but they kept looking at the people up front. No one wanted to play.

  She turned and looked at the man in the blue suit. Mr. and Mrs. Ortiz said he was on our side. When the man at the other little table said bad things about mom, the man in the blue suit would stand up and shout. He talked softer than the others most of the time and he always sat right next to mom. Sometimes he went up front near the man in the robe who talked really loud. Sometimes he went to talk to the people in the little pen.