This Could Hurt

by Jillian Medoff

  “He wants to cut another thirty employees, including people from HR. HR! I talked him out of this last November, but now it won’t be so easy.”

  “Rosa, Rosa. Rosa. Relax. We’ve been through this before. It’s no big deal—”

  “Don’t interrupt me! And don’t patronize. It’s a very big deal.” A thin vein bulged at her temple like a worm pulsing under the skin.

  If she hasn’t had a stroke, Kenny thought, she’s sure as shit about to have one now. “I’m just reminding you that Ellery always does right by our people. We’re being forced to make hard decisions, but so is everyone else. Folks read the paper; they see what’s happened to the economy. They know it’s not your fault.”

  “I don’t care about myself.” Rosa glared at him. “I care about our employees. Peter asked to meet with us next Tuesday, so clear your schedule. He was impressed with your work on the last restructuring, and wants you to team up with Hal Foster again. This is a very important, very visible project, and Peter will be counting on you. You need to be here every day.”

  “You mean Rutherford? You said Peter.”

  “Yes, Rutherford.” She bit her cuticle. “How is Katherine faring with the payroll data?”

  Kenny had been promised another payroll assistant, but Rob was taking too long, so Rosa had asked the new girl to help out. He’d shown her the process back in March—a month before, give or take. They hadn’t spoken since, so he assumed Katherine was faring fine. “A bit slow at first, but she’s on her way.” He paused. He was skating on thin ice. Rosa was already annoyed, and he should keep his mouth shut, but their systems were so antiquated that if she dipped even a toe into new waters, they could be five times more efficient. “Rosa, if we implement employee self-service, we could save nine dollars a head per month. No more data entry, no more stubs, no second clerk. ESS is such an easy fix.”

  Rosa got up from her chair. “You’re a brainy kid, Kenny. And you have all these fresh ideas, some of which make sense. But to implement them, I need your help, only I can’t rely on you because you’re never here. It’s clear this job is not important—”

  Kenny’s iPhone lit up. Instead of answering, he watched it vibrate on the desk. Rosa was watching the phone too, and kept watching it even after it stopped ringing.

  After a very long silence, she said “I’ll call Peter” in an odd, high-pitched tone. “We’ll set up a meeting. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see us. It’s been a long time.” Her eyes were glazed and vacant, as if her cranial wiring had suddenly short-circuited.

  What’s wrong with her? Kenny wondered. “You mean Rutherford. You said Peter again.”

  Rosa ignored him. Leaving his office, she swung the door closed but was too forceful, and the flimsy particleboard wobbled back and forth and then cracked on its hinge. “Fix this!” she snapped as the door clattered to the floor. “Someone could get killed around here.”

  AT LUNCHTIME, KENNY went to the gym. He had a boxing class three days a week, and liked to stick around to spar with the trainer. Afterward, he showered and dressed and went back to his desk, where he worked on his thank-you note to Donald Lee Kwon. It took him two hours to compose two drafts, and he sent both to Janine. Her redlined edits were returned with a note:

  K

  I like paragraph 1 of Draft A and paragraphs 2 and 3 of Draft B. You didn’t mention you implemented new salary bands in 2007. Do you mind picking up the dry cleaning on your way home? Dinner, too: Chinese, two entrées with brown rice. Nothing fried.

  Big smooch

  JJ-V

  PS—UBS called!

  PPS—Big smooch from Dog too.

  After six years of marriage, Kenny and Janine made a great team. They started dating as undergraduates and stayed together through business school. When they graduated, Janine got cold feet, so they separated for a few years but ran into each other at Homecoming in 2002. Penn demolished Harvard 44–9 (Ivy League champs!), which added a drunken wildness to the fun, so after the game they took the train to Janine’s place in Manhattan and stayed in bed for three days. One year later, they celebrated their twenty-eighth birthdays while honeymooning in Tahiti. (“We’re married Christmas babies lounging poolside,” read Janine’s postcard to her parents. “Miss you both a lot. Next year, we’ll all come together! I am so happy.”)

  His phone rang. It was Janine. “Dog wants to say hello.” She put the phone next to the dog’s mouth; Kenny heard panting. “What happened with Donald Lee?” Janine asked.

  “No word yet, but I’m not concerned. What about UBS?”

  She made growling noises. The dog chimed in. “Les wants to make a deal.”

  “That’s great! Why do you sound so blasé?”

  “We’re still debating terms. I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

  “Do you think I’m getting ahead of myself?” Kenny knew it worried (and annoyed) Janine that he couldn’t settle down. But Ellery was the wrong place to do it. This place was so dinky, there was, literally, nowhere for him to go. Plus, the pay was lousy and the people were losers, content to stay at a third-rate company for decades and do the same shit, year after year. Lucy, for instance, used to work at JPMorgan; she could go anywhere! Instead, she was still waiting for Rosa to get put out to pasture. SCA Capital, by contrast, had everything he wanted. While he’d never earn the way Janine did, she had her own issues around money. Janine was a smart, ambitious woman with a chip on her shoulder that sometimes got the best of her. Her granddad had made a killing selling life insurance, but his wife and daughters were too dark-skinned and poorly pedigreed for elite black society. Growing up, Janine internalized her mother’s bitterness, but instead of coveting entrée to upper-class organizations like Jack and Jill and The Links, she became hell-bent on outearning everyone, black and white. Janine’s parents, who’d inherited the family business, paid full freight for Penn and sent her down I-95 in a brand-new screaming red BMW, while Kenny showed up with a single footlocker and a crate of used books. But they complemented each other. Janine was an overly indulged, fun-loving girl who skewed hotheaded; he cooled her off. Kenny was smart but lacked social skills; she anchored him and filled in the gaps. Kenny Verville and Janine Jamison-Verville were a perfect couple, everyone said so. Kenny knew he was blessed; now that he’d been tapped by SCA Capital, his good life was about to get better.

  14

  Kenny always enjoyed visiting with Rutherford, who was a rational and forward-thinking CEO. During last spring’s layoffs, when a finance guy misplaced a decimal point and three people walked away with ten grand more than they should have, Rutherford didn’t flinch; he merely let the thirty grand go, along with the finance guy. He was a busy man, so Kenny never lingered or spoke out of turn, conscious that like the military, corporations adhered to a strict chain of command. As he sat in Rutherford’s office, Kenny longed to give him an earful about Rosa, but she was there, too, so he kept himself in check. Kenny was also preoccupied; his interview with SCA Capital had been six business days before. According to their in-house recruiter, who’d called that same afternoon, Donald Lee had been “quite impressed” with him. So Kenny’s next step was to meet Barry Hardy, the CEO, and he’d been waiting for a confirmed date and time for more than week.

  Rosa was complaining. “How could you approve these layoffs, Rutherford? The count is too high. We won’t just lose credibility; no one will be left to do the goddamn work!”

  “If you need me to answer phones, Rosa, I’m happy to oblige.” Glancing at Kenny, Rutherford winked. “This was the board’s decision, you know that.”

  Last spring, Rutherford and Kenny had kicked around strategies for making Ellery more profitable. One was to sever the bottom 10 percent, based on metrics as yet undecided; another was to move a portion of salaried staff to contingency positions. A third was to sell off business units to competitors. During these conversations, Rutherford had given Kenny a better view into the executive hierarchy. So while the CEO might refer to “the board’s app
roval,” Kenny understood that most financial decisions—and ultimate responsibility—rested with him.

  “It wasn’t the board’s decision, Rutherford.” Rosa scowled. “Please don’t shirk; it’s so unbecoming. These cuts are your recommendation.” Years before, Rutherford used to report to her—or something like that, Kenny couldn’t recall—which may explain why he didn’t react when Rosa admonished him.

  “You’re right, Rosa,” Rutherford said. “I did recommend reducing staff. So what should I tell the board instead? That I was wrong? That we won’t do it?”

  “That it pisses me off.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.” His smile was affectionate. “But for the moment, I’m trying to run a business.” Rutherford was a tall, skinny grasshopper. Forever in motion, he fidgeted with his watch, riffled through papers, tugged on his tie. Born into old tobacco money, the CEO exaggerated his down-home roots with seersucker pants, suspenders, and creamy bucks. Kenny wondered if his good-ol’-boy look was intentionally overdone to soften his image, given that his job required slashing staff, carving up benefits, and denying bonuses. “I realize this is difficult. There will be individual losers, but let’s consider the collective gain.”

  “Losers? These are our people. Don’t call them losers.”

  Rutherford sighed. “Rosa, what would you have me do? I’m out of options here.”

  “There are always options. You have to be creative.”

  Kenny glanced at his phone. He had two missed calls: one from Janine and the other from an unknown number, which he hoped belonged to SCA.

  Rutherford drummed his hands on the table. “Here’s the deal. I’ve looked at the numbers up, down, and sideways. Wait, let me backtrack. Thank you, Ken, for helping the finance guys with the data cuts. Your analysis was spot-on.”

  “My pleasure.” While Kenny enjoyed hearing praise as much as anyone, it also embarrassed him. A man doesn’t court himself, Sarge had drilled into him. “Happy to help.”

  “These separations will be the same as the others. Last week, business unit leaders were told how many employees need to go. They have two weeks to submit revised org charts, which you and I”—he nodded at Rosa—“will review to make sure job functions are transferred correctly, gaps are identified, etcetera. When we’re finished, Kenny”—he pointed—“will put together severance packages with input from Finance. Rosa and I will review and send to Legal. As soon as Legal signs off, everything goes to the board. Questions?”

  “You watch,” Rosa said. “Six months from now, we’ll be short-staffed and scrambling for bodies. We go through this every downturn. There has to be a better way.”

  “That’s not a question, Rosa. But I hear you, so let’s spend a minute discussing how to mitigate the fallout. Kenny, you had some good ideas for reorganizing, cutting costs, and—”

  “Knock-knock.” Rutherford’s secretary, Priscilla, stuck her head in. “Sorry to interrupt, but William Arden needs to speak with you.”

  Rutherford picked up the phone. “I hate to do this, folks. You mind waiting in the other room . . .” He turned in his chair, using his back to dismiss them. “Billy Boy! What’s cooking?”

  Out in Rutherford’s reception area, Rosa took a seat; Kenny stood and listened to his messages. One was Janine, the other was Donald Lee (the Big Man himself [!]), asking Kenny to call him. “Sorry, Rosa,” he said, turning to leave. “This is life or death.” Hustling down the hall, he dialed the CFO.

  Donald Lee picked up on the first ring. “Thanks for replying so quickly, Ken—shit, I have another call; mind holding?” He clicked off before Kenny could choke out a response.

  Back at his desk, two minutes passed. Kenny sent Janine an e-mail from his computer: Guess who I’m on hold with right now? Then two more. He started to sweat, picturing Rutherford tapping his fingers, waiting for Kenny, annoyed. Two more minutes. Rutherford had asked for ideas, and Kenny was anxious to share. First, Ellery needed employee self-service. Kenny had run the numbers, and they worked in Ellery’s favor. Implementation costs would be offset by savings in manpower, particularly in payroll. Second, shared services. Operating three companies, each with a dedicated HR, IT, and finance department, was wasteful. Centralization, economies of scale—that’s how you survive a recession. Another minute; Kenny was drenched. Where the fuck was Donald Lee? Third, he’d be leaving Ellery soon, but admired Rutherford and hoped they could keep in touch. Despite their differences, the CEO and Sarge inspired the same feeling in Kenny: he wanted very much to impress them. Similarly, and more pressing: neither man liked to be kept waiting.

  Still holding, Kenny headed back to Rutherford’s office. When he got there, he saw that Rosa was gone. Inside, Priscilla mouthed, pointing to the door just as—oh thank God—Donald Lee returned on the line. “Hate to ask this, Ken, but I need another minute.”

  “I’m in a meeting, actually.” Kenny wiped his brow. “May I call you back?”

  “Just come in Friday. Can you? Listen, I like you, and while I can’t make promises, I’ll put in a good word—band of brothers and all that. Barry is only here the one day—”

  “Friday is great.” By the time Kenny opened Rutherford’s door, he was panting. “Sorry about that.” Afraid to look at Rosa, he studied the floor.

  “Kenny, you’re all red!” she said.

  “My . . . asthma . . .” Sucking in air, he pretended to wheeze. “I’m . . . uh . . . overheated.”

  Rutherford stood up. “Sorry, guys, but I have another call. Let’s meet Friday and finish this.”

  Friday? Wrung out, Kenny wanted to cry. Working was hell.

  “I’M HOME!” HE strolled into the kitchen early Thursday evening. “Jeannie?”

  Kenny’s interview with Barry Hardy was the next morning; he and Janine had plans to eat sushi and prep. He searched the first floor before remembering that she was going out with Les Hough. Come w/us, her text said. We’ll prep over dinner. Les can help. xx Kenny liked Les, but play-acting a mock interview with him? Out of the question. No thx. Have fun. xoxo (PS: thank Les for getting me into SCA!)

  The Jamison-Vervilles lived on a dead-end street in Short Hills. Kenny’s commute was rough—forty-five-minute train to Penn Station, subway to Fourteenth, two-avenue walk—but it made coming home all the sweeter. Their newly built four-story house sat on three acres and backed up onto dense woods. Having grown up in prefab housing on numerous army bases, Kenny still couldn’t get over how big it was, or that he owned it. In statistical terms, the property was F-U-C-K-I-N-G M-A-S-S-I-V-E. Three kids, five kids, they’d never run out of space. He treated his home with care, investigating every nook, cranny, squeak, and sigh. He created spreadsheets to track maintenance projects and deciphered the town’s garbage pickups (no easy feat, that). “Master of our domain,” Janine said, approvingly, when he rewired the parlor bathroom using YouTube and Home Improvement for Dummies. “Love a man with secret skills.”

  The first time Kenny’s parents saw the house, his mother, Glenda, had gasped. “It’s so grand!” she said, and covered her mouth with both hands, as if witnessing a calamity. His dad agreed. “Lotta house for two people, son.” But they were impressed; Kenny saw their reverence as they slid their fingers along the oak banister. Peering into the “children’s room,” Glenda’s eyes glistened; Sarge gave him a thumbs-up. (While Kenny was anxious to kick-start the baby-making project, Janine was dragging her heels. When she got laid off, they discussed it—well, Kenny did—but the subject died. Once he started at SCA, he planned to knock her up, pronto.)

  Upstairs, Kenny changed into khakis and tried to coax Dog off the bed. “Come on, girl. We both need exercise.” Nestled on Janine’s side of the mattress, the furry lump refused to budge, so he went outside alone. A little while later he was on his knees in the dirt, using the last few moments of daylight to shore up beams under the deck. He wished Janine were there to approve his handiwork. “On our first date,” Kenny had recounted during his wedding toast, “I told
Janine she was the only woman I knew who had beauty, breeding, and—”

  “Big brains,” his best man, Fez, shouted. The reception hall, packed with people, exploded with laughter.

  “And yes, Fez, big brains. But she also loved Penn football, Star Trek, dogs—”

  “And beer!” Janine stood on a chair with her glass raised. “Don’t forget beer, baby!”

  “Yes—and beer, of course. Do you remember what I said, Jeannie? ‘It’s like you’re the female me.’ Well, that didn’t sit well with her. ‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ she said. ‘You are the male me.’ Guess what? She was right. So I stand here today, in front of all of you, and admit that Janine Jamison-Verville, love of my life”—chorus of awwws—“is more of a man than I will ever be.” The crowd roared. “Hear, hear!”

  After his yard work, Kenny spent the rest of the night practicing responses to mock questions and reading about Barry Hardy’s unlikely rise from pot-smoking tennis pro to CEO. Although Janine wasn’t there to assure him, Kenny felt confident. Tomorrow, he decided, would be a breeze. He waited up for her until midnight, then went to bed. Where was Janine? She said she’d be home by nine. Concerned, he texted her several times, but didn’t hear back.

  “My man,” was Janine’s wedding toast. “My man.” She said other things, too, but that’s what stayed with him, that she had called him hers.

  Minutes, maybe hours later, Kenny felt the mattress dip beside him.

  “Hey, baby.” Janine’s voice, boozy and wet, was in his ear. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Surfacing from a sound sleep, Kenny murmured, “What time is it?”

  “After two. Les and I got a bit carried away.”