by Brian Olsen
“About a year. Since she moved to this office. We started at around the same time. Started in our current jobs, that is. She had been with AmSyn already, of course, in Hong Kong.”
“Hong Kong, right,” Mark said, as if he knew more than virtually nothing about Pickle.
There was another pause, and before Mark could think of something else to say, Dell asked, “So...you ready to work her over? She says you’re the best.”
Mark’s jaw dropped. “What? She said that?”
“Oh, yeah. She said she wasn’t sure if she’d be up for it again so soon, she’s still sore from last time. Sounds like you really know what you’re doing.”
Mark couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just listened as Dell continued. “She said she might ask you to take a crack at me, as my birthday present. I gotta say, I like the look of you a lot more than the guy I’m with now.”
“Whoa!” Mark said. “Slow down, dude! I just met you!”
Dell frowned. “Oh, uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Is that a trainer rule or something, not poaching clients?”
Mark finally got it. “Trainer! Right! That’s right. I’m here for a work-out. Because I’m a trainer. Pickle’s trainer.”
Dell stared at him. “Okay. Nice talking to you.” He sat back at his desk and buried himself in his computer screen.
Mark barely had time to feel embarrassed before the door to the office opened and Pickle stepped out. Mark hadn’t seen her dressed for work before – she looked good, he thought. Really good. Professional and put-together. Although he knew she had some kind of important job, it had been difficult to imagine the pint-sized pixie he had met as a high-powered executive. At the gym and at her party she had looked cute and casual, but now she looked powerful and intimidating. It was sexy as hell, and Mark began to doubt his resolve.
Mind control, he told himself. That means she’s not consenting, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I am a good person. Most of the time. Were her tits always that big?
“Mark, hi!” she beamed at him. “Come on in. Dell, why don’t you take lunch? Take a full hour, we’ll be fine.”
Mark was ushered into Pickle’s office, her hand resting gently on the small of his back. He heard her close the door behind him as he took the room in. It was massive and beautiful. He broke away from her and walked up to the desk, touching the shiny surface – walnut? Mahogany? He didn’t know wood but it looked expensive. He looked out the window behind it, which took up the entire wall. It was just the other side of Lexington Avenue, but it was still an impressive view. Beats looking at sweaty dudes all day, he thought. He turned around to express his admiration to Pickle.
He felt like he really should have been expecting it, but somehow he was taken by surprise when she leaped into his arms, wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him fiercely. He staggered back and fell onto her desk, taking her with him. He worried he would impale himself on a fountain pen or knock her computer to the ground, but it seemed she had prepared for his arrival by clearing a suitable work area.
It took a few seconds for him to come to his senses enough to try and pry her off, and another minute to actually succeed in doing so. She was tiny but strong, and had all the leverage. He finally got his hands on her shoulders and pushed her far enough back that he could look in her eyes. “Stop. Pickle, stop!”
“Why?” She ran her fingers through his spiky gelled hair. “What’s wrong? Dell’s gone, nobody will hear us.”
“That’s not...I don’t want to. I’m not here for that.”
She stopped resisting him. She pulled her legs out from beneath him and sat, her weight resting in his lap. It was more comfortable for her, somewhat less so for him.
“Then, why are you here?” she asked. “Why did you come? I thought I was pretty clear about why I invited you.”
“You were. Very clear. But I just want to talk.”
“Are you sure?” She leered at him, then rocked slightly forward and back. “It doesn’t feel like you just want to talk.”
“Dexter! Dexter Dexter Dexter! Dexter!”
“Okay, okay!” She swiveled around and jumped to the floor. “Oh my god! Hello, mood killer! Geez! I have a fiancé, it’s been established, you don’t need to remind me!”
She stomped sullenly across the room towards a few fancy-looking armchairs around a low table. She sank down in one and gestured for him to join her. “You want to talk? Talk.”
He rose up off the desk, walked across the room and sat down opposite her. He had been debating back and forth the whole subway ride over about what to say to her. He thought about trying to break through to her again, to get her to see the oddities in Amalgamated Synergy and in her behavior, but even if he succeeded she might just forget it all, like last time. He decided he might have better luck starting with some new information.
“It’s about two of your employees. Derek Wallace and Marisol...I don’t know her last name. They work in Dakota’s department.”
“You’re talking about the murder?”
He blinked. “You know?”
“Yes, of course. The police notified us yesterday. We haven’t released a statement yet, we’re waiting for more information. It’s horrible. I’m told they were friends. I never met Derek but I knew Marisol. Sweet girl, a little dim. Quiet. I never would have expected it but I suppose that’s the cliché. Why did you want to talk to me about that? I hope you’re not just being ghoulish, I’d be disappointed in you.”
“No, I mean...” Mark was at a loss. He didn’t expect her to already know about it, although it made perfect sense that she would. “Isn’t it...don’t you think it’s strange?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do I think one of my employees murdering another and then killing herself is strange?” she said slowly, as if to a very young, very stupid child. “Yes, Mark, I feel that I’m on secure footing in describing that situation as strange. I had a meeting with the head of Human Resources this morning to decide what to tell the rest of the staff. We have to offer counseling, I believe. But it’s really a matter for the police. I still don’t understand...why did you want to talk to me about this?”
“Some friends of mine...they were there. When it happened. She killed herself right in front of them.”
“Oh!” Pickle looked at him in horror. “Oh! That’s terrible!” She reached out and took his hand. “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry for them. Are you all right?”
“Me? Yeah, I’m fine. They’re pretty messed up about it, though.”
“Of course, of course they are. I can’t imagine.”
Mark watched her face as she contemplated the idea of actually witnessing a murder-suicide. For a moment, he saw a flicker of the real Pickle shine through – at least, he thought he did. He suspected he had spent more time with the fake Pickle than the real one, but he was sure he was seeing a glimpse of genuine human emotion beyond the cold businesswoman/lust machine façade he distrusted.
He decided to press on. “Has anything else like this happened?”
“Like...other murders?” she asked him. She didn’t make eye contact.
“Yes. Or no. Anything weird, anything that might be related.”
“Mark...” She squeezed his hand gently.
“Yeah, Pickle. What is it?”
Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his. “Are we going to fuck or what?”
He yanked his hand away. “Jesus. No. No, we’re not.”
He braced himself for the expected pounce, but it didn’t come. Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.
“I want to show you something,” she said.
“Is it naked pictures? I’ll look, but they won’t change my mind.”
She smiled. “It’s not pictures, it’s an app.” She leaned forward and held the phone out for him to see. Her finger hovered over an app icon labeled “AmSyn Alert.” She tapped it, and the application opened.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s a link to Amalgamated Synergy’s Emergency Alert System. The System has all of AmSyn’s employees’ contact info – home phones, mobile phones, work and personal emails. When there’s an emergency, like a blizzard or a hurricane, an alert goes out to all affected employees, by voice mail, text and email, telling them the building is closed.”
“So they don’t have to waste time coming in to work,” Mark said. “Good idea. You send those out?”
“For this division. I consult with our Heads of Facilities and Security, they write up the message and send it to me – like this, see? It links to my work email – and I send it out.”
“Huh,” Mark said. “Okay, that’s cool, I guess. Why are you showing this to me?”
“I’m only supposed to be able to send these alerts out to employees of my own division,” she replied. “That’s the level of access other division heads have. But look...” She thumbed through the app, and Mark could see options to send an alert to all of New York, to all of America, or to all AmSyn employees worldwide. “This System was my baby. It was my idea, I helped develop and implement it, so I have greater access than I should. I have...power I shouldn’t have.”
She leaned back in her chair again, and started typing something he couldn’t see. “For instance, I could compose a message saying that Mark Park is the hottest piece of ass in all of New York City and that when he fucks me I scream like a banshee on a roller coaster, and then I could send that message to every single AmSyn employee, including employees of all of its major subsidiaries, in the world...like so.” She tapped the screen.
“Pickle!” Mark shouted.
“Or I could delete it unsent, which is what I actually did.” She put the phone away, looking strangely regretful. “I have power I can’t use, Mark. If I ever sent any message at all outside my division, even one not so graphically speculative, I’d lose my job. This power I have is useless. It goes to waste. It’s a frustrating feeling, having power you can’t use.”
She got out of her chair and kneeled on the ground in front of him. She rested her hands on his knees and looked up at him. “You have power, too, Mark. I am a very powerful woman, and you have power over me. As strong as you are, you’re not used to feeling powerful, are you?”
Mark’s heart was pounding in his chest. “No,” he admitted. “No, I’m not.”
“Don’t waste that power, Mark. Use it. I want you to.”
She stared at him, and he stared back. Her expression was unreadable.
“No.”
For the briefest of moments, a look of surprise crossed her face. Slowly, she stood and returned to her chair. “Okay,” she said.
“Okay?”
“Okay. Fine. You have a problem with me being engaged. You’re a nice guy. I get it.”
Mark shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t her fiancé that was stopping him. It wasn’t even the mind control thing, at least not entirely. Her talk of power had touched on something in him, although he didn’t know what. She didn’t turn him on anymore. She made him feel sad.
He kept these new feelings to himself. She had misunderstood him, and he saw no reason to correct her. “Yeah. Right. Sorry. I mean, you’re super hot, obviously I’m tempted but...”
“It’s fine. It’s good. It’s better, probably. I know this is a cliché, but can we still be friends? I’d really like that. We could get lunch, maybe? Let me buy you lunch.”
Mark was immensely relieved. Lunch would give him another chance to get through to her. “Yeah, yeah, of course. That’d be great. I’m starved.”
“Good. I just need to check in with someone before I can go out, is that okay? I wasn’t planning on leaving the office today...”
“It’s fine. Totally. Take your time, I don’t have to work today.”
“Oh, I know. I confess, I peeked at your schedule. You work for Amalgamated Synergy too, remember?”
She smiled at him in an unsettling way before getting up. He had forgotten that, indirectly, he worked for the same company she did.
She stopped at the door and turned back. “I might be a little while, sorry. I friended you on Facebook – friend me back so I know this isn’t a pity lunch. Feel free to use my computer.” She blew him a kiss and left, closing the door behind her.
* * *
After an hour of virtual freshman orientation, Alan felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out, looked at the display and grinned – he had yet to change Pete’s contact name from “Mark’s Testicle Guy.”
Before he could finish saying hello, Pete started talking. “Hey there. How are...you know what? I’m just going to talk for a second, okay? I want to get this out. Geez, I’m nervous. Okay. I know we barely know each other, but, apart from the murder-suicide, I had an awesome weekend. Oh, man, that sounded terrible. That makes me sound heartless. I didn’t even sleep last night, I had terrible nightmares, I kept seeing that woman and I literally woke up screaming. I called Kevin at three in the morning and he came over and I just cried at him for an hour until I passed out, I’m exhausted. I think I’m going to look for a therapist. Wait, sorry, I’m taking this in totally the wrong direction. I was having an awesome time up until you-know-what, and even afterwards it felt really right being with you for the whole rest of the weekend, and I know even that’s a weird thing to say because the rest of the weekend was mostly us either having sex or crying or both, but still. And I don’t think it was just a bond created by the post-traumatic stress because Caitlin was there too and I don’t think her ass is half as hot as yours. No, really, though, I know the whole horrible thing probably made us move too fast, but I told you things I don’t tell anyone, and the stuff you shared with me...all that awfulness with your dad...maybe I’m kidding myself but it seemed like you felt the same way. Or maybe you think I’m a creepy old man. I don’t know. Probably. I’m talking too much. Can you say something now?”
“Make me dinner tonight.”
“Awesome. Yes. I am a terrible cook. I can’t wait to make you dinner. It will mostly be made in the microwave. I can go shopping, it’ll give me something to do until you get here so I don’t punch a wall.”
“Didn’t you go to work?”
“I couldn’t. I don’t know how you guys did it. I’m trying to work from home but Kevin’s still here and he’s trying to convince me to drink.”
Alan heard a distant cry of “Hey jailbait!” through the receiver. “Tell her hi,” he replied. “And don’t drink, I want you sober when I get there.”
“I can’t drink, I’m a lightweight and I have to drive upstate tomorrow to meet with that client.”
“The lawsuit.”
“The lawsuit. Gotta make the world safe for small-time game developers. And I’ve got to do my fair share of the mystery solving. Can’t leave it all to you four intrepid investigators. Are you staying all day? I don’t want to come across as overprotective but I’m kind of losing my shit thinking about you in that place.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in mind control?”
“I don’t. I think I don’t. Doesn’t mean I don’t think there’s something dangerous happening.”
“It’s been quiet so far. Everybody’s doing their own thing, pretty much ignoring me. If it wasn’t for the constant fear of being murdered it’d be the perfect temp job. I’ve been playing games all day. And the Wi-Fi is blazing – here, I’ll send you a picture of me safe and sound.” Alan stuck out his tongue and snapped a picture of himself, then sent it as a message.
“Beautiful. It’s my new wallpaper.”
Alan was startled by the sound of his work phone ringing. Some of the other assistants on the floor looked up in surprise, then went back to their own non-work.
“Hey, sorry, I should go,” he said. “My phone is actually ringing.”
“Yes, go, do your job. I’ll see you tonight. I’m texting you my address now. I’m going to go run a marathon or something. Stay safe. Can’t wait to see you.”
“You, too. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Alan hung up his cell phone, feeling happier than he had felt in a very long time. He fumbled for the receiver on his desk and managed to get out “Amalgamated Synergy” without twisting his tongue too badly. He was confused at first – it seemed for a moment as if there were two people on the line – but it was just Sandra’s mother. He transferred the call, regretting hanging up on Pete for nothing.
He sat there for a few moments, at loose ends. He wanted to go back to his games, but he knew Caitlin and Mark were probably in the building by now, gathering information, and Dakota was going over AmSyn’s organizational structure and might find something new. He couldn’t sit at a desk all day, he had to do something useful. He just had to figure out what that could be.
* * *
Mark sat in Pickle’s chair, his feet up on her desk, alternating between checking Twitter on his phone and staring out the window. She had been gone for almost an hour, and he had long since given up on Facebook. He had accepted Pickle’s friend request and spent a discomfiting twenty minutes browsing her photos – there were an awful lot of pictures of her and Dexter, and she looked very, very happy in all of them. Mark wasn’t very good with complicated emotions, and the combination of pride for not sleeping with Pickle, guilt for considering it, and confusion as to how that weird power conversation had made him feel was making his stomach hurt. So he logged off of her computer, took out his phone, and used AmSyn’s Wi-Fi to Instagram a picture of his feet, for no particular reason.
He jumped up as the door creaked open. Pickle hurried in, a pile of folders in her arms.
“Mark!” she exclaimed, surprised. She dropped the folders on the credenza near the door. “You’re still here!”
“Yeah,” he said, unsure. “We were going to have lunch. Weren’t we?”
“Lunch! Right! I’m so sorry, I went to check in with one of my department heads and he had this crisis and I stopped to help him and...I just forgot. I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, no problem, I have nowhere to be. Are you ready to go?”