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It was 6 am, I could barely think straight, and my phone rang.
"Hi, Jenny? Listen, it's Paul. Look, I know we've been through this
before but, ok, one more time, please? For me? Anyway - whatever -
please, just let her know I called? I've been leaving messages on her
voicemail at work, and at her place, but she must not be getting them.
She's not calling me back. I know I can truct you to make sure she knows I
really want to talk this time. Ok? Bye."
Paul. What a loser. As I pulled on my sweater I walked over and purged
the message from the answering machine. He must have known I was screening
my calls. I always screen my calls. As always, he's desperate enough to
try anything. I hit the speeddial for Lisa.
Paul Joney's the old time boyfriend of a friend of mine. Sorry, ancient
word. He's the, uh, "ex" of a friend of mine. I swear to god that Lisa
and he get together, have sex, have a fight, and dump each other every
single year since college. It's like some sort of queer ritual. She and I
were roommates at Dilis University for five years. You know - Jenny ARKAT,
Lisa ARGRATH - the bureacracy threw us together, and we've been fast
friends ever since.
Busy signal. No doubt he was trying her line again. Sheesh.
Anyway, I had better things to do. I flipped through my briefcase, made
sure I had all the relevant accessories, laptop, batteries, that sort of
crap. A last once-over in the mirror by the door, and I was gone.
I think I look particularly great in my golfing togs. For an old-boy
network, it's a great environment for a woman. All these doddering old
execs desperately looking for that big score - partly to justify a new
trophy wife. Me, one of the few women under 50 on the whole course. It's
practically not fair. I get all my best deals made there.
I came out of the elevator in the parking garage, and was just about to hit
the remote entry for my car when some creepy guy starts following me.
"Secure garage" indeed. I didn't have time for this.
I spin around and confront him. Usually, this actually works. This time
it didn't.
He smirked beneath a neanderthal brow and mutters something like "Gimme
your purse, bitch!"
Whatever. I could tell the guy was loaded - he smelled like a brew. I
gave him an eyebrows-raised 'last chance' look, but he didn't get the hint.
He reached for my bag, and I dropped him with a quick elbow to the temple.
I'd call the cops but, as I said, I don't have time.
I dashed to the car, and in moments I was out and cruising the freeway. I
called the police on the cellphone, but I doubt the guy's still there. I
didn't hit him THAT hard.
It doesn't take long to get to Dukpointe from Bowldome. For some reason my
boss absoultely loves the course there. Mystifies me. The whole place is
a marginally-drained swamp with water hazards everywhere. And the goddamn
ducks. They are everywhere -- you can't walk a par three without getting
their grease on your shoes. The tee boxes are a whole 'nother story. They
apparently like the flat, raised tee areas. I had to (quietly) kill one
with my driver on the previous outing, just to get him to shut up so I
could tee off.
I pulled into the parking lot just as Arthur, my boss, tied his shoes.
"Morning Arthur!" I tried to give it my most cheery
this-isn't-an-ungodly-early-hour tone, but he's not buying.
"Good morning, Jenny. This must be killing you. I understand it takes you
a small nuclear weapon to get up before 7."
Art Ageymory always was a perceptive fellow. He's generally pretty quiet,
unless you get him on the course. Man has stamina - I've seen him go
through back to back 8 hour meetings with a 2 hour drinking lunch between,
and still hammer a Sales VP into the ground before bed. No bathroom
breaks, no timeouts. 18 hours of meetings and the guy's still razor sharp.
That's why I'm glad he's MY boss.
"Well," I conceded, "I could still be dozing now, but hey - there's ducks
to kill, aren't there?" (He was a witness to my gavicide.)
He chuckled, and we walked together up to the clubhouse. As we got there,
we saw the rest of our foursome. All of us were employees of World
Machine, Ltd. Hm, I hadn't expected this was going to be an in-family
thing today. I assumed there were customers involved. When I saw who
exactly we were golfing with, I was even more underwhelmed.
The third was a guy I knew, but barely. Aldie Ramy - Board Chairman and
sometime President of Agriproducts, I believe. The fourth, however, was a
prick of the first water. Gerry Baji. VP of Personal Products. No, no -
he'd moved. VP of Safety and Security. I'd known him for years. We'd
actually started the very same day:
"Good morning, welcome to World Machine, Ltd. May I help you?" The
receptionist greeted me.
God, was I fresh. I graduated summa with a BA in International Business
only two months before, and here I am, already hired by basically the
biggest firm in Glorantha.
I looked at my papers, and back to the receptionist, "Yes, actually. I am
looking for a gentleman by the name of Farrow? Human resources, I believe."
Before she could reply, Gerry buts in front of me. Hipchecking me to the
side he says, "Clerical pool is third floor, sweet thing."
I was stunned for a second, but only that. "Excuse me, sir, but I'm not
looking for the clerical pool. I'm a new hire for marketing."
He turns, and gives me his shit-eating grin. "Yeehaa. Another scrub-face
for the marketing gin. So what, you're going to wear something skimpy and
hand out brochures at the trade show?" He looked at my chest, "Yeah, I
guess you'll do ok. First raise though, I'd look into implants." He
turned back to the receptionist, who was almost as shocked as me. "Look,
babe. Name's Gerry Baji. That's with a G. The exeutive council will want
to know I'm here. They've been looking for someone with my perfect
combination of intellect, skills, and charm for years, and now they've got
me. I'm their new bright boy. Why don't you just ring them up and let
them know I'm down here waiting for the details on the job they desperately
need me to fill?"
I could see she didn't really know what to do. Neither did I, frankly.
Now? Sure, if that was now, he'd have been wearing that grin somewhere
where it wouldn't help him, but that was before my years of seasoning in
this corporate world. And, the years of martial arts training, too.
He turned back to me, "Still here? I can see you're confused by all this
glitz and glamour of the big city. Why don't you just run along?"
All I could manage, I shamefacedly admit, was a nearly-silent "Drop dead"
and I ran off to the bathroom before the tears started to fall. Meanwhile,
when I came out fo the bathroom, he was standing there, glad-handing some
old fart whom I later realized was the CEO and General President Morton
Stahli.
To this day, I don't know what has burned me more about him - that he was
(and is still) such an asshole, or that I couldn't manage to stand up to
him in that crucial moment. Well, now I had a shot at him. My handicap is
a brutal 3 - from the MEN's tees. I'd hit him today where it hurt, in the
ego.
Art managed a "Morning Aldie, Gerry." before Baji launched into his
bullshit for the day.
"Well, isn't this nice?" he said, sneering at me, "something pretty to look
at while the men play."
"Eat shit and die, Gerry." My responses were slightly better crafted than
years ago - I'd had a lot of practice with him.
Aldie looked up at the both of us. "Well, I can see we've already decided
who's riding in who's cart. Art, you and Jenn take number 6. Gerry and I
will be in 2. You two," he said, looking directly at Baji and me, "will
NOT indulge in your regular banter on the course."
Ya gotta love Aldie. He's been with the company so long, you'd think he'd
be growing leaves. I understand he's one of the three elder statesmen -
Aldie, Morton Stahli (the actual founder of World Machine, Ltd) and Ms.
Tress-Trow. He's able to make statements like that and even whip Gerry
into line. Me, as low person on the seniority pole and a puny VP of R&D,
he could always push around.
My drive kicked ass, but landed badly. Art hit his typical shot - straight
as an arrow. Aldie was in the trees, but he usually spent most of his time
in there. Never seemed to hurt his score though. Gerry, I swear that
bastard deliberately heeled his over, to land near Aldie's. What was he up
to?
As we rode in the cart, Art veered from his usual weather-blather to
something that immediately got my attention. the fact that he was opening
this info on the first fairway meant that he expected we would need the
entire length of the course to resolve this little tete-a-tete: "So, did
you hear Gerry's introducing a new project?"
I practically drive into the fairway sandtrap, but kept a poker face,
"Really? I hadn't heard, Art. What is it?"
"I'm not totally sure. I think it's a little PDA or something for your
keychain. Called the Nice-a-Lore."
"Hmm. Would have thought that as R&D, I'd have been at least copied in."
He smiled patronizingly, "Jenn, don't get your dander up. I can see you're
already aboil on this. Look, you know how Gerry's stuff is always backed
up from above. It never goes the usual channels."
"Art, I know. But goddamn it, he's done this to me every time!"
"What do you mean?"
"My first job at WML was as a maketing specialist. He's in his usual
'undefined consultancy' role. I put together a sure-fire marketing plan
and the day I was scheduled to present to the council, he goes and plops a
new TV ad campaign in their lap. They approve it, spending the marketing
overage on that, and I didn't even get to make the presentation. My
arguments over that got me fired the first time. His plan cost the company
millions and didn't increase sales a blip!
"My second job at WML was as Exec Assistant to Ms. Tress-Trow. Great job,
lots of name recognition, you know. Well, that bastard Baji jokes at the
Christmas party with her that I was sleeping around the office, and whoops
- - there goes that job.
"The third position I held at WML was in sales. I work my ass off getting
a meeting with our competitor's top customer, and over the phone I get a
commitment from him that we can get a share of the business - maybe 15%,
but hey, that was up from zero. Well, I make the call and am sitting in
the guy's waiting room and Baji calls him! In their call, Baji apparently
promises him the world, and gets a commitment of 80% of their business.
Well, hell, I knew our production facilities couldn't handle that surge
right away. But never mind - Baji gets credit for the sale, and I go down
in flames with production as everyone (except Baji) is dragged into trying
to ramp up to meet the demand.
"Fourth spot was MIS - Baji suggests the implementation of some noname
database management software, and I fought him tooth and nail. Database is
approved by on-high, I get kicked for not being a 'team-player'.
"Art, this is my fifth job, and I'll be goddamned if he walks over me this
time."
Art got out of the cart to find his ball in some leaves, "Jenn." He found
it, and after estimating the distance, pulls out a 6-iron. He swings
cleanly and drops the ball a clublength from the pin. "Jenn. It looks to
me like you've been fighting him all your career. But look, every time you
are moved, you are moved UP. Or fired and rehired within a month. What
about that?"
"What's your point Art?" I said, driving up to my ball. I got out, and
wedged it right next to Art on the green.
"It's just that," he said carefully, "you seem to be doing pretty well from
this competition yourself. It's like you need him to fight, so you can
move ahead."
I looked straight at him for a second, "You're reading way too much into
this Art. I think he's a right bastard. He's directly or indirectly
gotten me fired or moved four -count 'em - four times. Everytime he gets
help from above. I'm sick of it."
"Just pick your battle, Jenn. That's all."
I think Art was tired of me, frankly. I'd whined through the entire first
hole. As we all putted in (Gerry bogeyed - hah!) I was deep in thought.
We walked to the tee boxes for two, and Aldie spoke up, "Jenn, why don't
you ride with me on this one?" It wasn't really a question. I was
beginning to get a little nervous. Gerry of course was smiling once again.
Shit.
I wasn't thinking about golf, so I shanked one. I couldn't tell, but it
was probably in the water. Baji laughed out loud, and pounded one up the
fairway. This was not turning out to be such a nice day.
I had to shuttle Aldie over to his ball on the other side of the fairway.
He didn't say a word, and I'd be damned if I opened this conversation.
He plopped a little shot right before the green. Casual golfer, all the
way. We went over to where my ball was supposed to be and I couldn't find
it right away. Aldie didn't offer to help look. That wasn't a good sign,
either.
Gerry, of course, chimed in from "Hey, ask the ducks!" all the way across
the fairway. He was too far to glare at, so I ignored him instead.
I finally found my ball, in a bad lie on the edge of the water. As I was
lining up my shot, shoes filling with swamp water, Aldie mentions, "I've
decided to authorize half your budget for Gerry's Nice-A-Lore project.
It's really at an R&D stage, so I'm sure you'll understand."
It hand't really sunk in until the middle of my swing. "What!?" I looked
up as my club duffed the ball squarely. Luck was with me though - the
force of the edge-hit was enough to power it out of the rough and land
literally a handspan from the cup.
"Lucky that," Aldie said.
"Wait a minute, what did you say?" I said, slamming my club into my bag.
"I said that was a lucky shot."
"No, before that." I really was beginning to dislike this guy.
"Oh, yes, that. I have given half of your budget to the Nice-a-Lore
project. It has a lot of promise but needs some rough edges worked out."
I stared at him as we accelerated toward the green. "Like hell you will.
You can give me the project, or you can kill it, but you can't give him
half my budget! That's ridiculous!"
He stared straight ahead, "Well, it IS Gerry's baby, and I really think
he's better qualified to nurse it to fruition."
Goddman it - not again. Not again! "Has this been approved by the council?"
"Yes," he said, "We've had our differences in the past, but on this one Mr.
Stahli and myself agreed. Ms. Tress-Trow dissented strongly, with a
supporting voice from Newt. You know - the corporate attorney? Anyway,
his conclusions were VERY drawn-out and less than persuasive. It really is
only 3 voting council members, any way. So it was myself and Mr. Stahli
against Ms. Tress-Trow and dragging Newt."
"So you gave Gerry Baji my budget?!"
He waved a dismissing hand, "Only half. Control yourself my dear. We
partly considered putting Gerry as Head of R&D over you, but thought that
would be a little too...."
"Blatant?"
"Unneccesary."
He chipped up leaving himself a good fifteen feet from the pin. Didn't
make me feel any better, though.
"Besides," he added, "we've felt you've carried on this personal feud long
enough. It's disharmonious to the team play atmosphere we are trying hard
to foster at World Machine. What do you prefer - chaos? Gerry's not your
problem Ms. Arkat. It's you."
He pulled his clubs off my cart and set them beside the green. Gerry
immediately zoomed over and picked them up, placing the bag into his own
cart. Kiss ass.
Again the green was silent as we putted in - me for a bird, Gerry for par.
Was I making this whole feud up?
Walking to tee three, Gerry made up my mind by slapping me on the ass, "Did
I ever tell you? Nice hole, honey."
That was it. That's all I needed. I looked around and saw that Aldie and
Art were getting drinks from the water fountain. Picking my driver from my
bag, I went over and stared right into Baji's eyes while I pumped my ball
through the ball-washer. I sauntered casually back into the forest cover,
out of sight from the other golfers. Gerry followed - I knew he would. I
couldn't imagine he would believe I was going to get romantic -- we'd hated
each other too long for that to be credible-- but I was apparently wrong.
We got to a small clearing about a dozen yards into the woods. He smirked
his usual smirk, "So Jenn. You come to your senses and decided to give it
up to me like all the other hot babes in the company?"
I shook my head. He was a bastard, right to the last. I was still smiling
as I tilted my face up to his, and moved in close. His breath was that
fake spray smell, and his cologne was something that killed bugs. I
relished him for that moment. As he smiled at me, I reached up behind him
and wrapped the shaft of my driver tightly around his neck. He was a
persistent little geek. I barely got back and he was clawing at the club,
at me, at anything, trying to draw a breath. He didn't last long, though.
He expired in about a minute.
I thought the poetry of the moment was complete when he was gasping his
last and I leaned down to him and whispered, "Last word to me Gerry. I
also beat you on both goddamn holes. Goodbye, Nice-a-Lore. Goddbye, G. Baji."
I came out from behind the brush straightening my golf sweater and brushing
the detritus from my skirt. Aldie and Art looked at me. I said, "Gerry's
cancelled the Nice-a-Lore project. I convinced him it was a dead-end for
him. You know how concerned he was about his advancement."
Art looked at me, "Where's Gerry?"
I looked straight back, never batting an eye, "Had to run - got a cell call
just as we were finishing. Something about leaving for a reward. Shall we
play?"
It was amazing. Everyone carried on as if nothing had happened. Nobody
ever found the body. To this day I sometimes wonder if it was a dream.
The authorities talked to me a little bit, but hell, I wouldn't have gotten
this far up the corporate ladder if I couldn't lie convincingly, could I?
Aldie was never very cordial after that, and Ms. Tress-Trow was really the
only victim. Apparently Gerry had left some papers behind that indicated
fiscal improprieties on her part. After that, she really only had
authority with low-level employees and projects. C'est la vie.
Me? I finally left WML. I founded a new company based in the Kartolin
Building downtown, selling small PDA's you could attach to keychains. They
were a huge success.
- -Steve (styopa_at_iname.com)
or at work (Steve_Lieb_at_lepmsp.com)
http://surf.to/styopa
End of The Glorantha Digest V5 #314
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