Killer Instinct (22 page)

“And you’re just following orders. Like Nuremberg.”

“Pretty much,” I said. “I’m so sorry. I know how much this sucks.”

“Who can I appeal this to? Gordy? I’ll talk to Gordy if you think it’ll help.”

“It won’t help, Ricky. He’s made up his mind.”

“You can talk to him for me, then. Right? You’re his golden boy now. He’ll listen to you.”

I was silent.

“Jason, please.”

I was silent. I was dying inside.

“You of all people,” he said. He stood up slowly and went to the door.

“Ricky,” I said. He stopped, his back to me, his hand on the knob.

“Let me talk to Gordy,” I said.

Melanie stopped me outside Gordy’s office. “He’s on the phone with Hardy,” she said.

“I’ll come back.”

She glanced through Gordy’s venetian blinds. “His body language tells me he’s almost off.”

Melanie and I talked for a bit about her husband, Bob’s, plan to go in with some guys to buy a franchise for a Chilean sandwich place that was really popular in downtown Boston. I didn’t know how he’d scrape together the money. Bob worked for an insurance company.

Finally, Gordy was off the phone, and I went in.

“I need to talk to you about Festino,” I said.

“Guy freaks out on you, you call Security. He could do that, you know. Go off the deep end. I can see it in him.”

“No, it’s not that.” I told him about Festino’s child and the special school, which we’d all assumed was some hoity-toity prep school where the boys wore little blue blazers and beanies.

Gordy’s eyes grew beady. I stared at his pompadour, because I couldn’t look into his eyes. It seemed puffier than usual. He looked like he’d had his hair colored recently. “I really don’t give a shit,” he said.

“We can’t do it.”

“You think this is a charity? Some frickin’ social services agency?”

“I won’t do it,” I said. “I won’t fire Festino. I can’t do it to the guy.”

He tipped his head to one side, looked curious. “You’re
refusing
?”

I swallowed and hoped it wasn’t audible. I had the feeling I was about to cross some kind of office Rubicon. “Yeah,” I said.

A long, long silence. His stare was unrelenting. Then he said, slowly and deliberately, “Okay. For now. But after TechComm, you and me are going to have a talk.”

TechComm was the huge trade show, where we always threw a swanky dinner for our biggest customers. Last year it was in Las Vegas. This year it was in Miami. Gordy was always the master of ceremonies at the dinner, and he liked to keep the theme a secret until we got there. “I don’t want any disruptions before TechComm.”

“Sure,” I said.

“You know something? I don’t think you have what it takes.”

For once I didn’t answer.

28

I wanted to get out of the office on time today. Kurt had Red Sox tickets. I had to get home and change out of my suit and kiss Kate and get over to Fenway Park by seven.

I was packing up my fancy leather briefcase when I saw Doug Forsythe standing at my office door.

“Hey, Doug,” I said. “Come on in.”

“Got a sec?”

“Of course.”

He sat down slowly, with a tentative look about him. “You know, what you said yesterday? I really took it to heart.”

I nodded. I had no idea what he was getting at.

“I’ve been thinking. And—you’re right. Entronics is my home.”

I was stunned. “Really? Hey, that’s great.”

I noticed an instant message pop up on my computer screen. It was from Gordy. C
ALL ME NOW
, it said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I just think it’s the right thing.”

“Doug, I’m so happy to hear that. Everyone’s going to be psyched that you’re staying.”

Another IM. W
HERE THE HELL ARE YOU? GET OVER HERE
!

I swiveled around to the keyboard, typed, I
N MEETING, GIVE ME A MINUTE
.

“Yeah, well,” he said. He didn’t sound happy, that was the strange thing. “I guess it’s for the best.”

“Doug,” I said, “say it like you mean it.”

“I mean it. It’s the right thing. So…So that’s it.”

“You want us to match Sony’s offer,” I said, taking a stab at it. “And I told you we would. Forward the e-mail to me, or the letter, and I’ll get right to it.”

He inhaled slowly, deeply. “No need,” he said. “I don’t want to hold you guys up for more money.”

No salesguy in the history of Western civilization has ever said that. Or at least said it and meant it. I was immediately on alert. What was going on?

“Doug,” I said, “I gave you a promise. Now, don’t make me beg.”

Forsythe stood up. “Really, it’s fine,” he said. “Here I am, and here I’ll stay. I’m fine with it. I’m cool, I really am.”

He left, and I sat there for a few seconds, baffled. I turned back to the screen and saw another IM from Gordy. N
OW
! it said. W
HAT THE HELL
??!!

I IM’d back: O
N MY WAY
.

As I escorted Forsythe out of my office, I noticed Trevor Allard in his cubicle, darkly watching me. The background on his computer desktop was a photo of his beloved Porsche Carrera. I wondered how much Trevor knew about Forsythe’s job offer, how much he’d been urging Forsythe out of here, pouring poison in his ear. And what he knew about Forsythe’s decision to stay.

Gordy was leaning all the way back in his office chair, arms folded behind his back, beaming like a lunatic.

“What took you so long?” he said.

“Doug Forsythe just came into my office,” I said. “He’s staying.”

“Oh, is
that
right?” he said archly. “Now, I wonder why
that
is.”

“What are you talking about, Gordy?”

“All of a sudden Forsythe’s lost interest in defecting to Sony? Like all of a
sudden
?”

“It’s strange,” I said.

“I wonder why that could be,” he said. “What in the world would make a high-test guy like Doug Forsythe back out of a job offer that’s at least thirty percent better than what he’s doing here, huh?”

“Didn’t want to move to New Jersey?”

“Did he ask you to match Sony’s offer?”

“No, in fact.”

“You didn’t think that was bizarre?”

“Yeah, it was.”

“You ask to see Sony’s offer?”

“What are you saying, Forsythe made the whole thing up or something?”

“Oh no. He’s not a devious guy.”

“Then what?”

He tipped his chair all the way forward, planted his elbows on his desk, and said triumphantly,
“The goddamned offer dried up.”

“Dried up?”

“Sony pulled it.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I kid you not. I just got a call from a buddy of mine at Sony. Something happened. Some hiccup. Somewhere way up in the hierarchy, someone got cold feet about Doug Forsythe. Higher than Crawford’s level, I suspect. He was notified early this afternoon that they were revoking the offer.”

“But why?”

He shook his head. “No idea. No one knows. Something must have come up. I have no idea what. But it’s over and done with. Forsythe returns to the mother ship.” He cackled. “Love it when shit like this happens.”

I wasn’t really listening to General Patton on my
Business Is War!
CD as I drove home. I was remembering Cal Taylor being escorted out of the building by a security guy, not Kurt. Thinking about Festino. About Doug Forsythe, wondering why Sony had revoked the offer, which was unheard of.

The narrator was saying, “A sand tiger shark usually produces only one pup during breeding season. Why? Because in his mother’s womb, the biggest shark devours his brothers and sisters. Or take the spotted hyena. They’re born with fully erupted front teeth, and if two litter-mates are of the same sex, one will kill the other at birth. The golden eagle lays two eggs, but often the stronger chick eats the weaker sibling within the first few weeks after hatching. Why?
Survival of the fittest!
”

I switched it off.

By the time I got home I was fairly calm. I entered the house very quietly. Kate had taken to coming home early and taking a late-afternoon nap in the front sitting room. Her morning sickness had gone away, but she was getting tired a lot.

The floor of the entry foyer was antique travertine, and it echoed when you walked on it. So I took off my shoes and went past the sitting room in my stocking feet. The air-conditioning was on full blast.

“You’re home early.” Kate was sitting on Grammy Spencer’s hard sofa. Finally, Grammy Spencer’s furniture looked at home.

I came up and kissed her. She was reading a book, a black paperback of Alice Munro stories. “Hey, babe. How’re you feeling?” She had changed out of her work outfit into her sweats. I slipped my hand under her T-shirt and caressed her tummy.

“I don’t know. A little funny.”

“Funny?” I said, alarmed.

“No, just queasy. Heartburn. The usual.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Hey, Jason, can we talk?”

“Uh, sure.”
Can we have a talk
is up there with
We’ve found a lump
as the scariest words in the English language.

She patted the sofa next to her. “Want to have a seat?”

I sat down. “What’s up?” I sneaked a glance at my watch. I figured I had ten minutes max to get into my jeans and Red Sox jersey so I could make it to Fenway in time.

“Listen, honey, I want to apologize. I’ve been giving you a hard time about working so hard, and I think I’m not being fair.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Apology accepted.” I didn’t want to sound too abrupt, but I couldn’t get sandbagged into a deep talk.

“I know how hard Gordy has you working, and I just want you to know I appreciate it. I was out of line at BabyWorld.”

“No worries,” I said.

“‘No worries’?” she repeated. “Since when do you say that?”

“Who knows.”

“I mean, look at this place.” She spread her arms wide. “This house is gorgeous, and it’s all because of you. Because of your hard work. It’s all you. And I never forget that.”

“Thanks,” I said. I stood up and kissed her again. “Gotta go.”

“Where’re you going?”

“Fenway,” I said. “I told you.”

“You did?”

“I thought I did. I’m pretty sure I did.”

“With Kurt?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve got to go change.”

When I came back downstairs, Kate was in the kitchen making herself a Boca burger and some broccoli. Voluntarily, too.

I kissed her good-bye, and she said, “Aren’t you going to ask me how my day was?”

“I’m sorry. How
was
your day?”

“It was incredible. Marie had an opening at this gallery in the South End, and I went there as a representative of the foundation. And she showed up with three of her kids—she doesn’t have any child care or any relatives here. So I offered to watch the kids while she talked to the
Boston Globe
art critic.”

“
You
took care of three kids?”

She nodded. “For an hour.”

“Oh, my God.”

“I know what you’re thinking. Like, it was a disaster, right?”

“It wasn’t?”

“At first it was. The first ten minutes or so I thought I was going to lose my mind. But then—I don’t know, I did it. It actually was okay. I was pretty good, even. And I realized, you know—I can do this, Jase. I can do this.”

There were tears in her eyes, and there were tears in mine, too. I kissed her, and said, “I’m sorry I’ve got to go.”

“Go,” she said.

29

There was the usual crowd around Fenway Park, the scalpers asking if I needed a ticket or had one to sell, the guys hawking Italian sausages and hot dogs and programs. I found Kurt standing at the turnstiles near Gate A, as we’d arranged. I was surprised to see that he had his arm around a woman’s waist.

She had brassy red hair, a cascade of frizzy curls, and she wore a peach tank top that was tight on her enormous boobs. She had a tiny waist and a great ass, which was well displayed by a pair of short shorts, almost hot pants. She had heavy eye shadow and big eyelashes and bright red lipstick.

Once I got over my raw animal excitement at the sight of this chick, I was immediately disappointed. This was not the sort of woman I expected Kurt to be going out with. He’d never mentioned any girlfriend, and you don’t bring just anybody to a Red Sox game. The tickets are too hard to get.

“Hey, chief,” he said, reaching out for me with his left hand, touching my shoulder.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said.

“They haven’t thrown out the first pitch yet,” he said. “Jason, I’d like you to meet Leslie.”

“Hi, Leslie,” I said. We shook hands. She had very long red fingernails. She smiled, and I smiled, and we looked at each other for a couple of seconds, not knowing what to say.

“Let’s rock ’n’ roll,” Kurt said.

I walked alongside them through the cavernous underbelly of the ballpark, looking for our section. I felt like a third wheel.

When we got to the stairs at our section, Leslie announced she had to use the little girls’ room. That’s what she called it. We were going to miss the first pitch for sure.