Termination Man: a novel (24 page)

But that didn’t eliminate all of the risk associated with his actions. The noise had surely reverberated into the hallway and the classrooms beyond.

Shawn took a deep breath and walked over to the restroom door. Inching it open, he peered out into the hallway, scanning the area in both directions. To his relief, the clamor had not drawn any curiosity-seeking students or meddling adults. He had been lucky. But now it was time for him to leave.

On the way out, he passed by the glass-walled office of the principal, who was engaged in a telephone call. Seeing Shawn, the principal smiled and motioned for Shawn to come into the office. No doubt the man wanted to express his gratitude for Shawn’s participation in the Career Week activities.

Shawn smiled right back at him, and—without slowing his pace—pointed at his watch and shook his head apologetically. The principal nodded and gave him the thumbs up: Surely the man understood that UP&S’s vice president of operations had a lot on his plate.

Finally he reached the sunshine and open air of the school’s parking lot. He was home free now. The broken mirror would eventually be discovered, of course; but there was no way that anyone would link the damage to him. There was a small chance that the puny kid in the army surplus jacket might finger him for the crime—but no one would believe the word of a punk like that against an adult.

And not just
any
adult. His position at UP&S made him a pillar of the local community, after all. His company’s tax dollars went to pay these teachers’ salaries; and it was a certain bet that more than a few of this school’s students were supported by UP&S paychecks. Take that blonde girl who had sat in the front row of the American Civics classroom, for example: One of her parents might be an assembly line worker, or even an office employee who was directly beneath him on the company’s organization chart.

Walking toward the Audi, confident now that his vandalism in the restroom would not be connected to him, Shawn’s sense of irony returned. His father had ordered to give the Career Week speech; and that—by all indications—had gone rather well.

It didn’t take long for Claire to get completely under Alan Ferguson’s skin. We executed a nearly perfect plan of persuasion.

Not that a tall, blonde, and beautiful woman really needs much persuasive skill to capture the attention of the average man, you might say—especially a middle-aged sad sack like Alan Ferguson.

Fair enough. But we were still operating in the minefield of the politically correct office environment of the twenty-first century. Therefore, Claire’s task was not to merely engage in a straightforward campaign of seduction. Alan Ferguson was no fool; and his suspicions would have been aroused if Claire had been too forward or blatant. The danger of overkill was ever-present.

On the other hand, she needed to dangle the bait in open view, so that Alan would take the plunge and irrevocably commit himself to his own downfall. We needed to strike a difficult balance.

Because my desk was right beside Alan’s, I was often able to observe Claire’s flirtations. These were not always easy in the open office environment. One exaggerated gesture—one ill-timed remark—and the entire office would have been gawking at the two of them, potentially scaring off our prey.

One morning Claire sauntered over from the accounting department and asked how to build a PeopleSoft query of all purchase orders over $5,000 that had been placed in the last twelve months. This was a question that I had given her; I knew that Alan was one of the company’s PeopleSoft “power users”.

To avoid being too obvious, she started by asking Lucy. “I can do it,” Lucy said. “But I’m not the best person to ask.”

“What about Craig, the new guy?”

“Aw, Craig doesn’t know very much yet,” Lucy said playfully.

“That’s right,” I said. “Craig doesn’t know jack. Go ahead and talk about me like I have no feelings.”

“The best person to ask,” Lucy went on, “Is Alan. Alan is an expert on PeopleSoft.”

Claire took a moment to seemingly contemplate this.

“It seems that Alan’s an expert on just about everything,” she finally said. She leaned against Alan’s desk. “We never know what talents Alan could be hiding, do we?”

I noted that Alan was actually blushing. I wasn’t sure if this was going to help our cause or not.
W
hen he responded to Claire, he wasn’t exactly Mr. Suave. He explained
,
in a flat monotone
,
how she could build her own PeopleSoft query. While Alan was talking, Claire leaned closer and gave him her best bedroom smile.

Alan’s voice cracked, and he became visibly nervous. It was a safe bet that a woman like Claire had never come on to him before.

“Be careful not to overdo it with Alan,” I cautioned her later that night. “He’s more perceptive than you give him credit for. One wrong move, and he’ll suspect that something’s up.”

“I think the problem is that Alan Ferguson hasn't gotten laid too many times in the past decade,” Claire said.

Actually, I couldn’t argue with this speculation. Alan had been divorced for a few years. Our investigations had yielded no evidence of any recent girlfriends. And I couldn’t imagine Alan Ferguson walking into a singles bar and scoring a one-night stand. Claire’s assessment was probably dead-on.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t bring myself to turn the pathetic state of Alan’s social life into joke fodder, either. We had a job to do for a client here, which entailed getting Alan off the UP&S payroll. That didn’t mean we had to ridicule him along the way.

“Well,” I said. “Let’s just keep up what you’re doing. I’ll see if I can’t move things along a bit myself.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Never underestimate the power of guy talk,” I said. Claire rolled her eyes at me; but I turned out to be right.

Alan and I were having lunch the next day when he asked me for advice about Claire.

He needed some prompting, of course. Alan was vocal enough when criticizing Kurt and Shawn Myers; but he was not the sort of guy who spoke openly about his own affairs. I reasoned that if I waited for Alan to broach the subject, I might wait forever.

“Seems like that new hottie in accounting has taken a shine to you,” I said.

Sometimes the only way to raise a sensitive topic is to be insensitive. And besides, it was only the two of us that day. Lucy was in a meeting that had run late through the lunchtime hour. Alan and I occupied a relatively isolated table in the UP&S cafeteria. Our conversation was private—or as private as private can be in a company cafeteria.

“You’re talking about Claire Michaels,” he said.

“No, I’m talking about Britney Spears, Mila Kunis, and Jessica Alba,” I said. “Of course I’m talking about Claire Michaels.”

Alan leaned closer, conspiratorially. “Is it that noticeable?”

“Like a fire engine with all sirens blazing.”

“I’d thought that maybe I was imagining it,” Alan said. “You know—like wishful thinking.”

“I don’t think you’re imagining anything.”

This was music to Alan’s ears, I knew. Even though Claire had been making blatantly sexual overtures toward him, there was a part of him that still couldn’t believe the evidence of his own eyes and ears. He wanted a third-party corroboration.

“I guess not. And now—”

“You’re wondering what you should do about it.”

“Something like that. It’s complicated, you know.”

“I don’t see anything complicated about it. If I were you, I would have already taken her to bed.”

“A guy like you
would
say that.”

“A guy like
me
?” I asked. Alan responded with a smirk. I knew what he meant by the phrase “a guy like you.” As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve never had any problem attracting female attention.

“Let’s not talk about me,” I said. “Let’s talk about you.”

“Okay, I’ll level with you. Let’s look at the facts.”

“Let’s look at the facts,” I agreed.

“Well,” Alan went on. “First there’s the age factor. I’ve probably got twenty years on Claire.”

“I don’t think the age difference is that large,” I said. “Let’s say fifteen.” I was actually speaking truthfully here. I happened to know old both of them were.

“Okay,” Alan laughed nervously. “Let’s say fifteen years, then.”

“There you go. Give yourself all the credit you’re entitled to,” I said.

“And there’s also the fact that I’m not much to look at, comparatively speaking.”

“I’d sleep with you,” I said.

“You’re a jackass,” Alan said. “Come on, Craig. Be serious here.”

“I’m only trying to lighten you up,” I said. “What you’re getting at is that Claire is a very attractive woman. And you consider yourself to be average.”

“I
am
average.”

“Fair enough,” I said. There was no point in denying this fact. “And you’re wondering why a stunner like Claire would take an interest in you.”

“Something like that.”

“I can’t give you a specific answer,” I said. “Only Claire could say for sure why she is attracted to you—which she apparently is.”

“But
why
?” he repeated. “I just don’t get it.”

I now grasped—and not for the first time, why unattractive and average-looking guys have such a difficult time getting laid. The deck is stacked against them to begin with; but they are often their own worst enemies. They have a few bad experiences early in life with women, which fatally undermine their confidence. Then after a while, romantic failure becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. They’re like the anecdotal circus elephant that is conditioned to be tethered by a progressively lighter force, until the day comes when it can be restrained by only a small peg driven into the earth. 

“Can I tell you a story?” I asked.

“By all means do.”

“When I was in high school, there was this girl named Keri. She was extremely attractive. A cheerleader. Great body. Bubbly personality. All the guys wanted her.”

“Sounds like one of those girls that I was afraid to even talk to in high school,” Alan said.

“I think you could have talked to Keri,” I said. “Because the thing is—Keri didn't want to have anything to do with the jocks and the super good-looking guys.”

“You mean the guys like you.”

“Jeez, Alan. I’m trying to help you out here.”

“Go on.”

“Yeah. Anyway, Keri was only interested in dating guys that the rest of the high school social order dismissed as ‘nerds.’ You know, the guys who were on the chess team and in the A/V club. The ones who wore flood pants to school.”

“I think I owned a few pairs of flood pants,” Alan said.

“Well, these were the only guys that Keri was interested in dating. She turned down the captain of the football team, more or less. During her senior year, she dated this guy named Brad, whom everyone else referred to as ‘the Stork.’”

“And you’re saying that Claire is another ‘Keri’” Alan said.

“I don’t know what she is. I don't really know that much about her. All I know is that this wouldn't be the first time that a hot girl went after a very average-looking guy. There are, as they say, historical precedents.”

“Keri, you mean.”

“Keri, I mean.”

Sitting across the table from Alan, I could tell that he was processing the story I had just told him. Most people will believe in an improbable set of circumstances if they can be convinced that the same circumstances have happened before. Then the case before them does not represent something entirely new and unique.

Keri, by the way, was pure fiction. She was a fabrication that I had designed for scenarios exactly like this. In my undercover jobs, I had met a lot of men who were only big talkers—who would choke when it came time to actually commit and make a move on a woman like Claire.

But the Keri story had never failed. She was a fake; but she was real enough for the men who desperately wanted to believe in her. Men like Alan Ferguson.

The next day at lunch, Alan was morose and withdrawn. I knew the reason; but it was a reason that he wouldn’t discuss in front of Lucy.

She had joined us today, as usual. She made some attempts to engage Alan in conversation about the usual topics: company gossip, ongoing purchasing projects, as well as their favorite topics—the ones that were responsible for my presence at UP&S.

Lucy was seated across the table from Alan and me. She leaned close and said:

“The other day I could swear I smelled alcohol on Shawn Myers’s breath.”

“Oh, do you really think he would drink on the job?” I asked, pretending to play devil’s advocate. I legitimately wondered if there was any truth in this latest charge thrown against the son of Kurt Myers. Surely Shawn wouldn’t be foolhardy enough to consume alcohol on the premises of UP&S. That was the sort of conduct that would be grounds for immediate firing.