The Code of Happiness (6 page)

His tipsy eyes are on green number six. He's
forgotten most of their names. What matters is pocketing the ball.
He focuses once again, a marionette, someone else pulling the
strings. He slams the pool ball into the corner pocket triggering
high fives all around. Jamie stumbles to the bar giddy; he hasn't
felt like this in a while.

Beanoe's lined up his empty pint glasses on the
counter and drags Jamie over. “See,” Beanoe says, “I count. I know
my limits. Live within them. Comes with age.” Jamie finds it funny,
Beanoe can't be older than thirty-five.

“I'm serious,” says Beanoe, the man in charge, “live
within them and you'll find happiness.”

Aware Beanoe's drunk, but meaning what he says,
Jamie's entered a danger zone. He doesn't want to insult Beanoe on
his first day, the new boss and his life philosophy, so he swallows
his potential undoing. “I better go,” he says.

“I'm serious, you know. It's all them people trying
to go after the unattainable. They're the one's unhappy, never
satisfied. You see that, yeah?” Jamie nods. “All we needs is right
in front of us, right in front of us.” Beanoe thinks there's
something mighty important to add, but it slips him by. “Another
pint, Lilly!”

“I better go. And I get it, I get it,” tails off
Jamie.

“Good man. Turn up on time. That's all we ask. Eight
tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Jamie struggles with his jacket and, as a
curious drunk, asks Beanoe how he got into the organization. Beanoe
doesn't understand. Thinks it's obvious how. Jamie fumbles his
words. He meant how did Beanoe get to where he was at
unpronounceable.
The words tumble forth as an insult. Jamie
knows he's in a pickle. Beanoe gives him a sober stare.

“That's a little personal for the first day.”

Jamie zips himself up in every way possible and heads
for the nearest door passing two colleagues making out. He can't
remember their names—Julie he thinks—but he kind of fancied her,
and a tinge of jealousy colors his early understanding of office
dynamics.

“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie!”

“Grace, it's a dream.”

“It's a nightmare, it's ten after eight!”

Jamie's eyes twist open to see Grace on the
holograph. “Get in a cab now.”

“Oh fuck.”

Halfway across the office, Jamie's conscious of
tiptoeing and Beanoe's absence. There's a deathly hush. He's being
ignored. The group in their collective silence inform he's done
wrong. He sits at his desk making himself comfortable. It's a nice
chair but no one seems interested in telling him what to do. He
can't believe he's offended everyone on day two. He flashes his
ring at the terminal and it glows an anti-depressant light in
recognition but no more. He's on trial. His new colleagues let him
stew for a couple of minutes before someone pipes up and tells him
to wait for Beanoe. When Beanoe does arrive he's dismissive of the
tardiness, Jamie can make up for it at the end of the day,
including the time he's been waiting for Beanoe.

A monkey indeed could do his first task. He's to take
a crate of thumbprint memory keys and copy them to the x drive,
then destroy them in the disintegrator. If he makes it to the end
of the week Beanoe will let him know what they're for.

At the end of the week Beanoe doesn't say and Jamie's
too numb to ask. His colleagues have been silent and the only other
revelation in his first week is the location of the bathroom. It's
the door next to it that intrigues, Beanoe refused to say where it
leads. After the pettiness Jamie's actually looking forward to
meeting Grace for a first week appraisal.

“Grace, a monkey could do what I'm doing.”

“No one's ever complained before.”

“And I'm getting triple minimum wage?”

“As I've said numerous times, you're lucky. And,
quite frankly, I don't need to know the specifics of your job. I'm
sure Beanoe has something planned for you.”

“So I'm back next week?”

“It's a permanent position. Beanoe can't fire you
because you're late on one day.”

“Oh.”

“Don't be ridiculous. Keep your head down and
everything will be okay.” She can see his question. “Yes, that is
what I do. I value my job.”

“And the first time we met?”

“Erased,” says Grace. “Everything.”

There's progress, even the odd smile from a work
colleague the following week. The week after will bring a word, and
the week thereafter a sentence. Incremental improvements Jamie can
live with. His tasks have jumped a level. He's now verifying codes.
Beanoe's secretive. He only lets on they're from the thumbprint
drives and ‘other sources.’ Beanoe insists it's baby steps, Jamie
will soon see the overall importance. No wonder people dress in
black and gray. In the middle of the week Jamie muses as to whether
Beanoe is high and OCD as he navigates the office in robotic
fashion casting an eye on every minor detail. Backs are stiffened
and fingers type faster to Beanoe's words:
He's coming
.

“Who?” Jamie asks Julie.

“Blaze,” she says.

Six-foot-two, half Botox, half Buddha, the self-made
legend, founder and CEO of XXLI,
the unpronounceable
corporation,
is known to transform a room with a smile. And he
does. The tension evaporates from the floor of Department xH on his
arrival. Even Jamie grins. And he's not quite sure why. Blaze
congratulates them on moving toward a new breakthrough, new
territory, territory Jamie has no part in because he's been kept in
the dark. He's embarrassed to be in the room, to take any credit.
He hopes Blaze doesn't speak to him, a wish that vanishes
unrealized as Blaze spots the new face in department xH. He clasps
Jamie's hand, life breathing through his eyes, as if the power of
one hundred spotlights bear down on Jamie at once. The new employee
swallows his saliva to cover his dry throat and nerves.

“Do you know what you are doing?” asks Blaze.

Jamie's transfixed, thoughts cordoned off from
entering his mind.

“I bet you don't,” says Blaze.

“He only started last week,” defends Beanoe.

“Would you allow me to explain?”

Beanoe backs off, barely audible. He's a wimp for all
that bravado. Blaze commands the floor. They've all heard it
before, yet each time Blaze has a way of delivering fresh bites of
sound to motivate as if he's casting magic dust.

The information collected is coded by country,
region, city, neighborhood, demographic, season, daily weather,
local events, global catastrophe, and the latest trend. The
responses to their products are measured and coded at any given
moment in time, and somewhere hidden in there is the ultimate
moment, the moment of happiness. It's going beyond algorithms of
intellectual preference, it's tapping into the emotion of joy. What
Jamie and his team are doing is searching for the code of
happiness.

Blaze. His charisma envelops Jamie.

“The code to improve what we provide the world. A
code creating endless happiness. A win-win for all.” The office
bursts into applause with the exception of Jamie who's overwrought
by Blaze's energy. “What do you think?” he asks Jamie.

“No one told me.”

“Protection Jamie. It takes a while to find the right
person for the job. And you have a talent, don't you?” And before
he can arouse Jamie's suspicions, says, “Like the rest of your
colleagues.” Blaze rubs his hands with glee. “The perfect team, are
you not? Beanoe, I hope you'll be moving Jamie on next week, we
don't want him to waste.” Beanoe gives his guarantee. On Blaze's
exit the lights dim and his grip on Jamie is released. Poor Jamie.
Queasy, insides churning, while his colleagues are riddled with
excitement and jealous of the attention Blaze lavished on him.

Jamie crumples over the toilet and throws up. It's
several minutes before Beanoe checks on him and tells him to go
home. He doesn't want their 'prize' employee to be damaged and
offers him a free cab ride. The sarcasm washes over Jamie. The
world is washing over him. On the way home people and glass towers
drip wet and glossy. He's desperate for the cab to get him to his
bed where he can curl up for protection and fend off the sickness,
ease his afflicted mind, one confused with concepts of
happiness.

His bed fails to provide safety. It's cold and
lonely. There's expired Nightguard to help him sleep and he takes
it even though it's the middle of the day. It's the middle of the
night when he awakes and tries to fill in the gaps. Blaze and Ray.
They're related somehow, different yet the same. He drifts off to
sleep again and when he awakes is refreshed with lingering doubts.
He's not ready to speak to Ray and not sure he wants to return to
work, but he's a strangely loyal creature—and work pays.

*****

The weeks slip by unnoticed as Jamie and the team
analyze data and search for patterns in the codes, the unifying
moment of joy. It mixes monotony with thrill. Blaze has inspired
them with the worthy goal of finding happiness for all. Better
products mean less waste for Jamie. Even his parents would
appreciate such sentiments. Beanoe finally opens up on a night out.
He was manager at the Jolly Taxpayer when Blaze walked in one day
and loved what he did. When the place burnt down they decided to
build condos, and Blaze offered him a job. Beanoe's in flow. Must
be the onset of Christmas, Jamie thinks, the reaching out for
friends, camaraderie, and a good time. Beanoe wants to be real,
heart real. He tells Jamie he proposed in a cab just like the one
they're in now, glass roof, twinkling lights. They both gaze at the
artificial splendor. Did it work? Of course it did. The Beanoe way,
endless champagne and strawberries. It was perfect. Beanoe's
genuinely surprised—he's still married.

Darkness lurches on the corners, the homeless. “The
poor wretches,” says Beanoe, “you and I will never be like that.”
Jamie lets the condescension slide. He's a good man, Beanoe, or at
least trying to be. At the casino Beanoe wins big and Jamie loses
it all. Beanoe's generosity extends to throwing Jamie a few chips
his way and buying the 'champers and straws.'

“It's like tying the knot again,” jokes Beanoe.

If he's on a mission to get Jamie wasted and to outdo
him, he's succeeded. Jamie's dependent on him now, barely able to
stand on two feet. A rigorous slap on the shoulders and Jamie
projectile vomits over the bar. It amuses Beanoe, if no one else,
and leaves Jamie's shamed and apologetic to the two workers in blue
overalls who are quicker to the task of clean up than he is to
finding a seat. He wants to thank them but Beanoe's pulled him
away.

“Know your limits,” he says. “Lucky for you not only
is it Friday but you get to see what your work can do.” He whispers
into Jamie's ear, “The best way for you to help these puke cleaners
is to find the code.”

*****

He's into overtime mode, the informality of
department xH allowing hair and stubble to grow. There's an
addiction to creating and running programs to find the code. The
interior world of searching blocks the outside and its malcontent.
In reality it does the same to the discontent inside. It's all
brain so Jamie needs the heart and chooses it when he orders a
latte. A smile. A wink. The human touch. They've updated the
program so you can choose your barista now.

“Grace, I don't understand.”

“Overtime and productivity bonuses.”

“Have doubled my wage?”

“Unpronounceable employees are well regarded.”

“It's weird.”

“Most people wouldn't question. They'd just
take.”

He takes delivery of a new white sofa and bed. He's
trying to ape the comfort of the pod. Home had never been the same
since his dalliance with Ray and Po. Home had never been home. It
was always a transitory space, never putting roots down. Each space
he'd lived in accumulated objects, junk or otherwise. He ignored
them as they overtook rooms. It was the easiest thing to do. Now he
was aware of how he lived; the relationship of objects to a room,
tidiness could be an expression of his soul if he wanted, a room at
home the extension of his true being.

*****

“I like this Po. Well paid. Respected. Who wouldn't?
I'm not saying it's perfect, but I can partake in life and it's
doing some good. You know, I may even be happy.”

Uttering those words out loud is more to convince
himself. And it does to a degree. He's buying time before he makes
a definitive claim life is peachy, or at the least, working. Po had
pounced on him when the new holo set arrived. He didn't invite her
in but promised to meet up with her on his new territory. It was a
bad move. The place was hurting the conversation. He saw her
disdain at the fake chicness of the pub. If they do this again he'd
go somewhere she approves.

“Instant gratification, that's all you want and there
is none,” she says.

“There is. Of course there is.”

“It don't last.”

“It can. You continue. You do something else that's
satisfying. Just because you're not interested doesn't mean the
rest of us should turn a blind eye.”

“Nice choice of phrase.”

“And what's wrong with a bit of success.”

“A bit? Why box yourself in, limit yourself?”

“Live within your limits, and you'll find
happiness.”

How those hollow words slipped out bewilders
Jamie.

Po laughs at him. “You know what's in your limits?
Keeping a promise, having a look at our servers.”

“Yeah, well, life got a little busy.”

It's a lame excuse, he knows, but keeping the
dialogue flowing and on point seems pointless. They're going
nowhere unless you count circles. Po was fast becoming an object.
She wields a glare and pulls a snow globe from her pocket. Inside
is a blob of yellow slime.