The Pursuit of Other Interests: A Novel (2 page)

Charlie clutched his heart, then pounded his desk with a fist. “This is unbelievable. Just. Unbelievable!” He pounded again. “What was his reaction? Did he say anything?”

“No, he just, you know, watched you sleep for a while.”

“A while?”

“Then he took a picture of you, you know, with his cell phone, and left.”

“What?”

“He said that he would call you after you woke up. He told me to tell you to wait here for him.”

“Wait here for him.” Charlie felt an unexpected and sudden flash of anger and indignity. He had nothing to hide from Helmut, had nothing to be ashamed of. “Does he know how hard I work? Does he know I get four hours of sleep a night? Does he?”

Georgia was confused. She continued to wring her hands. “I’m not sure. Well, I don’t know. That didn’t really come up.”

“Does he know that I haven’t had a weekend off in six months, that I haven’t had a vacation since I came to this place? Does he know that…that I’m getting…a mole? Does he know that?”

“A mole?”

“Yes. A mole!”

“You have a mole?”

“Yes!”

“Where?”

Charlie paused. He wasn’t sure where the mole was. “It’s…it’s migrating. Moving.”

“You have a mole that moves?”

“It’s a…just forget it, I don’t want to get into it now. It’s too serious.” He took another deep breath, and tried to remember if Lincoln, in his years as President, had ever been caught sleeping at his desk, and if so, what his response had been. “Why do you think he took a picture?”

“I don’t know, Charlie, he said something, I think it was in German, I couldn’t be sure. Plus you were snoring, so I couldn’t hear that well.”

“Snoring! Jesus!” Charlie grabbed at his heart and took more deep breaths. “Listen, where is he now? Helmut? Just where did he go?”

“Helmut? He’s down with Mr. Marken.”

“Marken!” Charlie hissed this name. Marken was the chief financial officer, a rigid man with yellow teeth who was constantly harping over the dwindling revenue and spiraling costs. After O’Malley died, he had been Charlie’s rival for the top spot and had made a point of making his life miserable every one of the past twelve months by plotting and conspiring against him. This was a worst-case scenario.

“Georgia, close the door,” he whispered. By this point, Charlie had lost total feeling in his arm.

“It is closed.”

“Georgia, I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“A heart attack?” Georgia’s eyes suddenly encompassed most of her face. She wrung her hands some more. “Oh, my God, Charlie Baker.”

“I can feel it in my arm.”

She looked terrified. “Your
arm
is having a heart attack?”

“It starts in your arm and makes its way over.”

“How much time before it gets to your heart?”

“Minutes, seconds, Jesus, God, I don’t know!”

Georgia made a move for the door. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Wait! Don’t! Don’t call an ambulance! Do not! I don’t have time to go to the hospital. Please just don’t.”

Georgia stared at him and considered the situation. “You want me to sit with you again, Charlie?” She asked this quietly.

He feebly nodded. Georgia pulled up a chair and sat across from his desk.

They didn’t say anything. Charlie looked out the window. “I don’t want to end up like O’Malley,” he said finally.

Georgia appeared confused. “What do you mean?”

“It killed him. The job. The stress killed him.”

Georgia was quiet again. “But Mr. O’Malley was struck by lightning.”

Charlie continued to rub his arm, then he said, “He was worn down by the stress. If he had been in better shape, if he hadn’t been
beaten down
, he might have withstood the bolt.”

“But Angelo said Mr. O’Malley blew up. One of his arms ended up in a tree.”

“I don’t give a shit what Angelo says, okay? What is he, a doctor? They teach medicine at the limo academy? And for the record, it didn’t end up in a tree, okay? I’m sick of hearing that. That’s a rumor. That’s…that’s myth! Everything was still attached. I saw photos. He was just a little red, that’s all. And bald.”

“Bald?”

“Yes, bald. Big deal.”

Georgia sat back and shook her head. “He didn’t seem stressed. He was always happy, you know, positive-like.”

“Yeah, well, he was drunk all the time. That’s why he was positive-like. Anyone can be positive-like after a case of Jim Beam.”

“He didn’t drink that much. Didn’t drink much at all. Besides, a stiff drink won’t hurt you. Loosen you up a little. A drink once in a while can help you deal with things. Make you less tense, you know…less uptight.”

Charlie stopped rubbing his arm. “You think I’m uptight? Is that what you’re saying?”

Georgia shrugged and looked off to the side. “I didn’t say that.”

“You were implying that.”

“I wasn’t implying anything.”

“Yes, you were. I know when things are being implied. I’m very good at that. You were implying that I’m uptight.”

Georgia sighed. “I don’t want to get started with you today, Charlie Baker. I just do not.”

“Is that what everyone is saying about me? Are they saying I’m uptight?”

Georgia pretended to pick at something on her skirt, before smoothing it with one hand. “I don’t listen to what people say. I’m too busy. I got things to do. I spend all day running around here.”

Charlie swiveled in his chair and looked back out the window. Michigan Avenue had come to life with buses, cabs, cars, clusters of pedestrians waiting at corners. It was a sunny and warm fall morning. As he stared down at this scene, the world seemed an orderly and rational place.

“You know, Charlie, if you don’t want to drink, maybe you should pray once in a while. That’s what I do.”

He looked at Georgia again.

“Just a little prayer. Can’t hurt, Charlie. That’s the thing about praying, it can never hurt.”

“Pray.”

“Just a small one.”

Georgia’s recommendation to both drink and pray was doing nothing for Charlie’s mood. “Let me ask you something here,” he said. “And I need you to be perfectly honest, perfectly open. Do people hate me?”

Georgia looked uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and looked down at the floor. “Everyone likes you.”

“That’s very nice of you to say that, but I suspect that’s not true. People hate me here. I can feel it. No one ever talks to me, or says hello to me in the halls.”

“That’s not true. People say hello.”

“Yeah, well, that’s all they say. Listen, what I need to know is who specifically hates me. Who the primary haters are. Who is anti-Charlie? I need names.”

Georgia looked up. She was thinking hard. “Most people like you some of the time,” she said.

It was Charlie’s turn to think hard. He tried to repeat what she said, but gave up. “I’m not sure what that means. What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying that sometimes you’re nice, quiet Charlie, and other times…you know.”

“No, I don’t know. What—other times I’m not nice and quiet?” He shouted this.

“Other times, you know, you’re like, well, you know…crazy. A little.”

“Crazy? What do you mean, crazy?”

“Just crazy, you know…excitable-like.”

“Excitable and crazy are two completely different things. They have completely different definitions. They’re not even close to meaning the same thing. Which is it?” He slammed the top of his desk with his hand. “Crazy or excitable? It’s important that I know this. It’s critical.”

“Well, then crazy. You know, one minute you’re nice and calm and thoughtful and smart and say nice, you know, intelligent things, smart things, insightful things, quiet-like. And the next time, you’re running around like, well, like your hair’s on fire.”

“Like my hair’s on fire.” He thoughtfully repeated this. “Interesting. Very interesting. Is that the perception of the office? Quiet Charlie, Crazy Charlie?”

“More like Nice Charlie, Crazy Charlie. You’re never really quiet. I mean, that quiet.”

“Well, that’s very interesting,” he said again. “Very interesting.” He worked hard to control himself even though he wanted to scream that he wasn’t crazy, that this goddamn job with all these goddamn fat asses was making him crazy. He swallowed, did some deep breathing, shook his numbing arm. He felt enraged and hopeless. Then he felt impossibly overwhelmed and slumped forward in his chair. “Things aren’t going very good here, are they?” he asked. “Tell me the truth. Things are going to hell, aren’t they?”

Georgia shrugged again.

“What am I doing wrong? What do you think it is? Am I a bad guy?”

“I wouldn’t work with you if you were.”

“Then why does everyone hate me? Why do all those secretaries hate me? Aiesha and Patty and all of them? They practically hiss every time I walk by.”

“Don’t worry about them. They just miss Mr. O’Malley, that’s all. We all do.”

“Well, I’m not him, okay? I’m sorry he blew up or whatever the hell happened to him. I’m sorry I didn’t martyr myself by deciding to play golf in a hurricane. You know, people forget that I was supposed to be part of that foursome. Angelo took my place. I was supposed to be there!
In Bermuda!
My flight was canceled! That bolt could have hit me. Me! No one gives a shit about that. No one ever remembers that. All I hear about is O’Malley, O’Malley, O’Malley!” He sat back and shook his head. “You know, it’s hard to do this job when everyone is against you.”

“Everyone isn’t against you, Charlie.”

“I have no allies here, no support, no friends. Zero, nothing, nada. I’m flying alone here. Alone.”

“That’s not true,” Georgia said. “You have me.”

Charlie swallowed, then gazed out the window again, focusing on the top of a bus as it inched its way through traffic some forty stories below. Georgia’s comment made him feel like crying.

“You just having a bad stretch, that’s all,” Georgia said. “You had them before. Remember when we lost the Nike account? At the old agency?”

“That was bad.”

“But you came right back and got the bagel account.”

“And it was bigger than the Nike account. Twice as big.”

“Everyone else was giving up, but you kept your head and brought in new business and all those awards you won.”

“Two Effies. And we almost won at Cannes, for the Bagel Man campaign.”

“Those commercials were funny. I would see them and I would laugh and tell my kids, that’s my boss’s idea.”

“Those were funny spots. I came up with that campaign one night by myself in a hotel bar in Pittsburgh.”

“I know. The Westin William Penn. And you worked all night on them.”

“I did.”

“And no one could believe you could get President Clinton to do that.”

“It was Bob Dole. He was a senator. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

“And we got the business and you saved everyone’s job.”

“I did.”

“You did.”

They were both quiet. Charlie didn’t feel like crying anymore.

“Those were some fun times. We had some fun back then,” Georgia said.

“They were fun, I guess.”

Georgia smiled, her face relaxing. “You feeling better now, Charlie?”

“A little, yes, thank you.”

“Heart attack gone?”

“For now.” He gave a short smile back and stared at his computer. “Well, I’m not going to wait around all day for Helmut. What time is the staff huddle again?” he asked, even though he already knew. The huddle was always ten o’clock on Monday morning.

“It’s canceled.”

He squinted with confusion at Georgia. “Canceled? Who canceled it? It’s my meeting.”

“Mr. Marken canceled it.”

“Marken? He can’t cancel it! It’s my meeting. He can’t cancel it. Marken reports to me.”

“He sent everyone an e-mail this morning saying it was canceled.”

Charlie quickly swung back to his computer and checked his e-mail.

“I didn’t get any message.”

Georgia squirmed in her chair. “Well, maybe he just forgot.”

Charlie stood up. “He doesn’t forget anything. Where is he?”

“Still in his office, I guess. With Helmut.”

He sat down again. Then he stood back up. “Well, this is bullshit. What are they doing in there? I mean, just what the hell are they doing?” He pounded the desk for a third time that morning. Georgia stood up.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

Charlie was standing perfectly still when she asked this. He really hadn’t planned on going anywhere. But he realized then that he had to go see Marken and Helmut. His heart raced.

“I’m going to go see them.”

“You are?”

“Yes.” He moved quickly around the desk and headed for the door. When he placed his hand on the doorknob, he turned one last time to Georgia. “Tell everyone our staff huddle is back to the original time.” He said this authoritatively and in a deep voice.

Georgia, eyes wide, swallowed.

When he opened the door, a tall, thin man was standing there. He was wearing an ugly, off-white short-sleeve shirt and a narrow black tie. Charlie had never seen the man before, so he had no way of knowing that he was staring directly into the face of his future.

“Mr. Baker?” he asked. He had a soft voice tinted with a British accent.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Ned Meyers.”

Charlie stood there looking at him. He assumed he was from the mailroom.

“I’m here to answer any questions you may have and to help you with the transition.”

When Charlie didn’t respond, he continued, “I’m from Rogers & Newman.” He said this in a way that assumed some understanding.

“Who?” The name sounded vaguely familiar.

The man searched Charlie’s face with intense brown eyes, then looked embarrassed, his cheeks splotching red. He quickly checked his watch, mumbled incoherently, and disappeared down the hall in a lope.

Charlie glanced back at Georgia, who was standing silently by his desk, eyes still huge in what looked like fear.

“Who was that?” he asked. But at that moment his phone rang, and she answered it.

“It’s Helmut,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. Her face looked resigned. “He’s in Mr. Marken’s office. He wants to see you, Charlie. He wants to see you right now.”