“
All set. What do your other clients think when you start sobbing in the middle of their workout?
”
“
Well, that
’
s the thing . . .
”
“
What do they think when you neglect to give them a spot? Or don
’
t pay attention to their set while they
’
re lifting? And your personal trainer—slash—Colombian drug dealer outfit—what do they think of that?
”
Norman tugs at the bottom of his shirt, shrugs.
“
When we first started two years ago, you were built, Norman, you had this whole sleek-white-Adidas-warmup-suit thing going. You were motivating. You shaved.
”
“
I actually thought of something cool for you. Involves tossing a sort of medicine ball and tying your ankles together with a piece of string.
”
“
I saw
Roc
k
y
too, Norman. You can do better than that.
”
Norman watches Henry slip clamps onto the bar. He sits on a nearby bench and puts his head in his hands. The old guy is coming out of the locker room again,
unshowered
and in street clothes, and he is looking their way.
“
What, Norm?
”
“
That
’
s the thing. I don
’
t have any other clients right now. You
’
re pretty much it. The owner lets me do a spinning class on Tuesdays, but since I kind of spit up in my mouth during the warm-up last month, I don
’
t even ride anymore. I just spin good music and
talk all kinds of smack while I walk around the room with one of those Britney Spears headsets on.
”
Henry wonders if he should tell Norman that his only remaining client is about to be fired, or at the very least transferred to the bottom half of the third world. He leans back and does a set on the incline bench. The same weight as usual, but it
rises
and lowers with ease. After his twelfth rep he glances at Norman, who is looking somewhere far away, so he decides to keep going and bangs out another five reps. When he
’
s done he looks to Norman for recognition, a glimmer of positive reinforcement, but now he
’
s text-messaging someone. After thirty seconds Henry grinds out another set and
feels even stronger. This time he doesn
’
t look to Norman or anyone for approval, and when he guides the weights down he feels a warm, uncomplicated, guilt-free rush of endorphins, all of his own making.
“
Where do you get them?
”
“
The painkillers? Clients. Ex-clients, actually. Why? You want?
”
He thinks. Not so much about the painkillers but about his own situation at work, at home, and with his balls, and how he doesn
’
t know what to do, how to feel about any of it. Of course he won
’
t mention any of this to Norman. But if not Norman, then who?
“
I
’
m just kidding,
”
Norman says. Then:
“
Hey. How
’
s work, Henry? Still the absolute pits?
”
Norman laughs so enthusiastically at his joke that this time-the old man and angry kickboxing woman both turn to stare at them.
“
You
’
re a funny man, Henry. I mean it. Without fail, after our sessions, I always feel so much better.
”
~ * ~
Reverse Outsourcing
Only when an office is consumed by the maudlin does it become remotely interesting.
~ * ~
He
’
d tried to come up with a reason for returning, such as claiming to have forgotten a valuable document or needing to complete a mission-critical task. But unless a cruel joke has been played on him, there are no more valuable documents in his portfolio, there is no mission-critical anything to be done in the soon-to-be-extinct Underarm Research Division.
He
’
s returning because he doesn
’
t have anywhere better to go.
Dworik, the CEO, and three executive handlers are on the up elevator. Henry wonders if Dworik knows that one of the men he
’
s in the process of firing or shipping around the world for no apparent reason is standing
alongside him. Then again, he wonders if Dworik even knows who he is. It
’
s only been seven years, after all.
Just before the door opens on the executive floor, Dworik looks at Henry. He turns his right thumb and forefinger into a pistol.
“
Underarms, right?
”
“
Yes, sir. At least for the moment.
”
Dworik blinks and tilts his head like a dog listening to a harmonica. He doesn
’
t quite understand and doesn
’
t do a very good job of hiding it. Has this young man been fired? Is he quitting? Or something else? This is why he usually shies away from spontaneous downward-directed small talk. Always ends up with the big guy being made to look bad, one way or the other.
As Dworik steps off the elevator he looks to his handlers, one of whom whispers into his ear, presumably about the impending fate of the employees of the aforementioned Underarm Research Division. As he
’
s hustled away Secret Service—style from a potentially ugly employee-CEO confrontation, Dworik glances back one last time, and his face contorts into the most artificial smile Henry has ever seen, a smile that somehow manages to convey every type of emotion but sincerity—fear, loathing, disgust, hate, and contempt—all punctuated with a double thumbs-up gesture.
Meredith looks up as Henry rounds the corner.
“
I had to come back,
”
he says, then adds with what he wants her to think of as his trademark sarcasm,
“
Can
’
t stay away from this place.
”
Her look tells him that his trademark sarcasm, always weak at best, barely qualifies as sarcasm under the circumstances. She knows, sadly, that it is true. He can
’
t stay away from this place. And something that is so thoroughly true cannot be considered sarcastic. She also knows that his job is not that difficult and that lately he
’
s been staying in his office much more than necessary because he does not want to go home. She knows that his most recent personal days were for a vasectomy and that his wife calls him with obsessive frequency and varying degrees of hysteria on his work and cell phones and that he is a paid subscriber who regularly checks in on her Web site, sometimes up to ten times a day. Her Web traffic reports tracked them right back to the corporate server and his hometown cable provider.
“
Anyone call? Anything going on?
”
Meredith also knows that he
’
s been given an ultimatum between China or India or wherever the hell they
’
re sending him and unemployment. She knows the Underarm and Eye Care Divisions are being outsourced to India. She knows that Henry knows that Dworik banged a demographer in the focus
group room during a baby-wipes session last week. And she knows that Henry knew that their friend Warren in Eye Care was going to get the ax this morning yet waved at him as if everything were wonderful
when he walked past his office.
“
Nope,
”
Meredith says.
“
No calls. And do you really want me to tell you what
’
s going on in this place?
”
Henry thinks about this for a second. Looks into her eyes. He
’
s trained himself to do this, because he
’
s paranoid about getting busted for staring at her breasts.
“
No,
”
he says.
“
I guess that
’
s the last thing I want to know.
”
He closes his door and stares out his window onto Park Avenue. There
’
s a mentally ill man standing on the median at Forty-sixth, his regular station for this time of day, waving a dog-eared Bible and screaming doomsday prophesies that Henry cannot hear. To the south, cars slide toward the traffic arch under the New York Central building and slip into its dark portal as if, he thinks, into some kind of urban genocide machine.
When he turns around, Warren from Eye Care is standing in the doorway with Meredith.
“
If the windows weren
’
t hermetically sealed, would you?
”
Henry smiles.
“
The old ones in the conference room on eight open just fine. So if you don
’
t mind landing in an alley . . .
”
“
You waved at me when you walked by this morning. Twice.
”
“
The first time I didn
’
t know.
”
“
The second?
”
“
Giffler slipped. He told me to pretend I didn
’
t hear it and then denied that it was going to happen at all.
”
“
Which you knew was a lie.
”
“
When did he tell you?
”
Henry asks.
“
Two minutes after he left the focus group. Right after he told you not to tell anyone.
”
Meredith backs up a step.
“
I guess I
’
ll be leaving.
”
“
No,
”
Warren says.
“
Stay, Meredith. Don
’
t you want to know who else is getting axed?
”
“
Well, for starters,
”
Henry replies,
“
I am. Or at least I
’
ve been given an ultimatum. But don
’
t worry, Meredith. I imagine you
’
ll be moving somewhere else once I
’
m gone.
”
Warren looks at Meredith, who pretends that all of this is news to her.
“
I feel like a jackass, Henry.
”
Henry waves him off.
“
They
’
re overhauling this division too.
The deal is I can either take a call-center job in some kind of newly acquired bottled water division in a third world nation, or refuse and be fired.
”
Meredith says,
“
You hate to travel, Henry, and aren
’
t you a bit of a
germphobe
?
”
He smiles. Even now, all he can think of is her boobs. Boobs, boobs, boobs.
“
What will you do?
”
she asks.
“
One week severance per year.
”
Boobs.
“
Right, Warren?
”
“
Correct. I know how I
’
m spending mine.
”
“
Really? Giffler
’
s giving me two days to think about it. But I
’
ve already made up my mind. Beside the fact that Rachel and I are already ass-deep in debt and our house is worth half what we paid for it and I have no discernible skill beyond being guardian of the psychological secrets of parity hygiene products, I
’
m kind of looking forward to getting out there and maybe, you know, actually stumbling upon something that doesn
’
t make me feel completely ashamed of myself.
”