The Consultant (6 page)

Patoff had no reaction. “Are you satisfied with the way in which your division is integrated into your department?”  

“Yes,” Craig said.  

The consultant stood, smiled. “Thank you Mr. Horne. You’ve been very helpful.”  

That was it? A few generic questions about how the division was doing? He’d been expecting to go over in detail the specific jobs of everyone within his division, and he’d planned out justifications for each staffing position and each budget allotment in an effort to keep everything intact. He’d been prepared to fight for the programmers, technical writers and secretaries, and the lack of any such discussion, the superficial nature of the shockingly short interview, left him feeling unsatisfied.  

Craig stood, preparing to leave. He had not had to sign a confidentiality agreement—such a document had not even been mentioned—and he was tempted to ask about it.  

But he didn’t.  

Either Tyler had been lying about that or the consultant was only having some people sign them—and those people would be in trouble if they mentioned the agreement’s existence to anyone else. Either way, he didn’t want to tip his hand, and he nodded to Patoff and walked out of the room, heading toward the elevators.  

As promised, he stopped by Phil’s office on the way back to his own. Phil’s secretary was gone, taking her lunch, but the door to his office was open, and Craig walked right in. His friend looked up from the computer screen he was staring at, quickly clicking his mouse. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, relieved. “I should learn to shut that door when Shelley’s gone. I was playing
Zombie Air Force
.”  

“To figure out a new promotional angle, I’m sure,” Craig said.  

Phil grinned. “Exactly.” He leaned back in his chair. “So how’d it go?”  

Craig told him everything, starting with the awkward conversation he’d had with Tyler, up through the room that wasn’t supposed to be there, the weird prayer, and the minute or two of inconsequential questioning.  

“And that was it?”  

“That was it. I was dismissed.”  

“Huh.”  

“What exactly does BFG stand for?” Craig asked. “I was wondering on my way up here.”  

“Big Fucking Gonads?” Phil shrugged. “I don’t know. A lot of times, these names are bogus anyway. They’re just designed to sound good and give customers confidence. BFG could be the initials of the company’s founder or just something they thought would look good on a letterhead. It doesn’t really matter. What does matter is what they’re doing with these interviews. I don’t like the fact that your interview was so general and non-specific and it sounds like Tyler’s was probably a whole lot different.”  

“I don’t like that either.”  

“It makes me think they’re trying some sort of entrapment strategy. Against you. They’re probably quizzing the programmers about you, asking leading questions, trying to elicit negative responses, and rather than having you respond directly to whatever case they’re building, your official reaction will be a general, ‘Oh, everything’s fine,’ which will make you seem clueless and out of touch.”  

“You’re just being paranoid,” Craig said. But he didn’t think that; he was just hoping for reassurance. Phil’s analysis sounded dead on to him.  

“I hope so,” his friend said. “But my gut hunch is they’re going to do the same to me. They’re probably planning to cut down on middle management. Us. Maybe they’ll get rid of the divisions and just have departments, with supervisors reporting directly to department heads.”  

“So what are you going to do?”  

“In my interview? Same as you. I don’t want to let on what I know. Besides, maybe they
want
me to know. Maybe this is just a tactic to get department heads to rat out employees underneath them.” He shook his head. “Or maybe I
am
being paranoid.”  

“I think it’s good to be paranoid right now. I think we need to be on our guard.”  

Phil grinned. “He really calls God ‘Ralph’?”  

“Apparently so.”  

They both laughed.  

Lupe had not yet gone to lunch and was still holding down the fort when he returned. There’d been no calls in his short absence, and he told her she could leave if she wanted.  

“So what happened?” she asked.  

He told her the same thing he’d told Phil.  

“That
is
weird,” she said. “I’ll tell you what happens when I go.”  

“Unless you sign a confidentiality agreement.”  

“At least I’ll tell you that.” She picked up her purse. “I’m going to Panera. Want me to bring you back anything?”  

“No thanks,” he said. “I’m going out myself in a while. If I’m not here when you get back, see if you can set up that meeting with Peter in Development. I still have some things I need to go over with him, and we’ve been playing phone tag for two days now. I think he’s trying to avoid me.”  

“Will do, boss.”  

“Speaking of being your boss, if the consultant asks you—”  

“You’re the best boss in the world, and I never want to work for anyone else.”  

He laughed. “You’ll go far in this business, young lady.”  

She waved at him as she walked away. “I’m counting on it!”  

SIX  

“We need to talk,” Angie said. Those four words were never good. Especially when they were spoken in a serious voice after Dylan had gone to bed. They usually meant that she thought Craig had done something wrong and that he was about to get a lecture.  

Sure enough, Angie put down the magazine she’d been reading, picked up the remote and turned down the volume on the television. “You’re spending way too much time at work. I don’t like it and neither does Dylan.”  

“What are you talking about? I take one day off and go out with Tyler and some of the guys—”  

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”  

He was silent.  

“Even when you’re here these days, you’re not
here
. Where was your head at dinner? Did you even notice that Dylan ate all of the hummus I put on his plate? Dylan! Hummus!”  

“That’s great.”  

“Last night, you were online for nearly three hours. Lately, it seems like you’re on that computer every night. I’m surprised you’re here with me right now. And it wasn’t just the one time you went out with your buddies; each day you’ve been coming home later and later, leaving earlier in the morning—”  

“I told you, while the consultants are here I have to—”  

“I get that. I do. But when Dylan was born, we agreed that we would take up the slack for each other. I make his breakfast, make his lunch, take him to school, pick him up, take care of him in the afternoon,
and
I cook dinner for all of us. You’re supposed to help me out at night. You can’t spend all your time hiding in your study.”  

“What can I say? Things are…up in the air right now. We had personal interviews today with the consultants. Or, rather, everyone
else
in the division had interviews; interviews so top secret that they were forced to sign confidentiality agreements promising they wouldn’t talk about what they talked about. Me? I didn’t have to sign anything. They asked me a few generic questions and sent me on my merry way. Phil, too.”  

“What does that mean?” Angie looked worried. “Do you think you’re out?”  

“I don’t know. I don’t know what it means. But it doesn’t look good.”  

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”  

“I’m telling you now.”  

“But you weren’t going to. You sat here in silence watching TV, and you wouldn’t’ve mentioned a thing if I hadn’t brought all this up.”  

He said nothing. She was right.  

“We need to communicate,” Angie said. “You can’t just keep things to yourself. We’re in this together, and we should be able to talk about it.”  

“You’re right,” he told her. “You’re right. I didn’t want to worry you, but that’s no excuse.”  

She put a hand on his arm. “Should you be sending out résumés? How serious is this?”  

He sighed. “I don’t know. I
thought
I was safe. But this weird interview thing threw me for a loop.” He shook his head. “The problem is, it’s a bad time in the industry to be job hunting. That’s why CompWare’s in trouble. It’s not just that
our
market share is down—the whole market is contracting.”  

“Yeah, but you have great qualifications. And you look good on paper.”  

“Hopefully, it won’t come up,” he told her. “Right now, I’m just going to ride it out and see what happens.” Smiling, he patted her hand. “And I’ll be there more for you guys. I promise”  

“I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”  

“It’s not,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”  

She picked up the remote and turned off the television. “Why don’t we go to bed.”  

“Why? It’s kind of early. Are you tired?”  

She looked into his eyes. “No.”  

Grinning, he stood, pulling her up and off the couch. “Let’s go.”  

****  

Angie was still asleep when he awoke on Saturday morning, but Dylan was already up and in the living room, watching cartoons. Craig put on his bathrobe and slippers before heading down the hall to the front of the house. The carpet in the hallway was getting worn in the center, he noticed. The carpet had come with the house, and Angie had mentioned several months ago that she wanted to get it replaced, but he’d put it off because he was a procrastinator. Now he didn’t want to do it because he didn’t know whether he would still have a job, and until the situation at work was sorted out, he thought it better to act conservatively and save money just in case.  

“Hey, bud,” he said, walking up behind Dylan and affectionately squeezing the boy’s shoulders. “You want to help me make pancakes?”  

It was one of their weekend rituals, and Dylan jumped up excitedly. “Yeah!” he said, and the two of them went into the kitchen. Craig dumped some Bisquick into a bowl, cracked two eggs, then let Dylan pour in some milk and stir. When the frying pan was hot enough, he allowed his son to ladle the batter in a roughly circular shape. With his hand over Dylan’s, the two of them used a spatula to flip the pancake. A moment later, they did it again.  

“Go wake Mommy up,” Craig said. “Tell her it’s seven-thirty.”  

By the time he’d spread butter and poured syrup over Dylan’s pancake, the boy was back. “She’s up,” he said matter-of-factly. Craig heard the bathroom door close and the shower go on.  

He made the rest of the pancakes himself, piling them up on a plate, then sat down to eat just as Dylan finished drinking the last of his orange juice and got up to go back into the living room.  

“Hey, sport?”  

Dylan looked over at him.  

“You want to come to work with me this morning?”  

Dylan’s eyes lit up. “Really?”  

“Sure. I have some things I have to do, but you can play games on my computer while you’re waiting.”  

“Can we go on the elevator?”  

“Of course. And afterward we’ll go out for lunch and maybe see a movie.”  

“All right!”  

Angie had walked into the kitchen. “What are you all-righting about?”  

“Daddy’s taking me to his work!”  

Angie smiled approvingly.  

“Even when I’m not here, I’m here,” Craig said, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. “If we’re not home when you get back,” he told her, “we’ll be seeing a movie.”  

“Yeah!” Dylan said.  

“You boys have a fun day,” Angie said, pouring herself some orange juice. “And if you’re going to the movies, bring some Purell. It’s flu season. Those theaters are disease incubators.”  

She’d awakened later than they had, but she ate a quick breakfast and was off to the Urgent Care before either of them had finished getting dressed. Craig
did
pack a small bottle of hand sanitizer, as well as one of They Might Be Giants’ children’s CDs, and he and Dylan sang along to a song about balloons as they drove over to CompWare.  

“I like your building,” Dylan said as they pulled into the parking lot. “It’s
secret
.”  

Craig smiled. The exterior of the building—and the interior, for that matter—did resemble the hideout of some old James Bond villain, and though his son had never seen any of those movies, it was a perceptive observation, and he was proud of the boy for making it.  

Craig let Dylan swipe his ID badge to open the door, and the two of them rode the elevator to several different floors before stopping finally at the sixth. “This place is so cool,” Dylan said admiringly as they stepped off the elevator.  

“It
is
cool,” Craig agreed.  

“Daddy? Do you still have that refrigerator in your office?”  

“Yes I do. And I have some bottled water in there. Are you thirsty?”  

“Yeah.” Dylan smiled happily.  

Scott Cho was in his office when they walked by, obviously and ostentatiously looking through a printout whose information he could have no doubt easily perused online. Craig waved and said hello, smiling to himself, reminded of a scene in
How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying
where Robert Morse came into work on a weekend, spread some empty coffee cups over the top of his desk, dumped a bunch of cigarette ashes in an ashtray, unrolled reams of adding machine paper and then pretended to be sleeping at his desk as though he’d been there all night—just in time for the boss to walk in and see him. Scott was pulling the same sort of kiss-ass ruse, and Craig realized that bringing Dylan in this morning might accidentally give him a similar sort of cachet, making people think he was so dedicated that he was coming in to work even though he had to take care of his child. While that was probably a good career move, part of him regretted it, because he did not want to be playing this game at all.  

“There’s your office!” Dylan said, running over.  

“Yep. There it is.” They walked past Lupe’s work station and through the open doorway into Craig’s office—  

Where Regus Patoff was seated at his desk, waiting for him.  

And smiling.  

“Good morning, Mr. Horne. I’m glad you decided to join us today. I was just looking through your papers here and thinking that you have an awful lot of work still outstanding. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to complete it all during your normal hours, so I’m very impressed that you’ve taken the initiative to come in today.”