The Pursuit of Other Interests: A Novel (6 page)

As the movie wore on, though, the sense of well-being faded and he began to feel wistful, then envious. He wanted mild cerebral palsy. He wanted gigantic ears. He wanted, needed, an obvious cross to bear. He wanted to be a refugee from a Third World nation, be a dwarf, have one leg shorter than the other, be the product of alcoholic parents, be an African-American woman. But he was white and male, came from a very stable household, and, migrating moles notwithstanding, was in good health. He had no excuse for his failure, no one to blame but himself.

He turned off the TV and then the lights and lay in bed. He feared he might die there, alone in a hotel wrapped in a strange bathrobe. He felt the tears coming again, fought them back, cursed out loud. Then he reached over for the phone and called home. He needed to talk to Donna. If he could just hear her voice one more time, one more time. He didn’t want to be alone like this. He needed someone, and the someone he needed was his wife.

She didn’t pick up, of course; it was three-thirty. Instead, he got their answering machine, and when he heard her recorded voice, he placed the phone over his heart and pressed it close before hanging up.

He lay in bed like a child, scared and wondering in the dark. He took deep breaths and swallowed. He curled his hands into fists. He lay there all night, just like that, thinking, and when the morning slowly made its way into his room, dirty and gray, he said a small prayer, his lips moving silently in the thin light.

Ned Meyers was a tall, slender man with a pale face and straight Julius Caesar bangs. His attire, cardigan sweater, woolen tie, well-worn corduroy pants, and Hush Puppies—
Hush Puppies!
—as well as his overly earnest face and sincere brown eyes, reminded Charlie of a high school guidance counselor. Because of all these things, mostly because he never liked his high school guidance counselor, but especially because he never trusted people with British accents, Charlie took an immediate disliking to him.

“I respect what you’re saying, but I still think I should sue them,” Charlie said.

“You have no grounds to sue anyone,” Ned said. “None whatsoever.”

“How about age discrimination? How about that? I just turned fifty. They waited for me to turn fifty, then”—Charlie snapped his fingers—“bam, they move on me, they attack.”

“They compiled quite a file on you, Charlie.” Ned opened a manila folder that was on his desk and scanned its contents. “They have many documented issues. The lack of business, that issue about everyone being fat, that obscene book club, that strange commercial with that rodent.”

“Hey, for your information, that hamster tested great in the focus groups, okay? You know the Geico Gecko, that little green thing? We were trying to do the same thing. People love little creatures like that. Paula Abdul was the problem, okay? I don’t know how the hell she ended up in the thing. It wasn’t the talking hamster. The talking hamster was fine, believe me. He looked great with that little cowboy hat on and those boots.”

“I’m just reporting what they have documented.”

“Yeah, well, listen, I don’t care what they say, I’m going to sue for a better package. What they gave me was ridiculous. Ridiculous.”

“Also, there is that photo of you sleeping. At your desk,” Ned said.

“Listen, he had no right to take that picture! No right at all! That’s an invasion of my privacy, my civil liberties.”

“But you were sleeping on the job. Literally.”

“So what? I basically blacked out. Collapsed. I worked constantly.”

“Well,” Ned sighed.

Ned and Charlie were facing each other in an airless office at Rogers & Newman, a blank room, lifeless with the exception of a crooked potted tree in the corner, a wall calendar, and a clichéd inspirational poster showing a wizened old man (
WHEN GOING GETS TOUGH, THE TOUGH GET GOING
) running up a wooded hill at twilight. It was Friday, two days after Charlie had bottomed out at the Four Seasons. Outside, in the functioning real world, people were working, checking e-mail, attending meetings, heading to airports, making lunch plans. Charlie, however, was cloistered inside an interrogation room, the stench of failure everywhere.

While Ned attempted to once again review all the resources Rogers & Newman offered, Charlie looked at his watch. It was close to eleven o’clock and, other than attending a special birthday bash for Augie, the panda bear at the Brookfield Zoo (he had spent a good part of the day before watching the staff hang decorations in preparation for it), his schedule was fairly clear for the next thirty to forty years. Still, he wanted this meeting to be brief. He was ashamed to be in a transition office, ashamed to be sitting with a patronizing Hush Puppy–wearing man, talking about his career and his life.

He was also annoyed that Ned Meyers was working with him. Earlier, out in the hall, he had briefly met a couple of sharp transition consultants, Frank and Tom, two outgoing young men nattily dressed in appropriate business-casual Brooks Brothers attire. Whoever determined the assignments had made a mistake, Charlie thought. Either Frank or Tom, with their firm handshakes and excellent eye contact, should have been assigned to him.

He studied Ned again and, when he noticed a spot on his tie, said, “I have another appointment, so we’re going to have to make this quick. I just stopped in because I wanted to know my rights.”

“Rights?” Ned smiled. His long, skinny hands were folded on top of the now-closed manila folder, the indictment against Charlie.

“I mean, what I can do here,” he said. “Your resources.”

Ned cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve been trying to do just that. You have access to all of our office equipment: fax, phone, computer, e-mail. We can provide cell phones if you have to go out of town. We’re open from seven-thirty
A.M.
to seven
P.M.
, six days a week. Everything we do here is designed to get you out there again.”

“Out where?”

“Out there in the workforce, of course. With a job.” Ned smiled again. “We also have a daily networking meeting grouped by industry where we all get together and share information and progress reports. You, of course, will be part of the marketing group including advertising, public relations, sales promotion people. We currently have a super group of people in that group. They call themselves the refugees. They’re a super group.”

Charlie again glanced at his watch and said nothing.

Ned’s smile grew. His cheerfulness was insincere, manufactured, and worst of all patronizing, Charlie thought. Charlie wanted to tell him how much money he used to make, tell him how many people he used to manage, and wipe that smile off his face.

“Would you like to meet them now?” Ned asked. “The refugees? Some of them are here. I know Bradley is in. Bradley Smith. He’s a nice man. Very big in the marketing community. Very well connected.”

Charlie ignored the invitation to meet Very Well Connected (though he had never heard of him) Bradley Smith. “Where do I work? Where’s my office?” he asked.

Ned sat up rather officiously in his chair. “We assign you an office every morning when you come in.”

“Well, is it a private office?”

“Yes. If you get in early enough, I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you have to get in early enough sometimes to obtain a private office.”

“What do you mean? What happens if I don’t come in early? Do I stand up all day?”

“Ha! Very funny. No, no. You get a cubicle in the back, that’s all.”

“A what? A cubicle?” He reacted as if Ned had just told him he was to spend his day in the men’s room of a Greyhound station. It had been more than twenty years since Charlie had sat in a cubicle. He didn’t even like walking past them.

“Yes. We have cubes in the back,” Ned said.

“Well, that’s unacceptable.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Unacceptable. I’m not sitting in a cubicle.”

“Then you should make sure to get in early.”

Charlie was about to respond, but decided to drop it. He was usually at work by five
A.M.
, so it was a moot point. He glanced at his watch. “What else do we have to go over? What else?”

Ned straightened some papers. “Well, other than first-come, first-served on the offices, we don’t have many ground rules, but we do have a few. We ask that you attend the networking meetings. We also ask that you are self-sufficient with office equipment.”

“What do you mean? Self-sufficient? What does that mean?”

“We won’t help you with photocopying, collating, e-mailing, formatting things on your computer. This is intentional.”

“Why? What do you mean, intentional?”

“We want you to be self-sufficient. We feel it’s important for our clients to learn to take care of themselves in office settings. Most of our executives are accustomed to having assistants, secretaries, and others do all the work for them. Part of our transitional training involves learning to help yourself. We will not enable you. We had one client here not too long ago, a chief marketing officer of a huge corporation, who didn’t even know how to use the mouse on his computer. He put it on the floor and stepped on it. He thought it was some kind of pump.”

“I know how to use a computer,” Charlie said. “Well, at least a BlackBerry.”

“We don’t issue BlackBerrys here. Just a regular computer.”

“Is it a laptop?”

“No. It’s a standard Mac. A little dated, I’m afraid, but still very usable. You can do Excel and Photoshop, PowerPoint, desktop publishing, and Mail Merge on it. Programs you might need.”

“Oh, good,” Charlie said. He had no clue how to use any of those programs. That had been Georgia’s domain.

“Well,” Ned said. “We should get started today. We have some basic paperwork we need to go over.”

Charlie grimaced. The office had absolutely no ventilation and was getting altogether too warm. “I really have to be going.”

Ned looked hurt. “But you just got here.”

“I know, but I have an appointment.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, I guess I’ll just give you these.” Ned shuffled through some papers and handed Charlie a bulky brown envelope. “There’s some background information in here as well as our workbook.”

“Workbook?”

“Game plan.”

“Game plan?”

“Strategy. Our strategy to get you back out there. Our strategy for success.” He made a fist and shook it. “Our strategy to help you win.”

Charlie took the envelope.

“I’m going to ask you to do a little homework before I see you again,” Ned continued. “I’m going to ask you to make a list of everyone you know who has a job, absolutely everyone. Include phone numbers and e-mail addresses. You need to build a tree. A networking tree. Do you know what a networking tree is?”

“Yes.”

“You do?”

“I can conceptualize it, yes.”

Ned paused and regarded Charlie closely before speaking again. “It’s a synergistic structure. Everyone feeding off each other. One contact leads to another.” He clasped his hands together, his long fingers interlocked. He was trying hard to look wise and knowing.

“Listen,” Charlie said. “I appreciate the advice, but I really don’t need to make a tree, or whatever. I’ve been in advertising for a long time. It’s a pretty tight community. I have a lot of contacts. Everyone knows who I am, and I know everyone. I won’t be out long.”

Ned unlocked his hands, disappointed. “Of course you have contacts,” he said. “But it’s best if you organize them in an efficient way.” He locked his hands again and raised his eyebrows hopefully. “Besides, it’s a very difficult marketplace right now.”

“Fine.” Charlie stood to leave. “I’ll get working on my tree right away.”

“Terrific. Now, before you go, I’d like to cover a few more things.” Ned motioned for him to sit back down. “I’d like to offer you some rules to live by, if you will.”

Charlie remained standing. “What?”

Ned motioned again for Charlie to sit. “Please. It will only take a moment. Please.”

Charlie finally sat.

“Yes, rules to live by.” Ned cleared his throat and looked at Charlie intensely. “First, stay above the fray. Don’t say anything negative about your former employers. No matter what.”

Charlie wondered if throwing a gumball machine qualified as staying above the fray. “Okay,” he said. “Fine.”

“Don’t burn bridges. I know that’s easier said than done. But please, we had one client who smashed the windows of his supervisor’s car. He was arrested and now that shameful incident is on his record. He had to pay for lawyers, go to court. And when it was all settled, he went out and did it again. Smashed more windows. It was a mess, so don’t do that. You must stay in control. Don’t go back to your office, or leave rude voice mails, or…”—he paused, tilted his head, and inspected Charlie from the corner of one eye—“or throw things. At people.”

Charlie looked at him blankly.

“Such as former coworkers.”

Charlie continued to look at him without saying anything.

Ned readjusted his head. “Right. Second, it’s important that you acknowledge your feelings. You’re going to feel guilty, angry, frustrated, scared. You’re going to experience wild mood swings, almost manic. One moment you’ll be fine, happy and optimistic, the world is a wonderful place full of opportunity, and the next minute, well…” He softened his voice. “Well, the next minute, you’ll be quite sad.”

“I’ll make sure to guard against that.”

“Excellent. Now for number three.” Ned held up three fingers here. “Take a close look at your finances and develop a workable family budget. Remember, the two most important things are food and shelter. Everything else is secondary. Food and shelter,” he repeated.

“We have both.”

“Excellent. Because food and shelter are important. They are essential.”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

Ned tilted his head again and regarded Charlie. “Yes. And finally…” He held up four fingers now. “Finally, Charlie, don’t be afraid to lean on the support of your family. Don’t be ashamed to reach out to them for encouragement. And don’t be afraid to ask for help. Being fired is humiliating. Being told you’re no longer needed, that you have failed, that you’re expendable, is a tough, tough pill to swallow. Your family will help.”