Chapter Fifteen
A little while later, walking at a hurried pace past Mary’s office, Mike heard Mary call out to him in a very loud voice. Mike was a couple steps past the door to her office when she called, and his instinct was to pretend he hadn’t heard, sneak back to his office, and hide. As he tiptoed away, Mary’s voice grew shriller and he became certain she would keep yelling until he made an appearance. To avoid her escalation to a full on temper tantrum, Mike acquiesced. He circled back and poked his head into her doorway.
Looking in, Mary appeared to have breakfasted on vodka. She sat slightly off center, tilted to one side, and one of her eye lids sagged limply. That he stood before someone emotionally and mentally unstable was his first impression. It was clear Mary had not taken assignment of the IT project well. Mary extended her hand without rising and unenthusiastically congratulated Mike on his new position.
Mike stepped forward and hesitantly shook her hand. Mary crushed his hand in her viselike grip. As Mike winced, his thoughts wandered to whether she could undo the lug nuts on a car wheel without a wrench. If so, she might be really be helpful at some future point in time as the Yugo was absent a tire iron.
As he rubbed his hand, hoping to make the dull ache go away, Mike looked about Mary’s office. Pictures of Mary decorated the walls, from floor to ceiling. The pictures were everywhere. On the bottom of a large and expensive silver frame, that stood prominently displayed on her desk, were Alan’s initials. To the victor go the spoils, and the frame was booty captured when Mary pirated Alan’s office. Many of the pictures were at corporate functions Mike had attended, yet the pictures often featured a potted fern or garden gnome in lieu of the person Mike remembered at the event. Case in point, on the desk sat a picture of Mary receiving the Preventing Lookisms Award. However, the picture showed Mary, surrounded by about a half dozen potted ferns, receiving a large crystal bowl from a six foot garden gnome. Mike remembered seeing the original pictures in the newspaper with Mary surrounded by her fugly Sales team as she received the award from the Society’s president, an obese little man whose head was larger than his torso.
Seeing Mike looking at her photos, Mary commented, “Mike, I don’t want you to be a potted fern. You don’t want to be a fern, do you? You are a person.” The crushing grip and adulterated pictures created an unpleasant sense of Stalin’s Russia.
Mike nodded affirmatively, and then thinking he might have inadvertently implied he wanted to be a large plant, clarified his answer, “I don’t want to be a fern.” He shook his head back and forth to emphasize his desire to remain a person, not a flowerless plant.
“Good, I knew you didn’t,” Mary said cheerily. “Doug is soon to be thrown out, and I’ll be running the company. I’ve a vision of specialty pharmacy as the glamour industry of the twenty first century with its own reality show. Perhaps something focused on the hot boss whose minions want nothing more than to bask in her presence, and maybe a tinge of mischief. The boss’s office might have a stripper pole. Hmm, wouldn’t that be exciting and naughty?”
Mary stood up, held her hands wide apart, and clumsily executed a quick flurry of steps that ended with a jump off her right leg. She landed on both legs and fell heavily into the bookcase. Dust showered down, and Mary brushed herself off. “The boss would open each show singing a large theatrical number with dozens of dancers, a full orchestra, and all the trappings. You can see how this would be huge?”
Mike stood as stone. Any movement of his head, inadvertent or intentional, vertical or horizontal, would be perceived as an answer and might trigger the minx’s next affront to propriety and decorous behavior.
“Mike, as kind as you know me to be, I’ve no place for ugly, or the friends of ugly. None. I’m no friend of ugly.” Mary returned to her chair and took a deep swill from a coffee cup containing a clear liquid. “Imagine a work environment in which everything is beautiful. It will be like living in a fashion magazine. The people, furniture, building will all be sublime. There will be nothing unpleasant to sully the eye.” Mary spoke as if in a trance and burped quietly.
Falling from her dream state Mary continued, and her voice rose, “My life’s calling is hard, hard work. I fight against the fast food industry, suburban strip malls and inferior genetics. It’s a noble battle, and when I win, and I will win, that fucking porcine ape and the piglets that work for him will be out the fucking door.” She slammed her fist down, jarring everything on the desk briefly into space. Distracted by her fantasy, Mary’s unfocused gaze stared into the distance and the briefest smile graced her lips.
Mike’s autism kicked in, and he repeated, “Out the fucking door!”
Mary smiled, certain Mike stood by her side. “That’s right, out the fucking door.” As a reward she leaned forward and looked hard to her right to provide Mike an uninterrupted shot of her cleavage. Her tits were her best asset, and she found it insulting if she wasn’t down-shirted. She took a deep breath and pushed her chest out.
Mike didn’t mean to respond, and wasn’t keen on looking down her shirt, but he was powerless against cleavage and stole a glimpse. Cuddy had threatened him if his allegiance strayed, and he was clearly becoming a pawn between two warring camps. As diplomatically as he could be, Mike tried to excuse himself. “I’m certain we all share in a vision of a bright future.”
Mary jumped from her chair and stabbed Mike in the chest with her finger, a pained expression on her face as wrinkles gathered on her forehead. “I don’t give a fuck about you or your future. I want that Goddamn potted ham out of here, and you’re either going with him, or you’re with me, you little fuck bucket. You need to convince him to sign-off on the computer system and let me be the next CEO.” Her visceral, caustic reaction caught Mike off guard.
Mike stumbled back into the hall. He could smell the burnt machine parts from Cuddy’s office. He walked back to his office and called Rico, thinking it best to talk through what he just learned and get his perspective. Rico might even know what a ‘fuck bucket’ was. He also figured Rico would appreciate a head’s up regarding Cuddy’s plan concerning office supplies.
Rico didn’t provide much insight, having never heard the phrase, “fuck bucket”. Although, Rico thought it was a pretty kick ass saying and said he might use it as a song name one day.
Mike wasn’t sure what to do. A background of ditching work and fabricating life experiences hadn’t prepared Mike for the unusual circumstances as G.O.D.’s exalted leader of Finance. It wasn’t clear whether the situations he faced, as Cuddy and Mary sought his allegiance and plotted to undermine each other, fell under Wikipedia’s definition of the CFO’s job. Mike was also afraid his knowledge of their plans might give Doug fodder for Mike’s likely trial on incompetence and corporate malfeasance charges.
Mike decided to err on the side of, ‘less is more’. He wadded up the paper upon which he’d taken notes during his meetings with Cuddy and Mary, shoved it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. He didn’t want any of this coming back to haunt him should he be sued. Of more concern, resolving these types of situations might keep him at work past his three pm scheduled departure time, and put him in the height of rush hour on the drive home.