Mortal Mistakes

  *****

  At eight ten, the Compton project was complete. All that remained to be done was for Stan to send an electronic approval form from his computer to Bob Steen’s computer. Bob would then electronically approve the form and return it to Stan's computer. Stan would then send the entire completed project via the internet to Compton.

  Stan's work was always flawless and hardly needed the formality of management approval. But it was an established and required procedure. Stan's work was good this time too, and he knew it. He could hardly believe that yesterday he had actually, although whimsically, toyed with the ease of destroying his entire project. None of that stuff today. It's done! Finished!

  He sent a computer message to Bob, with the approval form attached and added a footnote to the message telling Bob that he was leaving for a doctor appointment.

  *****

  "Good morning, Bob. I need to talk to you." Keith said very businesslike. He was determined to get straight to the point. "It will only take a few minutes."

  "Well I do have a lot on my plate this morning, Keith. But I guess I can spare a few minutes for you. Take a load off while I finish this email and then we can talk. Okay?" Bob noted the time of day and thought, this must be important for Keith to be at work this early.

  Keith examined his fingernails while he waited for Bob to finish typing.

  “Okay Keith, thanks for your patience. I’m all yours now." Bob turned to face Keith with a broad smile.

  "Bob, I'm going to make this short. I've decided to resign and find a different job."

  Bob Steen suddenly sat erect and color drained from his face. His mouth seemed unable to form words. "You've decided what?" Bob finally managed with a look of disbelief.

  "It isn't a snap decision, Bob. I’ve been thinking about it for some time. I’ve never really been too happy here. It's not CTC, or you, or anyone really. It's just me. I just don't handle the pressures of this job very well. It seems our schedules and our client's demands are always choking and strangling every bit of fun out of the work we do. I've decided it would be best for me and CTC if I found a different line of work."

  Bob Steen knew that Keith wasn't a top performer, but Keith was related to the company president, Jim Stahl. Keith's decision to leave CTC could reflect poorly on Bob. And finding another candidate with the technical background needed to replace Keith, would be a time consuming task. He didn't need or want that challenge right now. He had his own set of job pressures.

  "Keith, Stan is almost finished with the Compton job. He'll be joining you and Jan on Mid-City today or tomorrow. I'm sure he will be a big help to you and take some of the pressure off. Why don't you stick around for a while, and give it a little more time, before you make a decision you might regret; that we all might regret. Have you talked to Jim about this?"

  "I'm sorry Bob. If it's going to put CTC in a real bind, I'll stay a couple of weeks but no longer though. You know as well as I, that I haven't done that great on this job. I just can't see myself sticking with something indefinitely that keeps me all up tight. Life's too short. I haven't talked to Uncle Jim about it but I think he'll understand."

  Bob Steen could tell that Keith was serious about not being happy with his job, and that his mind was made up. Christ almighty, he thought to himself. He wondered why he hadn't picked up on Keith’s dissatisfaction before now. Charlie will sure as heck have the same question. He’s not going to like this a dang bit.

  "Well, Keith, if your mind is set, then I can only wish you the best. I hope you find what you're looking for. I would appreciate it, if you would stay through next week though, until Stan gets up to speed on your project. And I'd also appreciate it if your uncle doesn't blame the rest of us on the team for your decision, if you get my drift."

  Keith was not really needed to get Stan up to speed. But Bob wanted some buffer time to try and find a replacement before he had to tell Charlie Grissom that Keith was leaving, and before Jim Stahl got wind of it.

  “No problem,” Keith replied, “and I'll make sure Uncle Jim understands that it's totally my decision.”

  Bob sat at his desk, looking into space through the floor length windows that formed two walls of his corner office as Keith left. He slowly combed his thinning gray hair with his fingers, as he pondered this new problem. Charlie Grissom had made it very clear to him, just yesterday, that the Mid-City project had better get back on schedule or heads were going to roll. Losing half of the team responsible for the project was not going to be seen as a step in the right direction by Charlie. Jim Stahl, who was also a board member of Mid-City would be embarrassed to have to explain to the board why their project was not delivered on time.

  “Why the devil didn't I put Stan on Mid-City a long time ago?" Bob asked himself aloud, shaking his head. But he knew exactly why. No one else could have done the Compton job, certainly not Keith or Jan. And the Compton project was of greater value to CTC than the Mid-City job.

  In only four more weeks, Bob would complete his twenty fifth year with CTC. He would be eligible for early retirement then. Then by crap, Charlie can find someone else to run this project group if he wants. I’ll take early retirement in a heartbeat if he gives me his big lip just one more time. Just one more month. Well dang it, he continued his thoughts, I’d best get on the phone to a couple of head hunting recruiters, and start a search for Keith's replacement.

  Bob decided to delay telling Charlie about Keith until Monday. He hoped that he might get lucky in the next forty eight hours, and find a replacement for Keith; or that Keith would somehow change his mind over the weekend. Bob always tried to delay any confrontation with Charlie as long as possible. As he turned and picked up his phone, Jan Murray pecked on the frame of his open door.

  "Good morning Jan. What's my girl need?" He still held the phone in his hand as he smiled at Jan and gave her a once over. Dang, she looks great!

  "Did Betty tell you I wanted to talk with you this morning?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact, she did." He slowly placed the phone back on it's cradle. "Come and sit down."

  What is it now, not enough tissue in the ladies room? Someone forget to make coffee when the pot was empty? Someone make another pass at her for the umpteenth time? “What’s up Jan?" He forced a continuing smile.

  As Jan seated herself in the chair beside his desk, he glanced at her short black skirt and wondered if she owned even one skirt or dress that covered more than half of her thighs.

  Jan caught his peek and lengthened her skirt with both hands as best she could. Bob quickly brought his eyes back to the telephone where his right hand still rested.

  "What can I do for you, Jan?" He studied her face as he let go of the phone.

  "Bob," she drawled, "I want to talk to you about Stanley. You’ve got to do something about him! Lately, he's been awfully hard to get along with. And yesterday he said some really mean things that hurt me. I was so shocked, that it caused me to spill hot coffee all over myself." She started to point toward her thighs with both hands but stopped herself, as the manager's eyes anxiously locked onto her hands, eager to follow them.

  "What sort of things did Stan say?" He looked sympathetically into her captivating eyes.

  "Oh, he said that I was lazy and useless and all sorts of things." She returned his gaze with questioning eyes. She stretched her words just a bit for emphasis. "You don't think I'm lazy, do you, Bob?" She squirmed in her chair and her skirt crept up an inch.

  "No, of course I don’t, Jan." He knew she was playing him like a piano. But, he was enjoying it. Cripes, seeing and talking to her are about the only things I still enjoy about this stupid job anymore.

  "Well, I wish you'd talk to him, Bob, and set him straight. If he does it again, I'm just going to have to go and look for another job. That's all there is to it."

  "Now hold on, Jan." Bob quickly sat erect and even more attentive. "Don't you go t
hinking about anything so silly. I'll talk to Stan right away. Okay?"

  She took a long deep breath, expanding her white silk blouse to its capacity. "Well, I really appreciate you taking the time to listen to me, this morning, Bob."

  "My pleasure, Jan." He meant it. He watched her back side tease him as she left his office.

  Now that would really do it, if she quit. Charlie enjoys looking at that backside more than I do. If she and Keith both quit at the same time, I can kiss early retirement goodbye. I'd be gone too, before their desks were empty. I can just imagine Charlie's face.

  Bob Steen and Charlie Grissom both knew that Jan contributed less to their business than her peers. But she was a female, and a very outstanding one at that.

  What the devil is wrong with Stan anyhow? He’s been around long enough to know better than this. Steen started to dial Stan's extension, but remembered what he was about to do before Jan interrupted. He quickly called two employment agencies and pleaded for urgent attention to his need. He noticed that he had a message waiting on his computer. He punched a few keys and read Stan's message about his doctor appointment and the good news that Compton was complete.

  He would catch up with Stan later, after he returned from the doctor. For now, he continued talking to personnel recruiters about a replacement for Keith.

  *****

  When Karen woke, she looked at the now vacant half of the bed where Stan had slept. Then she looked at her clock on the nightstand. It was eight-thirty. She hardly ever slept this late. She was angry at herself for doing so today because she had decided, before finally falling asleep last night that she would talk to Stan over coffee before he left for work.

  Karen dressed and sat in the kitchen sipping a cup of coffee and second guessing herself. Did I oversleep on purpose? Am I deliberately stalling; subconsciously evading a confrontation.

  She considered that she was perhaps afraid to talk with Stan, because of what she might discover.

  She thumped her palm on the counter and resolved to not be afraid of the truth, no matter how painful it might turn out to be. I could phone him at work and just ask him point blank. After all, he came and went last night, without a word. It wouldn't be inappropriate to just ask why he did that. That would get the conversation going. She reasoned that Stan might feel more liberty to be honest and open over the phone, rather than in a face to face conversation. And she reasoned that she might be less fearful of the consequences over the phone. I can just hang up if it gets out of hand.

  She refilled her cup and sat down again with a phone in her hand. She slowly pushed the last button to ring Stan's phone. She uttered a silent prayer, Please don't let it be what I fear. Don't let it be another woman.

  On the fourth ring Jan Murray's soft sultry east Texas drawl answered. "Stan Bronsky's line, this is Jan Murray. Stan‘s not available right now. Can I help you?"

  Surprise and rage shot through Karen's mind. Her face flushed. Her heart sank. Her imagination raced wildly. A picture of Jan Murray sitting on Stan's lap flashed into her mind. Jan had one arm around Stan’s neck and answered his phone with the other hand. Karen was speechless. She quickly hung up the phone. How could he? Why in God's name? Her hands were shaking visibly, driven by her irrational thoughts. Tears filled her eyes. She stumped to the bathroom for tissue to clear her nose and eyes.

  Gradually her color returned and her thinking became more sensible. She correctly reasoned that it wasn't really that unusual for Jan to answer Stan’s phone. Their desks were only a few feet apart. Stan was away from his desk sometimes and Jan took calls for him. That's all it is, she reasoned, besides, it's after nine now, and the office is humming with other people. There couldn’t possibly be anything taking place in an office full of people. However, she was too embarrassed to dial the number again. She felt flushed and foolish for having allowed her imagination to run berserk. She would just wait until tonight to have the conversation.

  After a small pot of oatmeal began to simmer, Karen went upstairs to wake Jenny. She found her sleeping cross ways on her bed. She gently tickled the child’s neck, with the tip of a fingernail, until Jenny stirred.

  Karen took a quick peek outside before dressing Jenny. She guessed that Mrs. O would let the children play outside since the weather was so nice. Just to make sure Jenny wouldn't get a chill, she dressed her in corduroy pants and a pink cotton sweatshirt.

  "Did you play outside any yesterday, Jen?" Karen asked as they sat down at the breakfast counter.

  "Yes."

  "What did you do outside?" Karen served Jenny a bowl of hot oatmeal and served herself a bowl of strawberries with powdered sugar.

  "Plaaah.” Jenny pointed at a strawberry in Karen's bowl. Bah Bluuhh."

  "No honey, that's not blood. It's a ripe red strawberry. They're delicious. We’ve had them before. Remember? Taste it. You'll see. Sweetheart, not everything that's red is blood. I'm definitely going to speak to Mrs. O. about the kind of television programs she lets you watch.”

  Jenny tasted the berry then put it on the bar. She held her left thumb and forefinger toward her face and studied the red berry stains. She tried to wipe them on a napkin. Concern showed on her face when the stains did not disappear. She feared another vigorous scrubbing with harsh smelling stuff. She whimpered and sought a reassuring hug from her mother by holding her arms open and wiggling her fingers. Karen hugged her close.

  “It’s okay honey. You don’t have to eat the strawberries if you don’t want them.”

  As Karen cleaned the breakfast residue, she glanced at her refrigerator notes.

  "Oh gosh, today is Pau's birthday!" she said aloud. She had forgotten it. I’ll have to pick up a card and gift on the way to work.

  Chapter 13

  Stan arrived at his family physician's office just as receptionist, Mary Dorsey, was unlocking drawers of files for today's business.

  "Good morning Mr. Bronsky. If you’ll just have a seat, we'll be with you shortly. How's your family?"

  "They're fine thanks. Karen and Jenny are fine."

  "Dr. Ravit just arrived so it won’t be long," Mary informed.

  "Fine." Stan did a quick review of the dog eared magazine selections in a rack. His headache was almost completely gone. He reasoned that relief from stress had come from the satisfaction of knowing that the Compton project was finished, and that had cured his headache. He felt a little silly being here, now that he thought about it, for a stupid headache. He considered leaving.

  "We're ready for you now, Mr. Bronsky."

  Oh well, I'm here. Might as well go ahead with it. "Thanks, Mary."

  "Stanley," Dr. Ben Ravit boomed a smiling greeting as he entered the examination room.

  Dr. Ravit was short, barely five foot three. He had long compensated for his lack of stature by amplifying his tenor voice. It was a unique and very recognizable voice. Patients rarely heard the doctor laugh, but when he did it was a high pitched cackle.

  "Good morning," Stan replied.

  "Tell me about the headaches." The doctor looked up into the taller man's eyes and studied them briefly, systematically beginning the examination. “Have a seat on the table, Stan."

  Stan's eyes looked tense. In the corners of his eyes, little capillaries were distended.

  "Well, it started a few months back, Dr. Ravit. I was shoveling snow from our sidewalk and wham! A pain shot through my head," he pointed with his finger. “It just about bowled me over. It gradually let up and then I had a throbbing headache for a while. And then it turned into a dull headache that lasted for a couple of days.”

  "Hold your hands straight out please." Dr. Ravit noted slightly nervous hands. “Palms down. That's good. Lie back on the table. And you've had recurring headaches?”

  "Yes. It’s happened four or five times since, five I think. After each initial stab of pain, I have a sort of throbbing headache for a few hours or ev
en days."

  Dr. Ravit lifted Stan's eyelids and shined a light at the blue apertures.

  "Any blow to the head before the headaches started?"

  "No."

  "Sit up. You under any unusual pressure?"

  That's it, I knew it all along. It’s just stress. "Well, I have been pretty busy at work", He said with a tone of professional agreement.

  Dr. Ravit looked blankly at the floor as he listened to Stan's chest through a stethoscope. Karen and Jenny doing okay?"

  "They're fine."

  "Any blackouts, dizzy spells, nausea?" He looked at Stan’s face again.

  “No. But I don‘t really have much of an appetite while the headaches are around.”

  “Stand on your feet. Now, close your eyes, and lean forward against my hand." He placed a hand against Stan's forehead.

  The questions frightened Stan a little. Maybe it isn't stress.

  “Describe the initial pain attack again for me, Stan.”

  Oh Jesus, what is it? "When the pain first hits, I don't black out. But I do kind of lose control momentarily. I mean the pain is so bad. Yesterday I almost had a collision, driving to work, when the pain hit."

  Dr. Ravit’s eyebrows rose. He shined a light into Stan’s eyes again and studied them meticulously as Stan spoke. "Have you been taking any drugs, anything for pain?"

  Oh God, he thinks I‘m a stupid drug addict! "Well, I never know when the attack is going to happen. But after it does, when the duller headache starts, then I start taking aspirin. I’ve taken quite a few aspirin lately; but that's all; nothing stronger. He took the prescription bottle filled with aspirin from his pocket, removed it’s lid, and showed the aspirin to the doctor.

  "How many? How often?" he asked while checking Stan's blood pressure.

  "Well, I really don't know; two at a time usually; maybe as many as a dozen a day sometimes. I guess. I really never keep track."

  "And you say you've never had a trauma to the head, a car wreck or hard fall, a sports injury?" He peered into Stan's nose, throat and ears with a light.