Company (20 page)

“Same as it's illegal to discriminate against smokers. Like I say, we're working on similar projects. We're trying to discourage workers from activities that cost the company money.” Her hands slip down Jones's butt, in a way that he suspects is not strictly necessary to adjust his pants. “Although, on a personal note, I don't see why I have to effectively subsidize every woman on the payroll whose life is so dull that she needs to inject
children
into it.”

“I'm not really comfortable discussing pregnancy while you're squeezing my butt.”

“I'm not squeezing.
This
is squeezing.”

“Doesn't Zephyr have a policy on inter-employee relationships?”

“Of course. But we're not in Zephyr. We're in Alpha.”

“Does Alpha?”

“We're surprisingly open-minded.”

“You're still holding my ass.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

He suddenly realizes he could kiss her. In fact, given that she's currently groping him, it's probably what she's expecting. But Jones still has a bad taste in his mouth from the pregnancy thing, and he reaches back and removes her hands from his butt.

“Oh, come on.” Her eyebrows jump. “Really?” She looks bewildered. She turns, walks to the sofa, and drops onto it.

Jones says, “Sorry. I think that would be a bad idea.”

“You're right. You'd get the wrong impression of me; it'd be awkward at work . . . we should keep things professional.”

“Right.”

“More Scotch?”

“Sure.” He walks over to the sofa.

Eve refills their glasses. He can actually see her regaining her composure. By the time she hands him his glass, she is smiling. She looks so beautiful that he starts to wonder whether he made the right decision. “Well!” she says. “I can tell it's going to be interesting to have you around.”

He smiles. “I hope so.” They clink glasses.

Eve nudges the Audi over to the side of the road and takes her hands off the wheel. “Damn. I think you were right. I
am
too drunk to drive.”

Jones looks around. He has some trouble focusing, but manages to conclude that they have arrived back at his apartment. “Want me to call you a cab?”

“Maybe I should sleep it off.” She doesn't lean so much as slump in his direction. “At your place.” Her lips form a rubbery smile. Jones studies it for a second.

“Okay.”

“That's it? No ‘We have to keep things professional'? No ‘It's better if we're just friends'?” She gestures extravagantly, and whacks the rearview mirror off-kilter. “Ow.”

“
You
said those things.”

“I did?”

“And I just said you could stay. I didn't invite you to get naked.”

Eve finds the door latch and spills onto the road. “Ha.” She drags herself back into Jones's field of vision. “I don't believe for a second that you don't want to sleep with me.”

Jones levers his body out of the Audi. This sends a rush of blood to his head, where he feels there is far too much of the stuff already. He comes around the car and helps Eve to her feet.

“Everybody does,” she confides. “Every one of them. I don't see why you should be any different.” She pokes him in the chest with her finger.

Jones fumbles to connect his keys with the apartment building's door lock. “
Everybody
wants to sleep with you? How do you know this?”

“When you do some investigating,” she leans on him heavily as they negotiate the doorway, “you discover the minimum standard of what a man will sleep with is very low.”

“So it's not that you're irresistible. It's just that men are sluts.”

“It's both.” They are in the stairwell now, and Eve abruptly stops. Jones has one arm around her waist, so this requires him to stop, too. “Kiss me, Jones.”

Jones's mind says:
It's a trap!
The message races out to his lips, which pay no attention because they are in the process of kissing Eve. Her lips are soft and delightful and then they curve under his and she starts giggling. Jones pulls back. Eve starts up the stairs, and Jones has to catch her. “That's not fair. I wasn't ready.”

“Said the slut.”

“Aren't you trying to seduce me? How am I the slut?”

They reach Jones's apartment. He managed to put his keys in the wrong pocket downstairs, so now he has to
release Eve to fish them out again. She slumps against the corridor wall. “Because you are lowering yourself. Whereas I,” she begins to slide down the wall, “am already . . . lowered.” Jones catches her. She looks up at him and smiles. But her head keeps moving, gathering pace, and then it flops back, so Jones is blinking at her neck and holding her limp body.

For a few seconds he doesn't move. “Eve?” he whispers, and when that doesn't work, tries it again. He gets one hand under her head and lifts it up. Her mouth hangs open. Her eyes are thin zombielike slits under dark, heavy lids. Eve is out. And, furthermore, this is not the kind of position Jones wants to strike in front of the neighbors, all of whom have peepholes and several of whom are not shy about using them. He struggles to get his door open, then Eve inside without banging some part of her against a wall, which is harder than it sounds because she has gone completely boneless, her arms swinging in big circles. He drags her through his living room and drops her onto his bed. Then he sits down heavily next to her and breathes deeply.

She doesn't move. It suddenly occurs to Jones that she has dropped dead, and he leans forward anxiously. She makes a little snoring sound. Jones carefully arranges her head into a better position. She stops snoring and smacks her lips. A tiny pool of saliva has formed at the corner of her mouth and Jones dabs this away.

He comes back ten minutes later, once he's closed the apartment door, changed out of his suit, and brushed his teeth. Eve is in exactly the same position. Jones hangs in the doorway. He is not sure which items of her clothing it would be a good idea to remove and which would be terrible. In the end, he decides he can deduct her shoes, watch, bracelet, and necklace without hitting any potential legal or (if it matters) moral pitfalls.

Eve is on top of the blankets and Jones doesn't like his chances of maneuvering her underneath them, so he pulls a new blanket down from a cupboard, throws it over her, and crawls underneath. “Mmm.” He feels her buttocks press against his hip. “Bfff ett.”

“What?”

“Mmm.” She doesn't say anything for a minute. “Jones?”

“Yes?”

“Wake me in time for work?”

“Yeah, of course. I've set the alarm.”

“Mmm. Good.” She snuggles down into the covers. “Can't . . . miss tomorrow. We're . . . con-sol-i-dat-ing.”

Jones waits, in case there's more. “Consolidating?”

“Mmm.”

“Consolidating what?”

“Everything!” She makes a soft sound like a laugh. Her leg finds his and curves around it. “I love you, Jones.”

Her breathing slows. Jones lies there, listening to it, until the alarm clock pops into life and two crackly DJs tell him it's six thirty in the morning.

“This is Sydney. I hope this works . . . I'm trying to forward a message from . . . um . . . Daniel Klausman. Hang on . . . I think I have to . . . no, that's not it. Maybe—click. Morning everyone, it's Janice. It's another all-staffer . . . you know what to do. Click. Janice, please distribute the following message from Daniel Klausman to the department heads. Thanks. Click. Good morning all, Meredith here . . . I have an all-staffer from Daniel Klausman for distribution. Thank you. Click.

“This is Daniel Klausman. Meredith, send this on to my department heads for distribution to all headcounts.

“Good morning, everyone. I'd like to thank you all for the goodwill and enthusiasm with which you embraced the necessary belt-tightening over the last few months. It wasn't easy, but we've made some very important changes.

“Unfortunately, our share price was hurt by a market overreaction to unrelated events, and we lost another 14 percent. This is obviously of concern, but it's worth noting that the drop is less than the 18 percent fall of the previous quarter, so in relative terms, we've gained 4 percent.

“We've made some great strides, but the work isn't over yet. Now more than ever, we need to show the world that Zephyr Holdings is the industry leader. We must prove our commitment to our strategic vision. Thus, most departments will be consolidated over the next few weeks.

“That's it from me. Have a great day. Click.”

This is the first voice mail everyone gets Friday morning. They arrive, shrug off their jackets, and stow their purses; they pick up their handsets and enter their access codes; this is what they hear.

Except for Jones. Jones drags himself to his desk like one of the undead. He puts his elbows on his desk and rests his head on his hands. His voice-mail light flashes, throwing red spears into his eyes once every two and a half seconds. He can't find the enthusiasm to make it stop.

“Consolidated!”
Freddy yelps.
“Most departments!”
He and Holly rise as one. “You ask Elizabeth. I'll talk to Megan. She—” Freddy snaps his fingers. “Ah, crap! I keep forgetting she's gone.” But Holly has already left. Freddy hurries after her, passing Jones, who looks as if he has just returned from a four-hour meeting with Human Resources. Freddy hesitates. “Don't worry, Jones. We shouldn't panic until we know something.” His eyes widen. “Or do you already know?” He grabs Jones's shoulders.
“Are we being consolidated?”

Jones says, “Oh God. Don't shake me.”

Freddy doesn't know what is the matter with Jones. But it's clearly not the consolidation. And that's the issue now: who is about to lose their job. Holly is already in West Berlin, talking to Elizabeth, probably finding out who's going and who could stay if only the right word was whispered in the right ear; she is probably securing a new position right now,
right now
, while Freddy is messing around with Jones. “Not now!” Freddy yells. He scurries into West Berlin.

Elizabeth is nowhere to be seen, so Holly has jumped on to Roger and is haranguing him for information. Freddy barges into the conversation. “What? What did you say?”

Roger raises an eyebrow. “I was saying that in a consolidation, the department with the strongest manager comes out on top. We have Sydney. So stop panicking.”

“Right! Sydney. Sydney will save us.”

“Unless . . .” Roger hesitates. “Well, unless she's asked to choose between saving the department or her own position.”

Holly claps a hand over her mouth.

“But I'm sure that won't happen,” Roger says.

Freddy is not sure. Neither is Holly. She spies Elizabeth, pale and unsteady, tottering back from the bathroom. Elizabeth has been using the bathroom a lot lately. Every time Holly goes looking for her, she's in the bathroom. “Elizabeth! What have you heard? Are we going to be consolidated?”

Elizabeth looks blank. “Consolidated?”

“The voice mail. Do you know if . . .” Holly trails off. She's staring at Elizabeth's blinking voice-mail light. Elizabeth hasn't heard the announcement. Holly is shocked. Elizabeth always knows what's happening before everyone else. But not, apparently, today. While everyone was listening to the voice mail, Elizabeth was in the bathroom.