Company (29 page)

There's a PA at a desk just outside Roger's door, just like Sydney had Megan on level 14. Roger's PA is a slim young man with rakish glasses and a tie with big yellow happy faces that Holly finds a little too confronting at nine in the morning. “Hi. I'm here to see Roger.”

“You're Holly Vale?”

“Yes.”

“He's expecting you, I'll take you right in.”

The PA trots to Roger's door, opens it, and beckons for Holly to enter. But Holly just stands there, shocked. If you have an office, you close the door and make people knock on it before they come in; isn't that the whole point? When managers say they have an open-door policy, that means you can ask to see them without an appointment, it doesn't mean the door is actually
open.
It doesn't mean you don't
knock.

She realizes that the PA is looking at her and jolts into motion. She can deal with a job that performs no identifiable function and a work environment prone to producing mystery TV screens; she supposes she can get used to a manager with a literal open door, too.

Roger's office is drenched with morning sunshine; outside the window it's a solid slab of blue. Roger sits at his broad, gleaming desk with his hands folded in front of him. “Hello, Holly. Have a seat.”

The office is already well furnished. She sinks into a wingback chair and carefully places her arms on the rests. Then there's a pause, during which Roger continues to smile. Holly's own smile begins to feel fractured. She shifts in the chair and smooths down her skirt.

Roger says, “I have some good news.”

“Oh!” Holly says, mostly out of relief at the commencement of dialogue.

“I've been doing some thinking about how to get this department up and running. I want Staff Services to be the most efficient, productive, and profitable department in Zephyr.” He pauses. Holly nods encouragingly. “And I've decided that means redefining many job roles. In fact . . . everyone's role.”

Silence. This time Holly can't wait it out. “I just saw Freddy, and he said there's no one here from Training Delivery. Are they in another department, or—”

“Gone. Didn't make it through the consolidation.”

“Oh.” She waits, but Roger seems disinclined to fill in the obvious blank. “So . . . what are we meant to do?”

“That's a good question. But not one that you, Holly, need consider. Like I said, I'm redefining job roles. Yours is now the gym. Someone needs to get that place in order. That's you.”

Holly's fingers dig into the armrests. She feels as if she has just staggered off the treadmill. The endorphins! The endorphins!

“Happy?”

“Oh,
Roger!
” For an insane moment, Holly is on the verge of throwing herself across the desk and hugging him. “Thank you! Thank you
so much.
I'll do a great job, I promise. The gym has always been good, but there are things we could do, simple things, to expand its reach and get more people using it, like classes for—”

“Great,” Roger says. “That sounds great.” He smiles. There's another pause.

“Thank you so much,” Holly says again.

“I thought this would suit you.”

“I really appreciate it.”

“Because if it doesn't work out, it's easy enough to reassign you.”

“It'll work out. I promise.
Definitely.
”

“Good. Good.” Roger leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “While we're chatting . . . I want to ask you something.”

Holly feels it coming before he even opens his mouth.

“Holly,” he says, “who took my donut?”

Jones threads his way through the crowded cubicle farm of Staff Services, chewing his lip. It has been an unsettling morning for Jones. First, Eve wasn't at this morning's Alpha meeting. At first he thought she was late, then very late, then Klausman sat down and said, “Eve's off with a virus today, apparently,” and Mona went
awww
and Blake blew air through his nose as if this was somehow amusing. Jones thought,
She'd better get a doctor's certificate,
but the idea of an Eve-less day was surprisingly shocking, disappointing, and that was bad: Jones shouldn't be feeling things like that about a person he wants to professionally destroy. Eve is like gambling, he realized: he knows that she's addictive, that she's bad for him, and that unless he gives her up there are going to be consequences, but still, he wants more. Maybe Jones should call someone. Maybe there's a support group he can join: Evaholics Anonymous. Maybe all this will end up with Jones in a bar somewhere with Blake Seddon, knocking glasses of beer together as they reminisce in alternately fond and bitter tones about Eve Jantiss, the bitch who screwed and scarred them both and ruined all their plans.

He snapped out of this fantasy to realize he was being assigned a new job: to restore the company network. He said, “Really? It seems people are actually happier without the network. They're moving around, talking . . . my feeling is this may actually be good for the company.”

“Of course the
staff
like it,” Blake said scornfully. “It means they can't do as much work. No doubt the
staff
think it's terrific. We're not here to entertain them, though, Jones.”

“I'm not suggesting otherwise,” Jones said, in the cool, measured tones of a man resisting the urge to clock Blake with his coffee mug. “I'm just wondering if this might not
increase
productivity. Have you heard of work-life balance? It's the crazy idea that employees work better when they're happy and motivated.”

Blake leaned back and folded his arms, regarding Jones as if he had just heard something very stupid. From the head of the table, Klausman said, “Ah, Jones, we're not big fans of that whole work-life balance thing. It's not that it's not a great concept. It is. In theory.”

“Like communism,” Blake said, eliciting chuckles. There will be no drunken reminiscences, Jones decided.

“The problem is it's a myth. We've run the numbers; it doesn't check out. The amount you gain from reduced absenteeism and error rates is swamped by what you lose to reduced working hours and off-task behavior. Simply put, happy employees aren't more productive. They're less.”

“In most situations,” Mona interjected. “Remember?”

Klausman nodded. “Ah, yes. When it's expensive to replace an employee, it can be worth spending money to keep them happy. But that's the exception.”

“So what you're saying,” Jones said, “is there's no point spending money on employee welfare unless they're in Senior Management.”

Blake said, “By Jove, he's got it.”

“What I'm saying,” Klausman said, “is that when it comes to work-life balance, we're fighting for the
work
side of that equation.
Capisce?
”

“Yes,” Jones said.

“Good boy. This is one of those occasions where I don't want to wait for Zephyr to fix itself. Most of Senior Management doesn't even have a computer; it'll be months before they figure out something's wrong. No, the company needs a network, Jones, and you are going to give it one.”

Jones opened his mouth to say,
How?,
but that wasn't very dynamic or Alpha-like. So instead he said, “All right,” and everyone looked happier.

The third unsettling thing happened as the meeting was wrapping up. Blake announced, “And keep an eye on Staff Services. The new manager there, Roger Jefferson, has a lot of fresh new ideas.” This was apropos of something, but Jones had been packing up his briefcase and thinking about the network, so he missed what, exactly. But when he looked up, Blake was watching him with a small, patronizing smile, and Jones realized that for reasons he wasn't yet aware of, today was going to suck.

He finds out why when he reaches the cubicle. Freddy and Elizabeth are in an animated discussion, sitting with their knees almost touching in the cramped quarters. Freddy is shaking his head emphatically. “No, no, no. Jones! Come here, I need your support.”

“Freddy, I understand what you're saying,” Elizabeth says. “It's just there's nothing we can do about it. There are no other options.”

“What's going on?”

Freddy waves a printed memo. “Look at this! Roger calls it an ‘Accountability Program.' From now on, we have to pay for everything. Our desks, our computers—he's
billing
us for them. He's made us personally responsible for departmental expenses!”

“There's going to be a run on office chairs,” Elizabeth muses. “We should stock up. Maybe we could sell them to other employees at a markup.”

“When Staff Services work becomes available, we have to tender for it. The lowest tender gets the job. And we pay for all expenses ourselves! He's turned us into subcontractors!”

“Oh,” Jones says. “That sounds bad.”

Freddy grinds his forehead with the heel of his hand. “All I ever wanted was a little job somewhere with no accountability. Somewhere I could do what they asked me, more or less, and not have to wonder if every day is going to be my last. Is that too much to ask? Is it?”

“What's going on?” Holly says, appearing beside Jones.

“Holly! Back me up here. Is this Accountability Program the worst idea you've ever heard or what?”

“Um . . . no, I think it's all right.”

Freddy gapes. “All right?
All right?
”

“Why shouldn't we be responsible for our own expenses? You know Lianne? She always photocopies like a dozen pages before she gets it right. And that guy in Procurement, who used to do nothing but e-mail jokes all day. Why should I subsidize people like that?”

“Subsidize?
When did you start talking like a manager?”

Holly shifts from one foot to the other.

Freddy says, “Oh, no.”

“I'm running the gym now.” She licks her lips. “I don't know if I'll still sit here or not, but . . . I'm running the gym.”

Freddy sags in his chair. “This is a disaster.”

“Boy,” Holly says, nettled. “Thanks for the congratulations. Remind me to get excited when you tell me
your
new roles.”

“Nobody's getting new roles,” Elizabeth says dully. “Nobody but you.”

“Oh,” Holly says.

“Oh,” Freddy says. “Oh yeah, gee, I wonder why Roger's handing out special favors to Holly. Let me think. Hmm.”

Holly's eyes widen. “Yeah? Why?”

“It wouldn't be because you told him about a certain
donut,
would it?”

Elizabeth's eyes leap to Holly. Holly's cheeks flush.

“Oh, God,” Elizabeth says.

“He was going to find out anyway,” Holly says, her voice rising. “Look, I'm sorry, Elizabeth, but he was going to find out. He's obsessed.”

Suddenly a Klaxon tears through the room. The bulb in the ceiling cage bursts into life, throwing swirling sheets of orange light over the cubicles. In an instant level 11 resembles the scene of major roadworks. Jones jumps. “What the hell?”

Everybody peers over the cubicle walls. In between stabbing flashes from the orange light, they see the TV screen:

TENDERS INVITED

JOB #0000001

TASK

Reallocation and auction of cubicle space
(level 11)

DETAILS AVAILABLE FROM STAFF SERVICES PA

“It's work.” Freddy's voice trembles.
“Work.”

Cautiously, employees drift out of their cubicles to stare at the monitor. Then, one by one, glancing at each other warily, they head for Roger's PA.

“Look at them!” Freddy stares in disgust. “Everyone ready to beat each other out for a pay packet. You know what, I'm not going to tender. What happened to sticking together? What happened to teamwork?” He gives Holly a dirty look.

“Hey,” Holly says. “You know what Roger told me? He said there's no such thing as teamwork. It's a con. The company doesn't promote teams. If you want to get ahead, you have to screw everybody else and look after yourself. Co-workers are competitors. Roger told me the truth: there's no
I
in team, but there's no
U,
either!” There is silence. Holly's chest rises and falls. Her cheeks flush. “But . . . I really am sorry, Elizabeth.”

“Maybe now he knows, he'll forget about it.” She looks away.

“I bet he does,” Holly says. “Honestly, you know, that wouldn't surprise me.”

Freddy stares at her.

“I'm sure everything will be okay,” Holly says. Her voice is so plaintive that Jones has to look away.