Revenge of the Cube Dweller (26 page)

Evacuating all employees from a thirty-story building is no easy task, and getting them back in isn’t, either. Recognizing this, the Building Services Director sends a handwritten message to each group saying that all employees who are nonessential should feel free to take lunch early. As the poster child for nonessentialness, I take him up on his offer and head toward the garage.

As I exit the elevator on five, I see Amy and Mazie over by the red Mercedes smoking cigarettes. I think about joining them
but do not, offering instead a perfunctory wave and smile as I walk by.

I get in my car and drive off. I refuse to think of myself as Mazie’s kindred spirit. I am not; for one thing, I dress better and have better hair. For another, I’m in it for the excitement and revenge. I steal from crooks, which is very different from stealing from regular people. Mazie doesn’t know what I know about the Bishop Group and how they operate.

My rationalizations continue along those lines as I drive over the Arkansas River and throw Hal’s former company phone into the only deep spot for miles. If by some remote chance the bomb threat is traced, it will be Hal’s problem. For all I know, his name showed up on the receptionist’s phone when the call came in. No real risk for Hal, since it is clear to me that Bishop is not interested in any negative publicity at the moment.

I try not to think about the theft or Hal or anyone at Bishop. The best rationalization strategy is to forget about it completely. What’s done is done. Move on.

I get back to my desk around one o’clock and bring up my Cayman account. My $500,000 wire had been received at exactly 12:15. I knew from my audits that wires are sent at 11:00 each morning, but because of the evacuation, today’s had been delayed.

The other evening, when I had planned out exactly what I was going to do, I had run the cost projections for college tuition, not just for Lulu but for a scholarship fund in honor of my godson Matt. Returns on investments are grim at the moment, but if a significant corpus could be set up, it would be poised for the next bull market. It is only prudent investing.

I just about choke when I see that three more wires have also
hit the account, each for $50,000. I guess these were ones Amy had already put in the queue herself.
Wow. An extra $150K. Thank you, Amy and Mazie
. I cancel the account online and move the balance into my account in Houston. There might be some taxes and paperwork involved, but it is free money, after all, so who cares? The unexpected windfall can be used for personal benefit.

One thing becomes clear as I sit in my cube, adjusting the waistband of my pants as they cut into my midsection flab. My appearance has reached a critical low point, and I have to do something. Being an accountant, I prepare a cost analysis and timeline to support what I think I will need for this new project: my transformation from Ernest Borgnine to maybe not Madonna, but something closer to that end of the spectrum. All in, I am looking at around $100K, which includes some cosmetic surgery and a few months at La Costa, shedding blubber and getting my golf game back.

There will also be enough to get me set up back in Houston with a membership at Ravenswood Country Club. I call the Atlanta plastic surgeon, and due to the poor economy, I am able to set up a consultation for early next week. I marvel at what I am able to accomplish. Not a bad morning’s work.

Todd from IT supplies an updated list of disbursements, and I start on my compilation of Mazie and Amy’s fraudulent transactions, making sure my wire is on the list to be written off, and I send it to Frank before packing up for the day.

Mahogany’s Steakhouse is my next stop. I decide to celebrate my big day at the bar, alone, sipping a cucumber martini before savoring a spectacular lobster tail. The lobsters here are kept alive in a tank, so they’re not as travel weary as the other seafood
in Tulsa. As I sip my drink and look in the mirror behind the bar I notice someone with a familiar face walking up behind me.

“Hal! What are you doing here?”

“Double scotch on the rocks,” Hal calls to the bartender by way of an answer.

“You drink? I thought you were a Southern Baptist?”

“It’s a recent development.” He talks loudly, the way people do when they’re drunk, and I guess this isn’t Hal’s first bar of the evening. “Just don’t ask me to go out dancing. Ha!” Hal swivels the stool next to mine and sits down.

“I heard you were let go. I’m so sorry, Hal.”

“Fucking Bishops! Gave them my whole damn life and they throw me away like yesterday’s newspaper.”
Wow, vulgarity out of Hal too. I am definitely seeing a different side of my former boss
.

“I know what that’s like.” I give Hal a knowing smile and take a bite of the cucumber slice that garnishes my cocktail.

“You don’t know any of it, Tanzie. Got a goddamn subpoena from the TCEQ this morning. My life is shit. What’ll I tell Nancy?” Hal downs his scotch and waves for another.

“Slow down, Hal,” I caution. “How are you getting home?”

“You don’t know what it’s like, Tanzie. Spent my whole life doing the right thing. Straight as an arrow. I make one mistake and I’m cooked.”

“I’ve ordered dinner, Hal, do you want to move to a table?”

“This is my dinner.” He holds up his fresh glass of scotch.

I take a long look at the man
.
Lucy is wrong, I think. There’s plenty of gray area sitting right here next to me
.

“Let me tell you something, Tanzie. You make one mistake. Just one. Cross over that line and your life is never the same.” Hal downs the rest of his drink and signals the bartender for a check.

“I’ve got this, Hal,” I say.

“Did you just win the lottery, Tanzie?” Hal smiles.

“Something like that.” I smile back. “Just came into some family money.”

“Well, thank you very much,” Hal says and gets up from the barstool. Through the mirror I watch him stumble toward the door. The hostess guides Hal to a chair while she makes a phone call, presumably to a cab company. I think about giving Hal a ride home, but a waiter appears just then and sets my lobster tail down on the bar. My appetite is suddenly gone, and I flag the bartender.

“Can I get this to go? I’m sorry, I just can’t stay.”

“Certainly,” he replies and takes my plate away. I pull my iPhone out of my purse and look up
Tulsa World
. I write Dan’s name and work number on a cocktail napkin and walk over to Hal.

“I don’t know what you’ve done, Hal,” I lie. “But give this guy a call. He may be interested in what you have to say. You shouldn’t have to be in this alone.”

Hal grabs my hand as I put the folded the napkin into the breast pocket of his suit. “I always liked you, Tanzie. You’re a sweetheart, girlie.” He pats my hand as I pull it away.

“Thanks, Hal.” I stop myself before I offer him a ride. What if he makes a pass at me or throws up in my Lexus? I decide not to take responsibility for Hal, even though I
am
more than a little bit responsible.

I walk back to the bar to collect the white plastic bag that contains my dinner. I take the last sip of my martini and think about what Hal said. I crossed a line today myself. But I didn’t do it for greed, like Mazie and Amy. I didn’t do it to get ahead in my
career, like Hal. I did it to screw those “fucking Bishops” and add some excitement to my boring life. The plastic surgery fund was an unexpected bonus. Mine is a different line, I rationalize.

As I leave the steakhouse I pass Hal, who has fallen asleep in the chair by the exit. I give the hostess the to-go bag. “See that my friend over there takes this home with him.”

“Of course,” she replies.

Perhaps arriving home with a $90 lobster tail from Mahogany’s will keep Nancy from tossing poor Hal out on his ear tonight.

Once home, I shower, wrap myself in my robe, and head out to the balcony for a smoke and telephone chat with Lucy.

“I was up all last night shooting at those damn coyotes,” she says. “I’m not sure my strategy is working very well.”

“Told ya.” I laugh.

“Oh hey, I forgot. Bumby says that NYU wants the first tuition payment by the end of the month. Will you be able to take care of that?”

“Absolutely. And by the way, watch the news.” I tell her about the
Tulsa World
inquiry from the meeting on Monday, but not about my misappropriation. Like my two cigarettes a day, that is my little secret.

I
t is always interesting to see how companies handle mass layoffs. Employees generally watch the HR staff for the subtlest signals to fuel the rumor mill. Once, at a client’s back in the day, I stumbled upon a whiteboard in a conference room that had been left and forgotten by the project team detailing a reduction in force. HR does not typically attract detail-oriented people. Perkiness seems to be the attribute most important for that career. But there will be no perkiness today at the Bishop Group.

A meeting notice is sent out to the entire corporate group at 12:01 a.m., indicating that an all-employee meeting is being held at the Hyatt down the street from our building at 10:00. Due to the large volume of attendees, employees are to observe meeting room assignments. One group will be in the main ballroom, and the “overflow” will watch on a closed-circuit TV in
a smaller space. Employees assigned to the ancillary meeting room will be notified by a separate email. My separate email arrives shortly after the first, at 12:02 a.m. It is clear to me that there will be no closed-circuit feed, but rather tables of HR representatives who will process our severance while in the main ballroom Baldwin will deliver his congratulatory speech to the surviving members of the Bishop family.

People start leaving for the meeting around nine thirty; just as in the case of the bomb scare, it is hard for everyone to get out at the same time. Frank and Moe stop by my cube as they head to the crowded elevator bank.

“I’m taking the stairs,” I tell them. “We’re only on six, for heaven’s sake.” I grab my manila envelope and put it carefully into my purse before heading to the stairwell. I really need to start getting more exercise before my La Costa stay so I won’t pass out during the morning hikes.

“Good idea,” says Frank. “I’m in the little conference room, and I want to make sure I get a good seat.”

I start to laugh as I follow the many others with the same idea, going down to street level, leaving the Bishop building for what maybe only I knew was the final time.

The mass of Bishop employees is funneling onto the Hyatt escalator up to the ballroom area. A sign at the top indicates that the main ballroom is to the left and the slaughterhouse is to the right. The herd parts at the top, and Frank, Moe, and I check in with a woman holding a clipboard at the entrance to the room. There are no HR processing desks set up, but there are no TVs, either. Moe and Frank become uneasy as they try to figure out how we will view the meeting. Our little room is filling up. I nod at Mazie and Amy, and they wave me over to sit next to
them. Their boss, Rosie, is there, as are most employees in the Accounts Payable group.

“They’re outsourcing us,” I overhear Rosie whisper to the woman next to her. “They kept two of the managers to handle the transition, but they will be gone in three months.” Amy and Mazie shift in their chairs when they hear this.

Cindy is there, and so are Sophie and Todd from IT. All in all, there are about one hundred employees, mostly older people like me, but enough youngsters to thwart an age discrimination suit. When the last arrive, the doors are closed, and Skip Perkinson stands on a platform to address the group.

“Thank you all for coming,” he begins. “As you know, the Bishop Group has had an unfortunate event that has affected our family of employees.”

Skip drones on for a painful ten minutes before getting to the point of his address. As marvelous as Skip tells us we are, we have been in effect voted off the island. HR representatives are standing by in the adjoining room to process us. We will not be allowed to return to the Bishop building, and all of our personal items will be packed up and sent to us by courier.

Mazie raises her hand. “Mr. Perkinson, I have medication in my desk. May I be allowed to go back and get it?”

Good one, Mazie
. I am sure that she and Amy are trying to figure out some way to cover their tracks, horrified that some stranger will soon be rifling through the enterprise they ran out of their cubes. Relax, ladies. First, no one in HR will ever be smart enough to figure out what you were doing, and second, to avoid looking like chumps the Bishop executive team gave you two a get-out-of-jail-free card. But of course, Mazie and Amy don’t know that.

Skip refuses Mazie’s request and offers to have one of the HR flunkies go back to her desk and retrieve her meds while she waits to be processed. Sophie and Cindy are crying, along with several others, while we wait for our names to be called so we can enter the processing room. Frank and Moe pace at the back of the room, cell phones attached to their ears. Mazie and Amy are not crying.

Thinking for a moment, I ask Skip if it will be all right if I go out for a smoke. He says okay, and Mazie and Amy join me, as I knew they would. We travel back down the escalator and find a shady spot by the valet stand.

“What are you going to do?” Amy asks.

“Me? I’m getting a goddamn facelift and an extended stay at a fat farm. How about you?”

Mazie laughs. “We have family in New Orleans. Maybe we’ll go for a fresh start there. Who knows—when God closes a door, He sometimes opens a window.”

I remember my conversation with good old Buster Connelly at the airport and how he considered pipeline explosions a tragic but necessary cost of doing business. I search around in my purse, pull out a business card, and hand it to Mazie. “You might want to look this guy up,” I say. “I met him at the President’s Club at the Houston airport. He owns an oil company down there, and I think he may be looking for a new secretary. He’s a big LSU fan, so I would brush up on my Tiger football stats. Tell him Tanzie from Tulsa sent you.”