Salem's Daughters (4 page)

Chapter 3              Bernie Mortensen

Debbie braced her cell phone between her neck and shoulder as she pulled into the parking lot at American Credit Services. She looked at the time. Thirteen minutes past nine. No worries about being late. Today she was giving her two weeks’ notice.

“Are you sure you want to do this,” her best friend and soon to be partner Linda Ryan asked. “This is your last chance to back out. Once you quit, you know that runt of a man will never hire you back.”

“I have to admit, I’m a bit nervous.” Debbie shrugged off the doubt. “But I need to do something. I hate my job. I hate my boss. And I know Old Country Tuscany Olive Oil will be a huge success. I can make more money than Bob, even with his new promotion. Then he’ll have to agree we can start having kids.”

Debbie, expecting she’d have to drive to the far end of the lot since she was late, saw the Employee Of The month spot empty. Resistance was futile. She chuckled as she pulled into it.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m taking Bernie’s spot. That contemptible runt refuses to award this coveted prize so he doesn’t have to move those short pork sausage legs of his and walk across the parking lot like the rest of us.”

Debbie imagined his pale rotund face turn beat red with fury when he sees another car in his spot.

“Okay. Thought I’d give you one final gut check. This week we’ll sign the loan docs and then sign the tenant lease, officially opening Old Country Tuscany Olive Oil. The local news channels will do a grand opening piece next month, so that’s going to be huge for our launch.”

“Sounds great. Hey, I have to go. Butthead will be here any minute and I need to be inside before he arrives.”

Debbie could hear Linda laughing as she ended the call. She entered the twenty-two story office building in downtown Grand Rapids. Ecstatic could not begin to explain how she felt. After her two weeks’ notice was up, she swore she’d never again enter the building.

She opened the double doors on the sixteenth floor that gave way to a thirty thousand square foot room. Debbie shuddered at what lay ahead. Her workplace resembled a non-descript warehouse filled with two thousand cubicles laid out in a perfect grid. The customer service center answered calls from dozens of retailers and wholesalers across the country.

The cubicles were lined perfectly in a north-south and east-west layout. For the majority of employees, the place was so quiet the only sound came from their own hushed voices and their fingers clacking away on keyboards. The place was sterile. Boring. Lifeless. Just as if Bernie Butthead designed it to mimic his soul.

She walked down the aisle that led to her cubicle on the far side of the building. For as large as the place was, and for the amount of people working, it was eerie how quiet the place was.

She looked back and forth at the near bare walls of each employee cubicle. Bernie would allow only one family picture per cubicle. He said anything more was a distraction from work.

Debbie was barely a quarter-way across the floor when she heard the shrill of her boss’s voice echo through the vast office.

“Who the hell parked in my parking spot?”

Debbie could see her manager sweating profusely as he had to walk the extra hundred yards across the parking lot to the building. His cheeks were flush. For someone in his early forties, Bernie was really out of shape.

Debbie suddenly didn’t think taking the spot was a good idea. He would find out the car was hers. What to do?

Always the quick thinker, she would tell him she sprained her knee. Yeah. That’ll work. And she’d say she wanted to work rather than get a doctor’s order to stay off her feet.

Debbie started to limp toward her boss. Better to get this over with and move the car.

Bernie Mortensen, all five feet four inches and two hundred thirty pounds including his usually bad comb over, zig-zagged east and west though the aisles of cubicles, shouting out at whoever took his parking spot. Debbie watched down the main aisle as he disappeared to her left, only to reappear three rows closer to her, then disappearing to the right.

His voice faded, then came back. She estimated he would re-appear a few aisles closer and fake hobbled toward the spot. That’s when an intern bringing him his usual morning coffee appeared in the center aisle, looking back and forth for Bernie. What was her name? Beatrice maybe? Regardless, she was a sweet young thing everyone liked.

Everything happened in a flash. Bernie crashed into Beatrice. She fell on her back. Bernie’s white shirt was soaked with hot coffee. Beatrice rose and tried to do something to calm him, but he was on the tips of his tip toes screaming at the intern. The young woman started to cry.

Debbie scowled and balled her fists. That’s it. No more.

In a flash she was between the two and bore down on Bernard Herman Mortensen. She jammed her finger in his chest and pushed him back.

“Okay, now you listen to me, you obese little turd. You’ve been pushing people around from the first day I came here. And I think I speak for everyone here that you are a despicable excuse for a human being. How dare you yell at a young girl like that?”

Bernie, never one to back down from anyone, slapped her finger away. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“I can and I will.” Debbie shoved her finger again into his chest, forcing him to take a step back. “Look around. Everyone knows you suffer from the banty rooster syndrome. That’s why you’re such a bully. Well, not anymore. Those days are over.”

Debbie didn’t think Bernie could get any meaner. But she swore steam was about to shoot out his ears and his head explode. She wondered if she should fear for her safety.

On his tip toes again, he waved a chubby finger in her face. “Mrs. Stevens, you are officially—”

Debbie knew what was next, but wasn’t giving him the satisfaction. “I quit. You can give this job to someone else, you arrogant excuse for a human being.”

Debbie looked around the department. A sea of heads stared over their cubicle walls at her. She did a quick salute to her former employees, turned on her heels, and walked out the door. She knew this was one burned bridge she could never cross again.

Chapter 4              Treachery

Bob Stevens couldn’t stop adjusting his full Windsor tie knot. This was a nervous habit he’d developed when he donned his first clip-on as a child going to church. Even posing for his high school prom, senior picture, or standing with his groomsmen at his wedding were a challenge to keep his arms at his side and leave his tie alone.

Finally satisfied, no wait—a little more to the left, there, that’s it—he strode with pluck and resolve toward the boardroom on the posh thirty-second floor of the Plaza Towers. He passed numerous offices and break rooms, looking in at fellow executives and expecting them to interrupt their work and congratulate him.

Instead, an eerie silence greeted Bob. No one left their chair to shake his hand. There were no smiles or encouraging words. Uneasiness tried to muscle in and shove aside his anticipation as he walked down the hall. The quiet was ominous, almost a warning, Bob thought.

Debbie had bought him a new pair of Prada leather wingtips for this occasion. She said the shoes made him look more professional. But the hard leather soles, attached with dozens of tiny nails, made a sharp clacking noise against the laminated hardwood floor.

The sound echoed off the walls with each step. What he wouldn’t give to be wearing his more comfortable fifty dollar rubber soled dress shoes from Kohls.

Bob fought off of dread as his coworkers, many who were friends he had known for years, turned their backs as he passed their office doors. His gait slowed and he adjusted his Windsor knot.

Probably nothing, Bob thought. He assumed they were jealous of his promotion, or scared of the inevitable corporate culture change with the merger. He picked up his pace. Not to worry. He’d be a good boss to them. The very best.

All except for this one. His head turned to his nemesis’s office.

He stopped at Ron Taylor’s door. Or Rotten Ronnie as he and Debbie called him. He would fire his insolent rival as soon as his promotion was official.

Insult my wife at the Christmas party in front of everyone? I have a long memory, pal. Let’s make this quick and painless. You’re fired!

Ronnie’s door was open but the lights were off. Strange. He clicked on the light. The office was empty. The lone remaining items were a desk, a chair, and an empty plastic waste basket.

Bob kept walking. He was a bit disappointed. Rotten Ronnie must have been fired. He wanted the satisfaction of canning him. But as long as his contemptible rival was gone, then the day was only getting better.

Bob picked up his pace, ignoring the irritating clacking of his shoes, and worked his tie knot again. He made a left turn down the next corridor, and approached the boardroom.

Bob’s pace slowed as he looked through the glass walls, revealing a long oval table with twenty-four empty high back leather chairs. His manager Phil McKenzie, known as Big Phil around the office, met him at the door. Phil gave Bob an empty smile.

“Good morning,” Bob said, looking again through the glass wall at the barren room. “Where is everybody?”

Phil placed his arm around Bob’s shoulders. “Our meeting is in the HR office.”

Bob was rendered almost senseless. But he didn’t have time to make conclusions as Phil turned him around and led him back through same halls where everyone again ignored him. He could feel his manager’s grip on his shoulder tighten into a hug as he patted Bob’s back.

“Why Human Resources? Are there forms I need to fill out for the promotion?” was all Bob could manage.

“Yeah. Something like that,” Phil said with a deep, gravelly voice.

Phil opened the door with an indiscrete white sign and block letters that simply read HUMAN RESOURCESS and entered. The small impersonal office was barely large enough to accommodate the HR manager and a few Japanese executives he had never seen. And against the far wall, leaning back in his chair, was a smiling, almost mocking, Ronnie Taylor.

“What the—” was all Bob could mutter, as he realized what was unfolding.

Phil again placed his hand on his shoulder. “Bob, this is never easy.”

Bob took a step back. “Wait a minute. Phil, you promised. My father worked here.”

“And God rest his soul. Damn good man, he was.”

Bob again looked around the office. The Japanese executives stared at him without expression. Rotten Ronnie covered his mouth, trying to suppress his laughter.

“Phil. You knew my father. You go way back. You both came out of college together and helped build this company from the ground up. You’d be honoring him.”

Ronnie stood and interrupted. “Let’s face it, Bob. You got into this firm because of your old man.”

Bob turned to his rival and snapped, “Don’t you ever speak of Dad as my old man.”

Ronnie placed his hands up in feigned fear and smiled wide, his big toothy grin looking much like a worthy bullseye for a knuckle sandwich.

Phil stepped between them. “Bob. Please. Let’s not make this any more difficult than it needs to be.”

Bob realized he was sweating and breathing deep. He wiped his brow and looked at the Japanese executives. They stood along the wall. Their arms were folded, saying nothing, staring back without expression.

“Phil. Wait. You’re on the board. Talk to them.”

“Listen to me. I did talk to the board members. The best I could do is get you a very generous severance package. And you can retain your medical and dental benefits for a full year.”

This was all happening way too fast. Bob felt sucker punched. He searched for something to say and took a few measured steps in front of the HR manager’s desk. His wingtips clacked loud in the small office.

“Nice shoes,” Ronnie said with a smirk, resting an ankle over his knee and showing off his rubber soles.

“But the merger. I can help.”

Phil reached over to the Human Resource Director’s desk and picked up a manila envelope. He handed it to Bob. “You’ll be fine. Listen to me. You’re young and bright. And I’ve taken the liberty to write you an amazing letter of recommendation. It’s in the envelope.”

Bob shook his head. He couldn’t think of anything else to say in his defense. “Clean and easy. Just like that, Phil?”

“Quick and painless is more like it,” Rotten Ronnie jeered. “Oh, you can’t understand just how much I’m enjoying this.”

Bob once more glanced at the Japanese executives, who stood looking like a row of blank-faced statues.

“No.” Bob tried to give Phil the manila folder back. “I can’t accept this.”

Phil sucked in a deep breath and pushed out his barrel chest. “Bob, let me level with you. What your father did was invaluable to Thorbough and Tomlinson. But you have to understand there is no such thing as a merger. There are only acquisitions. And Nippon International has acquired us. They now call the shots.”

Bob again looked along the row of Nippon executives. They remained silent, but nodded toward Phil in support.

“Please try to see this from my perspective. Your father, as great as he was, represented the old way we did things.” Phil sighed deep and shook his head. “And Bob, so do you. That’s the problem.”

“But Ron here,” Phil eye-nodded toward Ronnie Taylor, who was still wearing the wide cheesy grin. “He represents everything we need for the position of Vice President of Sales for the Midwest.”

Bob opened his mouth to speak, but Rotten Ronnie stood and interrupted. “Please Bob. Just stop. You’re embarrassing yourself. Do the right thing. Turn around and leave with grace and dignity.”

Phil reached out his hand toward Bob, who reluctantly went to shake it.

“No, Bob. I need your employee badge. And your parking pass. I’ve called ahead. Security will escort you out of the building and let you out of the parking lot.”