Company - Max Barry [68]
“Well, it'll essentially be an arm-wrestle,” Roger says. “If Sydney wants the job badly enough, she might offer to sack one of us as a trade-off.” Holly moans. “Or two of us. Maybe all of us, who knows.”
They look at each other. “Well,” Elizabeth says finally. “We can't have that.”
Outside, something is happening to the newly unemployed. At first they were shocked and miserable; they milled around without purpose. Then Jones said You don't deserve this and this strange, oddball idea jumped from person to person, spreading through the crowd. Soon naked anger is visible on several faces. An accountant pulls a logo-stamped Zephyr Holdings binder from his briefcase, drops it to the concrete, and stomps on it. People cheer. An engineer has a Q3 High Achiever coffee mug; he smashes it on the concrete. A graphic designer tugs off his shoe and throws it as high as he can. It bounces off a tinted window. A pale, worried face appears at the window, then quickly retreats. The crowd roars.
It is a dull day, but overhead the clouds are darkening; the air is thickening. Jones backs away toward the safety of the lobby. He feels as if he just rubbed a lamp and now a genie is coalescing out of blue smoke: a big one, with rippling biceps and violence in his eyes. He tastes a mixture of joy and terror.
The lobby doors slide apart before he reaches them and Security escorts out a woman with a neat blue scarf and a leather clutch bag. Jones stands aside to watch it in amazement: the mob hurling its fury against the twenty-floor colossus of Zephyr Holdings even as the company delivers a steady stream of new recruits.
On level 11 Elizabeth produces a plan to save Training Sales that is so breathtaking in its audacity and so ferocious in its wrath against Sydney that everyone immediately endorses it. Then Roger says, “Very well, I'll play the main role, then.”
Elizabeth says, “Well . . . I assumed I'd play the main part, Roger. Since it's my plan.”
“Oh. I see. Well, if you want to pull rank, that's fine. I was just offering. If it's that important to you, do it.”
“I'm not pulling rank. It's just my plan.”
Roger holds up his hands. “Forget it. I'm just trying to be helpful. I didn't mean to get between you and your ambition.”
Elizabeth's cheeks darken. “Roger, if it's important to you, then come out and say that. Just say it. Because I really don't care one way or the other.”
“Well, if you want me to, I'm happy to do it. But it's no big deal, I don't mind either way.”
“If neither of us care, why are we having this conversation?”
“Elizabeth. Please. Can we just make a decision?”
Elizabeth's face flushes. Little beads of sweat stand out on her hairline. She begins to breathe deeply and her hands rhythmically clench and open. Jones arrives at the cubicle just in time to see this and he stops in shock, thinking he's watching a heart attack. “Elizabeth?” Holly says, alarmed.
“Fine. Fine. You do it.”
“So . . . let me get this straight,” Roger says. “You want me to do it?”
“Yes.” This is so strangled it is barely decipherable as a word.
“Well, all right, then.” Roger's eyes flick to the sales assistants to make sure they all caught this. “I'm glad we got that settled.”
It's quiet in the lobby, for by now every employee has been either accepted into the Zephyr fold or manhandled outside. The Security guards stand in a line along the glass wall with their hands folded behind their backs, watching. Gretel sits at the reception desk. She feels exhausted and tainted. She feels as if she has executed two hundred people and still has their blood on her hands.
There is a rising commotion from outside, so she gets up and walks over to one of the guards. She peers out the green-tinted glass wall. “Looks nasty out there.”
The guard doesn't respond. His eyes are fixed on the mob.
“Maybe they'll storm the building,” she suggests. “Maybe they'll smash the glass.”
“You're perfectly safe, ma'am.” He still doesn't look at her.
“Maybe the company shouldn't have fired so many people,” Gretel says. She is