Two hours later, both Freddies were on the move, one going to a tavern outside the mountains of Ida, built of dragon scales and owned by an old witch who mostly didn’t poison her customers. At the same time, the other hurried off to a no-name office building, built at a time when office buildings were attempting to be as nondescript as possible, as if to melt into the background, which was unfortunate, because the background happened to be ugly concrete and white-yellow plaster.
Our Freddie held a limp, slightly damp sandwich in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. No one was certain whether the sandwich was damp because of Freddie’s consistently sweaty hands or from the convenience store fridge, which had been on the fritz for weeks and was operating entirely on hope and low standards.
Our Freddie was about to get food poisoning.
By the time he reached the nondescript elevators to travel to his nondescript office, he’d taken a breath and then shoved the last bit of sandwich into his mouth, fingers finding any last crumbs before wiping a sleeve against his mouth to rid himself of any proof of his dismal lunch.
His cube mate, Diane, occupied the space next to him, trying to look polite but really just pitying him. She was a foot shorter than him, pear-shaped with strong cheekbones hidden behind her dark hair that made her look unmistakably Italian even though she was Irish.
“Hey, Freddie. How’s it going?” She didn’t mean for her voice to sound as if she were asking someone whose dog had died how they were, but there it was. Our Freddie invoked pity.
“I’m well, almost done with the Domber case. Glad to be almost rid of that one.” He tried to laugh but coughed instead on some undigested sandwich. “And yourself?”
Now Diane found a genuine smile. It looked good on her. “I’m good. Really good, actually. I’m quitting.”
Freddie looked over at her. He pointed at the elevator, which did a polite BING! as if he’d summoned it himself. “You’re quitting?”
Diane led the way into the elevator, giving Freddie a polite shrug. “It’s long overdue.” Her smile dipped as she spied Walter from middle management breezing through the building’s revolving doors.
“Shit,” Diane muttered under her breath.
“Hold the elevator!” Walter shouted across the lobby. He sprinted towards them, his buttery gray suit flapping around thin, gangly legs. There were four other perfectly functioning elevators, for God’s sake. Why did he need to be in theirs?
Diane and Freddie watched with growing dismay as Walter hurried towards them. Diane sidestepped to the elevator control panel and, as nonchalantly as possible, began tapping rapidly on the close button.
“Appears stuck,” Freddie commented. He felt a small, petty thrill saying it. He didn’t care much for Walter either.
Middle management held the Karens of corporate America. To meet one alone was to make yourself vulnerable. It was best to be in large groups of five or six so that the Karens had no time to formulate a more personalized attack plan. Freddie knew this. Diane knew this. She and Freddie, alone in the elevator, would not, as she considered, be a large group. And although she was getting the hell out of Dodge, poor Freddie would be stuck here, indefinitely, like the water stain above the fifth-floor copy machine that looked bizarrely, and from the right angle, like Jesus.
Diane continued to press the button. Finally, the doors began to close.
Freddie and Diane let out a collective, audible sigh. He held up his briefcase in a polite shrug of impossibility.
“Whoops!” he called to Walter. He and Diane exchanged a relieved smile.
The doors were nearly closed—Walter’s hand shot through.
The doors opened again.
“I’d almost missed ya,” Walter said, his putty-white face smearing through the doors.
Freddie frowned. His stomach gurgled again, a warning shot with intent.
Diane pointed to the ‘open’ button on the elevator panel and shrugged. “Button’s broken.”
“Lucky for us, I’m quick.” Walter smiled, then turned his putty face to Freddie, with all the glimmer and personality of a shark. “Are you prepared for today’s meeting, Freddie?”
The doors closed.
Freddie made an affirmative grunt, mostly just to drown out the growing noises coming from his belly region. The sudden realization that Diane’s departure meant he was now one step closer to being the most expendable person in his department made his feet feel suddenly numb. He wondered if that was what deer felt before the wolf’s inevitable pounce.
Satisfied that his prey had been snared, Walter stood back, slipped his hands into his pockets, and whistled to the overtly saxaphoned elevator music. To Freddie, it sounded more like a death march.
He leaned over to Diane and whispered, “Take me with you.”
Diane looked down at her shoes and smiled, whispering back, “Every man for himself.”
The elevator jolted upward.
Little did Diane know just how right she was, for both our Freddies.
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