Reece and I were experts at avoiding each other. It was easy when we knew each other’s schedules. Or schedule. We had the same one for so long. He would visit me at my cubicle during a short break at ten every morning. We ate lunch together outside at noon. If it rained or was too cold, we’d eat in his cubicle. He checked in around three o’clock every afternoon just to say hi. And sometimes to sneak a kiss. And then we would leave together around six. All those things disappeared, and we moved like ghosts to one another about the office.
We may have succeeded in being invisible to one another, but we weren’t doing the best job being invisible to Dan. Reece’s “pizazz” had still not returned even after two weeks, and my proofing skills were slipping. I was horrified when a document was emailed back to me with a note attached from the boss—the boss who never looks at my work because he doesn’t “have time for that shit.” (His words.)
The note read, “Bailey, you wanna take another look at this? Because I’m sure Kevin from ‘Kevin’s Autamotive’ would like his company name spelled correctly. Your friend, Dan.” As scared as I was, I knocked on Dan’s office door at the end of the day to apologize. He seemed understanding, but there was something in the way he looked at me, like he was trying to figure out what to do with me. I was a problem that needed solving, and the idea sat like a boulder in the pit of my stomach for the rest of the day.
***
“Let’s talk about it,” Dan said. He propped his elbows on the desk, and Reece thought he was trying for a non-confrontational approach.
“About what?” Reece replied.
“The work you’ve been turning in,” Dan explained. “Come on, Reece. Don’t pretend like you don’t know.”
“You gonna fire me?” he asked. He thought absurdly that he’d like that. Then he wouldn’t have to look like a coward for quitting.
“Never,” Dan replied. “And you know it. You’re the best one we’ve got in Creative.”
“Not right now,” Reece mumbled. He smoothed his shirtfront then folded his hands over his stomach.
“Well, I can’t argue there,” Dan said. “So now we have to figure out how to get you back.”
“I’m just dried up right now,” Reece said. “It happens. I can’t be on all the time.”
Dan considered this. “I hear what you’re saying, Reece. And you’re right. Creativity can’t happen twenty-four seven. I understand that. But we both know this isn’t a dry spell for you.” He paused. “Don’t we?”
Reece shrugged.
“I know about you and Bailey,” Dan said. “And I ignored all of it because you’re adults. And once you got engaged, I didn’t worry about anything except what the hell I was going to do with a married couple working together under my roof.”
Reece rubbed his face.
“Did I go about it all wrong? Should I have pulled you both into my office and given you an ultimatum? Force you to make a decision between your job or each other?”
“No,” Reece said.
“Then how do I fix this problem? Because it’s a big fucking problem. I’ve got a guy in Creative who’s turning in kindergarten work and a proofreader who can’t spell automotive,” Dan explained.
“I’ll go,” Reece whispered. “I’ll go, and then things will get better for her.”
“No.”
Reece jerked his head up at the sound of Dan’s voice. It was forceful and decided.
“You’re not going anywhere. I already told you you’re the best thing I’ve got. And I know you’ll get better. I have plans to make it better,” Dan said.
“And those are?”
“I’m gonna let Bailey go,” Dan replied.
“No!” Reece cried.
“It’s the only way,” Dan insisted.
“No, it’s not! I just told you I’d go!”
“I can’t let you do that, Reece. You’ll regret it.”
“I’ll regret it if I let you fire her!”
Dan’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t need your permission to fire someone, and I wouldn’t be firing her. I’m eliminating her position . . . for a while.”
Reece jumped up from the chair. “No, Dan. It’s wrong, and you know it.”
“She can’t spell!” he argued.
“You know she can fucking spell!” Reece countered. “Please don’t do this! If you do, I’ll walk out of here. I will walk out in a heartbeat! I know five firms who would hire me on the spot!”
Dan bristled at the threat.
“I swear,” Reece went on. “I can call them now.”
It was partially true. After the success of the Haute Digital phablet campaign, several firms showed interest in Reece. But none of them formally offered him a job, and as the months went by, he stopped hearing from them.
“Stop,” Dan said. “Just stop. And sit down.”
Reece sank into the chair slowly.
“One week. I’m giving you one week to get back on your game. You understand me?”
One week wasn’t enough time to land a new job. And he couldn’t be without one while he looked. What was the old adage? New adage? “The best time to look for a job is when you have one?” Of course, he did say he’d quit on the spot, but that was really just an empty threat. He needed Dan to believe it so that he could protect Bailey. Bailey and her house and her mortgage payments. His only option at the moment was to get his shit together, and so he took a deep breath and nodded.
“I promise I’ll be fine,” he said.
He left the office and saw her standing there in the hallway talking to Marjorie. She looked his way, and his only thought was that he had work to do. He had a killer campaign to write. And her job depended on it.
***
“What the hell is going on?” I asked, pulling Christopher aside. He wouldn’t look at me as he tapped the water cooler.
“B . . .”
“Don’t ‘B’ me,” I snapped. “Just tell me straight up what the fuck is going on! People have been looking at me all weird for the past week!”
“It’s Dan. It’s . . . just a rumor, but I think he’s letting you go,” Christopher said.
I gasped. “Why?”
“All this shit with Reece,” Christopher said.
“I’ve been doing my job just fine,” I argued. I conveniently forgot about the “autamotive” misspelling and the numerous other slipups.
“But he hasn’t,” Christopher replied, and then he groaned. Apparently he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.