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The Finality |
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It was an inside line, and thank god the caller ID indicated it wasn’t 4. I picked it up. “Film Operations,” I announced, suddenly struck by how odd that greeting sounded. “Can you come to a meeting in my office?” The HR Witch sounded unusually calm. “Sure. When?” “Can you come now?” “I’ll be right up.” I hung up and dusted myself off as much as I could. “Hold down the fort,” I told TSA. “They need me up in HR.”
The building always took on a relaxed atmosphere around five o’clock. The pace slowed to a manageable if not relaxed clip, and conversations toned down to near cocktail level. The sun had set and the fluorescent and incandescent lighting blended into one pleasing hue. I circled the hall one more time on my way up. Passing the editing suites and offices, it occurred to me what a great group of friends I had become part of. It’s not who you know, I thought. It was also what you contribute to the who you know. My circle of friends started fairly small, swelled up to at times unmanageable proportions, and then leveled off to a group of people who remain in contact, socialize on and off, and work together as frequently as possible. The circle was an ever-evolving thing with a life all its own. It expanded and contracted, gaining a member by way of a new association, losing someone to a brilliant success or an equally brilliant crash and burn. But there was one constant: Those who actively supported and contributed to the circle reaped the benefits of membership. Those who only take from the circle may gain for a limited time, but ultimately fall from grace. Contributions to the circle could take on the simplest form: A phone call when you don’t need anything; picking up a round at happy hour; a Christmas card. Anything that demonstrated you were a giver. Those who gave received. Those who didn’t usually faded away, reappearing every once in a while when they needed something, never when they had something to offer or just to say hello. The takers were quickly recognized for what they were and weeded out. The circle’s members would always remain cordial, but no one would help the taker get what they came for. The benefits to active members were invaluable: A recommendation for a job; some free talent on your latest project when you couldn’t possibly afford to pay anyone; and then that paying gig when a member got financing. But perhaps the biggest single benefit was the knowledge that in the viper-infested tar pit of wretched excess and unstoppable greed, where ego rises above all and spirit is pulverized beyond recognition - you were not alone. How lucky I was to be in the safety of the circle. I really ought to give more to it, I thought.
“Ready for this day to be over?” I asked New-New Girl as I passed on the way to the stairwell. “Beyond,” she said. I took the long way to the HR Witch’s office to avoid 4. No sense in stirring up that pot. Some ambient music came wafting out of the dark room in the art department as I passed. Needs a saxophone, I thought. “Knock, knock,” I said when I reached the Witch’s office. “Come in.” I pushed open her door and my heart sank. New Old Boss was sitting in one of her guest chairs. I was in trouble for something. I didn’t know how much trouble till I saw the short stack of papers and two envelopes resting in the center of her desk. There was only one reason for this ‘meeting.’ The Witch closed the door behind me. “Please have a seat.” I stood, my eyes rolling slowly between her and New Old Boss, waiting for somebody to say something, but no one spoke. I guess they didn’t know where to start. Finally, I broke the silence. “Is there any way I can talk my way out of this?” New Old Boss looked like he just ran over a puppy. “No. I’m sorry.” “The company feels...” the Witch started in with the script. I waved my have at her. “Don’t,” I said. She bit her lip. I looked to New Old Boss. “Can I ask one favor?” “Yes.” “Can we do this without the security guards escorting me out?” The Witch started to recite the official company rules about termination that clearly state that all employees shall be escorted out of the office by a security detail. New Old Boss interrupted her. “Of course.” The Witch blew a fuse somewhere in a quiet place. New Old Boss told her, “It won’t be necessary in this case.” “Okay,” I said. “What do I have to do?” I signed the paper agreeing to waive my right to sue them in exchange for my severance pay: two whole weeks’ pay for my seven years’ service. “I want you to call me tomorrow so I can help you find a new situation.” I stared at the Witch, trying to figure out what planet she lived on. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
•••
“Shut up.” TSA laughed in my face when I told him. “Why does no one believe me when I tell the truth?” I started tossing my few personal articles into the cardboard box I picked up on the way back from the ‘meeting.’ “You’re serious?” “I would assume you’re going to get called into the front office in a few minutes. That is, unless they’ve already talked to you.” “No, I didn’t know a thing. I swear.” TSA was genuinely shocked. More than me, I think. “What are you going to do?” “I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’m just wondering how it’s going to feel tomorrow when I have no place to go. Seven years.” I shook my head. Seven years I’d had this one constant, this one thing that defined me. If I went out for drink that night, which I was bound to do, and if someone asked me what I did or who I was, I no longer had an answer. “Well, I guess that’s it.” I said after I tossed the last thing in the box. “My car’s out front. I had to give back my parking pass.” “Can I ask you why?” TSA asked. It hit me. I shook my head. “I forgot to ask.” We shook hands and hugged. I picked up my box and the phone rang. I could see it was New Old Boss’s assistant. “It’s for you.”
•••
I threw the box in the back seat of the bug and slammed the passenger door, sending a shiver down the Bug’s chassis. I stood in the street and studied the building for a few minutes, marveling at how different it suddenly appeared. The light from the windows formed stripes that clearly separated the creative employees from the support staff. The lights on the top floor where the crazy fucks that decided which films got made were blazing. Those offices wouldn’t go black for over an hour. The next two floors that house the accounting, HR, office services, and purchasing departments were quickly going dark. It was just after six and those employees were rushing out of the parking structure in a steady stream. The second floor had already taken on the soft glow the editors preferred for night vision and would stay that way well into the night. A Honda CRX whizzed past, almost hitting me. Standing in the street at dusk wasn’t very bright on many levels. The CRX braked hard to a stop in front of the main entrance. 4 bounced out and climbed into the passenger side. Even in the twilight I made out the profile of her Hit Man driving the car. They kissed briefly, and then drove away. I watched the CRX drive up San Vicente until I couldn’t see it anymore. I took one last look at the office, trying to make out faces through the glass, but none came clear. The entire place took on a sad haze that I couldn’t focus on. Several deep breaths later, I turned my back on the building and looked out ahead of me. All I could see was choices. |
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