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Nation of Airports 2.6
On Thursday she took the morning off for a dentist appointment. Elisabeth ate lightly, drank only water, brushed and flossed well, but it was pointless. The hygienist, a big motherly woman with pretty sky-blue eyes behind her protective visor, tsk-tsked her smoking and the worrisome state of her gums. The cleaning was so vigorous that Elisabeth spat blood each time she rinsed. On the drive from the dentist's to her office she smoked in rebellion, but she licked her teeth constantly, enjoying their slimy polish.
Her phone was ringing as she unlocked the door to her office. "Elisabeth Battrie?" a woman asked when she picked up. The phone display showed only codes; the call was intra-company, but not local. "I'm Jill Carson, Magda Crane's assistant. Ms. Crane would like to call you early this afternoon. Around one-thirty, but it might be later." She had a Boston accent and spoke primly. "Will you be in your office?"
"I'll be here."
"Great. Ms. Crane has a busy schedule, and often runs late. But she will be contacting you this afternoon." Sit on your ass and don't miss the call, she meant. Elisabeth could do that, even if Brand-Director-upside-down jitters made her squirm in her seat all afternoon.
In her e-mail Wanda was calling a staff meeting for two o'clock. She began to reply that she couldn't make it, then closed the unfinished mail. To hell with Marcus. If she was going to be fired, let Magda Crane do it. Of course Magda Crane wouldn't fire her. She'd make Human Resources or Marcus do that. So why the call? She felt her hopefulness from last night's reading and crushed it. No one would give her shit. It was all a joke.
She ate lunch at her desk, a Greek salad from the deli across the street, and surfed a job site for want ads. Product manager was too general, returning thousands of hits. She'd have to think more about what she wanted.
At one-thirty there was no call, nor at two-thirty, nor at three-thirty. Elisabeth cleaned her desk, checked for viruses, did another backup. Her seventh-floor window faced west towards Loudon County, where the trees and taller buildings of Reston gave way to old farmland, now office parks and ever-growing suburbs. Gray clouds lay over it all in thick undulating ribbons. The storm soon came, first short fits of sprinkles, then at four o'clock a heavy downpour beating at the glass, rivulets pouring down the windows. There was no point even trying to leave the office before seven with weather like this. Elisabeth opened her file cabinet and decided it was a good time to find the ones worth keeping.
At five o'clock she went to the office kitchen for some coffee. The burner on the machine had been turned off, and the half-full pot was barely warm. She put ice in her mug, poured the coffee, and stirred in some sugar-free sweetener. It was disgusting. She dumped it in the sink, poured a fresh cup, and microwaved it hot, to slight improvement.
Walking back, a woman was coming down the hall toward her. They both stopped in front of Elisabeth's door. "Can I help you?" Elisabeth asked.
"I'm looking for Elisabeth Battrie." Her voice was clear and nasal, a Northeast accent, boarding-school breeding. She wore a camel-hair blazer over loose black clothing, and a heavy conical silver brooch. She looked like a creative.
"That's me." The woman was old for Straightforward, not younger than sixty and with no plastic surgery Elisabeth could see. Her shoulders stooped slightly. She wore her blonde hair short, but longer than most professional women her age, and styled youthfully. Her hazel eyes were lively, and her mouth pursed in a wry challenge. Once upon a time, Elisabeth imagined, the woman had been a serious man-eater. "You're Magda Crane, aren't you?"
"Yes. I planned to call, but things came up -- and then I saw an opportunity to come in person. I hope I'm not catching you in the middle of something."
"Not at all," Elisabeth said, smiling wide. Magda Crane's disingenuousness was not only false, but threatening. "Pleasure to meet you. Come on in."
Magda Crane sat daintily, so close to the end of the chair Elisabeth wondered if she might slide off. Their eyes met for a few seconds, Magda's barely larger than a squint, then Magda looked away at the open file drawers, the piles on the floor. "Spring cleaning?"
"Sorry about the mess," Elisabeth said, pushing the drawers closed. "While I was waiting for your call I figured I'd get some things out of the way."
"You don't care to be idle, Ms. Battrie?"
"Elisabeth, please. And, no, Ms. Crane, I don't."
"Call me Magda." She paused, as if deliberating how best to approach a topic. "Then I take it you haven't enjoyed the last two months."
"No. No, I haven't."
"I thought as much. Marcus Medev also doesn't think you've been enjoying yourself. And he doesn't think you're well suited to continuing in your position with Client Support."
"I see," said Elisabeth, biting the words into a hiss. She really will fire me in person. The bitch even gets a kick out of it.
"Of course," Magda continued, "Marcus Medev is an idiot. And, since Client Support will be eliminated by the end of summer, your future there would be limited regardless."
Stifling a giggle from the first statement kept Elisabeth off-guard from the second. She felt a free-fall, the sudden absence of what had seemed a solid, if difficult, ground. "You're offering me a job," Elisabeth said stupidly.
"Yes, dear. I'm offering you a job."
"Doing what?"
The question, strangely, puzzled Magda, as if she herself didn't know. "Being my personal representative," she said, smiling as if at a private joke.
"That's not a title I've seen in the company org chart, Magda."
"Your title," Magda said dismissively, lolling her hand around her wrist. "Fine. How about Director of Special Projects? That's nice and meaningless."
"Except for the 'Director' part."
"I have your attention now?" Elisabeth nodded. "I have several interests," Magda said, as if the emphasis on the last word was enough explanation. "Interests that require personal attention. But I can't be everywhere. I need someone to act in my stead."
"Officially in your stead?"
"Not always."
"Without people knowing I act in your stead?"
"Perhaps."
"OK," Elisabeth said. "Why me?"
"Call it an intuition. Not that I haven't checked you out, with my staff and with others. You make an impression on people who are not impressionable, Elisabeth. You're smart, attractive, and able to think on your feet. And you're patient. It's a quality I appreciate."
"Thank you. But you still haven't answered me. What would I do?"
"You would do whatever I tell you to."
"Don't you already have people who'll do what you tell them to?" Elisabeth asked.
The question pleased Magda; less the question itself, maybe, more that Elisabeth was being careful. "Yes. You'd do different things than they do."
Regroup.
Not fired. Promoted. By the scariest woman in the firm. To a mystery job.
"I'm sorry. I don't want to sound obtuse, but what is this?" Elisabeth's voice was squeaking now. She so wanted this to be real. "What are these 'interests'?"
"You'll find out, if you take the job."
"And if I say no?"
"You remain a member of Client Support."
"And get downsized this summer."
"It's not an entirely useless division," Magda said. "There's some things I could salvage. At this moment, in your present capacity, you're not one of them."
Present capacity. Elisabeth recalled Missy's reading. Disorganization behind you. The thought chilled her. She drew a sharp breath. "It was you who killed my project," she said.
Magda did not smile. Her left eye narrowed slightly, the beginning of a wink. Elisabeth noted this. She needed to learn to read this woman.
"Killed 'my' project," Magda said. "I like that. And yes, I killed it." She made a moue of sadness, lips arching thin and high above her chin. "I liked your project. Maybe when things are calmer. Maybe you could even run it. But now, there is no project, and there's no more Client Support. The open positions in the company don't require your talents. You can quit, and go find something with another company, but out there it's not much better. You're not an entrepreneur. You don't want to go back to school. Or, really, to school."
Elisabeth let the wisecrack pass. She didn't worry about not going to college. She knew how far she had come.
"Or," Magda continued, "you can work for me. Directly, personally, one-hundred-percent for me. You'll get a signing bonus and a corporate platinum card. Plus a few other perks. Do well for me, and you'll do well for yourself."
Elisabeth held the silence for a while, just to see if Magda would break it, but she didn't. "When do you see the job starting?" Elisabeth asked.
"The moment you accept. There's someplace I want you to go look at, and tell me what you see. Everything you see. Even trends in your morning tarot readings." She looked older than sixty now, much older, a scary and corrupt kind of old. The bitch knew what Elisabeth did at home. Did Straightforward have investigators? Did Magda hire her own? Maybe her phone was tapped. The idea was perversely flattering.
Magda was waiting. "It sounds good," Elisabeth finally said. "But it's also weird. I need to think about it. Can I tell you tomorrow?"
"Of course, dear. I ask you not to discuss the offer with any colleagues, past or present. But yes, think about it." Magda smiled. "Take the weekend if you like."
Elisabeth walked her out to the corridor. She was taller in flats than Elisabeth in heels, and she walked strongly despite her seeming frailness. "I can see that I was right about you," Magda said. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, dear."
"Thanks. It's been..." After a moment Elisabeth coughed, embarrassed that the customary gracious words stuck on her tongue. She sighed and smiled wryly at Magda. "It's been intense."
Magda offered her hand and Elisabeth took it. It was all she could do not to jerk her hand back. Certain people gave Elisabeth the shivers, and Magda was near the top of that list. The touch felt like sticking her hand in a garbage disposal.
Magda smiled again, and walked away. The bitch meant to do that. Elisabeth realized just how much Magda knew about her. She rubbed her hand on her thigh until the tingling stopped.
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