An Unplanned Trek of an Arbitrary Nature - An Excerpt Read online

An Unplanned Trek of an Arbitrary Nature (Excerpt)

  Jennifer Lynn

  Copyright Jennifer Lynn

  If it wasn’t for the smog and the noise and the sense of urgency on the part of her fellow drivers, Gish would have thought this to be a normal day – just like any other, jockeying for position, passing on the right, blinking headlights filled with impatience and exasperation. A little like NASCAR, a lot like the 405.

  Today, however, was different.

  A tire factory could be burning in front of her today and she’d lower the window and inhale. Deeply. A bloody four-car pile-up could be blocking one of the middle lanes and she would still be hearing mocking birds and doves.

  No, this was a day for the ages, a day thus far being delayed only by a Corvette vibrating with someone’s wake-me-up dose of Katy Perry, a cement truck and an RV, all of which had conspired to clog the off-ramp to the intersection with the 5.

  The clock in the dash said 7:01. She scanned the radio stations for traffic alerts, finally settling on “traffic and transit on the 2s.” No reports of any “real” delays. Thank goodness, Gish thought. Have to keep the streak alive.

  The streak was nearly five years of being the first person to arrive in the office. Five years of being the one to key in the access code and open the door - ever since Day 1, she had set that as her standard. Everyone on her teams knew the rule: At your desk by 8 a.m., coffee (or another morning beverage of choice) in hand and ready for whatever the day was about to bring.

  This may be LA, she told the young ones, but the mindset is all New York. The fact was, when they sat down at their desks with that coffee and / or other beverage, they were already three hours (to say nothing of three cups) behind the competition in what can only be described as the Media Center of the Universe – and nothing is weaker than falling behind.

  The partnership team had taken note of her discipline and for that Gish was always thankful. It had gotten lonely working from her apartment in Brooklyn for so many years – no one to praise you when you exceeded expectations, but, then again, no one to criticize you when you don’t quite measure up.

  As isolating as entrepreneurship had been, particularly during the slow times, the freedom was intoxicating. She wrote press releases in her pajamas, negotiated contracts from the laundry room and gladly took 2 a.m. phone calls with London to secure a new piece of business or sit in on a press conference on behalf of a local client.

  With all of that flexibility came a lot of responsibility. As she liked to tell the younger associates, when it was great, it was great – but when it was bad, it was truly awful. She’d never gotten specific with them, but the fact was, by the end of her last client’s contract, she hadn’t paid rent in three months and her social schedule had been reduced to visits with Mrs. Gonzalez at the corner grocery her son owned, which featured a $.79 cup of coffee and a scone Gish lingered over each day while feigning interest in her grandchildren. Creditors called incessantly, stopping only when the cell phone service was shut off for non-payment.

  The eviction notice had not been a surprise, but donating her year-old Ralph Lauren furniture to Good Will – just so she wouldn’t have to pay movers to pick it up – proved sickening. Packing seven years of client papers and a lifetime of photo albums and scrapbooks into a 10x10 storage unit by the river was even worse.

  This, too, was a message the partnership team loved hearing her communicate. Those kids have no idea how good they have it sentiments along with words like “entitlement” or “spoiled rotten” were uttered by managers at the weekly closed-door management meeting in ways that made Gish cringe. These “kids,” she thought, needed leadership and strength in the office – and these managers needed therapy.

  That’s the thing about losing everything, she had learned – a livelihood, a lease, a car, a guy. You learn to play ball, and keep your thoughts to yourself.

  Which she did, which is why vice president led to senior vice president in a year and a half and, now – just over two years later – she had secured three new retainers in six weeks.

  Partnership, she was sure, awaited her at that elusive exit off the 405.

  *

  Gish had a feeling Smitty was not the valet’s real name, but she had never actually asked either - people around the office referred to him as “Smitty,” so she followed suit. Since today was special, she thought, she would inquire.

  Like every day for the past five years before this one, Gish pulled up to the gate, lowered the window and flashed her ID toward the booth, where Smitty sat sipping his coffee. He smiled and jumped from his chair.

  “Ms. Heart, what do you have on the agenda for today?”

  His Southern accent betrayed his roots. As Gish stepped out of the car and handed him the key, she stopped in her tracks.

  “I have but one question for you this morning, and it’s one that I’ve had for some time.”

  She reached into the car to grab her briefcase and purse.

  “Fire away, my friend.”

  Smitty made himself comfortable in the convertible and put the car in gear.

  “Is Smitty really your name or is that short for something? Because it occurred to me … ”

  Smitty interrupted her with a loud guffaw as he let the parking brake out.

  “Can you keep a secret?’ he asked through a wide grin.

  “Of course!”

  His voice lowered to a whisper. “Merlin … you know, like that electronic memory game we all played when we were kids? My mother couldn’t get enough of it and, to hear her tell it, she couldn’t get enough of me either, may she rest.”

  He tipped his hat to Gish, nodding in memory of his mother and pulled the car forward into the garage.

  Merlin, she thought. Now, that will have to be coffee talk with the team members once they arrive.

  *

  The smell of coffee as she exited the elevator onto the fourth floor should have been the first clue that something wasn’t right.

  The double doors etched with the letters “TPC” – Turner Patrick Communications – had been cleaned overnight, she could tell. The font, Garamond Bold, was an odd choice … not very progressive or modern. But, as the partners told her on Day 1 when she’d asked, it is the font most used by writers and that was the core skill public relations people were supposed to bring to the table. That made sense, Gish thought at the time – among many other very important skills, like selling.

  She smiled to herself as she fished through her bag for her card key. Suddenly, the doors opened.

  “Molly! Oh my God!” Gish exclaimed a little too loudly. The hot coffee on her hand along with the pure shock of seeing another human being in the office at this hour, particularly Molly, a former intern, had caused her voice to rise at least an octave. Gish had worked hard to ignore the fact that the management team hired Molly for a full-time position by, largely, ignoring her, so anytime Gish saw her, Gish was startled.

  “Good … morning, how are you?”

  Molly’s red curls, usually tossed up into an impromptu bun or held back with a headband, hung heavily around her face as she shook her head. “Not good.”

  Gish couldn’t help herself. “Grammar, for starters, but seriously, who died?” she cracked. “Besides, don’t I have a meeting with the team this morning at 9?”

  Molly held the door open and yawned, motioning for Gish to step inside. “It’s been moved up.”

  Gish followed Molly’s lead and was greeted by Patty, Molly’s boss and the firm’s longtime head of HR, a tall woman made even taller by the four-inch heels she subjected herself to each day. She dwa
rfed everyone on the management team, even the guys, but she never slouched or even seemed to care. Gish always respected her for that.

  Patty carried a large envelope in her hand and began walking toward the conference room. “Gish, would you please join us in here? And, Molly, could you get us three waters?”

  Molly put her head down and sped past Gish toward the conference room with a determined stride as Patty opened the door.

  Three waters?

  Inside sat Stan Parker, the “P” in Turner Parker Communications, reading glasses on the tip of his nose, examining two documents. “Gish?” He extended his hand to shake hers.

  “Stan.”

  “Have a seat, we need to have a chat.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Gish opened her briefcase. “I have those contracts for you to look at. Otherwise, it looks like we’re all sealed up with the folks in Burbank …”

  “Oh yes … about those … I’ll take those if you wouldn’t mind … “ Stan pulled them from Gish’s hand just as Molly stepped back into the room, unannounced, with the waters. She gasped.

  “Oh my God,” she said, dropping two bottles on the floor. “I’m so sorry, Patty.”

  Patty stood up. “You’re fine, thank you.” She escorted Molly out of the room, but not before Gish stole a glance at the young girl’s face. It was stained with tears.

  “Gish, you know we’ve appreciated all of your hard work these past … oh, I don’t know, how many years? Two, three?”

  “Coming up on five, actually,” Gish said, dumbfounded. How could he forget? And what the hell was happening here? Saturdays on the boat with Stan and his kids … talking shop over cocktails … mall-hopping with his wife, Sally, to celebrate the launch of her new cosmetic and clothing lines. “You know that, Stan … you hired me.”

  “Yes, I know,” he said, removing his glasses. “That’s why this is so difficult.”

  “What is so difficult?” The edge in Gish’s voice made Patty shift in her seat as she opened the envelope she’d been carrying.

  “We’re offering you a package,” Patty stated as she looked directly at Stan. She was picking up the ball. “You’ll have health coverage through the end of the year …” She pushed paperwork toward Gish across the table. “… And we think you’ll find that this will provide for your needs until you are able to secure your next … challenge.”

  Patty slid the check toward Gish.

  “Next challenge?” Gish looked at Stan. “Am I being fired?”

  “No, no one is firing you.” Stan’s voice tone was measured but the twitch in his body made it clear he was not comfortable. “We … the partnership thinks it may be time for you to move on, that maybe this experiment of yours has run its course.”

  “Experiment? What experiment?”

  Patty took a long gulp of water and cleared her throat. “Well, Gish, everyone knows you’re an independently-minded professional,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I think the general consensus, and I do speak for the partnership team as a whole … the general consensus is that it’s time for you to move on and the team is here to help you do that.” She tapped the check in front of Gish. “This is meant to help you do that.”

  Patty’s voice tone bordered on cheery as she made eye-contact with Gish and nodded curtly, as if to elicit an endorsement.

  Stan’s deep breath brought Gish back to reality and she turned to him. His eyes, fixated on his reading glasses, did not meet hers.

  “So ..” Patty stood up, slowly, looking at her watch. The meeting, it seemed, was over. “We have a courier on his way now to pack up your personal items from your office … we’ll have them delivered to you at home. I have 207 Rosemont, downtown, as your current address … is that still correct?”

  Gish nodded. She could feel the resignation swim through her body even questions flooded her brain. Before she could bring herself to stand up, Patty reached across her to pick up her bag.

  “Oh … is this your company laptop? I’ll just take that, thank you ...”

  She shoved the bag under her arm as she opened the conference room door. “If you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to ask … our lawyers will be glad to answer anything from here. …. Oh, and the courier will be around by Noon. Will you be able to greet him? He’ll need you to sign some paperwork.”

  Gish nodded. Stan stood up and looked toward her as he spoke, his eyes welling up. “You can give Molly your key card once you get your car from Smitty … we have to have her follow you down.”

  The tears were close now. Gish stood and looked directly at Stan. Her voice quivered as she spoke. “It’s Merlin.”

  Stan looked toward Patty, then back at Gish. “Merlin?”

  “Merlin.” The conviction in Gish’s voice had returned. “His name is Merlin.”

  She turned and stepped out of the conference room and through the double doors, red-headed puppy in tow.

  TO BE CONTINUED …