Daniel Suarez - Daemon

Ross thought it was a good question.

Decker was calm as ever. “That depends.” He looked to Ross. “Tell me, Mr. Ross, why is it that no one at your home address has ever heard of you?”

Damn it to hell….

“Мs. Anderson?” The security guard stepped from the guard shack and ducked to look into the Jaguar XK8.

Anji Anderson looked down her nose at him from behind the wheel, lowering her Vuitton sunglasses. “Yesss. Open the gate.”

“Ma’am, if you could drive off to the right here, I believe Mr. Langley wants to have a word with you.”

“I think you should open the gate.”

“Ma’am, Mr. Langley—“

“Mr. Langley—whoever that is—can call my office if he wants to speak with me.” She dug through her glove compartment and produced a drive-on studio pass. “Now, open the gate.”

“Ma’am, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to pull off to the right, there.”

“Why? Do you know who I am?”

He gave her an incredulous look. He obviously knew who she was.

“And why do you keep calling me ‘Ma’am’? What is this, the Ponderosa? My name is Anji Anderson—although later you’ll be calling me ‘That Bitch Who Got Me Fired.’”

“Ma’am, there’s no call for cussing.”

“Cussing? Okay, Clem, I won’t cuss no more, as long as you open the fucking gate.”

His look hardened. He leaned down closer. “Look, if you don’t pull off to the right, you’ll wish you had. Now park over there.” He pointed.

She just laughed. “Ahhh, I guess there’s only so much shit you’ll take for eight bucks an hour, eh?”

“Pull over to the right.”

A car behind her honked.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Pull over to the right!”

Another guard approached the car.

“Oh, you called for backup. You need protection from a helpless woman, Clem?”

The second guard eased the first away from the car and then turned to her. “Ms. Anderson, using your superior social position to belittle a powerless employee does not speak well of you.”

She stared at him.

“The fact is that we’ve been instructed by your superiors to prevent you from entering. If you want to know why, I suggest you pull over to the right.”

She nodded slowly and put the car in gear. “Okay. I will.” She yanked the steering wheel to the right and accelerated madly into the walk-on lot.

Anderson was burning with anger after walking in high heels from the far corner of the parking lot. She was going to raise hell about this with Walter Kahn. She was talent. She shouldn’t have to put up with facilities crap.

When she finally reached the guard shed again, the second guard pointed to a pedestrian gate where two people waited for her, one a trim woman in a tailored suit, the other another security guard. Anderson slowed down and then stopped. She stood there not liking what she was suddenly thinking.

The woman motioned for her to approach.

Anderson took a deep breath and walked up to them as composedly as she could manage. “What’s this all about?”

The woman extended her hand from between the bars. It was like visiting hours at the state pen. Anderson extended her own hand for a cold handshake. “Ms. Anderson, I’m Josephine Curto from Human Resources. There’s been a change in your contract status at the network.”

“My agent is negotiating a contract renewal. It doesn’t lapse for another five weeks.”

“Yes. I see. Those negotiations are over. The network decided not to renew your contract. Please understand this decision came down from corporate. I’m just delivering the news. We thought your agent would have told you.”

Anderson felt the tears welling up, but sucked in a breath and forced them back down again. She looked away and pressed her forefinger and thumb against the bridge of her nose—then looked back sharply at Curto. “ This is how you decide to tell me I’m fired? I’m standing here like some kind of vagrant in the street. What am I, a threat? What am I going to do, shoot up the place?”

Curto was unperturbed as she attached papers to a clipboard. “That’s not the concern. You are known to studio personnel and have access to a live television broadcast. I’m sure you can appreciate that the network doesn’t want you getting on the air at this difficult time.”

“Difficult time?” Anderson tried in vain to form her thoughts into words several times. The tears threatened again. She finally blurted out, lamely, “I have fans. You’ve seen my fan mail? There are men and women in Marin and Oakland and Walnut Creek—people who’ve asked to marry me. What are you going to tell them about my sudden disappearance?”

“I have no idea how to respond to that question.”

“You should let me do a final broadcast.”

“Lifestyles reporters don’t get farewell broadcasts, Ms. Anderson.”

“What about Jim McEwen? They had a big send-off when he retired.”

“Jim was the anchor. He worked at the studio for thirty-two years. You’ve been here six.”

“This is no way to treat talent.”

“That’s hardly at issue here.”

Anderson realized Curto was smart for being on the other side of the bars. She took another deep breath and tried to center herself. “Can’t I at least go in to say goodbye to Jamie and Doug and the others?”

“Oh, see, now why are we having this conversation? It’s not productive,” Curto said. She pushed a clipboard and pen through the bars. “Can you please sign these?”

Anderson just stared at her indignantly. “I’m not signing anything.”

“You want your personal effects, right?”

“My personal effects? You mean you people emptied out my office ?”

“Anji, what do you think is going on here? This is a large corporation with global responsibilities. Emptying out your office wasn’t a vengeful act. It was a work order. Just sign the documents, and let’s get this over with. This is not fun for you or me.”

Anderson grabbed the clipboard and pen. She slapped it against the bars right in front of Curto’s face and started reading the COBRA and 401(k) documents. She felt like a public spectacle. A loser standing outside the gates where everyone could see her. The grips and cameramen stared as they drove in through the nearby gate. She started tearing up in humiliation. Someone was punishing her. But who?

She finally just signed all the papers without reading them and shoved the clipboard back through the bars.

“We’ll deliver your personal effects to your home.”

Anderson hurried away, rushing for the distant refuge of her car.

“Ms. Anderson. My pen.”

Anderson had been starting pitcher on Wisconsin State’s girls’ softball team. She stopped, turned, and hurled the pen at the corporate ice bitch with all her strength. The woman took it right in the torso. Had it been a Mont Blanc, she would have been sucking for air. But it was just a Bic, and the woman shrank back.

“There’s no call for that!”

Anderson stormed away, her mind running in fast-forward to all the bad things that were sure to follow. Someone had dynamited a bridge on her road to success. She hadn’t prepared for this at all. Fucking terrorists.

She mentally ticked off a list of her friends. They were all in the business or attached to the business. Who could find her a soft landing at another station? If not in San Francisco, then where? Not Madison, Wisconsin, again, please, dear God.

Then it hit her that Melanie hadn’t warned her. That bitch had let her be publicly humiliated. Anderson pulled her cell phone out of her handbag and speed-dialed her agent. It rang three times and went to voice mail.