David Gates - Jernigan

I sat down on the edge of the bed. “Is this something we should be doing something about?”

“Not right now,” she said, trying to preserve a mood clearly slipping out of her control. She writhed a come-hither writhe.

“Don’t you ever wonder,” I persisted, “what goes on in that room?”

This made her sit up, not caring anymore whether I saw breasts or not. “What?” she said. “My little girl’s corrupting your little boy? Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I worry about both of them,” I said.

“Right,” she said.

“If you recall,” I said, “you gave me this big speech about how Danny was so good for Clarissa, and how all this was a problem from the distant past.”

“So it just goes to show you, right? Love works miracles and they don’t last.”

“Meaning what?” I said, as I was clearly expected to. I remembered from Judith just how to do this.

“Meaning you seem to be finding me increasingly resistible.”

“So now what is this about?” I said. “Because I want to talk about something that legitimately worries me? And should legitimately worry you?”

“And you don’t think I’m worried?” she said. “What, in your wisdom, do you think I ought to be doing about it? Put her in Fair Oaks because she smokes a joint? I know you think I’m a shitty mother. You, of course, are a world-class father.”

“I can’t believe this shit,” I said.

“Which is why Danny has in effect been living here for six months. Because his father is just such a warm guy.”

“Maybe the fact that he can fuck his brains out every night and nobody says jack shit about it has something to do with it too,” I said.

“I wouldn’t go by that,” she said. “It doesn’t seem to cut much ice with you anymore.”

I shook my head. “This is a really grotesque situation, if you think about it for one minute. Them in there and us in here? That ever strike you? That this is deeply fucked up?”

“So change it,” she said, tearing off the covers and standing up. “You think it’s grotesque , why don’t you change it?” She strode naked to the dresser and began brushing her hair, buttocks bobbing with every stroke.

And so on.

2

That day I didn’t make it in to work at all.

Next morning I got up and took the 7:31, rolled into the office bright and early. No smile from Miranda, who looked up, then went back to her typing.

“How goes?” I said.

“All right,” she said.

“That’s good,” I said. She typed another burst of characters, then said “Shit” and reached for the white-out.

I said, “I myself am feeling better, thank you.” Keeping up the pretense that I’d been sick the day before. She leaned forward and blew on the sheet of paper where she’d brushed on the white-out. “You know,” I said, “Dr. K should really break down and at least get you something with backspace erase. This is like one step up the evolutionary ladder from the stone tablet and chisel.” Dr. K was my little name for Kelsey.

She looked at me then. “I really hate this, okay?” she said. “But he told me to tell you he wants to see you. Like as soon as you came in?”

“You’re trying to tell me something,” I said.

“I’m really sorry,” she said.

“Ho-ly shit,” I said. “Hmm. Yow. Well.”

I had never been fired from anything before.

“Sort of bizarre,” I said. “It’s like in Dagwood or something, you know?” Right, this Miranda was really likely to know about Dagwood; what was she, twenty-five? Unless they still had Dagwood.

What exactly did they say when they fired you, in the real world? Surely not You’re fired . In Dagwood I think they tossed you out by your shirt collar and the seat of your pants.

“Guess you might as well buzz,” I said, hoping Miranda would at least admire the sang-froid. Office romances were a bad idea, not that I hadn’t had one, and almost a second one, while Judith was alive. But now that I was apparently out of here, maybe I could call Miranda sometime for a cup of coffee. Although there was now Martha to be thought of.

“Send him in,” went Kelsey’s voice from her desktop.

Miranda salaamed the squawkbox, both palms aloft, then said to me, “Keep your chin in.”

I shadowboxed a little for her, to show my insouciance.

“Sit,” said Kelsey.

I sat.

“This may or may not come as much of a surprise to you,” he said, “but it’s been decided to let you go. Very frankly, it just hasn’t been a good fit.”

“I guess I’d been feeling that for some time,” I said. Hey, you always said you were into the degradation: dig it now. Degradation: I played with the word as I looked at Kelsey’s hands, his hands being as far up as I dared look. Gold wedding band pinching into the bloat. I came up with Dagwoodation . As if Elmer Fudd were saying it.

“Damn it,” Kelsey was saying, “you actually have a lot on the ball. You’re smart, you’re presentable …” A third attribute seemed to escape him. “All this has really accomplished is to keep you from doing”—he shrugged—“whatever it is that you should be doing. And I’m a great believer in this, that people do have, each person, a right job or a right niche or what have you.” He pronounced it nick . “I wish we were big enough, frankly, to where if a guy wasn’t working out in the one job, move him over, try something else. But fortunately or unfortunately …” He spread his hands, to show his despair. “So all we can do is just say Godspeed, work out some kind of a severance package that’s fair to everybody and …” Out went the hands again.

“What kind of severance thing specifically are we talking about?” I said, all business. In fact, I’d forgotten that part of what made a decent job a decent job was that they didn’t just shove you out the door with your last paycheck.

“Well, what we were thinking of offering,” said Kelsey, “and if you don’t think it’s equitable please say so, is two months at full salary, plus use of the office for the next week, say, to get yourself on your feet, make some calls, whatever you need to do. We’re also willing, if need be, to keep you on the health plan for the next month, month and a half, so you’ll have time to make other arrangements.”

It was plain even to me that he could be talked up. Two months? Even for a cheeseparing operation like Kelsey and Chittenden, this could only be an opening gambit. Christ, hadn’t he invited me to bargain? He sat there watching me, thinking whatever shit businessmen think. Probably trying to anticipate how I was going to react, so he’d know which way to fuck me. I really didn’t have the energy for this.

“Two months?” I said. “Is that the usual?”

“I suppose in this case we could stretch a point,” he said. “I think we could probably justify an additional couple of weeks on a sort of hardship basis. Justification being the sudden termination and the years of service. Beyond that, I’m not sure we’re prepared to, in a sense, prolong things in a way that’s not productive for anybody.”

So apparently all I had to do was keep myself from saying Okay and I could watch the free money pile up.

I fetched a sigh, which I hoped he might read as I had in mind something more like three months .

“So we’re agreed,” he said.

So much for Jernigan the crafty negotiator. At this point I just wanted to get the fuck out of there. “I don’t know,” I said. “Whatever.”

“Now,” he said, and took in a breath through his teeth. So there was more. “In regards to recommendations. I’d be perfectly happy to tell any and all comers just what I’ve told you, that you’re bright, well-spoken — but I’m not certain to what extent that would really be of great help to you.”