Last Minute Preparations for a Party

I wake up, my head thrumming. I wish it were from a hangover. Unfortunately, it’s just our boss. I was working late, managing some catering screw up for this evening’s events. Fortunately, while I might have terrible hours and no future prospects, the pay is pretty good whenever Ms. Pryor is organizing her networking events. I always make sure to write down Networking Events in calendars, because ‘Blackmail Party’ sounds a bit too evil for my liking. As I rouse myself, I look at the clock. I’m running later than ideal. Still will be early, but probably not early enough to get all the data ready for Erica. Which means speed. Which, in turn, means I need more food in me.

A pair of ibuprofens to take the edge off my headache, washed down with a bottle of some strange brand of yogurt drink I picked up a few months into this job, back when I first realized how much sit down meal times would be at a premium. Relatively healthy, more calories than a normal coffeeshop breakfast, and best of all, eminently chuggable. Downed, I refill my string bag from the trail mix tub, and check my email on my work phone. Nothing major came up overnight, except Erica mentions a last minute guest change. Almost makes me glad I didn’t have time to do the prep last night. I pull on a suit that, while not nice, is presentable enough that if I don’t have time to change, I will blend without too much offense. Shoving my work and personal phones into my jacket pockets, I head over to the cabinet by the balcony. If anyone ever went through my cabinets, they might be weirded out by the five foot by three foot by one foot cabinet stuffed full of peanut butter jars. Grabbing a plastic spoon for the day, I take a thick scoop out of the open jar. It’s nearly empty, after opening it less than a week ago. Never a good sign. I put the spoon overfull with peanut butter in my mouth and hold it there, without swallowing, as I go to the telescope. There are two notches on the stand. One that points north in the sky, and one that points towards the ground. Turning the telescope to that point, I look through it at an alleyway. And I focus.

Transmitting one’s self isn’t a painful process, not in the classical sense of pain. But that doesn’t make it a pleasant one. Especially over longer distances, where I tend to start feeling the hunger prior to the transmission actually occurring. But, that’s why I’m more prepared. Now that I can afford it, and know my workload, I always make sure to have a solution. I start to feel a bit lightheaded and then, in what feels like an instant, I am across town. Standing alone in my personal favorite alley.

No one lives here anymore, which is weirdly sad. Because while Florence’s gradual transformation from shock to irritation at my sudden arrivals was entertaining in the mornings, people knowing about me would be a recipe for problems. Especially with whatever Willa’s been up to. As I steady myself on the concrete, I can feel the wooziness coming inside my stomach. But I’m prepared. Taking the spoon, I pull it out of my mouth and swallow the spoonful of peanut butter that was once there. Not enough to solve the problem, but it does take the edge off more efficiently than anything else I’ve found. Fortunately, I am right next to the ‘bucks.

It takes longer than I’d like to get my order. Normally, I’d have ordered in advance, but normally I’m slightly less late. With a polite nod to the baristas once the coffee and sandwich are on the to go counter, I head to work at a jog. Eating while jogging is harder than eating while walking, but I’m running late enough today, and today is probably going to be busy enough, that showing up with food uneaten but still a bit early is better than showing up having finished breakfast but on time.

Mitch is at the desk. He looks up and notices me. “You’re running late today, Norm,” he remarks as I jog in.

“No need to remind me,” I joke as I take another bite of the breakfast sandwich. “Who else is here?”

“Elly showed up, of course. Hector in Accounting. Nadine in HR. Oh, and Derrick and Willis are already in, too.” Dang it, I muse. I hate it when the advertising jerks beat me. Normally, I’m arriving in the same wave as Hector and Nadine. Being beaten by Darrick and Willis always feels rough.

I hand over my badge as I reply, “They’re early. Something going on?”

“They were talking about trying to score invites to some company party,” Mitch says, scanning the card and handing it back, “Not sure how they think they can pull that off.” As I take my badge, he presses a button on his desk, calling the elevator because he knows I’m running late.

I smile. “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” I fake whisper, “They really can’t. I will personally murder them in this building if they make me change the guest list again.”

Mitch smiles and nods. “Please don’t. But that does explain the lateness,” he replies, letting me through.

I head to the elevator doors as they bing and begin to open. Unless there are other people trying to be impressive, I should be right in the awkward period where no one else is showing up intentionally. Maybe someone who got lucky with traffic. Getting in the elevator, I press the button for the fifteenth floor with my elbow, then move to the back of the car, finishing off my sandwich as I wait for the doors to close. As the elevator starts to rise, I wash it down with some coffee. I’m almost not feeling hungry anymore. Reaching back into my string bag, I grab a handful of trail mix and eat it too. As I swallow and move my coffee cup to my lips, the elevator doors open once more on an empty office space. As I enter, the lights automatically turn on. I head straight over to my desk, and sit down at my computer. Logging in, I check the email. Not mine, I already checked that. My office computer has access to both Erica’s and Ms. Pryor’s work emails. I run through them, to make sure that nothing new came up about the caterers’ mishap, nor my haphazard solution last night. And we’re in the clear. Then I move to collating the budget information for the evening. I figure do that before running the background checks, as I can use the change of guest as an excuse if Erica presses me. Which she won’t, as long as it’s done by the time Ms. Pryor arrives.

The elevator doors open again while I’m just starting to do background, sorting the guests into targets, threats, and unimportant. Targets are those the boss is trying to influence, or has influenced and doesn’t want to irritate. Threats are those who have targets’ ears or could cause problems for the boss’s goals if left to their own devices. And unimportant is everyone else, mostly a list of company employees and their plus ones, though not all of them. People Erica doesn’t need to worry about getting dirt on. A few of the schmoozers that work on the floor come in, along with Erica. She gives me a nod as she approaches.

Before she arrives at my desk, I hold out the budget numbers. She takes them, glances through, and says, “Good, everything seems alright. Heard something happened last night.”

“Catering issue. Solved, but you might want to check and make sure my midnight solution is good enough for the boss.”

“Background?”

“Working on it now,” I admit, “What’s with the guest change?”

She shakes her head. “COO’s inviting a few Management track employees who they’re thinking about promoting. Nothing set in stone.”

“Are they on the master list already?” I ask. I have seen a few employees.

She shakes her head. “Not yet. It’s Eleanor Wise and Quinn Sumner from Telemarketing, and Hector Quesada and Dominik Kaczmarek from Accounting. Employees, so not too concerned, but do a quick check and make sure.”

Concerning, Elly being on the list. But I don’t think anything will come up in the check. Probably. I nod. “I put the portfolios of the threats and targets in our shared folder already, I’ll keep doing so until I’ve finished the list.”

Erica nods, and heads over to her desk, leaving me alone. After all, she has a lot to do before Ms. Pryor comes in as well. Meanwhile, I set to work finishing the rough background on everyone.

As I suspected, none of the four employees throw up any red flags for our goals. Elly’s still homeless after the building collapse last month, and I’m seventy percent certain that Dominik’s embezzling, but neither matter to this party. I do note both those things in the unimportant folder files, in case they become important later. Of the whole list, most of the checks are incredibly simple. Between the company files, what’s available online, and the department’s own files, almost everyone has plenty to go off of. There are three exceptions. A plus one for one of the congress people, one Anna Hunter, seems too bland to be a real person. My best guess is an escort, but I need to check it out to be sure. Which will wait until after Ms. Pryor shows up, so I’m not seen as being late. A pair of plus ones for staffers. One, Olivia Lysander, is equally bland, but in a way that says spy rather than escort. And Roger Brandt is not online at all, other than on the staffer’s page, and we have only the barest bones on them. Looking at Roger’s picture, staring into his cold eyes, I have a sinking feeling that I know why I can’t find anything about him. First, I stand up and walk over to Erica’s desk. “Three offline, I’m going to check them out after the boss shows up in case of emergency. Everyone else is sorted and has a page on them.”

“Good work,” Erica replies, “And could you check in with Joe when you have a chance, he says he’s got something that might interest Ms. Pryor.”

“Give me a bathroom break, then I’ll do it,” I reply, as I continue past her desk to one of the few areas in this whole building that isn’t monitored and recorded constantly, the executive suite bathroom. I lock the stall and sit on the toilet as though I’m using it. I pull out my personal phone, a strange device that looks fairly close to smartphones that people are familiar with but just a little off. And I dial one of the half dozen numbers saved without contact information on it.

A man’s voice answers the phone. “Yes?” they ask.

“Dear, you wouldn’t happen to be a forty-year old named Roger today would you?” I ask.

On the other end, there’s an upset sigh. “Goddammit, I thought I could slip it past you. What gave me away?” Willa asks.

“The look you were giving Miss Tyree is the exact same as the look you used as Harris to fake being in love,” I answer.

“Hey,” she objects, “It’s hard to come up with a new ‘I’m head over heels for you’ look.”

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“Nothing to do with you, don’t worry,” she replies. Which means it has to do with the company. Or Elly.

“Would it happen to do with a building collapse?” I ask. If it’s the company, I don’t really care. But I don’t want any more eyes looking for our sort of people in this company.

“How did you know?” She seems genuinely surprised by my knowledge of what’s going on.

“Elly’s under my protection,” I inform my old friend. “Do what you’ve got to do, but don’t fuck with my life. I don’t want to have to start fresh a third time.”

She sighs. “Okay, don’t worry. The woman isn’t going to have anyone do anything against their will. As far as I know.”

I shake my head. “I’ll mark you as unimportant. Don’t screw me over about it,” I say, hanging up the phone. I wash my hands and leave the bathroom. Passing by my desk on the way to Joe’s, I grab my trail mix bag. Backgrounds without the internet as a crutch means I need to fuel up.