Chapter 2

By my count, Dickie made six calls before he finally sat back in his chair and took a pull on the tumbler of scotch I had put on his desk. He looked at me across the rim of the glass, considering me through slitted eyes.

"Most of the people involved in this will be here within the next fifteen minutes. When they are here, they will each confirm what I'm about to tell you, though their versions will differ in time, place, and actions. But, as I the last of those who first fell into this insidious trap, it's only proper that I use the time available to us to explain as much as I can about what has befallen us... and about why I think we can't escape it."

He took another long pull of his scotch before continuing. "Seven years ago, I was in much the same position as you — an up-and-comer who had made a splash by working my way up the ladder and successfully turning around districts that were underperforming without doing a lot of nut-cutting in the process. The powers-that-be decided to move me up to the region level with an eye toward fast-tracking me to a position at corporate headquarters." I must have made some type of noise or changed my expression, because he stopped staring down into the alcohol as he slowly swirled it in the tumbler to look at me with a wry smile.

"Oh, yes, Tony, I know what you've been told about your advancement opportunity with the company. You are on the same path that countless executives have taken but few are able to successfully complete. You may find yourself unable to meet the standards expected by some in the hierarchy above you and find yourself stalled in your current job, or even sent back to the district level. You may replace me, or move on to the next level in the company. You may tire of this business, or just this aspect of it, and go off and start your own company." He sat the tumbler down on the desk, using his now free hand to pull on his lower lip with thumb and forefinger. He contemplated for a bit, then sighed heavily and met my eyes again, some pain showing there. "Or you may die from a heart attack, a car crash... or a case of extremely bad karma."

Dickie stopped talking again, and the silence stretched as we both thought about his words. Seeing there was no explanation of that last remark forthcoming, I cleared my throat, preparing to ask him what he meant. But, before I could any words out, he sat up in his chair and waved me off.

"You'll understand eventually, Tony... or perhaps, by the end of the day, you'll decide you don't want the burdens that come with being at this particular location and you'll walk out the door... your career on hold but your manhood intact."

He moved around to the front of the desk, perching on the edge within companionable distance of my seat. "Mind if I smoke?" he asked, reaching for a humidor in plain sight on the desk. I raised an eyebrow, and he laughed at my silent inquiry. "Yes, Tony, I know there's a no smoking policy in the building. However, having a cigar to help me think during times of stress, and doing so behind that pair of very private doors really violates only the letter, not the spirit, of that rule." Still, he hesitated, allowing me to make the final decision. I nodded my acquiescence, but refused when he offered me one.

As he prepared his cigar, I examined Dickie a bit more closely. He fit the mold of a distinguished senior executive, looking like a smaller, grayer version of Ricky Gervais — a bit pudgy, a bit self-important, a bit self-involved. Whether that was just a cover for a truly savvy businessman to hide behind, or his actual personality, I really couldn't tell.

He slowly rotated the cigar as he lit it with a wooden match, working the flame over the tip until it burned evenly. He contemplated the tip as he gently blew a stream of smoke across it, and, apparently satisfied, finally turned his attention back to me.

"I'm not sure if you'll believe anything I'm about to say to you, and I don't blame you," he began without preamble. "In fact, you're about to get a warning that no other male Tonya has gone after has ever been given." His eyes looked through me for a moment. "I wonder... ," he said, more to himself than to me, his voice trailing off without finishing the sentence.

I let him think for a few seconds before asking aloud, "Wonder what?" Startled from his reverie, he waved the question with his hands, as if it was made of smoke from his cigar. "We'll come back to that, once you have the background. It may be simply that you've taken the bull by the horns in a way no one else has ever done. Or it may be... something else." He stood up and walked back around his desk, pausing only to pick up an ashtray to take back to his chair with him. As he sat down, he put his cigar in the ash tray and leaned back in the chair a bit, clasping his hands across his abdomen and staring up at the ceiling.

"Tony, 10 years ago I was promoted from our office in St. Louis to this office, filling the same position you are in now. In fact, my promotion was a direct result of a promotion of the father of my personal assistant, Julie — the young lady at the desk out there. He left for Rochester and I picked up the wife and kids and moved here."

"Five months after I started, Tonya Tachinsky applied for and was hired for a temporary position as an administrative assistant. I know the time frame because there were three junior executives who each needed the help of an admin, but not enough to give them each their own P.A." He paused a moment to take a sip of scotch and a big draw on his cigar. "I was one of those three original employees to whom Tonya was assigned."

"When she first started working here, she was nowhere near the force of personality and sexual attraction she is now. I would characterize her as somewhat plain, actually. She always seemed a bit out of step with the style in those days — never the right haircut, the clothes just a bit off, too much or not enough makeup. And she always seemed to be in crisis! Her desk was a mess, she was always dropping things, she was panicking about deadlines and barely submitting passable work at or a few minutes past her deadlines. Soon enough, the three of us using her were ready to put in for another temp." His hands trembled slightly as he reached for his tumbler again, but he raised it from the desk only to find it empty. He pushed himself up and walked over to the bookcase where I had earlier found the decanter of scotch, pouring until the golden-brown liquid reached the rim. He sipped it down to where it wouldn't spill, then walked the glass back to his desk and resumed his seat.