coffee in the back. Rick ate a second slice of banana nut bread one of the customers had left. She’d asked him to bring it to his mother at the hospital. But it was after 1:00 p.m. and he’d forgotten his lunch. He knew his mom believed in sharing.
Rick stared at the telephone. Before he lost the nerve, he picked it up, dialed the number, and gave a brief summary to his boss’s secretary. She quickly put him through.
“Rick, how’s it going, my man? How’d your skiing trip go? Was it Aspen this time?”
His boss was in a good mood; his lunch appointment must have gone his way. “I’m doing fine, Mr. Rainey, but . . . well, things didn’t turn out the way I planned. Hope you had a nice Thanksgiving.”
“Food was good, company was tolerable. This year it was my wife’s family’s turn, so we were down in Mobile. So . . . what happened to you?”
Rick filled him in about Art and how that had abruptly changed Rick’s holiday plans. “The thing is now . . . the doctors are saying he needs surgery, but his brain is still too swollen to operate.”
“So you’re going to have to stay down there another, what, two or three days?”
“Actually, I’m going to need to stay at least the rest of the week.”
“Really?”
Rick didn’t like the tone in that reply. “I’m sorry to spring this on you, sir. But I don’t see any other way. It’s a small store, but it’s their whole livelihood, and she doesn’t have anyone else who can fill in. You know how retail is the weeks just after Thanksgiving. It’s their highest sales volume.”
“But . . . it is just a retail job, right? Can’t they call a temp service?”
“I checked. Town’s too small. They don’t even have one.”
“Well, it’s your vacation time, Rick. You know our policy. It’s yours to use as you please, long as our clients’ needs come first. I’m assuming you had a pretty full schedule set for this week. We’re heading into year’s end, things heat up pretty—”
“I know, Mr. Rainey.” Rick sighed. “It’s a terrible time for this to happen.”
“Just thinking of you, Rick. I’ll take a look at your appointments this week, see who can fill in.”
“Actually, sir, I’ve already figured something out. I was going to call my secretary next and see how many appointments I can bump till next week. For those who can’t, I’ll call other associates to support them, see if they can keep the plates spinning till I get back.” If Rick had to get anyone else involved with his clients, he wanted to pick them.
“That’s good, Rick. You already thought it through then. Well, do what you have to do down there. We’ll see you back here next week.”
“Thanks, Mr. Rainey.”
“Don’t come back with too much of a tan,” he said. “Folks might doubt your cover story.”
“Right, sir.” Rick hung up.
He hadn’t solved his problem, just bought himself a little time. Rick knew Art wouldn’t be up and about by next week. Not with open-cranial surgery. He’d be down at least this week and the next.
If he survived at all.
After the lunchtime rush, things quieted down again. He looked at his watch. Andrea should be coming in an hour or two from now. Seemed like a safe time to head back to Art’s office and do some paperwork. Maybe telephone the vendors on Andrea’s reorder list.
He looked up at the front door and made a mental note to buy some kind of bell, something to let him know when people came in. He stopped at the cassette player, turned the volume down, then walked to the office, stood in the doorway.
Really, this wasn’t an office.
It was barely bigger than a broom closet. The desktop was an interior door, cut in half and wedged in a corner. The other end rested on a rusty two-drawer file cabinet. In the middle sat a swivel chair that didn’t swivel, the back wrapped in duct tape to keep a rip from getting worse. Paint was chipping off one wall. The paneling on the other was warped and
Rick stared at the telephone. Before he lost the nerve, he picked it up, dialed the number, and gave a brief summary to his boss’s secretary. She quickly put him through.
“Rick, how’s it going, my man? How’d your skiing trip go? Was it Aspen this time?”
His boss was in a good mood; his lunch appointment must have gone his way. “I’m doing fine, Mr. Rainey, but . . . well, things didn’t turn out the way I planned. Hope you had a nice Thanksgiving.”
“Food was good, company was tolerable. This year it was my wife’s family’s turn, so we were down in Mobile. So . . . what happened to you?”
Rick filled him in about Art and how that had abruptly changed Rick’s holiday plans. “The thing is now . . . the doctors are saying he needs surgery, but his brain is still too swollen to operate.”
“So you’re going to have to stay down there another, what, two or three days?”
“Actually, I’m going to need to stay at least the rest of the week.”
“Really?”
Rick didn’t like the tone in that reply. “I’m sorry to spring this on you, sir. But I don’t see any other way. It’s a small store, but it’s their whole livelihood, and she doesn’t have anyone else who can fill in. You know how retail is the weeks just after Thanksgiving. It’s their highest sales volume.”
“But . . . it is just a retail job, right? Can’t they call a temp service?”
“I checked. Town’s too small. They don’t even have one.”
“Well, it’s your vacation time, Rick. You know our policy. It’s yours to use as you please, long as our clients’ needs come first. I’m assuming you had a pretty full schedule set for this week. We’re heading into year’s end, things heat up pretty—”
“I know, Mr. Rainey.” Rick sighed. “It’s a terrible time for this to happen.”
“Just thinking of you, Rick. I’ll take a look at your appointments this week, see who can fill in.”
“Actually, sir, I’ve already figured something out. I was going to call my secretary next and see how many appointments I can bump till next week. For those who can’t, I’ll call other associates to support them, see if they can keep the plates spinning till I get back.” If Rick had to get anyone else involved with his clients, he wanted to pick them.
“That’s good, Rick. You already thought it through then. Well, do what you have to do down there. We’ll see you back here next week.”
“Thanks, Mr. Rainey.”
“Don’t come back with too much of a tan,” he said. “Folks might doubt your cover story.”
“Right, sir.” Rick hung up.
He hadn’t solved his problem, just bought himself a little time. Rick knew Art wouldn’t be up and about by next week. Not with open-cranial surgery. He’d be down at least this week and the next.
If he survived at all.
After the lunchtime rush, things quieted down again. He looked at his watch. Andrea should be coming in an hour or two from now. Seemed like a safe time to head back to Art’s office and do some paperwork. Maybe telephone the vendors on Andrea’s reorder list.
He looked up at the front door and made a mental note to buy some kind of bell, something to let him know when people came in. He stopped at the cassette player, turned the volume down, then walked to the office, stood in the doorway.
Really, this wasn’t an office.
It was barely bigger than a broom closet. The desktop was an interior door, cut in half and wedged in a corner. The other end rested on a rusty two-drawer file cabinet. In the middle sat a swivel chair that didn’t swivel, the back wrapped in duct tape to keep a rip from getting worse. Paint was chipping off one wall. The paneling on the other was warped and
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