The Slippage: A Novel by Ben Greenman Page B

down the hall. In Baker’s office, an intern was tending to a reference shelf in the corner. He was tall and slim and possibly Baker’s nephew. Fresh energy came off him in waves. “I have some information about our new employee,” Baker said. He paused to invite speculation.
    “The one from San Diego?” Fitch said.
    “He’s starting any day, right?” Harris said. It seemed like it. A cubicle had been cleaned, except for a note taped at shoulder height that said “Hold All Walls for Harry.” A replacement chair had come down from Vyron—Antonelli, always rocking, had damaged the last one’s spine. Someone had even tacked up a California postcard on the wall over the desk, though it was of the Bay Area. Approximate hospitality was better than none at all.
    “Well,” Baker said. His voice was even deeper and more resonant when it carried news. “George came to me the other week to ask if I thought it was a good idea to bring the man in immediately or let him finish out the quarter in San Diego. Because when he comes here, he’s going to be part of the team. And that means that he’ll need to understand everything about the way we’re selling TenPak.” He pointed at William. “When you write, you make customers believe. But you also make these men believe.” He pointed at Fitch, Harris, and Cohoe. “And when they believe they sell, and their sales create more belief. It’s a virtuous circle.” His voice dropped another half step. “The new hire is a true son of this company.”
    “Meaning what?” Cohoe said.
    “Meaning that he’s shattering sales records. Not just in San Diego, but for any city, any division.” Baker patted the desk emphatically. “That’s one of the reasons I decided to delay him. For these weeks, especially, I don’t want him to make the rest of you think too much about what you are or aren’t doing, especially given the circumstance with O’Shea and Loomis. Because you know whose team it is?”
    “All of ours?” Fitch said.
    “No,” Baker said. He looked confused. “It’s Arthur’s team.” Now Harris looked confused. “He’s senior by a month and he consistently tops sales figures. Six months from now, it might be the new guy’s, but that remains to be seen. We’re having some issues with TenPak, as I’m sure you all know, and we need to remedy them. So for now Arthur is the main character in this movie. The rest of you are in supporting roles.”
    “I’m the main character?” Harris said. He didn’t sound convinced.
    “Wait,” William said to Baker. “If he’s the main character, what are you?”
    Baker tilted his large head and considered the question. Its difficulty seemed to please him. “Well,” he said finally, “I’m the director.”
    Fitch went for the door. Cohoe followed.
    “William,” Baker said. “Wait a moment.” He squared himself at his desk. “Loomis,” he said softly. The word was hard inside the whisper.
    “Yes,” William said. “I just finished those up this morning. You want Harris and Fitch to take them over?”
    “He dropped out.”
    “Impossible,” William said.
    “Not only is it possible,” Baker said, “it has happened.” He picked up the phone and began to dial. “Now we’re on to Gardner. This is the next domino and also the last we’ll permit.”
    He dismissed William with a nod.
    William got to work on Gardner. He leaned heavily on the language. He had typed two letters of a longer word when he felt himself decoupling from the brochure. An airplane was going by outside, and he thought of what the people in the plane were seeing as they looked back down toward the earth. More precisely, he thought of what they weren’t seeing: they weren’t seeing the trivial details of the day, the things that had to be moved into close range so that they would seem significant at all. People focused on what was right in front of them, perfected their ability to analyze those things, all the while growing blinder to