Good Pet

I swallow thickly, not knowing, and now wanting to know what she means by that. I down my wine quickly, anxiously. As I do, I know there’s very little I’m going to be able to do. I can’t refuse to go to work for the rest of the afternoon. Not if I don’t want to end up back on the associate’s floor, or worse. Without a job, period.

Please take me out of too much thinking or being afraid of whatever she’s got in mind for “good work.”

“Come with me to my office, Tommy,” she says, “I’ve got some special instruction to give you. Instruction I hope you learn well from.”

I have no choice. I stand up from my seat at the table and follow dutifully after her. As I do, I send an agonized thought to Melissa. I wish you hadn’t had to duck out on me like that. Maybe if you were still here, she wouldn’t be dragging me back with her like this. Maybe I wouldn’t be about to be overwhelmed by her. Dominated. Taken under her wing for more than just this job.

Back in Vanacore’s office a few short minutes later, I can barely breathe. I can barely think. The energy Vanacore’s got about her, is similar to my dad. Especially right before he was about to hand down a particularly grave or harsh punishment. The way she’s carrying herself, the way she keeps sighing and looking at me, says as much.

She leans against her desk, much the same way my dad would lean against one of the walls in the kitchen, where he would usually dole out those grave and harsh punishments. To my backside, usually. The comparison no longer surprises me. Indeed, with her white hair, leathery, wrinkled skin, Vanacore’s old enough to be my mother.

“I’ve told you about being seen with that secretary,” she says quietly. “I’ve told you what it does to your reputation and mine, but it seems you’re not taking anything I’ve said about that seriously.”

I let her scolding words hang in the air. They hang around me the same way I would with my father. I nod, wondering if I made too much out of that “special work” she had for me and her to do. Some special instruction.

She had talked about a reward too, but with the current vibe in the room, it’s not likely to happen. I’m more likely to get some kind of punishment at this point. Never mind my hard or good work.

“Do you really want this job, son?” I look at her, not sure where she’s going with this. “Do you really want this job, and I mean really, really want it?” Before I can even nod, she jumps back in with, “I heard about the incident on the legal aids’ floor a few days ago. Don’t act like it didn’t happen, Tommy. I heard everything from the other workers. I watched the video your precious Melissa took for you in order to get those people moved out of here.”

She clears her throat, and I’m feeling anxious, sweaty, and hot, but not because of my clothes, or because of my extra weight. It’s because of what Vanacore’s eyes are doing as they sit on me. They’re penetrating me. Digging around in my soul, polluting something in it.

“I don’t want to have to put you back in that cesspool of talentless, thoughtless and valueless people, but if you don’t start shaping up — if you don’t start listening to what I tell you, including when it comes to that secretary and being seen with her — I’ll have no problem putting you back there. Firing you and having you demoted, and marked for no other advancement.”

My throat is drier than hell at this point, and swallowing doesn’t even help. It makes me sick or to my stomach and feel chalkier inside.

“It’d be a shame to lose such a talented young man like you after only a week,” she says, emphasizing her threat in genteel, accented words. “It’d be a shame to leave you to become nothing more than a mechanical pair of hands. A cog in this big, successful company, but I’ll do it if it means teaching you how serious I am about watching your reputation and the impression you leave on others by the company you keep, boy.”

I hang my head a little, not sure where I stand with her now. What else she may or may not ask me to do at this point, depending on whatever answers I give her. But right now, I just wish I could finish up the rest of my workday and go home.

Like she did a few minutes ago, Vanacore immediately switches from mean and ready to punish and ridicule, to someone nicer and kinder. I don’t know what flipped the switch, but something did, and now she’s wondering over toward me, her arms outstretched. Briefly, I wonder if anyone else knows about these “mood swings” of hers, or whether I’m the only one she’s ever shown them to.