actually wearing a green hat and smoking an upside-down pipe. There was just something about him that strongly suggested he’d recently escaped from the Old Leprechauns’ Home.
“Mail call,” he whispered.
The aging pixie tiptoed in and placed a stack of envelopes on Gus’ desk, then started to sneak out again. Before he reached the door the speaker erupted in a blast of Hindi that was unmistakably some kind of expletive. Even though he had no idea what the words meant, Gus found himself blushing.
“Sounds like Sanjay is declaring the Mutiny all over again,” the leprechaun whispered.
Gus hit the microphone mute button on his phone. “Do you know him?”
“Never met the man, but I’ve seen his effect on people around here,” the older man said. “If I ever start wishing I were in the executive ranks instead of the mail room, all it takes is one word from Sanjay and I remember why I’m happy where I am.”
“Do you know how the other executives dealt with him?” Gus said, then felt himself blushing all over again. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be bothering you with my problems. Thanks for the mail.”
He reached to hit the microphone button.
“Is he talking to London?” the older man said.
Gus pulled his finger back. “Yeah. To Simon Birnbaum in marketing.”
“That’s when he’s at his worst,” the man said. “He’s got a real colonial subject’s mentality, even though the colony was gone decades before he was born. And it doesn’t help that most of the folks in the London office think nothing’s gone right on the subcontinent since the queen pulled out.”
“So Sanjay thinks he’s being oppressed, and Simon thinks Sanjay’s not being oppressed enough,” Gus said. “Has anyone ever gotten them to work together?”
“Seems to me they did when Bobby handled this account personally.”
“Bobby?” Gus said. “Does he still work here?”
“Don’t know how much work he does, but the sign on his door says he runs the place,” the older man said with a grin. “Calls himself D-Bob now, but I remember when the old man was in charge and young Bobby would tear off his clothes and run through the offices naked.”
“Naked?”
“Completely.” The older man laughed. “Of course, he was only two years old at the time.”
“How long have you been with the company?” Gus said.
“It’s like birthdays,” the older man said. “After you hit a certain number, you stop counting. But it’s been seven years since I got my daughter Chanterelle that job at the front desk, and that feels like a small portion of my tenure here. My name’s Jerry Fellows. Everyone calls me Jerry.”
Gus reached across the desk to offer a hand, which Fellows took and shook heartily. “Burton Guster, but people call me Gus.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Gus,” Fellows said. “May your time here be happy and prosperous.”
“Thanks,” Gus said. “I’d be happy if I could just get these two to stop shouting at each other.”
“Only one thing I know can get two people who hate each other to work together,” Fellows said with a wink.
“What’s that?”
“Someone they both hate more.” Fellows gave Gus a friendly wave and went out to the corridor, where his mail cart was waiting for him. He pushed it down the hall, its wheels squeaking musically.
Gus watched him go, thinking over what he’d said. Then he pressed the microphone button on the phone and waited for a moment when both combatants would have to pause their battle to take a breath.
“Okay,” Gus said. “I’ve listened to you both and I realize there are deep and substantive differences between you that can’t be bridged.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell corporate for a month,” Simon Birnbaum’s plummy accent drawled over the speaker.
“Yes, these people have no idea what will work in India,” Sanjay said.
“The English have always known what works in India,” Birnbaum said. “And that is whatever is run by the English. Whenever the job gets handed off to your lot, it all falls apart.”
“That’s exactly the attitude that’s caused Nitrozine sales to plummet here,” Sanjay said.
“Yes, it was my attitude,” Birnbaum said. “It has nothing to do with a sales force that sleeps half the day and drinks the other half. Or the fact that no product left the warehouse for a week because some cow had decided to lie down in the middle of the road and no one could bring themselves to disturb it.”
Gus cut in before Sanjay could respond. “There’s no need for recriminations,” he said. “I understand that you can’t work together. So instead of wasting time trying to apportion blame, I’m simply going to give both sales and marketing in the Indian region to our Paris branch.”
For the first time in what seemed like hours there was nothing but silence coming from the speaker. Gus started to count slowly to ten. By the time he reached four, Birnbaum’s voice came over the phone.
“You know, I’ve been giving Sanjay’s ideas a good bit of thought and I have to say he’s got a point,” Birnbaum said. “Perhaps our understanding of the local argot is not quite as complete as the natives’.”
“I must say that we in Mumbai are in awe of the brilliant work performed by our counterparts in London,” Sanjay said. “The wit, the humor, the sheer force of creativity. Perhaps we fail to understand the impact of the whole when we focus on such tiny details.”
“No, no,” Birnbaum said quickly. “The whole is only as good as the details that go into it. You were completely right to focus on the little things.”
“So you two think you can work this out on your own?” Gus said. “Because I’d hate to burden Paris with more work if it isn’t necessary.”
“Consider it done,” Birnbaum said.
“Without a doubt,” Sanjay said.
“Good,” Gus said with a smile. “I’ll be looking forward to next month’s sales figures.”
Before either continent could say anything more, Gus hung up. That should keep them quiet for at least a couple of days, he thought, as he reached into his desk to pull out his file of new ideas. Now if everyone else would leave me alone, I could actually get some real work done.
Gus reread the first few pages of his notes and was pleased to see that even though he’d scrawled many of them down just before he was falling asleep, they presented a clear, precise plan. D-Bob was going to be impressed.
At least he was if Gus was ever able to get the damn thing done. But it seemed like every time he managed to get his file open there was some kind of interruption. If it wasn’t an urgent conference call or a crucial meeting, it was a celebration for an office birthday-D-Bob insisted that everyone attend for singing and cake cutting, no matter what kind of business had to be put on hold-or one of D-Bob’s impromptu pep rallies, which happened at least three times every week.
Maybe this time will be the exception that finally lets me finish , Gus thought as he picked up a pen and started to make notes in the margins of his paper. But before he could complete a thought he heard shouts from the other end of the floor and heavy footsteps running down the corridor.
At first Gus thought he’d stay at his desk and work on his project. If he was needed someone would call him. God knew his phone worked.
But then he got a whiff of roasting meat from the spacious kitchen down the hall. This must be one of D- Bob’s surprise bonding lunches, for which he routinely brought in some of San Francisco’s most famous chefs. Gus hadn’t had the opportunity to experience one yet, but everyone he talked to was still buzzing about the last time, when the entire cast of the current Top Chef season prepared tasting menus for all the employees. There was no way Gus was going to miss that.
He shoved his papers back into his drawer, making a silent vow not to go to bed that night until he had finished, and then wandered out into the corridor.
As soon as he stepped through his office door Gus was nearly knocked over by a sales executive who was racing toward the kitchen.
“It can’t be that good,” Gus said jovially. But as soon as the words were out of his mouth he looked at the faces of the people who were running down the corridor. None of them looked like they were anticipating a once- in-a-lifetime dining experience.
