The Gauntlet Assassin

Stacia nodded. “Then we’re done here.”

Paul left without looking at her. Bitch! He clumped down the hall. Director of personnel and she had no clue how to manage people. She needed to be replaced. As he sat down at his desk, it occurred to Paul that Stacia was a Level C employee and had submitted a list of replacements to him. He searched his memory for their names and realized one person on her list came from their department. The other two headed human resources at mid-level companies. The federal government couldn’t afford to hire top-level candidates.

Wouldn’t it be satisfying to sell Stacia’s job? He was tempted to begin the search immediately, but resisted, saving it for after work. He had a program to examine and correct.

The next few days passed smoothly. He fixed two small glitches in the code for how payroll data was stored and finally joined the social networking site WorldChat. Paul posted a photo with his new nose, realizing his reluctance to share his homely face online had been what kept him from joining until now. Best of all, no federal agents came to question him about sending messages that could be labeled extortion. Paul started to think Olbert’s threat was empty. He wondered if he should buy another prepaid iCom and contact Karina Simmons again. She’d seemed quite interested in his proposition.

Upon waking Friday morning, his first thought was: I have a date with Camille tonight. I have something to look forward to. He burst from bed feeling happy and carried out his morning routine with a new sense of purpose. He brewed a pot of jasmine green tea, took Lilly out for a short walk, then read the Wall Street Journal. He found it difficult to concentrate on the news. He took a diet pill, ate two soft-boiled eggs, and hoped he would focus better at work.

When he hadn’t heard from Camille by three that afternoon, Paul began to worry. Had she forgotten about their date? Should he text her with a friendly note or would that seem needy? He wished he had her personal number so he wouldn’t have to use the system at work. He thought about walking down to her office but that seemed invasive for a non-work issue. He also feared she had changed her mind and he couldn’t face that in person. At 4:05 he sent her a quick text: How should I dress this evening? Suit and tie or less formal? See you at 7.-Paul

The tone was light and the message purposeful, he thought. It would be fine. He’d already bought a new charcoal-suede jacket for the evening and was eager to wear it. He sweated the last hour of work, waiting to hear back. At 5:03, she replied: Hectic day for me. Dress is business casual. See you at 7.

Paul’s shoulders relaxed and he found himself smiling. His bus didn’t leave until 5:23, so he spent a few minutes in the replacement database looking at Stacia’s candidates. Why not? He could use the cash…and a new boss.

He showered for the second time that day, applied a heavy layer of deodorant, and dressed in gray slacks and a short-sleeved polo shirt. He glanced around his apartment for anything that might need straightening. He’d vacuumed and washed his sheets the day before. Everything else was as clean as always. He had no real hope that Camille would come up to his apartment after dinner, but it would be shameful to be unprepared in case a miracle happened.

He took a MetaboSlim and debated about whether he should meet her downstairs in the lobby. He didn’t want her to think he was ashamed of his home, which he was not. He brushed his teeth again and paced the apartment, too wound up to read.

Camille arrived a little after seven. “Sorry I’m running late. Ready?” She wore a tight-fitting black dress with a short white sweater that covered her arms and six inches of her upper body. Her hair was swept up like the time they’d met for drinks. Stunning!

Paul stepped out and they started walking to the elevator. “You look terrific.” He kicked himself for not buying flowers.

“Thanks. So do you. I like your jacket.”

Maybe this date would turn out okay.

Paul tried to like Camille’s friends, a couple in their mid-thirties who both worked as consultants, Michael in finance and Brianna in marketing. But they were sleek and smug and seemed to do their best to exclude him from the conversation. They chatted about social engineering, market speculation, and when the economy might rebound. Brianna even complained about the “unsightliness” of the homeless people and the lines in front of the soup kitchens every day.

Paul grew bored and irritated, distracted by the restaurant’s ridiculously high prices and tiny portions. Who even liked sushi? And was he supposed to pay for Camille’s dinner even though she’d invited him? He knew he should offer, so he did, but she waved him off.

They parted company with the power couple in front of the restaurant, and Camille exchanged hugs with both. Eager to be alone with his date, Paul was relieved to see them walk away.

In her car, an expensive new electrical, Camille asked, “Did you like my friends? You were kind of quiet.”

“They’re fine. I’m just a little shy with people at first.”

She laughed. “They can be rather intimidating.” Camille started the car and exited the parking lot. Paul wished he were driving. He worked up his nerve to make a suggestion. “Should we stop at a club for a drink?” He hadn’t set foot in a club in a decade.

“Maybe some other time. I’m tired and I have early plans for tomorrow.”

Paul wanted to ask what they were, but Camille started talking again. “I made the changes you suggested to my resume, and I sent the new version to Thaddeus Morton. He said he’d keep me in mind.”

“That’s terrific.” Paul didn’t understand her fascination. “What is it about the employment commissioner’s job that attracts you?”

“Are you kidding?” She stopped at a traffic light and turned to stare. “First, there’s the power of brokering all those deals for jobs around the country. I would love that. Then there’s the Gauntlet with its global audience and the most amazing week of programming all year.”

Suddenly, she leaned over and kissed him on the mouth, pressing into him with passionless intensity. Rockets flared for Paul, but Camille pulled back just as quickly as she’d leaned in. “I want the job, Paul. You need to get me on his replacement list. I know you can do it.” She squeezed his thigh, gunned the engine, and raced down Columbia Road.

Aroused and confused, Paul didn’t trust himself to speak. If he understood correctly, she’d given him a taste of what she had to offer if he made things happen for her. Paul knew he was being used and didn’t care. He wanted more of Camille. “I have an idea,” he said finally.

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell you yet.” He was a little smarter than she gave him credit for. “Let’s talk about something else for a while.”

On the rest of the drive home, they made conversation, but neither had their heart in it. Paul kept thinking about Camille naked and on her knees. He suspected she was thinking about doing the commissioner’s job and making important announcements on the Gauntlet program. Paul visualized them having sex in front of the broadcast cameras. He realized she’d asked him something. He shook his head to clear it. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you had any family bedsides your foster mother who died.”

“No. That’s the tragedy of the foster system. You often lose everybody before you reach adulthood.”

“That’s sad.” Camille turned down his street and pulled up in front of the tall building. “I like you, Paul. I think we could be good for each other.”

Paul boldly leaned in and kissed her again. Their embrace was deep and lingering and he didn’t want to stop. Camille seemed to enjoy it as well. At the exact moment when they were both about to shift into a frantic needy passion, Camille pulled back.

“Good night, Paul.”