Page 16 of A Better World

“I’m not kidding. It happened.”

“Can you talk to Heinrich?” Heinrich was his supervisor, who reported to the board of directors.

“There’s something Heinrich told me yesterday. He dropped it like a bomb.”

This couldn’t be good. “Bombs away.”

“There’s a lawsuit against Omnium. The hearing’s in October—it’s the reason I’m reviewing this data. Heinrich said that the outcome will define my future here. I’m sorry—our future.”

“What does that mean?”

“In the annual review. If I haven’t helped them successfully defend their case, we’re out.”

“Then you have to win the case,” Linda said, her voice echoing shrilly inside the car.

“Yes, but how?” Russell fiddled with the radio again. His hand slipped and the volume went high:It’s hard work to stay this fit but it’s worth it to be a part of the festivities, said a squeaky, high-pitched male voice. And then came the disc jockey:And there you have it, from the mouth of Keith Parson, our very own Beltane King!

It was jarring and too happy. Russell turned the dial back down.

“The lawsuits don’t hold water, but I need the data to back me up before we can get them dismissed. The problem’s getting the data.”

“And Heinrich won’t help you?”

“I think this is the test. I’m supposed to show I can deliver without Mom and Dad cutting my greens for me. If I screw it up with bad testimony, they can always appeal the judgment, hire someone else to do my job—someone inside, that the staff likes. The person under me, Nanny… did you meet them? I don’t think so. Well, it turns out they thought they were getting my job. Everyone did. I think the entire department is mad about it. I’m just some outsider. What I’m saying is, we might not even make it to the first review. We could lose our deposit.”

“Oh,” she said.

Russell’s fists stayed tight. “I’m doing something wrong. I don’t know what it is, but I’m saying the wrong things or I’m not saying enough or… I don’t know. I’m not good with people. I try. I really do. It’s the EPA all over again, Linda.”

She scooted over the center console in order to be close to him. In her mind, she committed this act with fluid grace. In reality, she flopped. Russell tried to help and got kneed in the thigh. Then they were sharing the shotgun seat, both smooshed together. It wasn’t funny. Not a tension breaker. He looked annoyed, which she had to admit was a reasonable reaction.

“First, fuck the EPA. They were too stupid to know the gem they had in you,” she said. “Second, I had this thought at soccer. Since wemoved here, I thought people were just standoffish, you know? They’re not used to new people. Plus, we’re more than new. We’re not transfers from Palo Alto or some other company town. We’re literal outsiders.

“But always before, I talked to one or two people and that’s it. I took it personally, which is funny, because I keep telling Hip and Josie not to take this shunning personally. But that’s impossible. It feels terrible to be left out… It occurred to me today that they’re all acting the same, like they’re following instructions. They excluded us from the pregame, even though, for the sake of having a winning team, they should have sucked it up and invited us. For the sake of the lawsuit, they should be helping you. Honestly, it’s weird nobody’s invited us over yet, just in case we turn out cool, or you get promoted to something crazy important. It’s just common sense. Nobody’s that cold without a good reason. So, I’m wondering: Do you know what the pamphlets say about golden tickets? Are there a limited number?”

“I read both. I think there’s just two pamphlets on that? Neither said,” he answered.

She made a raspberry. “Those frickin’ pamphlets. What idiot wrote them? I swear to God, it’s like they’re taunting me… Is it possible they don’t like new people because it’s musical chairs? Helping us might help them out of a job? Only it’s not just a job? It’s everything they’ve ever known? We get tenure, and then not just one person, but possibly a whole family who’ve lived here for generations loses it and has to live outside? They’d have to be terrified of something like that.”

His hands loosened and he laid them flat. “That would make a lot of sense.”

“I’d haze us if those were the stakes,” she said. “I’d do worse.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You invited every lost duckling you ever met to our house for dinner back home,” he said.

“If I’d lived here my whole life and was scared, I might,” she said. “Anybody might. They think the outside is Armageddon.”

“It is, a little. So, what do we do?” he asked. They were sitting close, and it was dumb, but she felt happy. Most of their marriage, she’d been a kind of interchangeable cog in the Russell Bowen ambition machine. But since Black Friday, they’d plotted together. They felt like a realteam. In moments like this, she could forget the bad stuff, and remember the Russell she’d first met at Sluggs Bar, who’d been too nervous to look in her eyes, so instead he’d fascinated on the moonshine bottles behind her.You’re unconventionally attractive, but attractive nonetheless, he’d said. She’d laughed, then realized he was serious and told him,Dude, I’m regular attractive!

“We tried nice. That hasn’t worked. I think we push back. You said Heinrich doesn’t read your reports. He just passes them to the board of directors?”

Russell nodded.

“Then put it in the report. The work you assigned, and how much of it didn’t get done. Name names and see what happens.”

Russell looked horrified. “Name names?”

“Why not? If that doesn’t work, ask to hire an assistant. They’ll hate that. They don’t want more people—it’s too expensive. Say you need one, though, because your own team’s lazy and you intend to meet all the deadlines.”

---