Page 37 of The Tenant
Four minutes later, Malcolm bustles into Cooper’s, a suit and tie on his broad frame, which almost makes me wish I’d kept my own work clothes on instead of changing into a more casual blue jeans and NYU T-shirt. He’s got that familiar air of being both exhausted and wired. That’s how I used to feel after a long day at Coble & Roy.
“Blake, my man!” he calls out.
As he approaches the table, he holds up his hand, and I start to fist-bump him, but it turns out he’s looking for a high five, so I awkwardly convert my fist bump into a high five at the last second. I can’t wait to get this over with.
Malcolm’s chair scrapes against the floor as he pulls it out. “Did you order yet?”
I didn’t. I’d been hoping I might get to leave. “Not yet.”
Malcolm summons our waitress with a flick of his wrist. I order a Heineken, and he gets a scotch on the rocks, which I recall with a twinge of bitterness was Wayne’s favorite drink.
“So how’s the new job?” he asks me.
“Great.”
“That’s good,” he says. “Good good good good good.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And…uh…” I clear my throat. “How are things at Coble & Roy?”
Maybe someday I’ll be able to say it without choking on the words, but that day has not yet arrived.
He shrugs. “Oh, the usual. You know.”
I want to ask him if Wayne ever talks about me, but I’m not sure if I want to know the answer to that question. Instead, I ask another question I don’t want to know the answer to: “Who did they pick as the new VP? Was it Chad?”
“Chad Pickering?” Malcolm snorts. “Actually, it almost was. But then they caught him doing lines in the men’s room.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa. Are you serious?”
“I sure am.”
I’m surprised but also not that surprised. Chad worked longer hours than anyone else at the company and never seemed tired—it was almost inhuman. But I’ve known guys who used coke, and I didn’t get that vibe from him. He had a wife and kid, and he seemed pretty straitlaced. I guess you never know what the pressures of the job will do to you.
“So who ended up with the job then?” I ask.
“Actually,” Malcolm says, “it’s me.”
“What?”
I say it so loudly that a guy two tables over wearing a hat with a penguin on it turns to gawk at me. The moment is saved when we are interrupted by the reappearance of the waitress, who lays our drinks on the table in front of us. I’m too stunned to even manage to say thanks.Malcolmis the new VP of marketing at Coble & Roy? He was barely even competent. Six months ago, he couldn’t have even told you what search engine optimization was. What the hell?
I take a gulp of beer, trying to restrain myself from saying something I’ll regret. “That’s a…strange choice,” I finally manage. I sound like a dick, but I don’t even care. This is all kinds of wrong.
“I’ve been working really hard,” he says defensively. “Wayne says I’m his right-hand man.”
“Waynesaid that?”
“Yes.” His face turns pink. “Hey, at least I don’t take drugs or steal from the company.”
Now I feel my own face start to burn. “I didn’t steal from the company. I’dneverdo that. That was bullshit, and you know it.”
“Was it?” He arches an eyebrow. “You weren’t exactly Mr. Nice Guy at Coble & Roy. Plenty of people had a lot of shit to say about you. I spent half my time defending you. Before he got busted, even Chad told me you stole his ideas and passed them off as your own.”
I snatch the bottle of beer off the table and drain the rest of it in two large gulps. I slam it back down on the table and rise from my seat. “I’m leaving.”
Malcolm’s expression softens, as it often does when someone snaps at him. He’s way too much of a wuss for this job—he’ll get eaten alive in five seconds, and Wayne will be sorry he ever let me go. “Hey. Wait, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
