Digging In: A Novel(3)
On Frank, Jr. ’s first day, we had assembled in Big Frank’s office, where the walls still exuded cigar smoke. Frank, Jr. held his hands in a namaste style and seemed at a loss for words. He motioned for us to come closer.
“You’ll do a good job, Frank,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
He eyed my hand distastefully. “I prefer Lukas.”
“What?”
“It’s my middle name,” he said quickly.
His middle name was George, same as his father’s, but I didn’t disagree. “Okay, Lukas. I think I speak for everyone when I say we want the best for Giacomo Advertising and Design, and we will work just as hard, even with Big Frank gone. Actually, even harder.”
Frank, Jr./Lukas drew us tighter, our spines awkwardly bending forward to form a group huddle. “You’re here because you believe in me. I’m grateful for your trust, and I promise you this,” he said, voice solemn and full of emotion. “I not only want to carry on my father’s legacy, I want to surpass it by doing right by our clients, new and old, just as he did.”
Jackie sniffled, and I admit my eyes stung with tears. We managed an awkward group hug, and then Lukas (after that speech, I figured he was now deserving of whatever name he wanted) sent us back to work, renewed and energized. But I couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that somewhere out there, Big Frank was chomping on a cigar, growling, “Never shit a shitter.” My bullshit detector, honed to perfection by my former boss, quivered like a flagpole in the wind.
My reservations aside, Lukas jumped into action and, in a move of complete optimism, leased a new space with a conference room and parking lot, hoping to bring in some bigger clients. It worked. In addition to beefing up our local roster, we scored an Italian gelato company eager to break into the American market, a nationally distributed brand of caramel-cheese popcorn, a company dedicated to 100 percent eco-friendly paint, and an ancient cast-iron cookware company looking to ditch their stodgy image. I smiled to think of Big Frank’s reaction to our success. He would have been proud.
It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I was able to identify why my bullshit detector had gone off. Jackie and I sat on the fire escape silently sharing a sleeve of Girl Scout Thin Mints. Lost in thought, I remembered Lukas’s first afternoon. With all the talk of honoring Big Frank and his vision and keeping clients happy, Lukas hadn’t said a thing about doing right by us.
When I arrived at work, sweating through my gray suit, the first sign that something was awry was an actual sign. The scripted Giacomo Advertising and Design sign I’d personally supervised being hung above the door was gone, replaced by a slightly off-kilter neon-orange G.
“Did the sign break?” I asked the empty hallway, and then pushed open the door. The loft glittered with shards of light thrown by an actual chandelier. Our cubicles, lugged so carefully across town, had disappeared. Long tables lined the perimeter of the open space, white and glossy against the exposed brick, with sleek oversized computer monitors equally spaced, keyboards hidden beneath. Bright orange plastic exercise balls replaced our practical office chairs, six in total. It looked like a modern art installation, real furniture glossed and shellacked, Portrait of the Modern Office. I couldn’t spot a single personal item—where was my photo of Trey at eleven, all braces and rounded cheeks? The sand dollar found on a silvery Naples beach on our last trip as a family, a quickie jaunt to Florida? All personal items were gone. Only Jackie, in her sneakers and jean jacket, stood like a startled owl, staring at me with heavily made-up eyes wide and beseeching. “Where is everything? Where is everyone?”
Our panic ratcheted up a notch when we heard the clapping.
“Conference room,” I said, grasping Jackie’s hand as we dashed down the hallway. The door was shut, but I could hear Lukas closing up the meeting.
“Do we go in?” Jackie whispered.
The door opened before I could answer, nearly knocking us on our asses. The staff filed out, each person carrying a box with their name written in bold letters on the front in black marker.
“Oh, dear God, did the company go under?” Jackie said, her voice shaking. “Is everyone fired?”
But they were smiling, talking animatedly to one another. A few gave a general nod in our direction, but whatever they were discussing was too enthralling to make time for pleasantries. Excitement was in their bright, young, cheerful faces. For some reason, that made me more fearful of what was to come.
We stood to the side until everyone passed out of earshot. With one shared look of apprehension, Jackie and I walked in to face Lukas. He sat at the head of the blindingly white conference table, thumbing through a hardcover book. Two boxes formed an odd centerpiece on the table, with Jackie scrawled on one and Paige on the other. The photo of Trey sat atop my pile.
“You’re late,” Lukas said, but he kept his tone neutral, more of a general announcement in case we hadn’t heard the news.
“It isn’t nine yet,” I managed.
“Was there an e-mail?” Jackie said hurriedly. “I didn’t get the e-mail.”
Lukas closed the book he was reading and smiled at us. “By nine o’clock you should be completely present—e-mail checked, coffee drunk, administrative tasks already completed. I called this meeting at eight thirty this morning, and everyone was present but you two.”