Chapter 8
8
H is shoulder ached but it didn't stop him. Simon scraped angrily at the ceiling above him. He was mad about everything and taking it out on his new home. At least he was supposed to be destroying this part.
He had hoped the task would be cathartic, but it was proving just to add to his general frustration with the world. The only good thing about the popcorn ceiling was that it had large circles of ugly gold glitter in it, which told him that it had been installed in the late seventies—too late for asbestos. At least he wouldn’t die from a mysterious fiber lung disease years later.
He'd gotten online and looked up how to remove popcorn ceilings. After losing a lot of time deciding whose advice to follow, he’d chosen one of the most popular DIY shows. The gorgeous blonde had talked him through spraying the ceiling with a water and fabric softener mix then letting it soak. She told him to make sure he had the right kind of tarp on the floor and that he wanted the widest possible straight edge. It didn't need to be sharp, any decent paint scraper or putty blade would do.
Then, two videos later, he had found out Design Queen Emma Kate was actually Emma Kate Mayfair related to one Carlisle Weaver . Simon had also met Jax Mayfair, who was dating Ever Halifax who was Carlisle's friend. And Carlisle was a Weaver but actually a Mayfair.
The whole town was infested with them. Except they seemed damn nice. In the short time he’d lived here, he’d come around to understanding why everyone liked them. There was an odd Southern thing, though, where they were almost akin to royalty.
Mayfairs were frequent Homecoming Queens and football stars. They were respected in business in town and socially, not many were higher. Simon found that interesting. Where he came from money and land determined social status more than roots and history. But the South ran things a little different with her lemonade and welcome-to-the-neighborhood pies.
Reaching up, he jabbed at the popcorn ceiling over his head again, a blob of wet gooey paste falling on his shoulder. With an involuntary shiver, he swiped at it before he even realized what he was doing. When the same had happened to Emma Kate, she'd laughed, but Simon was only irritated and a bit grossed out by the wet sticky goo.
He wasn’t mad about the ceiling though. He should have been happier that it would look better almost instantly once he was finished, but was mad about work. He didn't normally bring it home with him, but this last week had been hard to shake . . . for a lot of reasons.
Though Simon was new to the position and the Georgia office, he’d been with Ariano Global for enough years that he’d nearly yelled at his boss. “They don't believe me or maybe they just don't want to!”
Graham had shrugged. “I have no idea, but you know I've got your back.”
That at least was good. Simon had outlined three full plans for improving costs. In the end, he'd been asked how bare bones they could cut the staff and still run efficiently. Simon had argued against it. He pulled out tons of data that showed the other direction was not only better for business in general, but for their kind of business in particular.
He offered them cost cutters like a four-day work week and work from home options. These reduced overhead. He suggested higher salaries and better benefits, which paid off in lowering turnover, hiring, training and learning curve time. He threw everything at them.
The CEO was hearing none of it. Simon had ranted to Graham. “It's like they want to lay off their employees.”
“We give them the consultation,” Graham had tried to console him, but it didn’t work. “We can't change what they do with it.”
Which, in his heart, Simon knew. At the basic level, it was bad for business. If he did a consultation, and the company that hired him didn't like it, they wouldn't hire him or his company anymore. They wouldn't give good reviews. A lot of their work came from handshakes. The kind of “Oh we've really reduced our turnover.” “How did you do that?” “I talked to Simon Lancaster over at Ariano Global.”
But more than that, what bothered Simon was that the company had hired him and then employees had been laid off. He’d been in their offices, met face-to-face with a good number of managers and line workers, new hires and veterans. They knew his face and his name. They wouldn’t likely know what was in his report, but they would know they lost their jobs right after his consult.
Fuck them.
He loved that his office was ethical, that they tried not to recommend cutting staff unless it was absolutely necessary. Simon had nothing against firing those who didn't pull their weight. Ultimately, he had nothing against trimming a bloated system. Managers could usually find jobs in other places and the data showed a lot of them got higher salaries with a transfer, even if that came after they'd gotten laid off.
But the rank and file? That was actually where a company could turn a profit. The classic methods—which ran on outdated ideas that didn’t hold up—were to let go of salaries. But the data was clear, it was the opposite direction that made profitable companies in any kind of long term.
He scraped again at the ceiling. It wasn't going as fast as he wanted. Thankfully, the lovely Emma Kate had warned about that as well. She’d even offered a chart at the end of her video with a number of hours to plan for the size of your ceiling.
Sighing, Simon rotated his arm, grabbing at his shoulder and digging his fingers in to massage it. He felt the welts there even through the t-shirt and it just made him angry again. Ignoring the old scars and the new anger, he became determined to finish tonight.
Back at it, fueled by his anger at greedy CEOs and not willing to leave the work for tomorrow, he pushed against the goo the ceiling had turned into with Emma Kate’s magic spray potion.
He thought about the room. He was going to have to visit thrift shops and find furniture. The place was empty except for the kitchen items his mother had gifted him with and the bed he’d had delivered when he first moved into the apartment. He had some art on his walls, thanks to his sister, but his table was a door with legs he’d found on a trade and recycle website.
He’d moved away for college but only lasted two years on his own. He’d quickly transferred to a decent school he could commute to and moved back into his mother’s house. This was the first time he’d bought his own furniture.
Simon rolled his eyes at himself. So odd, having lived at home for so long then going straight to home ownership and DIY repairs.
He was so late to the game. None of it was normal .
He loved the house. Loved being on his own, but was overwhelmed by having to choose furniture and colors. He liked the way some of his friends had decorated but didn’t even know what his own taste was.
He loved the silence and also didn’t know how to live in it. He’d never had it. Never.
And he was already questioning the move.
His mother had called yesterday, frantic, but he’d solved the problem and his bank account had gotten notably lighter.
The move here and the promotion had afforded him enough money to get the house. His down payment had been pitiful, savings remained hard to come by. It was all a shitty system. He didn't mind the money constantly sifting through his fingers like sand, but he minded being worried and not being there to do anything about it.
He worried about the things his mother didn’t tell him.