Invitation to the Game #2
The old woman snorts. “Bullshit is what they say. You want the truth, girl? Here, unvarnished truth from one professional woman to another. Being made an executive won’t solve all your problems. It just might make them worse.
But it’s the job that does it, not their foolish Game. Do I look broken to you?”
Vivienne looks into Fran’s deep-set dark eyes and thinks, Yes. In those eyes she sees exactly what she searched for but didn’t find with Erika.
How had she mockingly put it when she’d studied Erika?
The haunted emptiness in eyes that have seen too much, reflecting the memory of a horrific choice she’ll regret to her grave.
Vivienne can tell herself she’s being foolish, but that’s what she sees in Fran’s eyes.
What Vivienne says, though, is, “No, of course not,” and Fran sniffs.
“Exactly. What you see is a tough old broad. Cranky? Yes. Unpleasant? Sure. But broken?” Another sniff. “People believe what they want to believe. How’s your marriage, girl?”
“My—?” Vivienne blinks at the change of subject. “Fine. Great, actually.” Which it is. A child’s death can drive a couple apart, but in their case, it brought them closer—in shared grief, shared support, and shared determination to be amazing parents to their two living children.
“Be careful, then. That’s the danger you face. You’ll be raised up when he wasn’t. Some men can’t handle it.”
“That isn’t an issue with us. I’ve had a better job for years.”
“Good. But keep your eye on it. Worry about that, not some silly game.”
The elevator arrives and Fran steps on without a goodbye. Vivienne watches the doors close. Then she pushes the cell phone button, makes the call.
Vivienne reads to Grace and Jamie that night.
One full story each. When she gets back to the living room, Marco is hard at work coding, but a glass of Scotch waits at her end of the couch.
Fingers and gaze still on his laptop, he swings his legs down to make room for her.
She smiles, takes her spot and tugs his feet onto her lap.
Then she sips her drink and waits. When the tap-tapping of the keyboard pauses, she says, “I have sent my regrets.”
“Hmm?” He glances up, gaze distant, still lost in the labyrinthine terrain of his code.
“I refused the invitation. I said thank you, but I’m happy where I am.”
“You refused?” He swings his legs down. “What did they say?”
“They reassured me that my decision doesn’t affect my life insurance policy. I’m still fully covered with double indemnity for accidental death. I’m not sure why they mentioned that, but it seemed important.”
“Ha-ha. So they were okay with it?”
“Well, not exactly okay. I said I was still recovering from Hannah, and I didn’t feel I could take on an executive position at this time.
I need to focus on my family. There wasn’t much they could say to that.
They tried. Maybe a job change is exactly what I need, etcetera, etcetera.
I politely but firmly declined, and in the end, they said I would be considered next time. No guarantees, but I’ll be considered.”
She puts down her Scotch. “I don’t want to be here next year, Marco. That’s really why I decided this. I don’t want an executive position. I want to leave. To start over.”
He exhales. “So do I.”
“And…” She twists to face him. “I know it might be too soon, but I’d like… I’d like to try again. For another baby. If that’s okay with you.”
He pulls her into an embrace. “That is absolutely okay with me.”
Vivienne is being punished. With each new e-mail that hits her inbox, each new folder that’s dropped on her desk—all of it containing fresh work, due ASAP—she knows what’s happening.
She’s being buried under an avalanche of corporate minutiae, pointless little tasks that have her working through her breaks, through lunch, into the evening, with little hope of making it home at any reasonable hour.
All week, she has braced for trouble. For Erika wanting to “chat” about her decision.
For a meeting with HR about a demotion or pay cut.
Yet work continued as usual, and she’d begun to feel foolish for expecting a penalty.
It’s a promotion, for God’s sake. They were hardly going to punish her for refusing it.
Then today came, and she realized they’d been giving her time to change her mind. But she’s shown no signs of budging, so it’s time to give her a shove.
It’s after seven when a rap sounds on her door, and she looks up to see Erika.
“Yep, I’m officially here to talk you into a last-minute reconsideration,” Erika says before Vivienne gets a word out. “But unofficially, I just really want a drink.”
Vivienne arches her brows.
Erika continues. “I have to show the board I’m taking you aside for a girl-to-girl chat.
But you’ve made up your mind, and I understand why—it’s bad timing for your family.
I feel bad because I’m the one who recommended you, back before…
your daughter.” She inhales and then says, “I’m not going to push.
I just need to fake it or we’ll both get reprimanded. So we’re going out for a drink.”
Vivienne lets her gaze drop, briefly, to the bulge under Erika’s blouse. The younger woman sighs. “Okay, I’m not actually going to drink. I’ll get a virgin cocktail, and you’ll let me pretend I’m actually imbibing an alcoholic beverage.”
Vivienne smiles and shuts off her computer.
They don’t leave the compound. Vivienne suspects Erika is being watched—to ensure she performs her duty—and going offsite would be suspicious.
Erika drives to the entertainment district and they choose the sushi place.
When Erika flashes her executive card, they’re taken to a private dining room before the hostess darts off, promising a sake sampler and appetizers.
And, yes, Vivienne does feel a stab of envy at that.
But one flash back to Fran Lee’s eyes evaporates the pang. She’s made the right choice.
The sake sampler arrives as a row of tiny glasses. Erika takes a sip from one, savoring it before putting it comically out of reach. Vivienne samples the other three and chooses the one at the end, with the faint flavor of star anise.
They drink and chat and eat sushi as it arrives, two handcrafted pieces at a time.
Whenever they hear the swish of the server’s slippers in the hall, Erika talks about work.
Is Vivienne happy? How could she be happier?
What else could the company do for her? Vivienne plays along.
You can never be too careful in the compound.
Soon, though, she’s struggling to focus on the questions. The sake is stronger than she expected, and it’s making her sleepy. Too sleepy. She stares down at the glass.
“The sake,” she whispers, words slurring as she cuts Erika off mid-sentence.
“Hmm?”
She shakes her head sharply. “No. Sorry. I’m being…”
She can’t finish. Can’t complete the thought.
“Vivienne? Are you okay?”
“I…” Don’t overreact. Do not overreact. “I think… Too much sake.” She manages a short laugh. “Been a while.” Her words slur worse, and she blinks hard to keep her eyes open.
“Shit,” Erika says. “You think they drugged the sake.”
“N-no. That’s crazy. They wouldn’t—”
“Sure they would. Send me to talk to you. Give you something to drink just drugged enough to make you more open to suggestion. The bastards. If that did anything to my baby…” She shakes her head.
“Let’s just get you home to bed, and I’ll let them know you were exhausted from overwork, and the sake hit you hard, so we barely had a chance to talk. Maybe that’ll smarten them up.”
Vivienne barely processes what Erika is saying. She wobbles to her feet. Erika takes her arm and leads her to the screen. The hall is empty. It’s late for a weekday, the place emptying fast.
“There’s an exit by the ladies room,” Erika says. “It leads straight to the parking lot. We’ll slip out there. How are you holding up?”
“Marco. I need to call—”
“We will as soon as you’re in the car. Let’s just get there before you fall over.”
They exit out the rear into the dark lot. Erika opens her passenger door and helps Vivienne inside. Vivienne’s sitting in the seat, looking at her cell phone. It’s not working. Why isn’t it—
Erika gets in the driver’s seat and hits the locks.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers as she grips Vivienne’s hand.
“Not your fault,” Vivienne slurs.
“Yes, but I still feel bad. I promise it’ll be okay.”
Vivienne feels a sharp prick against her wrist and she startles, gasping. Erika keeps hold of her arm and whispers, “I’m sorry, Viv, but no one refuses an invitation to the Game. No one.”
Vivienne wakes in a tiny room. She blinks and lifts her head, struggling to remember—
Invitation. Sake. Erika. Game.
She leaps up, and she’s so certain of restraints that she stumbles when she finds herself free. She rubs her face and looks around.
Tiny room. Low lights. A single chair. Something on a shelf.
She’s walking to the shelf when a piped-in man’s voice says, “Welcome to the Game. Now that everyone has arrived, you have a moment to familiarize yourself with the other players.”
A row of screens clicks on. Four other players. One she knows. Two she can name. The fourth she’s only seen in passing.
The last one raises his hand in a tentative wave and says, “Hey, all,” then chuckles, “Or maybe I shouldn’t be so friendly with the competition, huh?”
“We don’t compete in this company,” the voice says. “We work together, as you will tonight.”
Vivienne looks around for a door and sees four solid walls.
“Tonight’s game is a puzzler, perfect for our executives, who are chosen for their ingenuity, not their quick trigger fingers.”
An obligatory chuckle from a couple of the others as Vivienne runs her hands over the walls, hunting for a way out. Even the screens aren’t really screens at all, but projections directly on a solid glass wall.