Syrup (22 page)

The board is considerably more reserved than the SMT but just as impressed. The first makes a totally absurd plot suggestion, which Sneaky Pete fields with a short, noncommittal nod, and the next two say that they can’t fault the film at all. I’ve decided that I really am going to make a break out of here, when the chairman speaks.

“I agree, it’s very hard to fault this movie,” he says, his voice low and rumbling. “Mr. Pete, you’ve certainly done a very good job.” He takes a breath. “But—”

I swear, I actually hear angels.

“There’s something missing,” the chairman says, dipping his enormous white eyebrows into a frown. “I’m not sure what, but I just feel like ... something’s missing.”

The room is utterly silent, shocked at this unexpected salvo. Sneaky Pete doesn’t flinch, but I lived with this guy and I think he is stunned. It is long seconds before he responds. “Missing?”

“I’m sorry to be so ambiguous, Mr. Pete, but I’m trying to explain the feeling that the film has left me with. And that feeling is ... something is missing.”

I see the muscles in Sneaky Pete’s jaw clench. “Missing,” he says again.

The chairman nods slowly. “I don’t know what, exactly—”

“I do,” I say.

MAKE SURE THE CASING AND BUTTONS LOOK VERY, VERY GOOD. USE CHEAP COMPONENTS; CUSTOMERS CAN’T SEE THEM.

Boy, does that get a reaction.

Sneaky Pete is talking almost before I’ve got the two words out, asking that I be removed from the room. Gary Brennan, apparently expecting something like this from me, is on his feet, telling me I’m no longer required. When Jim and another man suddenly remember me from our glory days at Ludus, it seems like suddenly everyone’s trying to rush me from the room.

I ignore them all, waiting until the chairman silences them. “Mr. Scat, isn’t it?” he says slowly. “From Fukk?”

I’m surprised at his memory. “Yes, sir.”

“What do you have to say about this film, Mr. Scat?”

I take a deep breath and peel myself from the wall, moving in front of the screen until I’m standing next to Sneaky Pete. “Sir, this film is very well made. As several people said, its technical quality is flawless. And in that sense, I agree that it’s very hard to find anything wrong with this film.” I swallow. “However, you are absolutely right, sir, when you say there’s something missing. I think a couple of critical concerns have been overlooked.”

“Mr. Croft,” Sneaky Pete interjects, “I must object to this person’s presence. He is not an employee of Coca-Cola, nor—”

“The first thing missing,” I interrupt, “is a sense of fun. This film takes itself too seriously, and that, sir, is not something our customers like. Nor is it something Coca-Cola likes. We sell a lot of cans on the premise that we have a fun product, sir, and I don’t believe this film helps that.”

Three dozen faces stare at me impassively. I was at least hoping for a nod or two. “But there’s something even more important missing,” I say, forcing the waver out of my voice, “and that’s identification. None of the characters in that film are really likable.” Possible exception of Winona Ryder’s alien, but it’s not the time to raise that now. “This is a major concern, sir, because if I understand it correctly, that’s the reason we’re making this film. If we just wanted to show a bunch of people drinking Coke, we’d make a thirty-second TV spot. This film is meant to develop characters that our target market identify with and wish to emulate. It doesn’t do that.”

The chairman stares at me wordlessly, and I’m suddenly thrown into a panic. If he says,
No, that’s not what I meant at all,
I’m completely, utterly screwed. I toss up hopefully, “Is that what you meant, sir?”

There’s an achingly long pause. Then the chairman lifts his head. “Exactly.”

There is utter, bewildered silence. I can see all those men who spoke about how good the film is silently resolving to sit on the opposite side of the chairman in future. Then Sneaky Pete speaks. His voice is low and surprisingly hostile; right now I could believe he is preparing to do me some real physical harm.

“Mr. Scat,” he says, barely containing his fury, “I appreciate your suggestions, but I dislike the way you have expressed them. Certainly those issues that you have mentioned will be given our attention. However, it is not as easy as simply standing up and saying, ‘All the characters should be identifiable.’ In practice, accomplishing this is extremely difficult.”

The boardroom door opens a crack behind Sneaky Pete but he doesn’t see it. Abruptly, a plan so beautiful that it comes with its own top ten soundtrack drops into my head. “Excuse me, but I don’t see why.”

He takes a moment to swallow his first retort. “I would suggest this is because you have never tried it. I don’t suppose you can actually
demonstrate
how you would create identifiable characters?”

I take a moment to smile at 6, who is standing uncertainly near the door with a can of film in her arms. “Actually,” I say, “yes, I can.”

For a moment, I honestly think he’s going to hit me. I really do.

6 hands the reel over to someone from Facilities and the room takes a ten-minute break while the projector is being set up. There are a lot of people who suddenly want to talk to me, so 6 and I escape to the only safe refuge: the women’s toilet.

“So is it good?” I’m actually chewing on a fingernail. “How did it turn out? Is it okay?”

“It’s pretty good,” 6 says distractedly. “How was Sneaky Pete’s film?”

“It was fantastic,” I say, and I brief her on the drama. By the end, her eyes are shining.

“Identification and emulation,” she murmurs.
“Very
good.”

“Does our film have identification? Because I’m going to look pretty stupid if it doesn’t.”

6 considers. “Yes,” she says thoughtfully. “I think it does.”

Our rough cut runs for only six minutes, but it feels like an hour. I sit at the back with 6 and gnaw my fingernails down to stubs. My only consolation is that Sneaky Pete looks just as nervous.

Tina has done a superb job. Technically, it’s not even close to
Backlash,
but when Cindy corners the ad agency’s creative director in the men’s room, a ripple of laughter spreads across the room. I look across at the chairman, and, impossibly, he is nodding slowly.

When the lights come back up, I see a room full of smiling faces. In fact, the only people in the room who aren’t smiling are 6, who I have seen smile exactly once, and Sneaky Pete, who looks murderous.

The chairman calls for a ten-minute break so that the board can consider “these new developments” privately. But everyone knows what’s happening here. As the SMT file out, they shoot me awed, nervous glances.

As soon as we’re out, 6 takes my hand and pulls me down a corridor. Before I can be surprised, she leads me into a small meeting room and shuts the door behind me.

“Uh . . . 6?”

She stares at me for a moment. Then she steps forward, grabs my face and kisses me hard.

The first time 6 kissed me, six months ago in the elevator, it was fast.

This isn’t. This is passionate, desperate and very, very long.

I guess we break before ten minutes, but I can’t tell. I’ve lost all sense of time. I’ve lost all sense of everything except what it feels like to be with 6.

“We have to go,” she says. Her face is excited and flushed. She’s never looked so beautiful.

I can’t stop myself. “I love you.”

“I know,” 6 says.

With my whole body tingling, I make my way back inside. The chairman waits until everyone is seated, which is an agonizingly long time due to the ineptitude of one of the SMT in locating his chair. While he paces back and forth and shoots the chairman embarrassed glances, 6 and I grip hands under the table.

“Gentlemen and Ms. 6,” the chairman says, “thank you for returning so promptly. My colleagues and I believe that Mr. Scat has raised valid concerns about our project. We further believe that he and his team have demonstrated a capacity to satisfy those concerns, and we therefore feel that his input will contribute to our own success.”

The whole room is staring at me. I feel like staring at me myself.

“The Coca-Cola Company and its partner, Universal Pictures, have invested a considerable sum in this film, and we do not intend to jeopardize that. We will complete
Backlash.
However, we would like to do so under Mr. Scat’s direction.” The chairman pauses for a moment. “Is this acceptable to you, Mr. Scat?”

I open my mouth to say something like
You betcha
, but my vocal cords have frozen. I gulp air for a few seconds before 6 rescues me. “It would be an honor, Mr. Croft.”

“Good.” He shuffles paper for a moment, and I take the opportunity to glance at Sneaky Pete. He is utterly rigid. “I would like to make clear that in no way do we think the work of Mr. Pete is substandard. The film is technically flawless, and we highly value the skill he has shown to make it so. In fact, we feel those skills are more appropriate to management, rather than operations.”

“Hello,” 6 murmurs.

“It is disappointing,” the chairman says, frowning, “that the same cannot be said for Mr. Brennan. It appears obvious to us that Mr. Brennan brought in an external team—Mr. Scat and Ms. 6—to subvert the work of his own employees. Despite the result, such methods are deplorable. Behavior such as this leads to disharmony within the company and will not be tolerated. It is not the board’s place to dictate the termination of employees, but we recommend that Mr. Jamieson consider Mr. Brennan’s position very carefully.”

Brennan is in shock. His mouth works uselessly, and his eyes rove from the chairman to Jamieson, back and forth. There is no sympathy in either face.

“Should Mr. Brennan’s position become vacant,” the chairman continues, “we would suggest that Mr. Pete would fill the role perfectly. Does anyone wish to comment?”

I am numb. It’s impossible: Sneaky Pete is Vice President of Marketing. 6 shakes her head slowly.

“Good,” the chairman says. “Then I look forward to the completion of
Backlash.
I am sure that under Mr. Pete’s vigilance, Mr. Scat and Ms. 6 will produce a resounding success.”

I look at Sneaky Pete. Very slowly, the corners of his lips curl upward. Across the room, he grins at me.

“Oh fuck,” I say. I can’t seem to stop saying it. “Oh,
fuck.”

“Scat,” 6 says, peering down the street for a cab, “we won. We set out to wedge ourselves into the project, and we’ve done it.” A cab roars past us and 6 glares at it. I almost expect the car to explode right there. “You should be happy.”

“
Happy?
” I choke. “I’m working for
Sneaky Pete
.”

“So?”

“He’ll eat me alive,” I say. I look over my shoulder, just in case.

6 sighs, watching the street.

“Well, I never picked
you
for the optimist,” I tell her, aggrieved. “How can you be so calm?”

“We accomplished our objective,” 6 says blandly. “Therefore I’m happy.”

I study 6 for signs of happiness.

“Fucking cabs,” she mutters. She turns back to me. “Look, we’ll deal with it. Right now we’re just going to go back to Tina’s and celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“They’re waiting to find out how it went. Tina and the crew. And the cast, I guess.”

“Oh. Cindy too?”

6 shrugs.

“Oh.” I’m about to add something noncommittal when 6 nudges me. I am leaning in for an embrace before I realize she’s just trying to get my attention.

“Brennan,” she murmurs.

I turn and see Gary heading vaguely in our direction. He is holding his car keys, but in a way that suggests he’s forgotten what to do with them. When I call out, his head slowly comes up and he looks around, confused, before spotting me. “Scat,” he says, shambling over. “6.”

“Gary, shit,” I say. “I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah,” Gary says.

There’s an awkward pause where I’m expecting 6 to add to the condolences, but she declines to do so. I add lamely, “It’s a real bitch.”

“I’m fifty-one,” he says dazedly, and suddenly he sounds frighteningly close to tears. “I’ve got four kids.”

“I’m sorry, Gary,” I say again, and when it comes down to it, that’s all I can do.

“That’s bullshit,” 6 says in the cab. “What Croft said about Brennan.”

“What? That his behavior was unacceptable?”

6 nods. “He said that in the long run, Brennan’s behavior was detrimental to the company’s performance.”