“The Corporation” by David Bennett

 

Belinda was like a diamond, George thought, looking at her from across the room: very beautiful but very, very hard. And she could cut just like a diamond.  As Belinda ascended through the ranks of the Corporation there were inevitably conflicts with those whose jobs she aspired to. She won them all. Her erstwhile rivals often disappeared completely, becoming corporate un-persons, their names never mentioned again.

One of many rumours about her was that she had secret political influence. Whatever the truth, once Belinda entered the ranks of the senior vice presidents, an aura of fear spread around her: not a good person to cross so people didn’t.

So why was he waiting for her as the conference room emptied out at the end of the meeting?

The simple answer was Belinda had asked him to.  And her requests were not to be denied, at least not by someone as junior to her as George was.

But the full truth was he would have waited for her anyway. Belinda was twelve years his senior but still attractive.  And this attractive woman was interested in him. Nothing public. She was far too sophisticated for that. But there had been a small, nearly invisible current of attraction, especially in those sudden smiles and very brief remarks, all of which were deliberately ambiguous, bestowed on him.

Finally, there were just the two of them left in the room. But engrossed in typing on a tablet Belinda didn’t seem to notice him. Perhaps a remark to remind her he was still here.

“I took the monorail this morning,” he said.

“And you were late this morning,” she said, not looking up from the tablet.

“Wow. How did you find that out?”

“I find out everything,” Belinda said, finally looking up. “I hope I’m not going to be disappointed in you. You’re an attractive young man – though don’t let it go to your head.  And you definitely have intelligence; no one gets the kind of marks you got in business school without being smart. But you’ve just done a dumb thing so I have to hope it’s a one-off.”

“Supporting the monorail is civic-minded.”

“Going anywhere near the monorail is dumb. It breaks down all the time. The thing is completely dysfunctional. As for being civic-minded, that’s just for appearances, as I hope you’ve fully realized by now. The Corporation exists for one, and only one, reason: to make money.”

“Are you telling me not to take it anymore?”

“I’m telling you to smarten up. Start acting like someone who’s bright enough to hang with me.”

Hang with her? That sounded like a definite proposition. Better show some enthusiasm.

“Yes,” he said, and smiled. “I’d like that.”

“That’s better,” Belinda said, smiling for the first time – a great contrast to her former and usual severe expression. She pushed her chair back, stood up, without smoothing down the dress that had ridden half way up her thighs, walked slowly over to him and sat down next to him. Belinda leaned over and put one finger tip on his knee. She added a second fingertip, a shade closer to his crotch. She passed him a business card.

“That’s the address,” she said. “Be there at eight. I know you like good wine and I have some very good vintages. And then we can do some other interesting things.”

The finger moved another fraction closer to his crotch with just a little more pressure

He opened his mouth to tell her how much he looked forward to the evening when he thought of Jackson, her young boyfriend.

“Sounds great,” he said. “I’m just hoping we won’t be interrupted, say by Jackson, for instance.”

“No, no one will interrupt us – least of all Jackson, who is no longer with us.”

“I didn’t know he’d left the company.”

“Jackson had an unfortunate accident, which is why he’s no longer here. Very sad, of course,” she said, not looking at all mournful.

“What happened?”

“He jumped off his balcony. He’d apparently been suicidal for a while, which is why you haven’t seen him around the office. I guess he had a nervous breakdown.”

George remembered Jackson. They had both worked in the same office and would sometimes go out for drinks after work. One boozy evening, after they’d both had far too many margueritas, Jackson let it slip he had a relationship with Belinda, wanted to break it off but was afraid to.

“She’s pressuring me not to go back,” he said, without specifying where Belinda wanted him not to go back to. “It’s all we talk about now. That and her non stop threats. It’s all becoming too much.”

George had told him to keep quiet about it and after that they had by unspoken but common consent veered away from the subject of Belinda.

Jackson committed suicide. Jesus!  This gave him a whole new perspective on Belinda. What the hell was with that?  Jackson was worried and maybe a bit afraid. But he didn’t seem that depressed. Of course, George didn’t know him that well so maybe things were going on with Jackson’s psyche that he didn’t – and in fact, couldn’t – know. Perhaps. Still, the news unsettled him.

“That must have been right after your trip to Turkey,” he said to Belinda.

“Listen,” she said, “I have to go. Appointments and so on. So, see you this evening?”

He was being dismissed. “Absolutely,” he said, getting up to leave.

He was deep in thought during his walk back to his office. Most disquieting was Jackson’s suicide. But something else was competing for his attention. Why was he thinking about Belinda’s trip to Turkey? 

Then he remembered. There had been a brief mention in the news, which was not pursued, about the Corporation being involved in an alleged bribery. Belinda’s name had not been mentioned. The article had mentioned “a junior manager” as someone the Turks had wanted to talk to, but apparently, this junior manager had already left Turkey. 

Could this have been Jackson?  And even if it was, how, if at all, did this have anything to do with Jackson’s suicide?  George didn’t know the answer to either question but he had a feeling – a very uneasy feeling – that they did.

When he got back to his office he phoned the manager of the Turkey project. The manager liked George and had even tried to get him to come and work on the project. So it only took a few minutes of seemingly casual questions to elicit that, yes, Jackson had accompanied Belinda to Turkey as her assistant and that they both had left Turkey very suddenly in the middle of negotiations.

Allegedly, it was because Belinda had, as the press release put it, “pressing health issues,” though she seemed well enough when she got back to the office.

It was, he thought, all he needed to know. The conclusions forced themselves upon him, despite efforts not to think about them. So, given what he now knew, what to do about his evening date with Belinda? 

He couldn’t think of an excuse not to go that wouldn’t antagonize her. And lurking underneath, although he told himself he was a fool to feel any such thing, was his desire for Belinda, unextinguished by his new discoveries. Besides, given her obvious attraction to him, how nasty would she be to him?

There was a concierge at her building, a slightly disdainful Englishman. “You’re not in the book,” he said as though this was a serious offence. “I’ll have phone up.”

“You’re early,” she said when she came to the phone. “I’m still on the treadmill. So give me a couple of minutes, okay?”  This turned out to be nearly ten minutes.

After Belinda finally called back to let him in the concierge suddenly announced: “You have to be wanded before you can go up.”

“It’s just a social call,” George said. “She knows me.”

“No wand, no admittance,” said the unsmiling concierge, standing up from his desk.

After the wanding, conducted very thoroughly, George rode up on the elevator to Belinda’s penthouse suite. When she opened the door, he beheld something that looked like Versailles or the Summer Palace, all white and gold and enormous.

Belinda was still wearing the same business suit she had worn at the office. So much for the treadmill.

“Follow me,” she said, her tone curt and her expression unsmiling. She led him into a pantry off the kitchen. This was not, George thought, where you would receive guests, especially the romantic kind.

“The manager of the Turkey project called me. He said you’d called him.”

“Yes, I called him this afternoon a few minutes after I left you.”  No point in denying it.

“What fucking business is it of yours what I did in Turkey or who I was there with?”  The swear words surprised him. He had never heard her talk like this before.

“Jackson was my friend. I was curious about what happened to him.  So I called someone who might know something. That’s all.”

“You know what I think?” she said, leaning towards him and poking him in the chest. “I think you were checking up on me. That’s not your job. Your job is to do what you’re damn well told. And you didn’t do that, did you?”

He grabbed her hand to stop her poking him again. “We’re not in the army. Obedience, yes. Blind obedience, no. I get to ask questions once in a while.”

“That’s where you’re so, so wrong, George. You don’t ever get to ask questions about things like bribery allegations, suicides or anything else that might cause a scandal for the Corporation. Never!  This is the Corporation. Everything you have you owe to the Corporation. So yes, you do owe blind obedience. That’s how it works. Those who won’t conform to that have to be weeded out.”

“It’s not a religion, it’s just a company.”

“No, George, it is a religion – our religion. And we must serve it just like a religion. I’m sad you don’t understand that but it means we must part company. I’ll show you out.”

***

The email the next morning was sent to all the corporation’s employees:

We have lost a valued employee, George Sands, who succumbed to injuries sustained in a tragic accident last night at the central monorail station. I am sure every staff member joins me in my condolences to his family. George was very well liked in our corporate community and he will be sorely missed. His family request that instead of flowers any donations be made in his name to United Way.

Belinda Lucas, Senior Vice President

***

David Bennett has now retired from the law and has returned to his first love: writing. Among other projects, he’s writing a collection of short stories each of which features a train station.

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