Negotiations...  Continued

© 2000, 2001 Channel49

"How are things?" Davenport asked, arranging foodstuffs on his tray while on line before the cashier.

Henry grunted but Ellen reacted happily to Davenport. "Hiya doin' Bill. Have enough there to eat?"

Davenport fended the remark with a grunt and then mumbled some of his cynicism "If the food here doesn't kill ya."

Ellen, in line behind Henry laughed politely, "Why, is the food here that bad?"

"Bad? It can kill you."

Henry, negatively cynical toward Davenport's cynicism responded darkly, "The food here's pretty good, expensive maybe, but good."

"You'll eat anything" Davenport laughed, inching down the paying line toward the clicking register.

Amidst the babble of the crowd the three of them found a table together and began to eat in preoccupation, except for Ellen who tried to draw Davenport out with bright, happy quips.

Davenport ate nervously, shoveling food into his mouth and brushing it out of his mustache, as if he had learned to eat in a concentration camp. He had a bad stomach. Finally Henry blurted, "Slow down, relax."

"It'll get cold." Davenport remarked.

"It already is cold. What-a-ya got there, a tuna-fish sandwich and bag of corn chips?"

Davenport blushed and rolled his eyes down onto his plate. He laughed innocently. "The soup."

"So eat the soup first." Ellen counseled.

"I don't know, I just eat fast," he admitted, grinning like a little boy.

They ate for a short while, Finally Henry asked. "You married yet?"

"No…"

"Thinking about it?" Ellen asked.

"Well ... " Davenport blushed again and gazed out absently at the large cafeteria.

"Christ, you've been living together for two years, it's about time. Maybe have some kids." Henry urged.

"Kids aren't for everybody." Davenport said simply.

"How about for you? You're the poppa type. I can tell."

Davenport shrugged in agreement. "I don't think Kathy wants any, at least now," he admitted.

No one at the table but Davenport knew Kathy and nothing was said for several seconds. Then Davenport went on the offensive. "How long have you been married? How come no patter of little feet?" Davenport asked walking his fingers over the table top toward Ellen.

"Five years...right now it's mostly economics," Henry lied, smiling at Ellen.

"Well?"

They all bantered back and forth for several minutes till Ellen ended it. "You two can talk, I've got to go. I've got work to finish."

Henry allowed her departure and silently toyed with their orange juice cartons in her absence. Finally Davenport, lighting a cigarette said, "I think Kathy might change her mind about kids. Her sister's expecting one and after she becomes an auntie she might change her mind."

Henry shrugged, "Maybe."

"Eh, I had a rotten time as kid anyway," Davenport said with a laugh.

"Why bring any more into this cruel world?" He added dramatically.

"Clichés," Henry commented.

There was a short silence.

"I'm glad I'm not a kid, anymore, though I'm not so sure about this adult business either," Henry confided.

"Why, you didn't have an idyllic childhood? "Davenport asked tipping an ash into his juice carton.

"It wasn't too pleasant. I was wild as a teenager."

"You wild? You don't strike me as the wild type. I was incredibly naïve. I thought the world was a wonderful place till my first girlfriend got pregnant," Davenport said, nervousness around the edges of his voice.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I never did anything to her."

Henry guffawed, slapping the table.

"Her last words to me before they sent her somewhere ...Down South I think, were, 'I always liked you Bill.' Davenport said, soap opera style.

Henry laughed again. "Some lover… A gentleman, while she's screwing like an alley-cat with someone else."

Davenport smiled and squirmed in his chair.

***

Winter was done. The air in their first floor apartment didn't end with the patio door segregating a warmer temperature from a colder one, for the glass door was wide open and billowing, warm evening air puffed through the curtains and diffused throughout the apartment. It gave Henry a light-headed unreal feeling. He stepped outside his front door and walking free of the immediate complex of buildings stood on the lawn. The sky was pierced with silver as evening hung motionless on the horizon, not disappearing as fast as it had all winter. The twilight gave the atmosphere an unusual breathing space, creating a sense that this particular gleam of twilight would last forever bringing with it a human immortality.

The endless, evening sky blasted his slow, sleepy mind with dewy gusts of scented breeze. He felt transported into a nether-world, perhaps Mars. His mood was caught in between optimism and deja-vu sentimentality.

He hurried into his car and drove off viewing a new landscape that carried his imagination off a thousand miles. The old fields, buildings, houses and trees took on a new-world perspective in the procrastinating twilight. As the horizon that last saw the sun flashed a flushed orange-pink Henry sped up, as if in search of more twilight, more procrastination. The opposite horizon darkened considerably and the two contrasts like life and death battled for control of the firmament.

Henry drove toward the pink-ness, now shrinking in the distance but he couldn't drive fast enough and the rather feeble roads constructed here and there kept subverting him from his compass goal and shuttling him to their own directions. Inevitably the battle was lost and the sky became night and the world was unevenly illuminated by electricity. Henry disengaged himself from his flight and resignedly returned home. There was an edge of foreboding behind his attention that annoyed him and he no longer enjoyed his drive. Instead, he swerved around corners and accelerated down roads not looking, not enjoying the yellow swath his headlights splashed on glum, unfriendly houses and lonely dark fields empty of life. It was just another short episode barely connected to the other episodes of his life.

***

Brenda paused at the table, a small cake held delicately in one hand. She cocked her head gently to one side allowing her shimmering black hair to spill over a shoulder from its crown capped by a red handkerchief.

Marc stopped by briefly to talk to her. She joked with him and even flirted a little, though as he left she rolled her eyes quickly as if to say 'Ye God.' She cornered Jim and tried speaking to him, though he only nodded his head, his eyes shooting all over the room, searching for somebody and he elusively slipped away.

Henry wandered in, looked around and went directly to the food table where he made a sandwich. He again looked around through the sparse crowd, saw Marc occupied with somebody and shrugged in lonely desperation. Taking vicious bites out of his sandwich he slowly meandered toward the exit not certain if leaving would be proper.

"Henry," Marc called, chasing after him, and laughing. "I mean, don't just eat and run."

Henry, mid-chew, smiled.

"Come over here ... Jim, Uh...Brenda," he had to search for her name in his politician’s memory, as he tried to gather the crowd.

"Coming..." She called using a very sweet, mendacious voice as she excused herself from a new-found acquaintance.

The small crowd that Marc gathered contained many faces that Henry had seen though none of them, save Marc, could he feel comfortable speaking to. Jim stood pre-occupied, in a fidgety way, next to Marc.

"Now the reason I had this little group together was for you old timers and new people who are interested in our union to get together and well meet and..." People amid the circle began to ignore Marc and rudely crack jokes disrupting him. Henry felt obligated out of sociality to smile at their jokes. Jim kept looking this way and that as if he wasn't really there.

The extra conversation stopped Marc from rambling too far. He began to make introductions among the group. When he got to Brenda one of the males in the group said, "Say hey, little lady."

She blushed and ably made some comments in her own behalf.

When it came Henry's time he nodded, noticed that nobody looked at him and shrugged to himself. TALK! You, you bunch of rude, snot-asses.

"We have many committees you can serve on ... the grievance committee, for instance… We’re looking for a negotiating team ... You're all intelligent people that ..."

The circle began to dissolve and Marc was summoned by someone in the small crowd to answer a personal question. Henry found himself next to Jim.

"So you're looking for a now people?" Henry queried.

"Yeah, me and him..." he pointed to Marc’s back, "...are the union."

"What about these people here?" Henry gestured around the room.

"They haven't done anything in six months. Inactive. They showed up for the food today. Need new blood."

Henry nodded. "What do you do?"

"Everything,"

"Where did you learn everything?"

Jim looked around. "Picked it up. What I don't know, I fake."

Henry’s eyes went wide and Jim laughed slightly.

"Oh yeah ... is this union shit any fun?"

Jim loosened just a bit, "Oh yeah!" He said enthusiastically.

"I don't have any idea what it's all about ... like grievances..." Henry said purposefully, wondering whether he should mention something about the feelings he had concerning his own superiors.

Jim shrugged. "You could learn, I guess. " Jim said with little interest as he looked around the room.

"Well ... See you," Henry announced as Jim took a step forward.

"Huh? Oh yeah." Jim said moving off.

Henry started toward the exit door but turned to survey the gathering.

Undecided, he walked out.

*

Henry had spent the day at work inactive. He had literally shuffled a few papers back and forth when anyone walked by. For the most part he slumped forward over his desk and let thoughts in his head take him this way and that.

Jim, on the other hand was involved in several intrigues to the point of confusion. Brenda had twisted him first with flirtatious smiles and then with close heaving bosom, mischievous eyes and warm breath. She wanted his support against Marc in the coming election.

When Jim balked just a bit she turned off all her charm and began arguing.

"But, Jim ... look at what he's done ... He's not very democratic. He's SECRETIVE. Nobody knows what's really going on. And he's very chummy with Martin Kranster. Now can a union leader do that? Is that what unionism is all about? I think we have to make a move now to rescue this union before it's too late and I think you're the person who can do it. And this new person ... Henry? Henry something. Who’s he; another crony? This union has got to represent the membership, not a clique of secretive people planning our downfall with Kranster and the administration."

Jim tried to explain but got tangled in his own words. He began disliking himself and then Marc. "Okay, I'll think about it," he said, frowning at himself and causing Brenda an uncertain victory.

Nonetheless she smiled. "Bye," and retreated with a flirty flush.

*

Marc, catching word somewhere that something was brewing, stopped by Henry's desk to see if Henry had heard anything. He found Henry cagey and argumentative from his extended boredom.

"I understand that this new person, Brenda, is saying something about me," he led, acting out of blind intuition, pumping Henry.

"Not to me. That wouldn't surprise me though ... Not from what little I know about her. She acts very phony. She's got her own agenda." Don’t we all?

"What?"

Henry shrugged. "She's horny for you."

Marc laughed. "Sure...You know I suggested putting her on some of the committees ... Now she's against me?" Marc chuckled in irony, "This thing can get to you after awhile .... You'll see."

"How?"

"Run for an office. The elections are coming up."

"I don't know anything." Henry admitted.

"Neither do I." They both laughed. "No, seriously, you can pick it up," Marc counseled.

**

Henry's first faltering activity in the union local that represented the Institution Staff became strengthened after his second evaluation, when he found that his supervisor, Mrs. Grey the assistant department head, had recommended Henry be placed on probation. Then the action started.

One o'clock Friday: Mrs. Grey sat at Henry's desk and greatly surprised him. Then she left for a meeting, telling him that she would talk to him later.

One-twenty PM Friday: Henry took the evaluation up to Marc. Marc laughed and banged his desk. "We'll make her eat this!"

Next, Marc called Jim; no answer. He called union headquarters; nobody home. He checked the evaluation over and found contradictions in it which he pointed out to Henry. He told Henry to tell Mrs. Grey to withdraw the evaluation or face a grievance.

Two o'clock Friday:. Henry had a second meeting with Mrs. Grey. He resisted the urge to punch her and the stronger, more real urge, to tell her that he felt like punching her. She's so secure, well fed, highly paid, and respected, though for what I'm not sure... and she knows it. She's the embodiment of this institution.

Henry told her to withdraw the evaluation or face a grievance.

She blew up at him. "You did what? You called the union already? That's just like you to go off half-cocked. This is typical of you. This is your problem. This is why no one can get along with you."

Two-thirty Friday: Henry told Marc what had happened at his second meeting. Marc told him, "Don't worry about it. Monday we'll take care of it. Let her think about it."

Three-thirty Friday: Henry called Ellen and told her, "--and I just turned down that other job ... Now this will be on my record; IF I don't get fired." Ellen told him not to worry.

Three-forty five Friday: Henry got worried. Perhaps it's true that no one can get along with me. I thought I was aware of my faults. I guess I'm not. I must be a real jerk. No, damn it, it's Grey! She doesn't like me and that's all there is to it. I got in trouble before...in grammar school for making faces and disrupting the class...I got put in the hallway.... I got in a small jam in the service once or twice... No this is different. It's my attitude. What will I do? Can Marc help me? What's a grievance going to do, change Grey's mind, fire her? God, what a mess. Why me all the time? I must do this to myself. Even if we win the grievance I'll still work for Grey. There's no way out.

Four-thirty Friday. Henry went up to see Marc again. Marc was jovial and talking about something else as if nothing had happened to Henry. "Do you think we can win?" Henry asked.

"Relax, relax," Marc counseled, smiling.

Eight-thirty Monday morning Henry looked for Marc but couldn't find him. Then he looked for Jim. He found Jim. "Did Marc tell you what happened?"

"A little," Jim replied only half interested. Henry filed him in. Jim nodded. "I'll talk to Marc, maybe we'll all meet."

Eight-fifty Monday, Everett came in and Henry told him about his evaluation.

Everett paled, thinking about his own upcoming evaluation.

Nine o'clock Monday, Mrs. Grey arrived and ignored Henry. She traded hellos with Everett who seemed especially polite to her. Is he worried about his evaluation or is that me reading things into it? I think he’s always very polite to her.

Nine-o’five, Monday. Henry pretended to be busy. He actually found work to do and became immersed in it.

Ten o'clock Monday. Henry found Marc and asked him if anything had happened. Marc told him that he had talked to Jim and Jim would first speak to Mrs. Grey and then they would think of something to do. Henry felt more nervous. The union is nothing more than Marc and Jim. They are going to help me out of this?

Ten fifteen Monday. Marshal dashed in. Henry tried to talk to him.

"I know, I know, I heard," Marshal replied as he dialed the phone to call somebody.

Eleven o'clock Monday: Jim came by and asked Henry if anything had happened.

"No, Marc said you would talk to her."

"Oh yeah...She's busy now, --later."

Henry grasping for underlying dynamics of his situation filled Jim in about reasons, real or imaginary, why Mrs. Grey might not like him.

Jim blanched, "--You shouldn't have done that. You can't question her judgment. She hates that .... I know she's stupid; but she doesn't," Jim told him.

Eleven thirty Monday: Henry saw Mrs. Grey walk by and tried not to project hatred. Her presence made him feel frustration and panic.

Eleven forty Monday: Ellen called and told Henry that she met Marshal at the cafeteria on her coffee break. She told Marshal about Henry's problem and Marshal seemed concerned. Henry told her," he didn't look concerned to me."

"Well he ran off and talked to Marc about it," Ellen said.

Twelve thirty Monday: Henry gobbled down his lunch in the cafeteria and found Marc and Jim together diddling over their dessert, and joined them.

Marc remarked," It looks bad." He had sources he wouldn't disclose in the Department Director's office (Mrs. Grey's boss) and Grey had originally wanted to fire him outright but the Director had said no. Grey had turned in his evaluation and the Director had it now.

"Who said that?" Henry asked.

They wouldn't answer.

"Well what are we going to do?" Henry asked.

Jim shrugged and asked Marc, "Is there enough money in the treasury for an arbitration?"

Marc laughed, "Can't afford it after the Christmas Dinner."

Henry paled causing Marc to laugh again." Look at him; he believes me!"

One o'clock Monday: Henry went back to work. The Director passed Henry's desk twice in a short period of time. Both times Henry was busy. Is he checking on me? Or is it that my imagination working again?

One thirty Monday: Marc called Henry with some more news. "One reason Grey doesn't like you is because you questioned her judgment."

Henry wondered if that small incident was known throughout the entire institution. "Who told you that?" Henry asked.

"I think Jim found that out," Marc said.

"Oh ..." Henry felt relieved,"...because I told him that."

"Oh, you told him," Marc exclaimed, laughing.

"I suppose that I have become one of those unnamed sources of information," Henry said, chuckling.

Two o'clock Monday: Jim trying, to look inconspicuous, entered the area and spied on Mrs. Grey, who was still busy. He looked nervous and slowly approached Henry. "I'm gonna talk to her when she's free... Was there ever a time you..." and Jim related to Henry the same story he had gotten from Henry and earlier told Marc.

"Yeah, I told you that this morning," Henry said.

"Oh, you told me that. I thought Marc told me." Jim said looking embarrassed.

"No. Marc just called me and told me the same thing… --We've got a great communication net. I say something and two hours later it comes back to me as some inside information about what's happening behind the scenes."

They both laughed. Jim glanced over to Grey's desk again. "I'll come back later."

Three o'clock Monday, Marshal stopped by Henry's desk, "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I've got the union working on it."

Marshal smirked. "Those two guys ... Maybe you should talk to her."

"That didn't work."

Marshal shrugged. "See you tomorrow, Henry," and he left.

Four thirty Monday. Henry went to see Marc. "Hear anything, Marc?"

"Bye Henry. Nice to know you. Bye." Marc waved, laughing making Henry laugh.

"That bad?"

"Worse."

"Really?"

"Naw ... Don't worry about it. Just look for another job," Marc laughed.

Nine o'clock Tuesday: Henry found Jim and asked if he had talked to Mrs. Grey. "Oh ... I forgot ... I'll talk to her today."

"Listen, Jim, don't try and blow her away like Marc told me. No big-guns union stuff, it doesn't affect her. Just find out why I'm on the shit list."

"I know." Jim nodded, eagerly

Eleven fifteen Tuesday: Henry saw Jim talking to Mrs, Grey at her desk. Actually Jim was listening. Mrs. Grey was doing the talking and Jim was listening intently and nodding his head.

Eleven forty five Tuesday: Jim left Grey's desk, disappearing from the area.

Henry feeling deserted waited two minutes and called Jim, "So?"

"So ... well it’s all confused ... Tell you later."

Twelve thirty Tuesday: Henry joined Marc and Jim at lunch. "What's up?" He asked feigning good humor.

"It's bad. She’s really against you. She hates you," Jim laughed.

"Christ!"

Marc continued to eat, saying little.

"Well, can we grieve?" Henry asked.

Neither of them answered.

"Toni set you up. He's the one that complained," Jim said.

"So there's at least two of them against you," Marc said.

"That bastard... Just because I wouldn't play with him, he did me in spreading rumors and innuendo about me. I mean she was probably wary of me already. Then he started working on her. .. That two-faced pathological, lying shit! I'll finish him. I'll smash that bastard!'' Henry swore slamming the table, startling the two of them.

"Are you with me?" Henry asked, standing; unsure of them.

"Sure." Marc said with no conviction.

One O’five Tuesday: Henry told Everett and then Marshal that Toni had used Mrs. Grey to get rid of him.

Marshal pulled Henry aside. "I'll talk to Grey ... But you’ve got to learn to eat her shit, like the rest of us do. Smile at her, understand?"

"Yes."

"I don't know what this will do…" Marshal remarked, walking off with a shrug.

Tuesday afternoon was the turning point. First, Marshal talked to Mrs. Grey using all of his talents to charm, persuade, reason, council, turn, alleviate and paint an image. Grey was now unsure of her actions. She became doubtful of Toni's testimony and motivations. She talked to Everett. In a question and answer session Everett more or less confirmed much of what Marshal had told her. Yet there were things Toni had said about Everett!

Mrs. Grey spoke with Marshal one more time. After Henry de-briefed Marshal he made the last of many phone calls to Marc and Jim relaying nuances from Marshal and Everett of every perceived turn in Grey's thinking so Marc could use the new information with Martin Kranster, the Director of Personnel. And Jim could ply the new gossip into the supposedly open funnel in the Department Director's office.

Then Mrs. Grey summoned Henry.

They spoke kindly to each other. The problem now seemed to be Toni and not Henry. Yet Mrs. Grey would not retract her evaluation (it had been given to the Director who already passed it on to a higher echelon) and Henry would have to go ahead with his grievance.

Wednesday: Like water eroding a desert canyon the momentum built up and began to loosen the thousand foot thick block of rock turning it into grains of sand.

Even Mrs. Grey was on his side! Marc began to feed his sources in the Director's office stoking the fires or smoldering coals with question marks. The Director had summoned Mrs. Grey.

Jim and Henry wrote up the grievance and formally initiated it with the Personnel Department.

Thursday: Accompanied by Marc, Henry defended himself before Martin Kranster in the STEP ONE grievance hearing. Not knowing that the scene had already been written, Henry delivered hammer blows is his own defense.

Kranster withstood the sweeping indictments that Henry made involving the errors inherent in the evaluation process of the Institution . He scratched his head in amusement and offered, "Well if Mrs. Grey realizes she made a mistake in your case then let her withdraw the evaluation and resubmit it."

Not pausing to rethink his position, Henry plunged on bravely, showing promise of talent in his own style of negotiation. "That would be the best thing to do to remedy this situation... However, and I'm sure you recognize this, sometimes people have difficulty in retreating from a position that they've taken publicly... You know, they have to save face. That’s the situation here."

"Well…" Kranster began, but Henry jumped in again and painted another picture that momentarily put Kranster in the corner.

Walking back from the personnel office Marc confided in Henry," You sure came on pretty strong with Kranster...."

"That's the way you do it, don't you?" Henry retorted, naively.

Marc laughed. "Sometimes," he said whimsically.

Friday morning Marc gossiped with Kranster for an hour and agreed again on the best way for all parties to retreat from Henry's grievance. The word ‘probation’ would be changed to ‘observation’ and after a month the evaluation would be changed to excellent. In fact, Kranster was already receiving reports from Mrs. Grey that Henry's performance had improved remarkably since last Friday!

Over a dozen people had participated in an intrigue involving one employee in crises. The end result, after Toni got himself in temporary trouble with Mrs. Grey seemed to be nothing -- life went on. The phone calls and rumors and counter-rumors and information and false information and excitement was over. Everyone thought they had won and everyone against them had lost, and yet they were all there ready to play another round.

***

The three of them, Michael, Jack and Arnie were happily lost in the sensual noise of the Sidewinder club, piling up rounds of beer before them. A voluptuous go-go dancer was copulating with the air on the lighted stage to the blast of juke box music.

Arnie, drunk already, lolled his head around on the table and mumbled nonsense as if he were drunker then he really was. "Oh Mother, take me away from these bad people: they’ve led me astray!"

Jack pointed to a woman of thirty, a decade past Arnie, and not beautiful, sitting along the bar with a shorter, plumper very unattractive partner. He patted Arnie's shoulder, "There's one for ya son. She loves yer ass," Jack sang and chuckled afterwards.

"Leave me alone," Arnie protested, "I just wanna sleep."

"Sleep?" Jack questioned above the din. "Ah, you young fellas…Watsa matter sonny, can't get ‘er up no more? Too much saltpeter in yer suds?" Jack asked in an old miner's accent borrowed from a classic movie. Then Jack leaned close to Arnie and yanked the pink, fishing hat out of Arnie's pocket and stuffed it ridiculously over his head. "You look like a jerk. Take your hat off in a public place, boy. You're offending people here. Look at these good religious folks here... " Jack gestured to the drunks at the front tables shouting and pointing to the go-go dancer's sexual parts.

The dancer spread her legs and thrust her pubic mound forward. A brave soul jumped up and stuck a dollar bill into her bikini briefs. A chorus of hoots and cheers followed. Arnie, his head on the table and eyes slanted up toward the stage, opened his mouth.

"Close your mouth and take your hat off. You're in church, boy." Jack told him.

Arnie startled giggling and his body wiggled.

"You're not drunk you faker. Sit up." Mike said and tickled him under the armpit. Arnie jumped up banging his head against the back of the booth.

"Cut it out, willya!" Then he slumped down to the table again.

Mike could see Arnie's eyes following the girl up on the stage and betrayed him to Jack. "He's watching the honey pie up there."

"Oh would you like to meet her? She used to be a minister's wife and hasn't been laid in years ... she's waiting for you," Jack said into Arnie's ear.

Arnie giggled again. "I'm in love."

Jack spoke to Mike, "Shall we help the lad experience his first sexual joy?" He asked in a sea captain's voice.

"Cut it out." Arnie protested, sensitive to that point because they were always kidding him about his possible virginity.

"On your wedding night, be gentle with her." Mike told his semi-prostrate friend causing him to giggle and release a puddle of drool to the table top. After a moment Jack left the table and walked to the stage. He very confidently leaned into the light and beckoned the girl. Jack was a large man, with a misleading conservative image; in the smoky spotlight he looked older than twenty-five. The velocity of the dancer's gyrations decreased and she followed Jack's pointed finger to their table and listened to him. He was there long enough to draw a few boos from the front tables.

"Well?" Mike asked when he returned.

"She'll be here." Jack replied nervously.

A few minutes later the juke box plug was pulled and the dancer stopped. She looked around, smiled at the waving drunks of the first table and walked past them to Mike, Jack and Arnie's booth.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi, have a seat..." Jack said, rising to let her in.

Arnie sprang to attention wiping drool from his chin.

"Mike, Arnie, I'm Jack." Jack said pointing.

"Mike, Arnie, Jack," She repeated to remember their names. My name is Sheila." She sat between Jack and Arnie and allowed Jack to order a glass of draft and a screwdriver, both for her. She was sweaty and smelled pungently of body odor. She unhesitantly pulled her bikini briefs open to show them the dollar bills stuffed against her flesh. "Pretty good, huh?" She asked.

"Great!" Jack replied, his eyes glistening.

"Oh cut it out." Sheila protested proudly. "I meant the money!"

She inhaled the glass of beer and gulped half of her screwdriver.

"We come in here often, how come we've never seen you in here before?" Mike asked from a half-stupor.

"Another beer?" Jack asked.

Sheila nodded yes, still looking at Mike as if she was used to being offered another beer. 

"...Just started this week, on Monday, matter of fact." She almost killed the screwdriver in another gulp. Jack, on her other side, made a face as if to say 'What is she; a fish?'

"Another screwdriver?" Jack asked with no hint of humor or malice.

"No, later." Sheila replied, still answering Mike's question. "I mean, my old man was working construction till last week so we needed the bread ya know."

"You've got beautiful eyes, like my mother's. What's your name?" Arnie asked

"Sheila. I think I told you ... Yeah a lot of guys say I've got eyes like, uh, ... Cleopatra. And nice boobs too," she said giving them a shake.

"That too!" They all replied.

"You look like Elizabeth Taylor, when she was younger," Mike offered.

"Thanks. So what do you guys do?"

"We're all pilots for Delta Airlines," Jack lied.

"Oh really? You guys go to Europe and France and shit?"

"Constantly," Jack said.

"In fact they've been flying our eyeballs off. We've been on the Paris, London, New York, Los Angeles run for a solid month. We've finally gotten a relief crew," Mike said.

"Right, but we only have a twenty-four hour layover till we make Rome. Christ, thirty-five hundred dollars in overtime pay and I can't even spend it," Jack said to Mike and Arnie.

Sheila's eye opened. "Thirty-five hundred dollars?" She asked

"Yup," Mike replied.

She sipped her second beer slowly.

"I can't fly no more!" Arnie whined. "I'm scared we'll crash."

"Take it easy Arn. You've got to, we can't get another flight officer on such quick notice," Jack told him.

"Yeah Arnie, it's your job. You've got to do it," Sheila pleaded with him.

"I'm scared, and, --and no body loves me."

Jack rolled his eyes upwards. "Knock it off Arnie," he hissed.

The bouncer signaled Sheila's attention and pointed at the stage. "Whoops, gotta go, see you guys later. I break again in twenty minutes and a new girl comes on ..." She sprang up and rushed from the table as the music began.

"Wow," Jack said not referring to her shape, intelligence or body odor in particular.

"What-a-ya think?" Mike asked

"I think we should go now. I'm running out of money." Jack replied.

"No, I wanna stay!" Arnie said.

They stayed and in half an hour Sheila returned to their table for awhile and talked. Her 'old man' she related was a warlord for an outlaw motorcycle gang in the area. Mike was enjoying the sky-pilot charade and Arnie the gift of being able to stare down into her bosoms it close range, However, the high prices, coupled with Sheila's unquenchable thirst began to break their wallets. They were somewhat relieved when she returned to the stage after twenty-five minutes of the relief girl.

"Let's be going," Jack counseled.

On the way out, Jack paused before the thirty-ish woman and her unattractive partner. The thirty-ish woman was surveying the scene eagerly. She was a large framed person, six feet tall with a broad bosom and thick legs. Her hair was a soft, mousy brown and fairly long.

"Hello." Jack said.

Her partner, with a pushed in jaw and heavy glasses glanced at Jack quickly. The thirty-ish woman inspected them and replied, "Go fuck yourself."

Jack was taken back. He regained his composure immediately and stepped aside. A perplexed look crossed his face. He bent his knees and looked down at his groin. He rotated his behind slowly. "Jeeze, that's hard to do, maybe you can show me," Jack replied.

The two women made no verbal reaction though their eyes flicked to and fro.

"Oh I see," Jack laughed. "Two weary travelers from the island of Lesbos."

"Look, smart-ass, if you don't leave us alone we'll got the bouncer..." The thirty-ish woman snapped.

"Watsa matter, can't fight your own battles, shweet-heart?" Mike said, attempting a Bogart dialect.

The three stepped outside the bar leaving the noise and commotion for the cool, wispy air.

They got into Arnie's old car, 'the bomb,' and tried starting it.

"Nothing," Jack said sitting behind the wheel, glancing with dismay at Arnie's inconclusive shape sprawled in the car's small back seat. They shook Arnie awake and put him behind the wheel so Mike and Jack could push-start the car. With Arnie working the gears, clutch and ignition it took several tries to start, and Jack and Mike were soon huffing in the night their vision limited to darkened pavement as they grunted forward and shouted, "NOW!" only to see their efforts wasted by Arnie's fumbling. At first they laughed at him, then they began to dislike him and his car.

"Come on ARN!" Mike shouted losing all patience.

"You get in there," Jack ordered Mike. "Arnie get out and push."

"Once more," Arnie coaxed, pro-occupied with his nervous efforts to do it right. They were successful, and the car sputtered, then ran.

Jack took over from Arnie and they departed the Sidewinder club.

A few miles into the night Jack asked, "Well boys which way?" He slowed the car as it approached a back-roads intersection where four roads converged.

"Which way to what?" Mike asked as the car slid neatly down one of the roads headed for what.

"Anywhere ... I don't have the faintest idea where we are," Jack chuckled.

No one knew. After a quarter mile he slowed and turned the car around, roaring into the opposite direction, shattering the night with determination and misspent purpose. They went through the intersection again and guessed at which road they had arrived by. They guessed wrong.

Shortly, Jack's determination wavered as he, still lost, found himself at the bottom of a steep hill that began at the end of a curve. The night, having seemed an empty stage, now appeared to unfold a conspiracy against them.

Jack began to negotiate the hill without realizing how steep it was. The car with 175,000 miles on it was not prepared for the exertion and began to lug before the summit. He downshifted the gears to finish the climb but luck was not with them. The car wouldn't downshift to first while still moving and without warning it stalled in second gear. "Christ!" He braked and shut off the lights not wanting to waste the battery, no matter how vain the effort. Holding the foot brake Jack searched for the emergency. "Where is the fucking thing?" He implored.

Arnie catching on said, "It's broke."

"Good God!" Jack exclaimed, anxious and frustrated.

Mike giggled.

"Not funny, Mike. We're on a God-damn mountain," Jack said.

"Coast back?" Mike asked

"No way ... To release the brake and coast backward ... build up a little speed ... never make that curve down there ... Not in the dark. We'll go right off the road and fuckin' die!"

"Well, see you guys later," Mike laughed pretending to open the door.

"Get out and push?" Arnie offered,

Jack laughed out of anger. "Sure. Which way, down?"

"Up?"

"Come on, the car would roll right over us ... You know, if a truck comes over this hill going down, maybe a little wide, we've had it." Jack looked around at the dark woods along the hillside. He chuckled. "Well, we could just park the fucking thing, in gear, and walk."

Arnie bolted upright, concerned about his car being abandoned. None of them felt like hiking in the black unknown.

"If these brakes were any good, we could try, coasting ... Are they any good?" Jack asked.

Arnie shrugged.

For the hell of it Jack tried the ignition. It worked. "Thank God!"

Using one foot for the clutch and the other for the brake and gas, in a heel and toe fashion, Jack bounced the car forward rolling Arnie into the rear window. Jack ground up the hill in first, snapped the headlights on as the car edged up to the summit. "WHOOO! " They shouted and roared down the hill still lost.

They took road after road, found a highway, stopped at a diner for a lengthy breakfast that consumed the rest of their money, and got directions for home.

Finally, a gray dawn giving warning at the horizon, their heads buzzing with an ex-boozy fatigue, they reached recognizable territory.

"All right!" Jack shouted, pounding the steering wheel with exuberance.

***

Henry's first negotiation session was ordered by one personal rule: say nothing, do nothing. It was cool, marked by overcast skies and threats of storm and night was racing in from out of the late afternoon.

The parent, affiliate union was supposed to send a negotiator to 'assist' them but the man, Elliot Kirch, was an unknown entity and not due for an appearance till the next week.

Under the glaring, yellow lights over the big conference table near the Senior Director's Office, Marc commanded the new, faltering union team. Jim had constructed their contract proposal and it was huge, fantastic and difficult to explain. And Jim was too tongue-tied to deal with it.

Brenda suspected every move that occurred to be a clever machination designed to undermine and betray them.

Henry expected exposure to a verbal Cabala of the unknown as if he would be in the chambers of mighty jurists discussing theories of contract. Instead he found it to be mostly talk, denial and debate and a few sarcastic jokes, some even funny.

Marc was boisterous and nervous. He tried to dominate the whole group on both sides of the table and did badly. Martin Kranster, captain of the other side did much better fending Marc off, cornering him only to make him more stubborn and deepen the scowls on the union's side. Everyone grew impatient with Marc and began to ignore his jokes to Kranster about management's faults.

"Now Marc, there's no need for this paranoia on the part of the employee, you know we have the best interests of everyone at heart here," Kranster said, his hands spread open from the wrists like a fish's mouth as he spoke, leaning foreword on his elbows.

"Whoa, Martin ... are you going to ... One minute, don't interrupt ... uh..." Marc was attempting.

"C'mon," Another union man, becoming bored, coaxed more to Marc then to Kranster.

Jim was busy intimidating management by ripping up pieces of paper ostensibly to pass messages on. It bothered Marc and Henry more.

"Cool it," Marc hissed at Jim. "What about Rose Sabrina... Do you deny…" Mark continued with Kranster, nervously, trying to maintain his control.

"Sabrina. Now that's a case we have acted very forthright about and..." Kranster shot back angrily.

They called a caucus and management left the room. Mark gloated to Henry, the only one listening to him. "Oh Boy, I really got Kranster about Sabrina, did you catch that one?"

Henry smiled and tried to shut out all the commotion from his fellow union people. In seconds, Kranster called Marc out of the caucus for a brief conference.

Brenda reacted immediately. "What's he doing! He can't do that! If Kranster is going to tell him something, he should tell all of us!"

"Relax. Cool it. It's no sweat. It happens all the time. They can talk out there and not commit themselves," someone said.

"I don't like it. Who's to say he won't sell us out!" Brenda protested about Marc.

God, what's going on here? Does anybody know? Does Marc? Does Jim? Brenda doesn't. Do the others? Kranster and his side must think we're all dopes... And we are.

Marc returned, feigning great merriment. He heaved with frolic to the point where he couldn't speak. "Oh they're so stupid." He laughed, waving at Kranster beyond the door.

"What happened?" Brenda demanded.

"Nothing." He plopped into his chair.

Soon, the session began again, and both sides became quiet except for their spokesman.

At last the session ended with Marc claiming great victories. Nothing had happened. The only thing agreed upon was another meeting date and that took twenty minutes and two caucuses.

Outside a drizzle was growing heavier in the night air. They meandered to their cars in the nearly empty parking lots. Foamy gray cones of light came from the street lights standing like sentries in the night.

**

Henry pretended to be occupied at his desk. He shuffled through papers putting them in separate piles and glanced through a computer print-out he intended to throw away. The office was busy, full of people anyway. Toni was behind him on the phone involved in a long dramatic conversation full of ups, downs and romantic politics to one of his boyfriends. Marshal was in the hallway talking to two middle-aged, but attractive women. He was full of smiles and warmth for them as he talked, and they showered him with adoration making him bask, beaming back to them.

Henry didn't know which to follow: Toni's soap opera, Marshal's conversation or the other activities in the office.

Marshal broke free from the conversation in the hallway by looking at his watch and telling the women he had to do something. He smiled warmly as they left and then rushed inside the office. He virtually plunged into the chair beside Henry's desk and in a scowling whisper, while leaning close to Henry said, "Those fucking bitches, what do they want?"

Henry paused and studied Marshal. "What are you talking about?"

"Women! They are so fucking …" Marshal's hands groped for adjectives or understanding. "Their intelligence is so different from men. They think so differently. My God, what do they want from me? You know what this one wants?" He asked, pointing down the hall.

"No."

"She wants me to sponsor a program she's organizing."

"On what?"

"On sex in modern society. That's all these wealthy women have to deal with is sex," Marshal said twirling his finger in the air and nodding in agreement with himself.

Henry nodded also, wondering what he was agreeing to. His conversations with Marshal were often in code. But he would be polite.

"So don't do it," Henry offered.

"Oh I want to do it, it'll be good for me," Marshal said.

"Then don't complain."

"Oh I'm not complaining, definitely not. But women are something. They are smarter than men. They know what they want and they get it. Men are still out there playing games, pretending to be hunters. Men are through; it's a woman's world."

"You're probably right in some ways, most occupations are becoming neuter..." Henry began.

"Got to go, now," and Marshal popped up from the chair to talk to somebody else.

He always does that. Talks to me in his contradictory code and when I try to be polite and comment on his conversation using whatever boring entrance lines I think up, he runs off being rude. I should ignore him. But it's hard for me to be that rude on purpose. I can do it when I wander around here thinking about something, my head up my ass ... I see through people...Maybe people see me that way...

Henry went back to pretending to be busy for several seconds. He grabbed a bunch of papers from his desk, stood up and surveyed the office briefly.

Toni was still involved with the telephone. "Now, Vernon, that was not my purpose at all. I spoke to Joel on an advisory basis. He had asked me about... No I never had any intention of ... That is simply untrue. I had indicated, that...."

Henry, unnoticed, left the office looking for something purposeful and interesting to do.

**

Henry lying still in his darkened bedroom, the outside world dead for him, his inner world growing and continuing.

**

In the short interim between the first and second negotiation sessions, many changes took place on the union team. Marc, claiming he no longer had the time for meetings removed himself from the team and appointed Jim as chairman. This new climate galvanized Brenda’s campaign against Marc as being too close to the administration. The size of the team began to dwindle as others lost interest and resigned, or made excuses as to why they couldn't attend.

In this narrow and close environment it became inevitable that Brenda and Henry should clash. And they did, beginning in a quiet strategy session in the mid-afternoon. Henry felt duty bound to defend Marc against the gossipy accusations that Brenda kept intimating about him. However, lacking all tact, he kept quiet till he couldn't bare it any longer and then shouted her down earning a sizable portion of her suspicion and enmity toward himself. Jim, throughout maintained a noncommittal neutrality. Jim felt caught in the middle and he dreaded the prospect of having to take sides.

The team, minus the local’s president, showed up in the late evening for their second meeting with the administration. Jim was their spokesman. Brenda had made him promise not to leave the room and talk to Kranster without the team.

The conference room seemed small and stuffy. The Administration had set up a pot of coffee on a small end table in the corner. They had also provided some donuts which the union ignored.

Ten minutes after the time they were supposed to begin Kranster poked his head into the room. "We'll be a bit late, have some coffee, enjoy the donuts." He said, happily and then retreated closing the door.

"Oh, the condescending attitude of that man, it infuriates me!" Brenda said flashing her eyes and swiveling her head to see if others agreed with her.

Jim and Henry began gobbling donuts and others followed; Brenda reluctantly.

Soon the session began and Kranster shifted the weight of the session over to Jim asking him to defend a particular article in the union proposal. Jim faltered. He hesitated. He spoke with uncertainty. He paused. He raised his wobbly voice and began talking in tangents about why he wrote the article.

Henry clenched his extremities not knowing whether to smirk at Jim or help. The Administration was dozing. Kranster interrupted Jim to toy humorously with one of Jim's more absurd arguments causing the management side of the table to laugh. Henry's personal rule of doing nothing was falling into jeopardy.

An angry looking man that Henry did not know entered the room. He shook hands briefly with Kranster and sat down next to Henry.

Jim paused and looked at the man, "Kirch?" His lips asked.

The man nodded and harshly motioned, "Go on."

Jim continued, haltingly, to defend his article. Kranster asked an absurd question and broke management into squalls of laughter.

Kirch interrupted bitterly, "May we a have a caucus?"

Kranster's face lost its humor, "Sure, we'll leave the room."

Kirch closed the door after Kranster's team left and sat across from the union side intending to do his own form of bargaining. "This proposal is ridiculous," Kirch said holding the document up and eyeing them coldly. His intelligence and careful demeanor made the union proposal seem like a cartoon. Which Henry had surmised it was.

"Our president likes it." Henry defended, lamely.

"Then he's ridiculous," Kirch shot back at Henry.

Let's see what I can get away with. "Maybe you're ridiculous," Henry said in a low voice, making the union team chuckle.

Kirch smiled. "Maybe... but look, don't ever meet with out me... And you have a week to jettison most of this shit." He waved the proposal in the air. "Kranster made fools out of you. Do you like that?"

"No!" Brenda said, defiantly.

"But we're not gonna throw away all of our hopes, " Henry said.

"Look, what do you want here; seven per cent? Because that’s what I see. Seven percent pay raise across the board. That’s what other staff associations have been getting," Kirch said authoritatively, making Jim wince.

"We want Binding Arbitration, ten per cent, shift differential, promotional rights, career ladder and..." Henry said as defiantly as Brenda had been, perhaps more so.

"'Hold it! You guys are dreamers. Fuckin’ dreamers. Have you got a strike here?" Kirch asked heatedly.

There was silence.

"We can do it," Brenda said.

"Look. Forget what your president wants, listen to me ... I know… Jim, I noticed you faltering there; haven't you got your strategies and arguments written down someplace?" Kirch asked.

"No." Jim smiled sheepishly.

"Christ!" Kirch banged the table.

"Look, I'm telling you, and I've been around… You’re in no shape to negotiate. A mediator or a fact-finder would die looking at this proposal... A hundred pages long. And don't tell me your president likes it. The man isn't even here. If he's not here he doesn't even count.

Henry scowled.

**

"The goddamn fuckin’ car again!" Henry railed at Ellen. "It won't start SOME of the time. Not all, just SOME. Take it to the service station they charge me for shit it doesn’t need; new battery, new ignition wires. New ignition wires twice in TWO FUCKIN’ months! If wires had to be replaced that often you'd have to rewire your house six times a year! And it still won't work. Nothing works! You're always going back to the store to return something you bought brand new that don't fuckin’ work. And everything's so small. The TV’s small, the car's small, this place is small...getting smaller ... You turn around, you knock something over. Between the thieves, crooks, shit-heads this society is doomed!"

"So what do you want me TO DO ABOUT IT?" Ellen screamed back at Henry.

"Well I want mine!" Henry demanded.

"You're what?"

"Mine!"

"You got yours. What do you accomplish for your money?" Ellen asked

Henry beamed. "Shit." But added, "There are people there that accomplish less and get paid THREE TIMES more than me. I want that. We practically live at the poverty level."

"Bullshit."

"We will when we try it on my a salary alone. After we have a kid."

"So I'll go right back to work," she said.

"Who’ll take care of the kid?"

"I don't know."

"Besides, you don't want to work there anymore."

"I know ... I know. What do you want from me?"

"Nothing. I'm just bitching, that's all. 'Cause the car won't start. Tomorrow it'll start," Henry smiled.

"Take my car."

"Sometimes your car stalls out and THEN won't start."

"Then don't go out. Where were you going?" Ellen asked.

"To got milk. I won't go; we’ll make up some instant."

"All right. --I hate instant milk," Ellen said.

**

Marc, smiling securely, showed up at Henry's work area and slid into the chair next to Henry's desk, "How’s it going, President?" Marc kidded.

"Vice President... Jim wants to be President. I might not make it," Henry said.

"Jim? I don't know. I used to think he was sharp; but I don't know now. It's that fuck Elliot Kirch. I hate his guts. He's got Brenda and Jim all worked up about me 'cause I won't back down from him," Marc said.

"Well, Jim wants to be President. I'll handle negotiations though, Jim doesn't like that stuff. He stumbles for words at the table. We talked it over, already." Henry said.

"Well you'd better get started soon," Marc counseled.

"I know. Look at this shit." He handled Marc some campaign literature from Brenda's party. "She's the first one to run on a ticket." Henry said.

"That doesn't mean anything. People will only vote for the ones they know." Marc, the experienced politician said.

Henry shrugged. "Read that shit. It's all aimed against you and me. We’re a 'Secretive click.' Nobody's more secretive then her and her bunch. Who's this fuck George Lyndon? Never heard from him before; he's on the ticket 'To reorganize the communication structure till it communicates.' He says 'There has never been a communication network here and that's CRIMINAL, designed to aid the secretive click in charge.’ How the fuck would he know, he just got here three months ago?"

"Getting involved, aye?" Marc chuckled. "They're a bunch of lying bastards. The best rep structure existed during the last negotiations. It always breaks up from lack of interest when the crises is over. Always," Marc added.

"And another thing," Henry grew madder. "Those shits accuse us of being undemocratic. Yet, they used their new reps to organize the election committee and the election committee is all running for office on Brenda's ticket, using their own rules. How democratic is that? And some of their new election procedures are in direct violation of our constitution: No nomination meeting. No central balloting spot… They want their new rep organization to conduct balloting. How can they? They're all running for office?"

"Christ! Marc’s eyes rolled up and he slid down into his chair. "Lots of luck kid ... Vice President or Office steward?" Marc laughed.

"Don't laugh. I got on this shit list by sticking up for you." Henry wagged a finger at Marc.

"Me?" Marc feigned surprise.

"So what do we do ... lose the union to radical incompetents?" Henry asked rhetorically.

"Not we --You. I'm gone."

"But you'll still be on the Executive Board as past-president." Henry said.

"Nope."

"Why?"

"I'm gone." Marc smiled securely, again.

"Huh?"

Marc extended his hand for a shake. "Congratulate a new, young executive."

You're kidding me." Henry smiled, surprised, and shook his hand. "You're going to miss all this."

"Nope. Not at all. I love it. No more union. No more of this Institution. I'll be making some MONEY."

"Yeah?" Henry asked, interested.

Marc leaned closer to Henry, his face almost serious and said in a low voice. "I won't miss it at all. I'll tell you something, People are never satisfied. Give them a fifteen per cent settlement and two months later it's 'what has the union done for me?"' Marc mimicked in a complainer’s whiny tone.

"Fools? --Well ... to be struggling for this illusory power over fools must make us the biggest fools of all," Henry admitted.

Marc nodded.

**

Henry, before sleeping and waiting for dreams, let himself flow through fantasy thoughts. At first he was in control and traveled through bright, sunny visions of the West Coast. Then he lost concentration and the bright sunshine darkened into night and became crowded with small, cluttered streets, bungalows and people. Unfriendly people, unknown people. Prostitutes of indiscriminate age, not young, not old, though plump, stood waiting. They were not pretty, not ugly and they stood waiting for cars to stop.

He thought back to the city of his early youth with aging wooden houses and dirtying, brick apartment buildings. It was a Halloween evening and children were thronging in the streets. Henry, small and with less world experience, went into a bar with some other children. The bar was several steps off street level; and it was smoky and warm inside. The costume mask was annoying, saturated with moisture above his mouth it was beginning to shred. The men turned from the long crowded bar to look; they were not men like his father. It was noisy. There were several women in the bar, not many though, and they were very unlike his mother. Henry accepted some pennies from the cashier after forcing a meaningless, passive, "Tricker-treat," He felt guilty taking the money from the strange man.

Outside a crowd of youngsters surrounded by their mothers stood waiting and looking skyward. Upstairs, above the bar two woman, broad, red-haired women, were teasing the children. The women seemed odd, uninhibited. As the children’s calls rose into a demanding, grasping crescendo the women tossed out many lollipops that fell to the ground to be scooped up by eager youngsters. Henry watched. To him the children were groveling greedily for unnecessary junk. At any rate he couldn't summon the initiative to join the fracas. Then the women threw kisses and left the windows billowing with sailing curtains in the cool fall air. But the chanting of the children as if expected and desired coaxed them back to the window again to tease. Something about the woman seemed very untypical to Henry. He felt adverse to taking their cheap lollipops.

A nervous, haunting nostalgia of long ago nights and unanswered mysteries from the hallways of old apartment houses with marked-up doors and garish, yellow lights seized Henry and fought off sleep.

Other childhood memories invited themselves into his head. Joining a "club" in the city, in a vacant lot in front of some cheap, multiple housing left over from the war. A lot filled with old junk and blowing, wallowing paper trash trapped in its endless flight to oblivion by the remains of an aged fence. Henry was six years old.

He remembered the first club house, a small hut made of loose boards and destroyed sections of abandoned wall, an old piece of carpet over the ground. It was small and dark inside, lit by a candle. Four boys were in this womb talking about their rules and customs. Henry was agreeing, feeling dubious and deceptive. He pretended to ask silly questions which they regarded seriously.

He left that club to join another one. A large door leaning against the wall of a building. It was very dark inside. There was only one other boy in this new club, a lonely boy. They seemed to hide inside avoiding the imagined smell of a dead rat that might have, or might not have been, at the other end of the door. What was the purpose of this hiding? Hiding from what?

What was the connection between him then and now? He once worked with creative energy using batteries, wires, diodes and other paraphernalia trying to reinvent what seemed like mysteries. What was the result of all his creative-destructive energies applied for hours to such tasks of lone tinkering?

He had shared the socialization process with a few close friends enjoying the ecstasy of nervous, intoxicated laughter and the making funny faces at other people in the streets. The residue remained in the occasional goofy face made, privately in defense against an embarrassing event, usually in the mirror.

His recollections began to decompose into false caricatures of himself that slipped into unconscious scenarios. He changed his memories by years and returned to the bright, hot afternoons south of the border. Prostitutes with their dresses off, wearing wide, flimsy panties; pendulous breasts pointing everywhere. Hot sweaty sexual union, the mingling of fluids and then dressing. A parting slap on the rump and some accented words of goodbye. Then meeting friends long gone ... Aching loneliness and then sleep .... Dreams of abandonment in forgotten Vietnam.

**

In a deserted stairwell, leading to the basement passageways, Jim and Henry had a quick, questioning conversation.

"Why do you think Kirch keeps telling us not to be so sure about getting Binding Arbitration?" Jim asked.

"He wants to settle quickly the way his other staff associations have, throw us a little money and move on," Henry replied.

"Yeah, but is that all?"

"What do you mean? " Henry asked, eager to plunge into a plot.

"I mean he's representing other bargaining units here also ... and we can't get something they don't get," Jim said.

"True ... but aren't they going for binding too." Henry said, a nervous tremor in his brain wondering what he was talking about.

They continued talking, matching clues about Kirch's behavior, arriving at near frightening conclusions only to remember other contradictory information that deflated all their extraordinary hypotheses and left them wondering about things they were unsuccessful in understanding. Soon Jim's confusion reached a limit and he excused himself and scampered off to another commitment.

*

As the sessions mounted in both their number and futility Henry took a greater and greater lead in negotiating. At first his influence was apparent only in caucus sessions where he continued to stand up to Kirch and debate the negotiating strategy Kirch called for. Slowly and in very occasional occurrences Henry began to speak at the table filling in dead air time or bailing Kirch out of a ploy Kranster threw at him.

It was during mediation that Henry finally emerged as a force at the table and with the reputation of a tough guy. The Administration and Mediator were waltzing verbally through the union proposal making broad fun of it as Kirch gesturing sympathetically allowed them license to continue. With a shrug the big-union professional demonstrated to the management side and supposedly neutral mediator that he thought much of the local's proposal was bullshit, but he, as forced by ethics, couldn't say so.

Jim, suffering under the conflicting pressures of pride of authorship and an inability to speak quickly and effectively in an atmosphere flowing rapidly under the steam of glibber tongues, suffered in silence. Henry had adopted a semi-bemused look himself until...

"And I see that you want Binding Arbitration here too." The mediator mentioned, smiling while he rubbed at his stomach ulcer.

"Along with the moon and the sun and everything else," Kranster said provoking laughter from the Administration side.

Kirch smiled.

"Do you have a NEED for such a thing?" The mediator asked becoming a stern yet understanding old teacher berating his anxious pupils. The union team was silent and lost for words. Brenda in her fury looked to Kirch for an answer as did Henry and Jim. Kirch stood up and strolled over to the coffee pot, an 'I told you so' look on his face. The Administration side began to joke exuberantly with each other in victory.

"It's very important here. In the past there was a time…" Henry began but his words, quiet and carefully formed were cracked like china that the mediator brushed aside as he again berated the inexperienced and vulnerable union team. Henry paused, alone. His words had disappeared. The mediator continued along, sweeping the union's proposal under the table. They were all moving along. The Administration was flipping pages in the union document quickly passing over the meat of it.

"Keep what you already have..." The mediator was counseling losing the battle for them.

"Can we mark it off?" Kranster asked eagerly excited by the positive shake in the Mediator's head.

Henry slammed the table with his hand. "NO GODDAMN IT!!! THERE WILL BE NO SETTLEMENT HERE WITHOUT BINDING!!! NONE!!!" Henry screamed at them stopping motion into a freeze as they listened to his formidable words.

There was a moment of surprised silence as the Mediator changed his role and became neutral once again.

"There's no need for binding arbitration here." Kranster chided.

"No? What about the three percent increment we were supposed to get last year..." Henry began.

"Well now, that's simply a case of ..." Kranster started to recount forcefully.

"WE ONLY GOT TWO PERCENT. AND WE GRIEVED AND WON, BUT THE ARBITRATION WAS ADVISORY AND YOU IGNORED IT!" Henry shouted thickly, his face turning red and his hands trembling with anger.

Kranster pulled his chin in and puffed his cheeks out avoiding Henry's eyes behind the protection of his own, thick glasses. He said nothing.

"You've demonstrated that you can't be trusted." Henry continued.

Kranster cringed, then slid easily back into his role as spokesman for someone else who couldn't be trusted. "Well you have your feelings on the matter," Kranster said lightly, allowing someone else to crack a joke at the table that relieved the tension and isolated Henry's fury.

Afterwards, in a union caucus, Kirch feeling the uneasiness between himself and Henry, moving against him, tried to make the most of the situation. "See, you can speak for yourselves. That's important. No body else can say it for you."

Henry tried not to sneer.

***

"So where do you think you're headed?" Henry asked Michael, both tucked away in the near-dark living room as they nursed their beer.

"You mean my future?"

"I guess. Where do you see yourself in five years? Shit, I feel like a job interviewer asking that question."

Michael laughed." Oh ... I don't know ... like you, maybe, married and all that shit. But I don't know .... All that responsibility...The same thing every day, it scares me."

"Me too. The responsibility anyway," Henry admitted.

"You've got a good deal here, Henry, Really."

"I guess...Though I could hunger again ... secretly that is, for where you are. Single, uncomplicated. Getting drunk, going to parties, panting after girls. I did that."

"It's nothing, I'm alone most of the time," Michael admitted.

"You don't have women coming out of your ears?"

"No ... Did you, when you were single?"

"Hell no." Henry answered.

They both laughed. Michael confessed, "The ones I want don't want me, and the ones who'll have me scare me off."

Henry hunched closer as if Ellen sleeping in the bedroom could overhear. "I went with this one girl. It seemed like I went with her for awhile. Actually it couldn't have been longer then, oh, a few weeks say. But, you know the intensity seemed to be there, for me anyway. She was not really a knock out or anything. Big tits, though at the time anything would do. She had dark hair and well I guess she was cute ... after you knew her a little while. But I could never understand the game she was playing with me, Y'know?"

"Like what?" Michael asked, interested, stories of his own forming behind his excitement.

"Like..--She seemed to feel real passion when we necked. She wasn't a virgin. She had been engaged. She acted like she liked me, but she kept holding me off. No sex. Sometimes she would turn cold and balky in the middle of the evening for no apparent reason. She had me on a string..." Henry jerked an imaginary yo-yo. "...I finally told her off ... She got mad and would have nothing to do with me. I tried to wheedle back into her good graces. Sort of negotiate a settlement. But no deal. I'd get half way there, tell her a joke, make her smile and she would turn cold all of a sudden. I don't know if telling her off was the right thing to do or… I couldn't stand the routine; hot and frosty, so it was just as well, I hate that y'know. Anyway are women still that way?"

"Hot and cold? Sure." Michael said.

"No…uh, afraid of intimacy. Unwilling to screw on the fifth date, even it if they like you. Did the changing sexual codes knock that out?" Henry asked feeling far older than his quarter of a century.

Michael's voice rose in hesitation as he stretched his neck and scratched, stalling for time. "I could give you two answers. --Yeah things are different. But that's largely bullshit. Or, ah, at least hearsay. Y'know magazines, talk, gossip. As far as I'm concerned it depends on the person. Listening to some guys talk, they sleep with every girl they meet or better."

"Like Rammer?" Henry joked.

"No, younger, better looking guys, who get these attractive, sexy women. They probably do. Or maybe half of it is bullshit. I don't know. You have to be dripping and exuding with self confidence to pile up those kind of statistics. I'm not that self-assured, or lucky either." Michael shook his head trying to find the flaw in his internal debate. "But like I said, I don't want the women I could get, or think I could get. I'm usually a sucker for something else that is…" He paused losing or throwing away his train of thought, "Actually my big problem is inventing interesting conversation…."

They both laughed again. "Me too, me too," Henry chortled. "I couldn't find anything to talk about to the dumb ones who just wanted to get laid so I tried everything and crossed their eyes with bewilderment. The smart ones saw through me and wouldn't have anything to do with a nut like me. "

Michael giggled with glee, and Henry continued, "It was always said that the best way to relate to people, especially women you don't know, was to 'act naturally', be yourself. I never knew who the fuck I was, so I wasted an extraordinary amount of time inventing myself as I went along. I usually tried to be 'different' and ended up coming across very weird."

"I know. I know that feeling ... Then you're stuck with your own creation," Michael said.

They shook their heads in mock sadness and chuckled softly over a problem that could only be judged safely from a distance.

***

Taking over as chief spokesman from Kirch, Henry opened the next negotiating session and handled himself without being lost for words or exploding into fury. Kranster had the obligation of explaining parts of his proposal for the third time. Coming to some language concerning return from layoff Kranster had harped strongly over a particular phrase in his article. 'Employees must be fully able to return to their duties.'

Kranster seemed less than his jovial self. His fingers touched his bald dome as he hunched over the paperwork before him. Possibly he had graver matters on his mind. Or perhaps the appearance of the Administration's Executive Board Attorney made him less affable. The lawyer, wearing a fine suite of blue pinstripes on his ample frame, seemed to look off into the distance, not seeing very much. He missed little of the dialogue and would occasionally pipe in with some erudite commentary as dressy as his cufflinks. The man had a reputation as a heavy drinker perhaps even a drunk, though this seemed well blended to his slightly eccentric, mildly arrogant demeanor. Henry wore a sweater vest of man-made fibers that had come free with his discount store shirt. Kirch was keeping fairly quiet at his end of the table though some non-union fraternization was  taking place with Brenda.

'"What does that mean? FULLY ABLE." Henry asked and bent an ear to listen to Jim's interpretation of the article and its solution.

"....Take FULLY out and the article is okay," Jim whispered.

Without breaking facial expression or concentration Henry nodded to Jim and continued talking to Kranster's side. "After all Martin this language could set a bad precedent for management ... Fully able..."

"How's that... " Kranster intoned quizzically scratching his head.

"Fully able... Most of your people are practically senile basket cases ... yet we're not asking for their dismissal ... We understand..."

Kranster blushed and Kirch eager to return from the sidelines joined with a vulgar remark that broke up the session with squeals of laughter.

They changed the wording to read 'ABLE to work' allowing it to remain cloudy and diluted. A point to the union side and a compromise.

**

Success at the negotiating table only increased Henry's panic over the upcoming elections. The better a Negotiator he was the more he wanted to be elected First Vice President and the more he fretted over his opponent's campaign. Brenda herself was not running directly against Henry but along with George Lyndon was directing and managing the campaign against him, running a long time Institution employee who glowered when ever crossing Henry's path. My God what the hell is she telling everybody that they should hate me so much? Am I that much of an asshole?

Thinking about it helped to erect a sizable ache between his brain and scalp.

She is so foolish, petty and DETERMINED! And she's making me stupid, petty and determined. What will be the political consequences of all the machinations in progress?

He became propelled at sonic speeds throughout the Institution, moving about with an anxious buzz and urge to jump his enemies and kick them senseless while screaming, shouting and crying obscenities at them as he hammered raw justice for himself like a judge of ancient Israel.

He campaigned for himself, with tremendous energy, as if his survival were contingent upon his success.

He went to all the ends of the Institution. In the power plant he didn't see Rammer and was forced to politic among brawny armed strangers. He spoke to them as he thought a union leader on the waterfront or loading dock would talk making his tongue heavy and brutal against the edges of his words tossing them out harshly like they were dirty fists. He spoke about the need for shift differential and uniform supply. They nodded when he finished and he cracked a joke about his opposition making them smile ... He was the lesser of the evils.

In the art department he delivered his spiel in a moody, contemplative style with a little bit of teasing. This time his tongue tickled a greater variety of refined, abstract words from his mouth, while speaking in an educated, urbane manner.

Then he stopped by the garage on the lower floor near Receiving and returned to his waterfront style, even flipping out a hearty 'you'se guys.' Soon he was coated with a film of perspiration and a pounding headache of excitement as he strode briskly through all the buildings, departments and worlds of the Institution. But like the hunter who has seen the blood trail of his wounded game Henry had the smell of victory steaming through his nostrils into his swollen chest.

**

Henry really wanted it to be over, simply, easily, quickly and with no additional involvement from him. They had been through the proposal too many times. They had argued and feinted and demurred over the Administration's desired salary schedule too often. The issues were overworked and satiated. They were repeating the same arguments too many times. Henry's weary mind allowed Elliot Kirch a free reign at the table allowing the man simple, sometimes errant arguments. Henry didn't care if Brenda and Jim ran negotiations at that moment. He had been away from the table long enough through the apprehensive period of their second impasse, thinking and worrying about the prospect of a strike to dicker once again over the same ground.

But the Fact Finder gestured a little to richly, his glimmering cuff links showing under the sleeves of his dark, expensive suit. His tone was too senatorial, his tongue too glib and self assured over a well-oiled, highly structured vocabulary. His range of focus too unsympathetic. Henry became annoyed.

The Administration's labor attorney was also present and seated next to Martin Kranster. The attorney smiled slyly at the corners of his pocked face. The attorney and fact finder seemed to share tailors.

Henry had enough. He broke into the wash of words stubbornly and like a lost animal trotted doggedly against the current. He banged the table and unaided by a thick tongue put a rough, forceful lid on everyone's argument and then looking around innocently asked for a caucus. Kirch seemed bewildered, but was afraid to resist and be defeated so he reluctantly backed Henry's demand as if it had been his decision originally.

The Fact Finder, cut off mid-eloquence was perturbed and shifted arrogantly down to his short, faster words with no gestures and sullenly consented. The Fact Finder and the Administration sauntered out clutching their briefs and bundles.

"What's up?" Kirch asked, struggling for control.

"The deal is wrong. He's pressing for the salary schedule and we need some things first," Henry answered.

"Well tell the man," Kirch replied.

"I did, but he doesn't listen."

Kirch shrugged.

He doesn't listen because you go behind the scenes and soft sell what we want, damn it. You're too much a 'middle man' to be useful here. Henry edited his thoughts and re-arranged them diplomatically for release. "Look, Elliot ... If I or the team wants binding arbitration, but you stay silent YOU'RE telling them that you don't support US..."

"No ... I support you ... Don't got me wrong. Binding's great, every contract should have it, but I just don't see it here. I mean, look at it this way ... Why the fuck should they give it to you?" Kirch asked.

Henry shut his eyes for a second to slow his rising impatience. "Because they want something from us..."

"What?"

"The salary schedule." Jim piped in, giving some aid to Henry.

"And besides, Kranster wants binding so he might try and sell it to their side?" Henry volunteered.

"What? Did HE tell you that?" Kirch asked, mirthfully.

"FUCK NO ... Look he's a middle man here. He gets the shit ... Somebody gets fired some place and he had to defend the supervisor for the Institution, with nothing to say about it .... With Binding Arbitration he gets a little power. He gets the rationale to centralize the personnel function here… See?" Henry said.

Jim saw and shook his head thoroughly signaling agreement. Brenda was puzzled.

Kirch shrugged again, though a slight, odd smile crossed his face as if something now had occurred to him. "All right man," he said to Henry.

Jim, appearing interested in the proceedings for the first time that evening, signaled with his hand that he wanted to say something. He opened his mouth and slowly let the right words shift into place.

"We've got to get a commitment for Binding Arbitration BEFORE we take any big stuff like the salary schedule. I mean we shouldn't even talk about the fucking thing first," Jim said.

"O.K. but I still think you'll have to give away the store for binding," Kirch commented.

Henry forced a smile. He opened his mouth to give away a secret. Perhaps a secret hope that he had previously only shared with Jim. "Hasn't it occurred to you that the Administration might break precedent and settle with OUR bargaining unit first? Look how far ahead we are of the other bargaining units here…"

Kirch tried to be poker faced. He was privy to some of the other bargaining unit's strategies. Perhaps his personal interest would be best satisfied with a weaker settlement for Henry's unit. Henry recalled his treatment at a meeting with the Professional's Association Bargaining Unit: He and Jim had sat on uncomfortable hassocks as the PA unit's leadership sported a non-committal lack of candor. Henry and Jim were treated with deficient credibility. No strategy was shared, no door left truly open. The Professionals, considered themselves (perhaps rightly) to be the preeminent group at the Institution and believed (with historical relevance) that the Administration would always settle with them first, leaving the crumbs for the other bargaining units, like the Staff (Henry & Jim) or Security Police. Only the Security Police was unaffiliated with their parent union and out of Kirch's reach.

"Settling with us first, pressures the other units to settle," Jim piped in, telling Kirch the obvious.

Kirch shrugged, "Good point." His poker face was cracking with a slight smile.

Henry couldn't suppress an enormous grin as if the cat had leapt from the bag. Brenda seemed angry or perhaps bewildered. She had made a personal ally of Kirch possibly because he could be had so easily. That was a male-female thing. And possibly because she didn't trust Henry. Maybe she had put her faith into the wrong partner.

"We'll get it," Henry said as if the prophet Issiah had spoken to him.

The session soon continued with both parties being cajoled, pushed and threatened by the Fact Finder to meet half-way as he attempted to mediate the dispute as much as possible (if not entirely) before actually fact finding. He pushed till one side snapped back and then angrily left to go to the other group in a separate caucus room where he pushed and prodded till they wouldn't budge. He bullied where he could and finally bullied Henry into a yelling match and left smiling.

Little by little, articles of the joint proposals were modified, eliminated or agreed to. The articles piled up like a clutter of mismatched rocks that would unbelievably be expected to solidify into a hill whose peak could not yet be envisioned.

Like unrelated incidents from several lives, the separate and varying provisions of the growing agreement took a connected form and shape of its own; too big to comprehend in its entirety yet with its own coherent, though unrevealed purpose. It was emerging from the stubborn self concerns of both parties, reflecting many meandering, contradictory interests, into a real element with a strange wholeness of its own.

As the session ended because of the Fact Finder's extended commitments over thousands of square miles and his intentions for a vacation, their next session would be a long wait. Reluctantly the team parted from the aching, slow excitement and left in their own directions.

Outside the night was so black and foreboding it seemed that beyond the darkness hung a misty brown stain. There was a humid smell of anxiety present as if everything and nothing could happen.

**

Once again Henry's tranquility was disturbed when he read the latest campaign propaganda put out by the opposition side. He spent the day strutting about the office and entire floor walking with foot-crashing determination and solemn-faced purpose. He walked fast wherever he went and he usually traveled for no real purpose. His chest was swollen, his muscles half flexed and hands cupped GI marching style. Between his brain and throat were streams of curse words ready to be muttered. His mood was one of cold rage and in a delicious, near trembling fantasy, he viciously defeated evil foes smashing them numb in front of awed audiences while wrecking his moral vengeance upon them.

He would soften and say "hello" to people he passed and then resume his hidden fury, feeling like a neurotic Gary Cooper waiting for noon.

OK campaign as 'Henry the monster', 'a really tough negotiator' that'll diffuse your unpopularity. Don't bother campaigning against them ... it'll only give them more credence....act as if they don't exist. If someone asks, ‘who’s this George Lyndon?' Roll your eyes and smirk, say something like...'you really want to know?' Keep calm .... Go out and make the rounds, campaigning again ... Do it at least once a week till the election week then go out every day ... twice on election day to get out the vote ... lunch time especially. It's just amazing how seriously I am pursuing social recognition This is the first. I'm amazed.

Temporarily relaxed, Henry sat down at his desk still maintaining a vigil, however, for the movement of his opponents who generally had to cross his path to attend Brenda's strategy sessions two offices down.

***

In a book store Henry came across a book containing photographs, supposedly in historical perspective, of erotic art. Actually the book depicted a man and woman or women and men copulating, manipulating or orally stimulating one another. Page after page contained different hued and proportioned women either coyly posing with one another or legs a sprawl, mouth open, forming a receptacle for the male interest.

The pictures were thirty-to-eighty years old, representing different nations. Henry noticed the women's faces. He remembered them from somewhere. By and large, they seemed to be prostitutes, many now dead. The rest aged.

He could see both a stupidity and a cunning-ness in those less than beautiful features --camera aware. He could almost hear their voices and their businesslike negotiations usually over the price of a 'fuck' or lesser matters which all of them didn't perform all of the time. Where were they now? Did any marry and change their lifestyles, or did they go to their deaths content, or unconcerned, of the fact that imprisoned on paper was their total and time continuing repetition of life's creation - the physical sensitization and release?

Henry felt slightly stimulated. No, guilty! He released the book and casually sauntered from the book rack searching out of his side vision for any disapproval of his voyeurism from other customers, perhaps not so bold.

**

The people on the floor above him were familiar by face and name and Henry had transacted business with most of them. However, either they regarded Henry as aloof or Henry believed they did for when he floated by he did so silently, his eyes watching for any sign of recognition. At the slightest sign of recognition he would have smiled, nodded, or waved, but they only eyed him mid-sentence in their conversations and looked away.

He drifted by, his mouth buttoned and his eyes searching. He was sure they saw him as a cold son-of-a-bitch and treated him accordingly. He must have impressed them with the aloof image when he started working at the Institution, and now, striving for consistency couldn't change the image.

Exiting the floor, his business in one office completed, he felt a wave of anxious embarrassment. Was he really aloof and cold? Perhaps, however, they saw him as a quiet, tough guy. The thought pleased him slightly and Henry returned his own floor acting as a quiet, tough guy. Ironically it never occurred to him that the people upstairs might be shy and waiting for him to speak first.

A tall, skinny, slightly hunched-over woman sauntered determinedly toward Henry's desk. Henry looking up from papers scattered in front of him, squinted and recognized her. Though he disliked her, he forced a warm smile and flashed a short wave, "Hello."

She approached closer, without changing her expression. Finally she reached him, wearily sat down in the chair next to his desk and leaned forward. Her breath, influenced by a bitter, thick coat of cigarette smoke caught Henry sharply.

He leaned back to avoid contamination.

"Listen..." She began, "You sent this ridiculous form letter to everyone in my office. I wouldn't vote for you if no one else was running ... You have your NERVE sending this garbage to MY OFFICE." She scolded, coldly brandishing a crumbled 'VOTE FOR HENRY’ paper that Ellen had helped to prepare.

Henry, momentarily flushed and leaned back in his chair, absorbing the punishment. His mind formulated a defense. He felt guilty. A rush of unformed indignation began to sweep over him, however. Without pausing to form words he leaned forward in his chair and grasped the innocent campaign literature from her hand. They struggled and the paper was torn in half. Henry held his name and stand on positions; the outline of his record on negotiations remaining in hers. She drew back, startled, and crumpled his record on negotiations into a tight ball which she dropped indifferently by his desk.

"I see you can't discuss anything in a mature, adult fashion." She said to him, her eyelids lowered.

"Fuck you," Henry hissed angrily.

She sashayed away leaving him in an unfulfilled rage. Henry wondered about possible repercussions, contemplated certain attack strategies to offset possible consequences. He tried to reassess the incident. He felt guilty for campaigning, especially for sending dittos after deciding that they weren’t effective, felt bad that his negotiating record was treated like garbage, and general fury over the incident. He knew he had to apprise Jim of the occurrence. That’s why Jim was going to be President, he knew how to be liked.

Two days later Henry got two anonymous letters through inter-office mail. One was written in red ink by someone’s right hand, the other was scrawled in black by someone's left hand. Both messages were similar, referring to the resemblance between his face and common excrement. At least this was handled in an adult fashion.

*

Michael was at his desk, bleary-eyed from the night before. His elbows were on his knees, his head held low and barely visible. Henry poked his head in and then almost left, he stopped short and then entered. "Hello, Mike."

Michael grunted.

"Late night?" Henry asked, wishing he didn't have to ask, wondering about the best way to proceed onto business.

Michael grunted again and ran his hands through his hair. Henry paused.

"Well, maybe I'll come back later..."

"No, no...have a seat ... talk at me. I'll wag my head yes or no," Michael said.

Henry, uncomfortable, sat down by Michael’s desk..

"Mike ... How'd you like to become more active in the union?"

"That bunch of shits. Christ, you said yourself that they are worthless, crazy radicals .... Marxists?"

"I'm not...Jim's all right. Marc was O.K. And if some decent people don't become active, then the union will belong to oddballs. Besides it can be fun... Administrators won't fuck with you..."

"They don't fuck with me now, I ignore them."

"Well think it over…"

"What would I do?"

"Communication rep ... Office Steward, grievance committee, maybe the negotiating team."

"Heavy duty! What do I have to do on those committees?"

Henry shrugged then laughed. "Help me out."

Michael looked perplexed.

Henry sought to convince. "I've told you that Brenda and George Lyndon are trying to take over; to turn this into a class struggle kind of thing. They don't understand our situation here or what collective bargaining is about. They've got the Office Stewards and communication organization and the union paper all locked up with their own people

"... Funny thing they can't reach the membership. They have no idea what the 'people' want, which is more money and to be left alone... If their slate gets elected and it should, ---there is no organized group running against it, then they will control the executive board of our local... so they'll have the union and won’t know what to do with it. Jim asked me to handle some grievances but Brenda's been interfering from the sidelines, trying to make me look bad…"

"Brenda..." Michael smiled "...she needs to be fucked. Fuck her silly, Henry and she'll come around."

Henry stopped mid-motion and relaxed In his chair. He was mad at Michael.

"... So it was a good time ... We ought to go drinking together sometime," Michael said.

"Yeah…sure.. Well, I've got to get back ..." Henry rose.

"Henry, just fuck her and your problems will be over," Michael advised, grinning.

"Yeah sure. Use my fist, ram it in." Henry said, taking his anger of Michael out on Brenda's verbal mention.

"All right!" Michael declared.

Henry waved and left, quickly. Do I sound crazy when I talk politics? Maybe I'm too impulsive, to much escapes from me like a rush of air from a punctured tire. I've got to learn control, and tact. Brenda has tact. Charm people not beat them over the head with the terrible TRUTH ---my version of it. Use tact and charm ... take it easy ... I've got more power than her anyway ... right now at least. Michael may be right, maybe she needs to be laid. Not by me though, I don't even like her.

*

It was late but not late enough to leave, so Henry was forced to loiter in his work area. Toni had not been on the phone late that afternoon. Earlier, Toni had either worked at his desk or was in quiet conferences with Mrs. Grey or other higher-ups.

Henry was frigidity. He fumbled through papers on his desk and feigned extreme disinterest in Toni's movements behind him, hoping the man would be going home or somewhere else, soon!

"You know it's funny..." Toni began, presuming that Henry was his audience, cueing onto his every word. "...How thing happen in this Institution."

Henry slowly swirled around in his chair. "Huh?" with surprised look, an ‘are you talking to me' expression on his face.

"The way things happen around here." Toni had a sly, self confident smile on his face reminiscent of an earlier self confident smile. Which had also occurred in the late afternoon when only Henry and he were in the entire area.

"What are you talking about?" Henry asked roughly, afraid that he might already know.

"How things change," Toni said.

"Like how?"

"Politically."

"What do you mean?"

"People come and go ... I'm still here," Toni beamed.

"So am I," Henry said, defiantly.

"Mrs. Grey might be leaving soon," Toni offered.

Henry's heart leapt ... for joy? "Yeah, I heard something about that..."

"Do you know who might replace her?" Toni smiled. "Someone in your place would no doubt be concerned with that I'm sure."

"Why my place?"

"Vulnerability…Your position here is vulnerable. I'm sure you're aware of that."

"Who might take over?"

"I've been mentioned as a candidate."

Henry smiled triumphantly. "You?"

Toni was offended. He became defensive. "Why not me?" He demanded with a sharp edge to his voice.

Henry shrugged.

"No one else wants it," Toni said, simply.

Henry frowned.

"In the upper ranges where I and most others of my equal rank are, our salaries are as high or higher then Grey’s. It's only a title and additional administrative responsibilities. I'm not sure, of course, If I want it. It means evaluating people's performances..."

Maybe I should tell the Director? No, It'll seem like I'm the crazy one spinning tales about Super Toni ... I don't count for much around here. God; ...and I'm stuck. I feel such an overpowering frustration ... An inability to fight back directly. It makes me mad…

"I don't think they'll choose you," Henry said confidently, trying to maintain his anger.

"Why not?" Toni demanded.

"Well ... I hear people talking..." Henry began feigning an ‘in the know’ confidentiality.

"What do they say?"

"Your life style is too incongruous to…" Henry said. That’s what they should be saying if they are saying anything…

"Oh? Why?" Toni asked nervously.

"Well ... I'm just repeating what I've heard..." Henry said adopting a tone similar to Toni’s.

Toni’s eyes darkened as if the wheels of paranoia were at work. Yes, he’d been found out! He would have to begin questioning a few choice individuals about how they -and others- currently perceived him.

Henry felt a small sense of accomplishment having wound Toni up as a self-destructive time bomb. The man deserved worse.

***

Kenny, one of the lower level supervisors, slid into Henry's work area. Henry gave Kenny a short wave and when ignored turned his attention to something else. Kenny, instead of scooting by Henry's desk, sat down in the chair next to it.

"Hello," Henry said.

Kenny, looking elsewhere, said nothing, so Henry shrugged and returned to the paperwork he was fiddling with.

"Want to talk to you," Kenny said at last from the corner of his mouth, still looking straight ahead, away from Henry.

Henry, fixing his gaze downward into his work said in a pre-occupied fashion, "Yeah? 'Bout what?"

"About this shit downstairs with my boss," Kenny said.

"What?"

"This new deal the union pulled ... I'm all for it don't get me wrong. Hell I told Dan to file the damn grievance; you can ask him."

Henry, ready to become angry, pressed, "So, what's your problem?"

"Well, now my boss is on my ass to do the part of Dan's job he don't have to do anymore and it ain't gonna get done. I don't have to. Kranster agrees with me that I don' have to do it and it's the employees' job."

Henry got mad and slammed his hand down on his desk. "Damn it Kenny. You told me and Dan to pursue that grievance and get the duty changed from DAN IN YOUR DEPARTMENT to ANOTHER DEPARTMENT."

"I know, I know, I agree, I agree. But it's our job and I ain't gonna do it. I'm the supervisor and I don't have to so Dan will have to do it anyway. Filing the damn grievance was stupid, just makes more trouble."

"Damn it Kenny. You wanted to file this grievance," Henry said.

"I did not. I’m not in your union, I'm a supervisor," Kenny stated.

"BULLSHIT!" Henry sputtered furiously. "You brought Dan up here and told me that duty should not have been assigned to an employee in your department and you would SUPPORT a grievance..."

"I do, I support the grievance. But you see, it's a lost cause..." Kenny said.

"WE WON IT. Dan doesn't have to do it." Henry re-explained.

"But he does..."

"I got the fucking disposition here…." Henry pulled a typed carbon form from under the pile of papers he had been playing with and shoved it over to Kenny.

"This doesn't mean a thing. He still has to do it," Kenny said smiling.

"Bullshit. He doesn't and that says so, damn it."

"He do if I say so, I'm the supervisor and I could legally fire his ass if I want. I know, I checked," Kenny said, smugly.

"Why would you want to fire him?"

"I don't, but I could if I wanted and the union couldn't do a thing about it."

Henry grimaced and absently began flipping through the papers on his desk. In a hushed, though angry tone, he said, "The grievance is over. You got it started. You told me you supported it and he don't have to do it ... Don't back out of it."

"He don't have to do it and I won't do it either. Shit, it won’t get done. Let ’em go fuck themselves." Kenny laughed. "By the way ... there aren't any grievances against me ... are there?" He asked, concerned. Henry, bewildered shook his head as Kenny rose to leave.

Upset with the discussion he had with Kenny, Henry found it impossible to return to the tasks he had begun. He kept flipping absently through the paperwork on his desk.

***

Henry's dream.

***

'What ever happened to Rosie…" Henry asked Jim, fumbling for her last name.

"Sabrina." Jim answered, taking a monstrous bite out of his sandwich smearing its contents under his nose and onto his chin.

"God, are you hungry or what? You ought to tie a feed bag over your face," Henry joked.

Jim still managed to laugh. He paused to swallow a half pint of soda and then asked, still chewing, "What about her?"

"What ever happened there?"

"She's gone."

"But I thought Marc told me a long time ago that you won that arbitration.. somehow."

"We did."

"And she's still gone?" Henry asked.

"Yup."

"What was the story there?"

"She wasn't a good typist ... but she worked here for a couple years in a department where there wasn't a hell of a lot of typing... Then she got transferred. Her new boss decided to get rid of her and Kranster called her into the Personnel office and gave her a typing test which she flunked. Then he gave her two weeks notice," Jim related before aiming for another huge bite.

"Wasn't she sixty or something and waiting for social security?"

"Sixty one."

"Goddamn! So what happened?"

"We won the arbitration and she was reinstated but they put pressure on her and she got flustered and upset and got sick and never came back…"

"Damn it. You know, just when you begin to think Kranster is all right, just doing a job, you find him ditching old ladies ... How much was she making?"

Jim laughed, "Next to nothing .... Kranster is doing a job. Only that's part of his job. He's done numbers on my head."

"What do you mean?" Henry asked.

"Promised me things and then backed out of them ... You listen to him and you begin to think everything is okay. I mean everything ... the staff is just a bunch of complainers, which is also true. You'll see. Wait, till you start handling a lot of grievances, after awhile you'll be turned side-ways ... People will complain their heads off ... Kranster will waltz you around and convince you that the Institution is right and you won’t know what to believe." Jim belched after his final point.

"But why the fuck didn't Kranster find a niche for her till she qualified for Social Security ... what they spent for her salary is wasted in pencil shavings around here?"

Jim shrugged.

***

"So shit, I'm in her house, see..." Rammer was smiling. "…and you know, it's like one of these bungalows; rented, probably, because there's shit all over the fucking place. I mean most people who own a house won't trash it up like that."

"Yeah, OK, The house is fucked up." Michael prompted in anticipation, smiling toward Henry.

"Yeah, shit all over the fuckin' place. So we have a drink ... and then... Then," his eyes lit up. "she puts on some music and says, 'Do you dance?' Y'know ... She gives me some shit that her old man don't dance...Sayen’ it like her old man probably don't fuck either," Rammer laughed, then continued, "So we dance and she gets close...I mean close. She's rubben’ on me," Rammer laughs and claps his hands urged on by the glee in Michael’s eyes and Henry's sly smile. He unconsciously touched his genitals, an old habit with partially masturbatory roots aided by past experience with gonorrhea and nervous energy. "And she's rubben’ that belly on me and I get a good hard. Well shit she's panten’ and kissing my neck and says how she needs a man. And she grabs me and says 'Let's go to the couch, honey.' WHOOOEEEEEEE. So, we're fuckin’ and goin at it. And she's really throwen’ it. And BAM..." Rammer paused for dramatic affect: "Her husband walks in."

"Damn!" Michael exclaimed.

Henry chuckled.

"I don't know what the fuck to do. I'm half naked and I got a hard in her and I'm slappen’ it to her and Damn. I stopped, looken’ for something to hit him with around the room. I see the iron nearby ... Shit all over the place. He says 'Hi,’ and walks in real easy like 'so-what?'"

Michael laughed.

"He sits down, pulls off his pants and shit and walks over to the couch. Then he sits down on the coffee table and asks this bitch for a blow job. He tells me to go to it. He LIKES TO WATCH!"

Michael laughed." So what did you do?"

"Went to it..." Rammer said, matter-of-factly.

Michael shook his head: What bullshit. I wonder what Henry thinks of this? Henry probably thinks Rammer’s a jerk. Could it be true? Where are these women when I look for them? Maybe she’s homely and very heavy. "What she look like?" Michael asked.

"Not bad, blonde. Not too smart. Not bad. Hard to figure, though; why she was married to this weird guy."

Michael wondered: It could be true. I've heard these stories from other guys. Hell, one guy had Polaroid snap shots of ... I don't know how I feel about it. I don't think I’d want to be married to a woman like that, though I’d never say so, to a woman!

Henry also wondered: