“This is complicated,” Mr. Aldrin says. “Other people are going to explain it to you again, but I want to tell you right away.” He looks excited and not as sad as he did a few days ago. “You remember that I said at the beginning I thought it was wrong for them to try to force you to take the treatment? When I called you on the phone?”
I remember that, and I remember that he did not do anything to help us and later told us we should agree for our own good.
“The company has decided that Mr. Crenshaw acted wrongly,” Mr. Aldrin says. “They want you to know that your jobs are completely safe, whatever you decide. You can stay just as you are, and you can work here, with the same supports you have now.”
I have to close my eyes; it is too much to bear. Against the dark lids dancing shapes form, bright-colored and glowing with joy. I do not have to do this. If they are not going to do the treatment, I do not even have to decide if I want it or not.
“What about Cameron?” Bailey asks.
Mr. Aldrin shakes his head. “I understand that he has already begun the treatment,” he says. “I don’t think they can stop at this point. But he will be fully compensated—”
I think this is a silly thing to say. How can you compensate someone for changing his brain?
“Now for the rest of you,” Mr. Aldrin says, “if you want the treatment, of course it will still be available, as promised.”
It was not promised but threatened. I do not say this.
“You will receive full pay for the duration of treatment and rehab, and you will continue to receive any pay raises or promotions that you would have received otherwise; your seniority will not be affected. The company’s legal department is in contact with the Legal Aid organization familiar with your Center, and representatives of both will be available to explain the legal aspects to you and help you with any legal paperwork that’s necessary. For instance, if you choose to participate you will need to make arrangements to have bills paid directly out of your accounts, and so on.”
“So… it’s completely voluntary? Really voluntary?” Linda asks, looking down.
“Yes. Completely.”
“I do not understand the reason Mr. Crenshaw would change his mind,” she says.
“It wasn’t exactly Mr. Crenshaw,” Mr. Aldrin says. “Someone — people — higher up decided Mr. Crenshaw had made a mistake.”
“What will happen to Mr. Crenshaw?” Dale asks.
“I don’t know,” Mr. Aldrin says. “I am not supposed to talk to anyone about what might happen, and they didn’t tell me anyway.”
I think that if Mr. Crenshaw works for this company he will find a way to cause us trouble. If the company can turn around so far in this direction, it could always turn back the other way, with a different person in charge, just as a car can go any direction depending on the driver.
“Your meeting this afternoon with the medical team will also be attended by representatives of our legal department and Legal Aid,” Mr. Aldrin says. “And probably a few other people as well. You will not have to make a decision right away, though.” He smiles suddenly, and it is a complete smile, mouth and eyes and cheeks and forehead, all the lines working the same way to show that he is really happy and more relaxed. “I’m very relieved,” he says. “I’m happy for you.”
This is another expression that makes no literal sense. I can be happy or sad or angry or scared, but I cannot have a feeling that someone else should have instead of that person having it. Mr. Aldrin cannot really be happy for me; I have to be happy for myself, or it isn’t real. Unless he means that he is happy because he thinks we will be happier if we are not feeling forced into treatment and “I’m happy for you” means “I’m happy because of circumstances that benefit you.”
Mr. Aldrin’s beeper goes off, and he excuses himself. A moment later he puts his head back into the gym and says, “I have to go — see you this afternoon.”
The meeting has been moved to a larger room. Mr. Aldrin is at the door when we arrive, and other men and women in suits are inside the room, milling around the table. This one also has wood paneling that does not look as fake and a green carpet. The chairs are the same kind, but the fabric on the padding is dull gold with green flecks shaped like little daisies. At the front is a big table, with groups of chairs to either side, and a big viewscreen hanging on the wall. There are two stacks of folders on the table. One has five folders, and the other has enough for each of us to have one.
As before, we take our seats, and the others slowly take theirs. Dr. Ransome I know; Dr. Handsel is not here. There is another doctor, an older woman; she has a name tag with L. HENDRICKS on it. She is the one who stands up first. She tells us her name is Hendricks; she tells us she is heading the research team and that she wants only willing participants. She sits down. A man in a dark suit stands up and tells us his name is Godfrey Arakeen, an attorney from the company’s legal division, and we have nothing to worry about.
I am not worried yet.
He talks about the regulations that govern hiring and firing of handicapped employees. I did not know that the company got a tax credit for hiring us, dependent on the percentage of disabled workers by division and specialty. He makes it seem that our value to the company is that we are a tax credit, not the work we do. He says that Mr. Crenshaw should have informed us of our right to talk to a company ombudsman. I do not know what an ombudsman is, but Mr. Arakeen is already explaining the word. He introduces another man in a suit; Mr. Vanagli, it sounds like. I am not sure how to spell his name, and it is not easy to hear all the sounds in it. Mr. Vanagli says if we have any concerns about anything at work we should come talk to him.
His eyes are closer together than Mr. Arakeen’s eyes, and the pattern on his tie is distracting, gold and blue in little diamond shapes arranged like steps going up or down. I do not think I could tell him about my concerns. He does not stay, anyway, but leaves after telling us to come to him anytime in office hours.
Then a woman in a dark suit tells us that she is the lawyer from Legal Aid who normally works with our Center and that she is there to protect our rights. Her name is Sharon Beasley. Her name makes me think of weasels, but she has a broad, friendly face that does not look like a weasel at all. Her hair is soft and curly and hangs down to her shoulders. It is not as shiny as Marjory’s hair. She has on earrings with four concentric circles; each one has a different-colored piece of glass in it: blue, red, green, purple. She tells us that Mr. Arakeen is there to protect the company and that although she has no doubt of his honesty and sincerity — I see Mr. Arakeen shift in his seat and his mouth tighten, as if he is getting angry — still we need to have someone on our side, and she is that person.
“We need to make clear what the situation is now, regarding you and this research protocol,” Mr. Arakeen says, when she sits down again. “One of your group has already begun the procedure; the rest of you have been promised a chance at this experimental treatment.” I think again that it was a threat, not a promise, but I do not interrupt. “The company stands by that promise, so that any of you who decide to take part in the experimental protocol can do so. You will receive full pay, but not the stipend for research subjects, if you choose to do so. You will be considered as employed at another site, with the employment being participation in this research. The company is prepared to cover all medical expenses arising from the treatment, even though this would not normally be covered by your health care policy.” He pauses and nods to Mr. Aldrin. “Pete, why don’t you hand out those folders now.”