The meeting seemed to be taking place a great distance away Arjun was merely an observer, a scientist monitoring the progress of an experiment on the other side of the glass. Transmitted across the vastness of space, Jennifer Johanssen’s voice sounded calming and competent, a moisturizing balm formulated to take away the pain and soreness of the words it uttered. Aamir would like her, thought Arjun. She’s his type.
‘In your time here,’ the aloe vera voice intoned, ‘you have added quality and value.’ Then it spoke for a while about compassion. The room felt cold. Maybe I’m getting sick, thought Arjun, palpating the glands on the side of his neck. The voice talked about reversals of fortune and minimizing negative outcomes. It talked about the executive team’s strong desire to lead by demonstrating fiscal responsibility at all levels. It talked about last in, first out.
It talked about reality.
Then it struck him. This was not his story This was not his story because this was not how his story went. There had been a mistake.
‘There’s been a mistake,’ he said.
Jennifer Johanssen nodded as if to signify that yes, she could see why he thought so. Then she shook her head as if to signify that no, despite his perception, he was wrong.
‘Mr Mehta, I understand how you feel,’ she said. She was beautiful, really. You could imagine her participating in outdoor pursuits such as skiing or catamaran sailing. Aspirational pursuits. Pursuits which used expensive specialist equipment.
‘Please don’t do this to me,’ said Arjun.
‘I realize that from a human-resource accounting perspective, this could be viewed as a retrograde step for both sides,’ said Jennifer Johanssen.
‘Please,’ said Arjun. ‘I’m begging you.’
Darryl moaned softly.
‘So I can understand why you may feel we are not making the right move.’
‘No, you don’t understand. I need this job. This job is all I have.’
‘We have looked at the options.’
‘Please, if I lose this job I’ll have to go back. And I can’t go back. Don’t you see? I can’t go back.’
‘I am aware of your visa situation, Mr Mehta, but as I understand it you’re still technically employed by Databodies. In reality Virugenix has no obligations to you. It is only because we believe that all our employees, even those on freelance consultancy contracts, should benefit from harmonious termination experiences that my presence here was mandated at all. Mr Mehta, I hold a diploma in severance-scenario planning. I assure you that this encounter has been designed to be as painless for you as possible.’
‘Yes,’ said Arjun. ‘I see. Of course I see. Just don’t fire me, OK? I’ll do anything. I’ll work for less money. I’ll do longer hours.’
He was raising his voice. Jennifer Johanssen shifted in her seat. Though she appeared outwardly composed, her eyes were darting towards the door and towards Darryl, who had slipped off his chair and was trying to wedge himself out of sight behind the desk.
‘Make him go away,’ pleaded Darryl, his voice somewhat muffled. Jennifer Johanssen looked down at him, then back at Arjun, her face bearing the terse expression of a woman who has accepted that she is now on her own.
‘What Mr Gant wishes to express is — um, our sincere thanks for your loyal service. And we can offer you two weeks’ grace so that you can make whatever preparations you deem necessary for your change in circumstances.’
‘You don’t mean it,’ said Arjun. ‘What if things change? What if they get better? You’ll need me then.’
‘Naturally you’ll have to vacate your apartment. I believe the personnel department here at Greene Labs will be liaising with you about that, probably some time later today.’
‘But you haven’t answered my question. What if things change? What if the downturn suddenly turns up?’
‘Mr Mehta, as I understand it there are no indicators of short-term recovery It’s a sector-wide trend. This is what our public-relations team has been trying to underline to investors. It’s not just Virugenix, it’s across the board. And Mr Mehta, that’s the take-home for you too. You shouldn’t see this as a sign of personal failure. You’re a valuable individual with a lot to offer. It is just that Virugenix can no longer offer you a context for your self-development.’
‘But if everything changed, you’d take me back?’
‘Of course, Mr Mehta, in a hypothetical situation where we had vacancies for someone of your skill set and background, you would come into consideration.’
‘Right,’ said Arjun, feeling that he had won some kind of victory. ‘OK!’
Jennifer Johanssen nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr Mehta, for your understanding.’ She craned her neck to look down behind her chair. Only Darryl’s legs and feet were visible, a pair of high-top basketball shoes poking out from the crawlspace of the desk. She smiled wanly. ‘Mr Gant thanks you also.’
As he left the room Arjun’s mouth was dry. He took a soda from the chiller cabinet and drank it down in three large gulps. There had been an error. But it was fixable. All he had to do was treat this situation like any other technical challenge. Parse the problem. Find the bug and deal with it. Because this was not how his story went. He was doing well in America. He was a big success.
His head felt as if it were clamped in a vice. They couldn’t force him to leave, not like this. What if he could make them see how efficient he was? Then they would change their minds and fire someone else. He sat down at his desk and tried to focus on his monitor. Two weeks? The view from his bedroom window. The mountains floating on a sea of fog. Only two more weeks of those mountains, then back to California. Hard white sun baking the concrete. And what about Chris? He couldn’t leave her now. Even after months of working he had no savings. He wouldn’t be able to last more than a few weeks on the bench. After that he would have to go back to India.
Then everyone would know the truth.
He blamed the phone. It made it too easy. In the early days, when he had just arrived in the US, he had done it to reassure his parents. They would have been worried if they thought he was having difficulties. And then Priti had been so impressed, so proud of her big brother in America. Aamir also. The thing had taken on a life of its own. Yes, Maa, I’m doing fine…
The way his mother talked, she had probably told everyone in Noida by now. His story. His version. Maa, something good happened today… How her son had been on the fast-track to success from the moment he stepped off the plane. How at world-famous Oracle Computers her beta had solved technical problem worrying Larry Ellison for years, but turned down partnership to go to Virugenix and run computer-virus department. How her little boy now socialized with businessmen and politicians. How he had sat next to David Hasselhoff at dinner.
There was no way he could go back to India. He would bring shame on his family.
The air in the office was stifling. His colleagues were pretending not to watch him, peering slyly round their cubicle walls. He had to think. He had to find the bug. At the back of the Michelangelo Building was a wooden deck scattered with white metal cafeteria tables, the type with a hole in the middle for a sunshade to poke through. People came here to eat lunch or hold informal meetings. He swiped himself out of the office and went down into the open air. Sitting at one of the tables, he watched a crow pecking at a plastic yogurt pot, the remains of a lunch which, contrary to policy, had not been cleared away into the receptacle provided.