The Second Floor | Mary Pops In (63.14)

[mragland]

4.04.2063 – Richmond upon Thames, Greater London

It was raining in London. Grant was midway through a brief lunch of an egg sandwich, potato chips (Walkers cheese and onion), and an apple. He was watching footage from the previous night's game in Athens, a 6-2 loss that evened the series. Kun, who went 0 for 5, looked completely lost at the plate. Alastair suggested, since the brain scans and eye exams turned up nothing wrong with the club's erstwhile star catcher, that a sports psychiatrist might be able to help Kun out.

'Couldn't hurt,' Grant mused to himself, 'we need to get this guy right.'

The door to the outer office suddenly came open, and through it breezed a woman of indeterminate age carrying a very large, light blue handbag and an umbrella.

Grant looked up and made no effort to hide his surprise at the intrusion.

“Grantland Hawthorne?” she asked.

He nodded. “People call me ...” he started, his mouth still full of sandwich.

“Please do close your mouth, Mr. Hawthorne,” the woman said, “I've no interest in your meal.”

Grant closed his mouth and swallowed his food.

The woman reached into her bag and produced a sheaf of papers. “Here you'll find my resume and curriculum vitae.” She placed the documents on Grant's desk.

“How did ...” began Grant.

“Your caretaker was kind enough to let me into the building. Your secretary is away from her desk. Out to lunch, I suspect. I'll try not to take too much of your time.”

Grant looked down at the papers on his desk. “You're here for ...”

“I am here on a mission of mercy, Mr. Hawthorne. May I sit down?”

“Um, yes,” replied Grant. “What position are you applying for?” Grant wondered if it would be odd if he asked that his desk be equipped with some sort of panic button.

The woman took a seat. “If we are able to come to an agreement regarding salary, I had planned on being this club's finance director.” Seeing Grant's confusion, she hesitated. “Are you feeling well, Mr. Hawthorne?”

“Yes, I believe so,” said Grant with some lack of conviction. “Alastair Kingman is handling the initial vetting for that position, Ms ...”

The woman folded her hands in her lap. “Mary Gresham,” she said.

Grant raised his eyebrows. “Gresham? I know an Alden Gresham, he lives in Los Angeles.”

Mary nodded. “Yes, Alden is my cousin. He was the one who recommended that I take this job.”

“Really?” said Grant. “He never mentioned anything to me.”

“He said that you were absolutely hopeless at business operations and needed all the help you could get,” Mary continued.

Grant smiled and nodded. “That does sound like him.”

“I don't mean to sound overly critical, Mr. Hawthorne, but don't you think you've been dragging your feet on this hire for long enough?”

The fan advisory board had been up his nose about this one, it was true. “Uh-huh,” said Grant. “You don't mind if I just check in with Alden for a moment, do you?” Grant reached for his phone.

“Not at all, Mr. Hawthorne, though I suspect that he will mind.”

Grant swiveled his chair a quarter-turn and faced the wall. “Hello, Alden it's Grant.”

…

“No, I don't know what time it is over there.”

…

“Well, consider this your wake-up call, then.”

…

“A woman who calls herself Mary Gresham has invited herself into my office. Says she's after the finance director job.”

…

Grant turned to look at Mary. “Yep, that sounds about right.”

…

Grant turned to face the wall again. “Is that so? Well, I'll take that under advisement.”

…

“We'll have to talk about that later.”

…

“Okay. I'm hanging up now, Alden. Have a good one.” Grant put the phone down. He reached for a pad of paper and wrote down a figure. He pushed it towards Mary.

Mary reached for it and glanced back up at Grant.

“That's the salary we're prepared to offer,” said Grant, “to whomever we eventually choose to hire.”

“It will be acceptable,” said Mary, rising from her seat. “Let me know when I can start.” She stretched out her hand.

Grant took her hand and shook it. “Sure,” he said with a wry smile, “we'll do that.”

Mary turned to go and Grant caught the white lettering on the side of her bag. 'PAN AM,' it read.

[Jwalk100]

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[Graham]