The Second Floor | Not Fade Away (63.04)

[mragland]

12.01.2062 – Richmond upon Thames, Greater London

The new general manager was due to touch down in an hour and a half. Alastair was looking at a summary of current free agent offers for the thirtieth time that day, hoping that he wasn't about to make a series of catastrophic blunders. Jack was seated on the other side of the desk, working on a combination of grape Big League Chew and Levi Garrett, pausing occasionally to spit into a Schweppes Bitter Lemon can.

“New GM's not that big a deal,” said Jack. “Most of them don't even last a season around here. You know, you've already put more work in than some of them.”

Alastair tore his attention away from his monitor. “How many have there been since you signed on?” Jack had been managing the Monarch's since 2053.

Jack thought about it for a bit. “Honestly? I've lost count. Don't even remember half their names. Kinda like ex-girlfriends that way, I guess.”

Alastair pondered for a moment what Jack's dating habits might have been during his playing days in Vegas, but decided to stay on topic. “Turnover that bad?”

Jack smiled a smile made crooked by the wad resting in the right side of his mouth. “Let me ask you this. You remember when you interviewed for the job here?”

“Sure I do.”

“You were interviewed by the GM.”

“Of course.”

“What did he look like?”

Alastair furrowed his brow. “What did he look like?”

“Yeah, describe him to me,” said Jack, leaning back in his chair.

Alastair cast his eyes toward the ceiling. “Well, he was not taller than me. He had … hair? Brown, I think? And he ...” Alastair stopped, trying mightily to recall the face of his former boss. Nothing. He looked down, opened the desk drawer, and pulled out a dogeared paperback of Beowulf. “I remember this,” he said tossing the book on to the top of the desk in Jack's direction.

“Yeah, I got my copy, too,” said Jack, giving the book a cursory glance.

“Jack, why the hell can't I remember his face? I can't even remember his name. Can you?”

“Nope, but I'm used to it by now. Bothered me, too, at first. Some GBC GMs make an impression, go on to bigger things. Donahue's in North Carolina, Spencer's in Cleveland now, I guess. They either go to the BBA or they just kinda fade away.”

Alastair clicked through his inbox, looking for emails from the previous GM. “Aha!” he exclaimed. “Found one.” But then his face fell. The email had no signature, and was sent from 'gmdesk@lmonarchs.com'.

Ramón Castillo, the Monarchs new hitting coach, formerly the hitting coach of the Moscow AAA club, popped his head in Alastairs office. “You all want to do the meeting here?” he asked.

Alastair looked at the calendar on his second monitor. 'Offseason hitter development update,' it said, for the next half hour. “Sure,” Alastair said, “good news I hope.”