Vignette #8: Ian

Trish slammed open the office door and barged toward Ian, the slacker waters parted and she bombed his make shift desk top with a particular script. “How dare you reject this script. Your job is to yes anything I tell you to do and what I tell you to do is what Mr. Justyn has told me to do!”

Ian didn’t need to feign shock. “Mr. Justyn?”

“What part don’t you get seed cake? I am Mr. Justyn’s assistant. If I tell you to do something it comes directly from him!

“Excuse me, Miss Apple, but you get orders directly from Mr. Justyn? I didn’t think anyone had spoken with him yet.”

“Don’t be as stupid as you look. I am his assistant. He and I have power meetings every morning before you even pee and every night after you’ve put in what you claim is a hard eight hour day and he has green lighted this script!”

Ian blinked and looked her straight in the eyes. “He has?”

She leaned into his face and screamed, “He loves it! And he loves it because it’s brilliant. It’s going to take us back to the top!”

“Oh.”

She turned up half her mouth into a sneer, “And you’re the moron you writes with crayon…wait a minute…I want to quote this exactly….” She ripped a few pages over, cleared her throat to make sure she had everyone’s attention, “Poorly written garbage ripped off from rehashed ideas ripped off from mediocre drivel the public lost interest in in the forties.” She laughed in his face, and the rest of the office, with few exceptions began to join her.

The guy with the bad hair cut looked up from his nail file. “Day numbered today.”

“What do you have to say about that?” Trish bellowed in his face again.

“I’d say you really should brush your teeth once and a while and you don’t know what you are talking about.” Ian folded his arms and stood with her toe to toe. He swore he heard an “oooh” from the office and was ready for someone to scream “Fight! Fight!”

Trish’s face burned red. “How dare you speak to me like that! I am your superior! I would fire you right now, but I will wait until Mr. Justyn sees this and cuts off your tiny little pee pee himself!”

“Ian” he said.

“What?” She was dazed. “Who?”

“Ian.” He said calmly. “His name is Ian Justyn, and he prefers to be called Ian rather than Mr. Justyn.”

Trish looked like Cruella Deville without the smile and snapped, “Ian? What the hell would you know about it? I am the only one who has spoken with Mister Justyn. And like his name, this is just in; pack your desk because in a few minutes you are out!”

“No.”

“What?” She spit. “What did you say to me?”

“I said, ‘No’ or is that too complicated a word for you? And by the way, since you are constantly making the mistake, his surname is spelled with a “Y” not an “I”.

“I have seen his signature myself, boy. No body spells Justin with a “Y” except bad band rejects from ‘Star Search’.”

Suddenly the room started running in all directions, the mice skittering away trying to look like they weren’t playing. Trish took no notice and continued to bellow at Ian inches from his face. Jack Tolan had to call her name three times before she realized that the Vice President of the network was standing behind her.

When she shut up and froze, Tolan asked, “Is there a problem Trish?”

She became kittenish and apologized, “I am so sorry, Mr. Tolan, but this new man is just not working out.”

“Oh?” He said concerned. “Would you mind explaining? We had such high hopes.”

She smiled graciously. “Oh, I know, sir, but he is just too inexperienced and obviously has no idea of good television. Just this morning he turned in script notes rejecting a project that Mr. Justyn personally told me he was green lighting.”

“Ian.” Tolan interjected. Trish almost turned into a green apple. “He prefers that his staff call him Ian. He says it fosters more of a family and team effort, and we here at this network are all about family.” He looked at Ian, “Aren’t we son?”

Stupid Trish didn’t get the hint, only about a third of the staff did. She continued to make her point beside the point, “and his attitude is not team or family at all. In fact, he seems to be hostile to most of us and sluffs off direct orders to others he feels are beneath him.”

Tolan looked at Ian, “Do you do that, son?”

“Well, sir…” Ian stuck his hands in his pockets and drew on the carpet with the toe of one foot. “I don’t sluff off my work because I don’t feel anyone here is beneath me, but I have to admit that the environment here does lend itself precariously to hostility.”

“Perhaps we should discuss this privately.” He suggested.

Trish crossed her arms and leaned back on her haunches. The “now you’re gonna get yours” grin easily reading to planes flying overhead.

“I believe that would be best sir.”

“Shall we step into your office?”

Trish’s face fell and couldn’t hold back an involuntary “Huh?”

Jack turned around to face the entire office. “Ladies and gentleman, while we apologize for the deception, if you haven’t understood...” he slipped a friendly arm around Ian’s shoulder. “I would like all of you to be formally introduced to the new program development exec for this team, Ian Grayson Justyn.”

As mouths, and one nail file, dropped to the floor, Ian added, “Please, call me Ian.” He turned in dead silence to Tolan, “Shall we talk in my office?”

“Of course, lead the way, Ian.” They walked to the main office, Trish following along silent yet wildly gesturing behind their back that everything was alright, she would take care of it.

Ian entered the office first, followed by Jack. As Jack got to the door he turned abruptly allowing Trish to walk into him. “What are you doing, Trish?”

“Oh, I’m the assistant. I just assumed you two would need me in the meeting.”

Ian popped his head out. “No Trish, you are not the assistant. You’ve never been the assistant. You are the secretary…for now. I expect you to sit down at the phone station in the hallway and answer the phones. Nothing more, nothing less, exactly what your job description says. Are we clear?”

“Uh, yes…” she wasn’t happy but feigned a smile, “Ian…”

Ian cocked an eyebrow boldly upward.

“Uhm, sir?” She added.

Ian dropped the eyebrow. “Now, Trish.”

She barely said, “Yes sir” and she bolted for the desk in the foyer she had left unmanned for three weeks.

Jack and Ian talked for less than an hour. The discussion was basically about Ian’s plans for reduction of monies wasted from over staffing. Jack agreed but was hesitant about the drastic reduction. He relented to the number Ian felt was needed, but insisted that Ian choose an assistant he trusted, which Ian didn’t want at all, and a personal secretary, which Ian thought was a total waste of time and money.

They haggled a bit longer and agreed on who stayed and who went, and who actually stayed with the company and who didn’t. All that was left was to open the office door and do it. Jack opened the door and allowed Ian to walk out first. Jack would make a general announcement. Ian would then call the staff in individually letting them know what decision has been made on their positions.

Jack was informally professional when he told an ashen staff that this leg of the division was being narrowed from fourteen to five. Most would be staying with the company, but going back to the mail room pool where they started. He ended with, “I leave you now in the very capable hands of your new boss.”

He turned to Ian and added for all to hear, “I expect that you will be able to give me the names of the people you choose for your assistant and personal secretary by this time tomorrow.”

“Yes, Jack. I’ll need to think about that though.”

“You can have anyone in the company that you trust. I’ll personally see to it.”

“Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me, and to the team.”

Tolan turned to go, “I’ll be expecting to hear from you soon.”

“Of course.” Ian shook Jack’s hand and turned to go into his office when he made a decision. He just needed one bit of information to finalize it.

Ian rushed to the doorway to catch Tolan before he made it much past a humiliated Trish pushing some flashing buttons on the phone. “Jack, just a minute.” Tolan turned to him. “You said I could have any one who works for the company that I trust?”

“Absolutely.” He affirmed.

“Since Kristin Chenowith isn’t under contract to us that makes the question of my assistant the easiest decision I’ve made so far.”

Trish perked up and the bad hair cut guy batted his eyes. Ian pointed to the squeaky mail cart being pushed by the chunky black woman with orange fingers. “Her.”

Jack Tolan looked at Wella and back to Ian. “Done”. With that Ian returned to his office, leaving the door open and the rest of the day went by in a blur.

The first few hours were quiet, until Wella entered his office with a smile on her face and two files full of paperwork. They shut the door and conversed, and then Wella called each member of the staff into the office for private conferences. Each was informed of the decision that had been made concerning their jobs. To no surprise, those who were being returned to the mail room were shocked; some upset, and those who were staying were excited to be a part of the team.

Only two were actually fired, the guy with the bad haircut and another man whose job had seemed to be to sit on the edge of a desk and adjust his crotch when any one walked by the door. The latter guy seemed to care less and the first was livid. He threatened lawsuits and various and sundry ways of getting even, before storming out the office door, oddly never missing a beat of filing whatever nails he might possibly have left.

Trish was the final person called in the office. She was the most shocked of all that Ian had decided to neither fire her nor demote her. He wanted her right where she was. While she bit her lip, she was told that she wasn’t worthy of even being fired. She would stay at the desk in the hallway and answer phones, nothing more and nothing less until she had had enough and quit herself.

In fact, he gave her a copy of her resignation, lacking only the date and her signature to be official. Trish balked, but then Wella handed her the second folder of papers.

It seems that not only was Miss Apple a liar, Miss Apple was also a forger. She had forged Ian’s name on several memos and documents, spelling the his name incorrectly of course, and put them on the mail cart, which Wella had conveniently not delivered and presented to Ian as her first official duty.

The new team had nailed her to the wall, informing her of the fact that if she even as much as hung up on someone accidentally or misspelled a word on a memo, she would be arrested and charged with forgery. Trish went back to her desk, tail between her legs.

The rest of the day was a flurry of activity. Ian gathered his new staff, including Daryn, the yogart girl and two he had asked for from the daytime division and began to have the first in what would become regular power meetings. Ian reveled in getting everyone together and throwing pasta against the wall.

He took it a step further, making everyone put into words reasons for what they liked or didn’t like. They talked about what they’d like to see, what was on the other networks, and what might be able to be developed to counter program. They laughed, they joked, they strategized. They put in more work in that one afternoon than they had the entire two weeks before.

By the end of the day Ian was beat, and it felt so good. All he could think about on the drive home was stripping off his pants and just enjoying a night’s rest. He hadn’t really minded the extra hours it took to sneak around, especially since it paid off. He was certainly glad that from now on when he put in the extra time it would produce more than just a small chance. He hoped it would be producing a dream, his and someone else’s.

He had stopped off and ordered Italian, quickly wolfing it down. Trash was tossed and all he could think of was finding a way to unwind. He hadn’t had the chance before, but tonight he was determined to sit on his balcony and watch the California sun go down. He stripped to his boxers, emptied the ashtray on the little table up there, poured himself a sweet iced tea, then sat and enjoyed.

The sky turned so many colors he couldn’t name them all. He loved watching the sun set in the mountains but this was something different, something spectacular. The dying light seemed to bounce back in the sky creating new colors that shimmered and danced in the fading light.