The CEO's Secret

  There she was, here in the future.

  A picture from the social media.

  There she was at a cocktail party, holding a highball glass.

  I guess she never got that memo, the one that says “Don’t have your picture taken holding a beer, glass of wine or a cocktail.”

  But then this CEO of a mid-sized company outside of DC wasn’t always a CEO. 

  Nope. 

  I remember The CEO from her hell-raising days.

  I remember when she was trying to make a buck selling ads on the radio.

  I had run into an old radio chum on the Internet.  We chatted up about radio days long ago in the countryside outside of Washington, D.C.

  I wondered whatever happened to Andrea*.

  “She’s CEO of some company,” wrote the pal.  A bit later he sent me a picture…and there she was, holding that highball glass.

  I mean I knew she was destined for higher things…she carried herself well, wore pearl necklaces, drove a Mercedes sports car to work, graduated from The University of Virginia, married an investments dude.  Years later when I was traveling from town to town selling advertising in bowling alleys she was a big cheese in an advertising agency…I had to go see her, try to sell her on a bowling alley ad for a car dealership.  She okayed the buy.  Whether it was because it was a good decision or she did it as a favor for an old co-worker who kept a secret I’ll never know.

  Like I said, I remember The CEO from her hell-raising days.

  The CEO and I were just part of the staff of a radio station that was still in a rural part of Maryland.  I say “still” because just a few years later that section of the state would be overrun by the megalopolis that is the Baltimore-Washington metro area.

  My job was to keep the station running smoothly…it was automated.  There was a newsman, Crazy Becky* the receptionist and a sales staff of 4 who ran around the countryside selling radio ads.

  Our overseer was a big ol’ fella I’ll call Manager Tom*.  Manager Tom was one big, round dude…I reckon he must’ve weighed about 400 pounds.  Manager Tom ran things for the owner….I’ll call him “Mr. TV,” because he was a well-known, long-time nightly news anchor in Baltimore.

  Mr. TV would visit his radio station from time to time but he never spoke to me, or the newsman or the salespeople.  I reckon Mr. TV just saw us as labor, a “necessary evil” in his eyes.

  Oh yeah, I forgot, Manager Tom’s wife Jeannie* was the station bookkeeper.  The two of them could be heard arguing through the whole radio station from time to time.

  I’ll just be real with you, Manager Tom was an asshole with no sense of humor.  Well, okay, I reckon he had a sense of humor, but only he and his wife appreciated it.

  Case in point:  One day I took a “Post-it” note and stuck it to the ceiling of the men’s room just about right over the toilet.  On the note I had written with a Sharpie:  “What are you looking up here for?”

  It had been a few days since I left the note there when Manager Tom practically exploded through the men’s room door yelling, “WHO STUCK THIS NOTE TO THE CEILING OF THE MEN’S ROOM????”

  “I did,” I said, sticking my head out from the radio studio, owning right up to the deed.  I mean who else could it be?  There were only four guys on staff…me, Manager Tom, the newsman and a salesman.  The newsman and the salesman weren’t the kind of guys to stick a Post-it note on the men’s room ceiling.

  Manager Tom came charging down the hall, holding the note in his fingertips, shaking it at me.

  “IF YOU DON’T HAVE ENOUGH WORK TO DO AROUND HERE I CAN FIND MORE FOR YOU IF YOU HAVE TIME TO DO NONSENSE LIKE THIS!!!!”

  By this time Manager Tom and I were face to face.

  “It was meant to be funny, chief,” I said.  “With all due respect…What are you really angry about?”

  Manager Tom glared at me, wheeled around, stormed down the hallway into his office and slammed the door behind him.

  I wondered why the note pissed him off so.

  Maybe he was constipated.

  Anyway, that’s the guy we worked for in the little radio station out in the Maryland countryside.  Manager Tom really didn’t bug me or Crazy Becky, there wasn’t much we did for him to get pissed about, but the vibe of resentment ran deep with the salespeople and the newsguy.  Manager Tom would ride the newsman’s ass about being on top of news crap from around the area and he was always ragging on the salespeople to sell more.  I was glad I wasn’t the newsman or a salesperson at that joint.

  So I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that night that three of the four salespeople showed up at my apartment door.

  I was one of four renters in a big ol’ ramblin’ Victorian house that had been made into an apartment building.  Wood floors, a walkup back porch, big ol’ windows, I mean this place had ATMOSPHERE.  It was pretty cool.

  I was sitting on the sofa watching TV when…

  *KNOCK*KNOCK*KNOCK*

  Last time someone unexpectedly banged on my door it was a town policeman who led me down the stairs to the street to show me what was left of my car after some drunk rammed it while it was parked.  Whoever it was left behind some chunks of headlight and stuff.  The perils of parking on the street.

  “Who is it?” I asked in a semi-loud voice.

  “Grant, open up, it’s Andrea, Jules* and Marky*.” It was Andrea’s voice.

  I stood there for a moment and wondered what was on the other side of the door.  Why the three saleswomen from the radio station were visiting me on a Thursday night.

  I opened the door.

  There the three of them stood.

  All three had big-assed shit eatin’ grins.

  “Y’all are drunk aren’t you,” I said.

  They all chuckled and looked at each other.

  They walked through my door.

  “Well, come right in ladies,” I said.

  “Thought you’d never ask,” said Jules as she plopped on my couch.  Marky sat down beside her.  Andrea kept standing.

  “What brings you three to my humble abode?”

  “We’re going to egg the station,” said Andrea.

  Jules laughed out loud and fell against Marky.

  “Where’s Todd?” I asked.  Todd was the fourth salesperson.

  “Todd’s head is stuck up Tom’s ass,” sneered Marky.

  “Didn’t know,” I said.

  “Todd wants to be like Tom,” said Jules.

  “You in or not?” asked Andrea.

  “I’m on the spot here, guys,” I said.  “I don’t do well on the spot.”

  “We’d like you to drive,” said Marky, “We’re drunk.”

  “Nooooooo, y’all drunk?” I said.  “Like I can’t tell.”

  “You’re not going to help us, are you,” said Andrea.  “If you were you’d already be on board.”

  “Nope,” I said.  “I’d like to but I gotta keep my nose clean.  I need this job.  Y’all don’t seem that drunk.”

  Andrea and I stared at each other.

  “I’m probably not all that much,” said Andrea, “I just don’t like to take chances.”

  “It’s not like I’m not rootin’ for y’all,” I said.  “Manager Tom’s an asshole.”

  “It’s that new sign,” said Andrea, standing there with her arms crossed, pearl necklace and all.  They hadn’t changed clothes since work.  Business suits.  “Son of a bitch bitches about costs and shit but they can go out and buy a f&#kin’ new brick and metal sign for the station driveway.”

  “I mean I WOULD like to go, that’s the kid in me,” I said.  “But the grownup says you guys go, I’m stayin’ home.”

  “We have a LOT of eggs,” said Jules laughing.  She fell into Marky’s lap giggling.

  “You’ll see it in the morning,” said Marky, nodding with a shit-eatin’ grin.

  “Nice place you have here, Grant,” said Andrea.  “When I saw where you lived I thought you lived in the basement or something.”

  I smiled at Andrea.

  “Nice to know you have a high opinion of me,” I said smiling.

  “It’s just, you know, I’m sure you don’t make THAT much money, I suppose you should be lucky you don’t live in your parents’ basement.”

  I liked Andrea, but the more she talked the more I came to understand we were really from different tribes.

  “Come on, ladies,” said Andrea, “We have work to do.”

  I stood, opened the door and held it for them as Jules and Marky, maintaining their shit-eatin’ grins filed past.  Andrea brought up the rear.

  Andrea turned and looked me in the eyes.

  “And I know I can count on your confidence in this matter,” she said.

  “But of course,” I said smiling.

  And she was gone down the stairwell, pearl necklace and all.

  I closed the door.

  “I know I can count on your confidence in this matter,” I thought to myself.  “Who talks like that?  Dad?  A lawyer?  People of her tribe I reckon.”

  Friday morning I walked to work like I always did.  It was just two miles.

  Besides, my car was totaled in that hit-and-run and I was saving up for another junker, but I was also kicking around the idea of a good bicycle.

  I walked toward the radio station drive.  I could see the new brick and metal sign up ahead.

  I don’t know how close I was before I saw the broken eggs all over the sign.

  I chuckled a bit.

  I turned and walked down the station drive where I saw all the usual cars…along with a new one…a county deputy’s cruiser.  Smashed eggs were all over the front door of the station, streams of yolk, snotty looking egg white…some still wet, eggshells.

  “They DID have a lot of eggs,” I muttered to myself.

  I opened the door to the radio station.  There was Crazy Becky at her desk.  She looked me in the eyes then made her eyes twitch to the right a few times.

  Standing to her right in Manager Tom’s doorway was the big man himself talking with a county deputy.

  “Well, Grant, I suppose you see we got egged last night,” said Manager Tom.

  “Can’t miss all the eggs,” I said.

  “Would you know anything about this?” asked the deputy.

  I stopped and looked the man right in the eyes.

  “Really, sir?” I said.  “I’d egg where I work?”

  We stared at each other.

  “It’s not so strange if you think about it.  Have to ask,” said the deputy.

  “I understand,” I said, “Please tell Sheriff Gebhardt* that Grant McGee says hello.”

  I walked down the hall.

  I walked past the open door to the sales office.  Andrea was sitting at her desk.  She looked up, gave a slight smile and a nod.

  I went down the hall to my desk and started my work day.

-30-

*Names fictionalized.