3. Consequences
1:15 am, Friday, 12 April
"Aargh!" I groan
"What's wrong?" Dana asks groggily. "Why are you up?"
"I'm not feeling good. I think I'm going to..." I don't finish as I race to the bathroom. A few minutes later I emerge. My skin feels clammy and I feel so nauseous. "Damn food. I should never have chosen that Foie Gras. And it's meant to be a top restaurant."
"I don't think it's the food," Dana says, "maybe it's just all the stress and excitement. Let me get you something."
"What's wrong?" Dana asks groggily. "Why are you up?"
"I'm not feeling good. I think I'm going to..." I don't finish as I race to the bathroom. A few minutes later I emerge. My skin feels clammy and I feel so nauseous. "Damn food. I should never have chosen that Foie Gras. And it's meant to be a top restaurant."
"I don't think it's the food," Dana says, "maybe it's just all the stress and excitement. Let me get you something."
7:30 am, Friday, 12 April
The alarm brings an end to a fitful night's sleep. I feel like I've been in a fight. I'm still queasy but not as bad as last night. Maybe it is just the stress.
9:23 am, Friday, 12 April
I call Randle but his phone is off. We need to meet today to discuss the way forward. While our company now has a new partner, we will still need to stay at the helm going forward.
11:33 am, Friday, 12 April
I still can't get hold of Randle. He really must have partied hard last night, in true Randle style. I bet he's nursing a hangover. Probably feeling a lot worse than me too.
11:35 am, Friday, 12 April
I call mom but there is no answer. Strange as she is normally so good at picking up her mobile. It must just be one of those "no answer" days. I feel a little at a loss at what to do. I could go into the office but I feel that Randle and I should at least meet to strategize about how things are going to work now.
12:40 pm, Friday, 12 April
"Meeting, 2pm @ Pi main boardroom. Dewati"
The text message chimes on my phone like a command from on high.
Amazing how all of a sudden I have to answer to a boss. After all these years of freedom. I suppose its worth the money.
The text message chimes on my phone like a command from on high.
Amazing how all of a sudden I have to answer to a boss. After all these years of freedom. I suppose its worth the money.
1:58 pm, Friday, 12 April
Despite arriving a few minutes early everyone is already seated when the hissing doors, which are now bugging me, open. Mr. Dewati, as before, is flanked by his two suited minions. Randle, surprisingly for someone who is normally late to everything, is also seated. They all look up as I enter. Randle looks slightly flushed. Must have been a hard night of partying.
"Hi," I squeak unintentionally, and then clear my throat and add, "Howdy partners," in a whimsical attempt to bring some levity to the room, which I immediately regret. I'm greeted with deadpan stares from the suited-trio.
"Please have a seat Mr. Malory," Dewati says, once again annunciating the "lo" and using my first name like a surname.
"I've called you so we can get things moving quickly with Randy Studios reengineering," Dewati says. I'm sure he intentionally mispronounces our Randmal Studios name, but I ignore it. What difference does it make? We have the money now, although I do wonder what he means by "reengineering".
"On Monday things are now going to operate professionally." The way he says it implies that we have not been professional. I feel my ire rising, but then check myself. Why bother? We have the money now.
Then he hits me with the bomb!
"Randle, will now report directly to me as head of creative brands for the Pi group. I hope to see your same creative spirit in the rest of our group," he says looking at Randle. He then continues for ages explaining to Randle what he is expecting. Randle nods. The flanking-suits remain stone-faced. I'm ignored.
Eventually he turns to me. "Mr. Malory, As we are closing the studio design section we will not need your services. In the future should a need arise for your skills we will let you know." With that he turns away and says, "OK, from Monday it's time to prove my gut right."
"Umm, sorry,” I quickly interject as the trio begin to rise, “I'm a little confused. What...what," I stammer in my confusion, "what do you mean ‘not need my skills’? What do you mean ‘closing the studio’? What are you talking about?" I glance at Randle to see if he understands, but he is looking down. Mr. Dewati’s steely eyes swivel towards me but nothing is said. "I mean," I quickly add, "I don't understand what are you saying? What am I meant to do?"
The room is deadly silent almost like a prescience to one of life's inflection points.
"The contract clearly states that we will only be retaining Mr. Hulbert in our employment," he says glancing at Randle. "And I clearly said when we met, that we are in the business of making money, not making pretty cartoons. We want your company's customers, not your cartoons."
"Hi," I squeak unintentionally, and then clear my throat and add, "Howdy partners," in a whimsical attempt to bring some levity to the room, which I immediately regret. I'm greeted with deadpan stares from the suited-trio.
"Please have a seat Mr. Malory," Dewati says, once again annunciating the "lo" and using my first name like a surname.
"I've called you so we can get things moving quickly with Randy Studios reengineering," Dewati says. I'm sure he intentionally mispronounces our Randmal Studios name, but I ignore it. What difference does it make? We have the money now, although I do wonder what he means by "reengineering".
"On Monday things are now going to operate professionally." The way he says it implies that we have not been professional. I feel my ire rising, but then check myself. Why bother? We have the money now.
Then he hits me with the bomb!
"Randle, will now report directly to me as head of creative brands for the Pi group. I hope to see your same creative spirit in the rest of our group," he says looking at Randle. He then continues for ages explaining to Randle what he is expecting. Randle nods. The flanking-suits remain stone-faced. I'm ignored.
Eventually he turns to me. "Mr. Malory, As we are closing the studio design section we will not need your services. In the future should a need arise for your skills we will let you know." With that he turns away and says, "OK, from Monday it's time to prove my gut right."
"Umm, sorry,” I quickly interject as the trio begin to rise, “I'm a little confused. What...what," I stammer in my confusion, "what do you mean ‘not need my skills’? What do you mean ‘closing the studio’? What are you talking about?" I glance at Randle to see if he understands, but he is looking down. Mr. Dewati’s steely eyes swivel towards me but nothing is said. "I mean," I quickly add, "I don't understand what are you saying? What am I meant to do?"
The room is deadly silent almost like a prescience to one of life's inflection points.
"The contract clearly states that we will only be retaining Mr. Hulbert in our employment," he says glancing at Randle. "And I clearly said when we met, that we are in the business of making money, not making pretty cartoons. We want your company's customers, not your cartoons."
2:47 pm, Friday, 12 April
"Malo. Malo! Are you OK?"
The boardroom is empty besides Randle and myself. A faint odor of coffee and leather hangs in the air. Randle is leaning over me. I stare blankly up at him. My mind still unable to make sense of what has just happened.
"What the..." I begin to shout.
"Hold on Malo," Randle interjects, "Just calm down. This is what we worked for. The money."
"You screwed me. You SCREWED ME!" I shout.
"You went behind my back and took our business away. How could you? I thought we were friends?"
"Hold on Malo. I did nothing of the sort. I did not know about this. I always thought we would both be part of the company going forward. I would never have a arranged a deal that excluded you."
There’s a ringing sound in my ears. It's almost like the room is disappearing.
"You backstabber. I can't believe it. You set me up. All this junk about sixty minutes to sign. You knew I'd spot the clause and never agree. How could you? You have destroyed everything we worked for all these years!" I suddenly stand feeling like I should smash something. Anything.
"Malo. Calm down," Randle shouts. "You don't understand, I..."
I never hear what he says. I storm out the boardroom. Is this what life is all about? All those years of sacrifice to get kicked in the face by a friend!
The boardroom is empty besides Randle and myself. A faint odor of coffee and leather hangs in the air. Randle is leaning over me. I stare blankly up at him. My mind still unable to make sense of what has just happened.
"What the..." I begin to shout.
"Hold on Malo," Randle interjects, "Just calm down. This is what we worked for. The money."
"You screwed me. You SCREWED ME!" I shout.
"You went behind my back and took our business away. How could you? I thought we were friends?"
"Hold on Malo. I did nothing of the sort. I did not know about this. I always thought we would both be part of the company going forward. I would never have a arranged a deal that excluded you."
There’s a ringing sound in my ears. It's almost like the room is disappearing.
"You backstabber. I can't believe it. You set me up. All this junk about sixty minutes to sign. You knew I'd spot the clause and never agree. How could you? You have destroyed everything we worked for all these years!" I suddenly stand feeling like I should smash something. Anything.
"Malo. Calm down," Randle shouts. "You don't understand, I..."
I never hear what he says. I storm out the boardroom. Is this what life is all about? All those years of sacrifice to get kicked in the face by a friend!
4:44 pm, Friday, 12 April
12 missed calls!
Stuff! What the hell is everyone onto me for. Nine are from dad and three from Dana. I don't want to talk to anyone. I've spent the last few hours sitting on a park bench, just like a homeless person, which we may soon be. What am I going to tell Dana? "Hey Dana. Hope you enjoyed the car. Now I've got no job we will have sell it. And the bracelet too! Welcome to our new life."
As I'm driving home I call Dana and she answers on the first ring. "Where have you been?" she says in a frantic voice. "We've been trying to get hold of you for ages." I'm in no mood to explain.
"What do you want?" I ask.
"Have you spoken to your dad?" she asks.
"No. I've been busy!" I say in a clipped tone. I don't feel like anyone interrogating me.
"Call him now."
"Why what's he want?"
"Just call him NOW," she says and hangs up.
I'm left vaguely nonplussed listening to a dead phone line. I'm considering not calling despite Dana's instruction when the phone rings. It's dad.
Stuff! What the hell is everyone onto me for. Nine are from dad and three from Dana. I don't want to talk to anyone. I've spent the last few hours sitting on a park bench, just like a homeless person, which we may soon be. What am I going to tell Dana? "Hey Dana. Hope you enjoyed the car. Now I've got no job we will have sell it. And the bracelet too! Welcome to our new life."
As I'm driving home I call Dana and she answers on the first ring. "Where have you been?" she says in a frantic voice. "We've been trying to get hold of you for ages." I'm in no mood to explain.
"What do you want?" I ask.
"Have you spoken to your dad?" she asks.
"No. I've been busy!" I say in a clipped tone. I don't feel like anyone interrogating me.
"Call him now."
"Why what's he want?"
"Just call him NOW," she says and hangs up.
I'm left vaguely nonplussed listening to a dead phone line. I'm considering not calling despite Dana's instruction when the phone rings. It's dad.
4:52 pm, Friday, 12 April
"Hello," I answer, hoping my voice will make it clear to dad that I am in no mood for a conversation.
"Malo, is that you?" Dad asks, obviously confused by how I answered.
"Yeah. What do you want?" I say as I pull into our driveway and climb wearily out of the car.
It's mom," he says in a wavering voice. Just then the wind catches the car door and slams it shut, but I hear him say, "she's had a stroke."
"Malo, is that you?" Dad asks, obviously confused by how I answered.
"Yeah. What do you want?" I say as I pull into our driveway and climb wearily out of the car.
It's mom," he says in a wavering voice. Just then the wind catches the car door and slams it shut, but I hear him say, "she's had a stroke."