A Christmas Peril
by Larry King
“I don’t care that tomorrow’s Christmas Eve! They moved up the meeting so we have to be on that flight to Tokyo tonight, Bob.”
“Kim’s going to freak out,” I say. “Both sets of parents are here and we haven’t all been together since the wedding.”
“Sorry. December 25th doesn’t mean squat to Jubitsu Corporation, and that’s when their CFO is suddenly available. So we will be there.”
“You’re killing me, Roger,” my mind races for excuses. “There’s no way we can have the presentation ready. The video reshoot and editing alone will take a week.”
“Don’t worry. I've positioned it with them so they’ll see another client’s overall presentation.”
“Which client?” I ask, now curious.
“Serbco. Carley’s last assignment.”
A shiver runs down my spine. Carley. Joe Carley. My mentor. My friend. My God, how can it already be 10 months since he died?
“…then copy it to a flash drive,” brings me back to reality.
“I’m sorry, Roger, missed that. What?”
“Carley’s video! He was perfect, may he rest in peace. Hell, knowing Carley, he’d be thrilled to make a sale from beyond the grave. Anyway, copy it to a flash drive and get packed. The limo will be there at 6:00.”
“What’ll I tell Kim?”
“I don’t know, Bob. And frankly, it’s not my problem. You get paid hundreds of thousands a year and are on the verge of making far more. Suck it up.”
“All right,” I sigh.
“Good. And send me Carley’s video. Like within the next two minutes.”
The line goes dead.
No. Please no. Not another Christmas ruined by work. Kim’s going to go through the roof. Still, it can’t be as bad as last Christmas. Whatever.
I unlock my computer, thinking about last night’s argument with Kim. “Argument” may be too strong; “her pleading” to be more accurate. But I can’t just cut back on work, it’s not some 9-5 gig. She’s right, though. Over the years, we've saved enough to drop out, travel, and be comfortable for years. Maybe I’ll consult a little from some beach. I’d love to get back to photography. But I’m on the verge of really big money, so what’s another few years. She wouldn’t really leave me, would she?
Focus. Find the Carley video.
Got it. Better open it to make sure all’s kosher. Okay Joe, tell me why we’re the best damn mergers and acquisitions company in the world. Click… and here’s Joe...
“Hi, I’m Joe Carley, founding partner of Pickens, Carley & Barry. Normally, I’d be conning you into paying us millions to help turn you in to an even bigger money-grubbing corporation.”
What the…
“Not today. Hey Bob.”
“JOE?” I reflexively blurt.
“At your service! And don’t bother shutting down – won’t work.”
“But…”
“But of course you’re freaking out! Your dead co-worker is suddenly a virtual reality.”
PINGPING — my phone — the double ping for Roger.
“It’s Roger, isn’t it Bob? Plans for Christmas? Remember last year? Chinese take-out at my place over the Serbco proposal, while your fiancée reconsidered your just-postponed wedding.”
“Thanks to Serbco.”
PINGPING.
“Forget Roger for a minute. How often does one get to see their dead mentor?”
“But… your heart attack?”
“Inevitable. The stress, smoking, drinking, no exercise except running through airports. Just a matter of time.”
“And now?”
“Now? A one-time messenger, who dropped two time-sensitive files into your machine.”
“Time-sensitive?”
“Extremely. They represent a very important choice you need to make. Feel free to use my outstanding video should you still want to. But first, check out those files. So long and good luck with your decision, Bob.”
The screen goes blank; then two files appear:
I click “Profits” and a spreadsheet opens with tabs labeled “W2 Summary” for the next 10 years. A clock also appears, counting down 20 seconds. I scan the open tab; this year— about what I expect. I click next year, looks about triple. Nine seconds left. I click the last tab… good Lord, look at all those commas.
FILE LOCKED.
I click the “Pictures” file and the screen fills with .jpegs labeled Pic01, Pic02, etc. I click one and an image unrolls as another 20 second clock starts. Looks like the Eiffel Tower… me and Kim selfie. I click another… Kim and I at the Sphinx. The clock’s at eight seconds as I click one near the bottom. Blue background and a bald head start to appear. But not old man bald… baby bald.
FILE LOCKED.
PINGPING.
I grab the phone and rear back to throw it. Instead, I take a deep breath, make my choice, and text:
Roger, I’ll send you the Carley video, but won’t be on the plane. Let’s just say I’ve seen a ghost from Christmas past.
Back to Larry's Page
Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved. Can not be reproduced or used without written permission.
by Larry King
“I don’t care that tomorrow’s Christmas Eve! They moved up the meeting so we have to be on that flight to Tokyo tonight, Bob.”
“Kim’s going to freak out,” I say. “Both sets of parents are here and we haven’t all been together since the wedding.”
“Sorry. December 25th doesn’t mean squat to Jubitsu Corporation, and that’s when their CFO is suddenly available. So we will be there.”
“You’re killing me, Roger,” my mind races for excuses. “There’s no way we can have the presentation ready. The video reshoot and editing alone will take a week.”
“Don’t worry. I've positioned it with them so they’ll see another client’s overall presentation.”
“Which client?” I ask, now curious.
“Serbco. Carley’s last assignment.”
A shiver runs down my spine. Carley. Joe Carley. My mentor. My friend. My God, how can it already be 10 months since he died?
“…then copy it to a flash drive,” brings me back to reality.
“I’m sorry, Roger, missed that. What?”
“Carley’s video! He was perfect, may he rest in peace. Hell, knowing Carley, he’d be thrilled to make a sale from beyond the grave. Anyway, copy it to a flash drive and get packed. The limo will be there at 6:00.”
“What’ll I tell Kim?”
“I don’t know, Bob. And frankly, it’s not my problem. You get paid hundreds of thousands a year and are on the verge of making far more. Suck it up.”
“All right,” I sigh.
“Good. And send me Carley’s video. Like within the next two minutes.”
The line goes dead.
No. Please no. Not another Christmas ruined by work. Kim’s going to go through the roof. Still, it can’t be as bad as last Christmas. Whatever.
I unlock my computer, thinking about last night’s argument with Kim. “Argument” may be too strong; “her pleading” to be more accurate. But I can’t just cut back on work, it’s not some 9-5 gig. She’s right, though. Over the years, we've saved enough to drop out, travel, and be comfortable for years. Maybe I’ll consult a little from some beach. I’d love to get back to photography. But I’m on the verge of really big money, so what’s another few years. She wouldn’t really leave me, would she?
Focus. Find the Carley video.
Got it. Better open it to make sure all’s kosher. Okay Joe, tell me why we’re the best damn mergers and acquisitions company in the world. Click… and here’s Joe...
“Hi, I’m Joe Carley, founding partner of Pickens, Carley & Barry. Normally, I’d be conning you into paying us millions to help turn you in to an even bigger money-grubbing corporation.”
What the…
“Not today. Hey Bob.”
“JOE?” I reflexively blurt.
“At your service! And don’t bother shutting down – won’t work.”
“But…”
“But of course you’re freaking out! Your dead co-worker is suddenly a virtual reality.”
PINGPING — my phone — the double ping for Roger.
“It’s Roger, isn’t it Bob? Plans for Christmas? Remember last year? Chinese take-out at my place over the Serbco proposal, while your fiancée reconsidered your just-postponed wedding.”
“Thanks to Serbco.”
PINGPING.
“Forget Roger for a minute. How often does one get to see their dead mentor?”
“But… your heart attack?”
“Inevitable. The stress, smoking, drinking, no exercise except running through airports. Just a matter of time.”
“And now?”
“Now? A one-time messenger, who dropped two time-sensitive files into your machine.”
“Time-sensitive?”
“Extremely. They represent a very important choice you need to make. Feel free to use my outstanding video should you still want to. But first, check out those files. So long and good luck with your decision, Bob.”
The screen goes blank; then two files appear:
- Profits
- Pictures
I click “Profits” and a spreadsheet opens with tabs labeled “W2 Summary” for the next 10 years. A clock also appears, counting down 20 seconds. I scan the open tab; this year— about what I expect. I click next year, looks about triple. Nine seconds left. I click the last tab… good Lord, look at all those commas.
FILE LOCKED.
I click the “Pictures” file and the screen fills with .jpegs labeled Pic01, Pic02, etc. I click one and an image unrolls as another 20 second clock starts. Looks like the Eiffel Tower… me and Kim selfie. I click another… Kim and I at the Sphinx. The clock’s at eight seconds as I click one near the bottom. Blue background and a bald head start to appear. But not old man bald… baby bald.
FILE LOCKED.
PINGPING.
I grab the phone and rear back to throw it. Instead, I take a deep breath, make my choice, and text:
Roger, I’ll send you the Carley video, but won’t be on the plane. Let’s just say I’ve seen a ghost from Christmas past.
Back to Larry's Page
Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved. Can not be reproduced or used without written permission.