The Rent
The background hum of voices had died away for some time, but still Lyndon Pratt worked in his office. It was not a big office, as offices went at Harrington Trust, but it did have smoked glass partitions on the sides that went up to the ceiling, although it lacked a door. Lyndon had always found it distracting to work during the day with the noise.
Two years ago, when they’d grudgingly parceled out offices to the new lending officers, he knew he’d better not complain. Complaining didn’t seem worthwhile now. On the list of his priorities the comfort of his office fell somewhere below worrying about finding a new sublet and dreaming about Maine.
The minutes passed away and Lyndon found himself plunging into his work as he never did during the day. Interruptions sent him off on tangents. Now it was 6 o’clock on a Friday night and the thought that he was alone made him work harder.
He had just decided that a three store drugstore chain was worth a ‘yes’ recommendation (with some loan revisions) to the credit review board, when he first noticed someone else was actually in the office.
He distinctly heard the quiet sound of a door opening.
A moment later his boss, Mike O’Brien, appeared around the corner. O’Brien always made Lyndon slightly nervous.
“Hi Lyndon, working late?” said O’Brien.
Lyndon had observed O’Brien never worked past five, although he might stay for a half hour to joke with the guys.
“I just though that I’d put some extra time in cleaning up the paperwork,” said Lyndon.
O’Brien nodded his approval, while Lyndon looked up at him.
“I’ve been putting in some extra time in the last few weeks,” said Lyndon.
“Ya, I’ve noticed you making a real effort there,” said O’Brien. O’Brien looked about the office and tapped his fingers on Lyndon’s desk. He looked at a picture on Lyndon’s back wall showing a beautiful parka clad skier gliding through deep snow.
“You like to ski, don’t you?” said O’Brien.
“I do. I’m hoping for a better snowfall this winter though.”
“I’d like to try it sometime. Do you get very cold?” said O’Brien.
“Not if you dress properly.”
“Ya. I’d like to try it sometime…” There was a pause. “Could I see you in my office for a few moments?”
Lyndon managed to say yes and followed behind until they reached O’Brien’s office.
“Come in,” said O’Brien motioning to the couch. He closed the door.
Lyndon hoped his hands weren’t visibly shaking.
“I’m afraid things haven’t been working out very well. You’ve done well with the strategic aspects, but you don’t seem very interested in interacting with people, is that true?”
All Lyndon’s instincts were yelling ‘yes, it’s true’, but he swallowed and said, “I like dealing with people. I find most of the bank’s clients interesting and I think they like dealing with me.”
“That’s probably true,” agreed O’Brien, “But I don’t think you fit into the bank’s management style.”
“I’ve done my best to make money for you.”
“I can see that, and I really appreciate that, but I don’t think you’re happy here.”
“I enjoy working here, I really do,” said Lyndon, but all he could think of in his mind right then was that it was near the end of the month. The last rent payment before the sublet expired would come due in two weeks.
Lyndon was nervous, but the adrenaline made him voluble.
“The people here like me,” said Lyndon, “they do. If there’s some impression that I’ve been avoiding people it’s totally false and I can change people’s minds now that I know what they think. Everyone who works closely with me like me. It’s just a matter of working more closely with the others.”
“I never said anything about avoiding people,” said O’Brien irritably.
“Wait a few weeks and you’ll see a marked improvement. I’m glad you told me this, this was all I really needed,” said Lyndon.
O’Brien sat back in his chair for a bit. Lyndon thought he could see a vein on the side of O’Brien’s face where the hair receded. O’Brien nodded slowly, one of the few times Lyndon had ever seen him silent. A calm look on O’Brien’s face gave Lyndon the impression that O’Brien had decided in his favor.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go,” said O’Brien. “I really think it’s the best thing for you.” Seeing Lyndon’s face he continued, “it’s not so bad– 20 years from now you’ll look back on this and smile.”
That’s some comfort thought Lyndon.
“You can stay here for two months,” said O’Brien, “you do a good job, I just don’t think your people skills are suited for this line of work in the end– maybe you should try accounting again.
There was more silence.
“Well, said O’Brien standing up, “if you want any good references I’ll be happy to supply them.”
Lyndon was glad to see the discussion coming to an end. He stood up and offered a limp ‘dead fish’ handshake. By the time he’d gotten back to his office, put his coat on, and walked back down the corridor again to the elevator, he was relieved to find his boss’s office dark. Two months more with the bank. Should he tell his coworkers? There was no sense telling only one. If he told one, they would all know. He thought his father might have good advice; his father was a very successful businessman. What would his father say?
It was a cold November night when he stepped out the door. A full weekend lay ahead.