“You’re on the way out,” Mahoney said. “Look around, you got no pictures on the wall. And there’s a bunch of framed things all stacked up on the floor. And that box behind you, it has the pictures of your kids.”
Mills stepped to his left to block Mahoney’s view of the cabinet behind him.
“And down there,” Mahoney said, pointing at another box on the floor in the corner, “those are all the awards and stuff.”
“I’m changing offices,” Mills said.
“Nice try, Jerry. But stuff in boxes means someone is either moving in, or moving out,” Mahoney said. “You’re moving out.”
Mills didn’t say anything, and pulled his chair out and sat back down. “I guess you want to torture me with this,” he said, slumping back in the chair.
“Wow, you were always the big tough, PR guy. I’ve never seen Jerry Mills like this,” he said. “So what the hell happened?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Lord knows I have the time,” Mahoney said.
“I got squeezed out of IBM a year ago,” Mills said. “They brought in a new head of marketing, and she wanted her own person in charge of communications. So out I went.”
“You went there right after you left City Hall.”
“I did. And I fully expected to be there until I retired. And I fully expected to be drawing that nice fat salary until I retired,” he said.
He hadn’t thought it was possible, but Mahoney felt a tinge of sympathy for Mills. A minute ago he was almost giddy after concluding Mills was being kicked out, but now he felt sorry for the man. It occurred to him that maybe he was getting soft as he grew older.
“How’d you wind up here?” he asked Mills.
“The headhunter I worked with for the IBM job found this for me. Seemed like it would work. Another Fortune 500 company. Another place where I thought I could settle in.”
“These guys screwed you too, huh?”
“Yes, they screwed me. The spot I was hired for is a mid-level job at best. I took it because I wanted to have something,” he said. He nodded toward the wall of the office behind Mahoney. “Unfortunately, the asshole who sits in that corner office, the head of Communications, never really wanted me.”
“Who’s he?” Mahoney asked.
“Mitch Samuels. He’s been here for sixteen years and isn’t about to let me, or anyone else, get too established,” he said.
“You’re a big threat, Jerry. Coming in from IBM, and City Hall in New York. Guy knows you can fight with the best of them,” Mahoney said.
“I thought I could too,” Mills said. “But these corporate fights are different. At City Hall, you just went after people. Someone was trying to nail you, you went and nailed him first. Here, it’s all done subtly, people sneaking around and laying traps for you.”
“Nobody gets blood on their hands,” Mahoney said.
“I took a thirty-percent pay cut when I took this job,” Mills said. “You know what that’s like?”
Mahoney smiled and said, “I’m taking a one-hundred percent pay cut. I’m about to get my last check from the Herald. So, yes, I know what’s it like.”
“It means your daughter’s tuition payment to Northwestern doesn’t get paid,” Mills continued. “It means after a year or so you’ve sucked off all your reserves to cover the gap between your income and your expenses. It means after a year things are starting to get paid late. Next step is, something won’t get paid at all.”
“Oh, I get it,” Mahoney said.
Mills was still slumped in his chair, shoulders down and looking broken. Mahoney knew the look, and he knew the feeling. “How old are you, Jerry?” he asked.
“Fifty-seven,” Mills answered.
“You got me by two years,” Mahoney said.
“Lucky me,” Mills said.
“You lose a gig at that age, it’s like you’re radioactive,” Mahoney said. “No one is touching you. You walk in to talk job with someone and they’re dressed in those hazmat suits, got the goggles on and breathing masks and gloves, and all that stuff. They ain’t touching you. Only thing they want to do is get you out of their office as soon as possible.”
Mills sat forward and leaned over his desk. “If you don’t have a chair when the music stops, you’re not getting one,” he said.
“Reuben obviously knows about this?”
“Yes,” Mills said. “He was one of the first people I called when these clowns told me I was done.”
“He knows everyone, can’t he get you a spot somewhere?”
“He tried, and he told me he probably could, but it was going to take some time. Plus, he said there’s always the chance I could wind up back in the same situation: brought into a department that’s already established, and everyone feeling like I’m a threat that needs to be eliminated.”
Mills sighed then said, “What about you? You were a big-shot columnist.”
“Best offer I had was from some website to write my column for them.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“They offered me thirty-five bucks a column,” Mahoney said. “I did the math. I’d have to write three thousand columns a year to gross six-figures. That’s about eight columns a day, every day. I’d need to write a column every two hours. I don’t think I have a thought every two hours most days.”
“You’re screwed,” he said.
“Thank you for the reminder,” Mahoney said.
“Even worse than me,” he said.
A few moments of uncomfortable silence passed. Mahoney knew Mills was thinking the same thing he was: This was why Hartman tried to connect them. They were two guys going nowhere. Mahoney thought about the bar, it was never going to work with Mills. But maybe he could strike a deal with Reuben to own it by himself.
“This bar,” Mills said, getting his attention.
Mahoney shrugged. “I don’t see how it works out.”
“Me neither,” Mills said.
“I’m good at frequenting bars, not running them,” Mahoney said.
“Last business in the world I want to be in,” Mills said. “People drinking, fighting, throwing up.”
“Yeah,” Mahoney said.
They were quiet for a moment, and Mahoney wanted to make sure that was the end of the bar talk so he got up and said, “I’m going to take off, Jerry. Hey, listen, good luck with everything.”
Mills stood up and they shook hands. “Yeah, same,” he said.
Mahoney thought maybe they should exchange email addresses or numbers, but it felt fake. A formality just for show. Who the hell were they kidding? Like they were going to stay in touch.
“I hear of anything that sounds good for you, I’ll tell Reuben, you know, so he can get the word to you,” Mahoney said.
“I’ll do the same,” Mills said.
Mahoney turned and headed for the door and he felt relieved. He could go back and tell Jen he had tried, but it just wasn’t meant to be.
“Hey, Phil.” He was at the door when Mills called out to him.
Mahoney turned and Mills asked, “Realistically, you have any other options?”
He looked across at Mills, hesitated, then said, “Zero.”
“Me neither,” Mills said. “So, why not? I mean, what the hell?”