It wasn’t that he was really surprised by what had happened—truth be told, he’d known from the moment he saw Vance’s face last night that it would—it was just so fucking final. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he had hoped that it wouldn’t actually happen.
Talk about your wishful thinking.
And it had never happened to him before. OK, They say everyone gets fired some time; it had just never been his turn at the front of the line.
Until today.
He was in his office when Cynthia had stood there in the doorway, with an odd look on her face, and had told him that Mr. Vance wanted to see him in his office right away. Vance was waiting for him and it sounded important. He sounded annoyed or something. Was something going on?
She knew nothing about it and had just assumed that he was in one of his pissy moods because of—well, it could have been a hundred things, but she sure as Hell never guessed the real reason.
Jesus.
So he had gotten up, put on his jacket like he was about to make a presentation to a client and had walked across the hall.
Gardner had tried. To be fair to the man, he had tried. He had asked several times if there was an explanation, a reason, for what he had done. Could he give Vance a single reason not to fire him? Why the fuck had he done it?
Brian had tried, in a stilted way, to explain it but he knew that he wasn’t saying anything that Gardner would understand. Certainly he had nothing to say that would make him reverse the decision that he had to make, that he already had made.
As far as Vance was concerned, Brian had not only worked to subvert the work the company was doing for a client, but he was using agency resources to do it. In addition to that, the client he was undermining was one Brian had brought in himself, one he had cultivated and worked closely with and one who be of tremendous help in the future in securing new clients.
He was right. Brian had done all of that. He didn’t even try to deny it, there was no point after last night.
If all that wasn’t bad enough, the rumors that Brian had seduced that young intern were proven, all to graphically, to be true.
Vance had practically begged him for some excuse to not fire him, some extenuating circumstances he was unaware of. Of course he had couched it in terms of asking for some kind of explanation, but they both knew what he was getting at. He didn’t want to lose Brian, not if he could help it, not if there was a reason not to.
There were none. At least there were none that were acceptable.
There was no choice, he had to go.
He was fired.
He had fifteen minutes to clear out a few of his personal belongings under the watch of a security guard with Cynthia in the doorway answering questions about what belonged to him and what was company property.
He would be contacted within the week by the legal department about the buyout of his partnership and what he could expect in terms of a severance package.
He was told to remove agency keys from his key ring and give them to the guard, his employee ID card was taken. Escorted out by the guard, his coat and briefcase with the very few personal items in it were the only things he had been allowed to take. He was put in his car and was told that he was not to set foot on the premises without permission. His computer, which was owned by the company, would stay behind. If he had any personal files stored in it he might need, Vance’s secretary would be the one to retrieve them, his own assistant being too close to him to be allowed access to potentially damaging records.
Miss Monroe would be allowed to stay on, unless of course, if was discovered that she had any compliance in what had happened to sabotage the Stockwell campaign.
Shit, he’d have to call Cynthia, make sure she wasn’t being treated badly. They’d been together for six years, this sucked for her as much as it did for him.
Well, almost.
He was back in the loft before ten thirty that morning. It had all taken almost no time at all.
Numb, he had changed out of his suit, the dark blue Armani that was his favorite and put on the old comfortable jeans and long sleeved tee he could relax in.
Fuck.
He was at a loss as to what to do next. He was restless, charged, angry, depressed—part of him wanted to scream and kick something, part of him wanted to curl up on his bed and cry and part of him wanted to just laugh and tell everyone they could go fuck themselves.
He picked up the phone to call Justin or maybe Linds, but couldn’t do it. He was too embarrassed by being fired, by the humiliation of knowing the other employees knew that he’d been canned and why. He’d seen the looks on their faces as he was walked to the elevator by the guard and pity was the one thing he wouldn’t take from anyone, Goddamn it.
He knew that he was probably asking for it, he knew as soon as he saw Justin slapping those posters on that wall and he decided to help. It was a fence that couldn’t be straddled anymore, he’d fallen off and he was on the other side now with no going back.
He finally went up to the nightstand, taking out the box in the top drawer and walking down to the couch with it. Sitting on the white rug he started to roll himself a joint.
He looked up when he heard the door sliding open.
Fuck—there wasn’t a single person on the planet he wanted to talk to at just this moment.
Debbie with a casserole, a tuna casserole, probably with crumbled up potato chips on top. He hadn’t eaten that shit in like ten years and he knew she wouldn’t leave until she was ready. He was stuck for a while whether he liked it or not. He gave a mental sigh.
Well, her visit turned out better than he thought that it would. God knows he’d always loved Deb, but somehow he’d never thought about her stoned. Shit, she was high all the time anyway but the Woodstock story was worth the price of admission.
A couple of hours later they had munched their way through the entire casserole and after she had assured him that she had been driving stoned since before he was born and would be just fine getting home, Damnit, he settled in with another joint as he heard the elevator descent with her. He hoped she remembered to get out at the bottom. On impulse he slid Yellow Submarine into the machine, smoking the doobie and just pretty much zoning out for another while. He must have nodded off because the next thing he noticed was that the tape was over and channel four was on with the local news.
Stockwell’s ad came on, the one they’d shot in his living room the day they ended up in the hot tub.
Jesus, that was weird.
What was it about the man that he found ways to get Brian naked? The gym, the hot tub—talk about your closet case. Shit, if he wanted to fuck, why didn’t he just say so?
He heard the door slide open again. Who the fuck was it this time?
“Brian? I brought your things over. I wanted to make sure you got them. Can I come in?”
He glanced at the clock, six thirty, it was dark out and he was mostly down from the pot. He got up, snapped on a couple of lights as he walked over to the door.
“Yeah, Cynthia. Thanks. Come on in. Can I get you anything?” He took the box from her so she could put her coat over a chair.
“Wine?”
“Sure. White OK?” They were both subdued.
She nodded, sitting on one of the bar chairs. “You should have seen Vance after you left. He looked like someone had just shot his puppy.” She took a good swallow of the zinfandel. “He came over to your office and asked me to be sure that everything of yours was returned to you, that he wanted to be sure that nothing was stolen or anything.”
“He didn’t give you any shit, did he?”
“He couldn’t have been nicer. He made a point of telling me that my job was safe as long as I wanted it.”
He poured a glass for himself. “He asked if you were in on it?”
“Yes, but I told him that I wasn’t and he believed me.”
“Good. You just told him the truth.”
“Stockwell is such an asshole. I’m glad you did it.”
He smiled. “Didn’t think I had it in me, did you?”
“I knew you did. I’m proud of you, boss.” She took another sip of the zinfandel. “You know that when you get a new job, I’ll go with you.”
He refilled her glass. “…It could be a while.”
“Bullshit. You’re the best, even Vance was saying that, going on about how the Hell was he going to keep the clients without you being there? He didn’t want to fire you.”
“I know, he had no choice, but neither did I.”
They were quiet for a long minute. “The intern—Justin?—was fired, too. He might have problems with his school now.” Brian wasn’t surprised, of course he would have to fire Justin, too. “He called him into his office as soon as he reported down to the art department. The rumors were flying by then and he had to walk through the whole office. The poor thing looked like he was running a gauntlet.”
“I thought as much.” She saw the look on his face. Much as he was demolished by losing his job, he seemed more upset about the young man.
“Did you talk him into it? Brian?”
He breathed out a laugh. “No, I didn’t talk him into it.” He crossed over to the couch with his glass and the bottle as she joined him again, sitting on a chair oppisite him. Just as they were getting settled the door slid open again. “Christ, what is this? Fucking Grand Central Station?”
“Don’t give me shit today. I’ve had my share, thanks.”
Justin took the bottle from the coffee table, swigging it. “Rough day at school, dear?”
“Fuck you, Brian. Hi, Cynthia.” He plopped down next to Brian. “The Dean just spent forty-five minutes chewing me a new one. He wants me to apologize to Vance…”
“Do it.”
“…And Stockwell.”
“Shit.”
“I already talked to Vance, but I refused to apologize to Stockwell. Fuck him.”
“…Are you out of PIFA?”
“They went easy, I just got a six month suspension.”
Cynthia looked from one to the other. She wasn’t sure which one she felt the worst for. Brian would find another job, of course and the boy would go back to his school if he wanted to, but they were both in limbo for now.
“Brian? After you left I made a couple of calls. The agency will have to buy out your partnership, legal is going over the details of that and you should hear in a couple of days. There’s a non-competition clause in your contract, so you can’t start your own agency within five hundred miles of Pittsburgh for at least five years. Also, there’s a question about whether or not you’ll qualify for unemployment because you’re so senior. I think you’re technically a contracted independent worker or something like that. I’ll try to find out more tomorrow. Your benefits continue for six months under your contract, after that you can continue under COBRA if you want.”
He looked at her seemingly a bit overwhelmed by the day. Justin put his hand on Brian’s cheek. “You’ll be alright. You know you will.” Brian turned his head slightly, the smallest of smiles on his face with his thanks. The connection between the two was obvious to anyone.
“You two have known each other a while now haven’t you?” Brian had never told her about Justin and he never called the switchboard, only Brian’s cel when he was at work.
Justin answered her. “Almost three years, with a small break a few months ago.” He glanced back at Brian. “But that’s over now.” He put his hand on the other man’s knee, gripping it firmly. Justin looked straight at her. “He didn’t know I was applying for the internship. He only found out after I was hired. He didn’t pull any strings for me or anything.”
After everything that had happened today, he was worried she might think Brian had gotten his lover a job, taken advantage of his position with the company.
“I know he wouldn’t do that, Justin.”
Brian turned his attention back to her. “What will they have you doing there now?”
She shrugged. “I’ve been working for you for so long that they don’t know what to do with me. I think they’re afraid to assign me to one of the juniors because I know more than they do.”
“You know, if you play your cards right, you could get bumped to account exec.”
“Are you out of your mind? I saw what you go through. I’ll just type and answer the phone, thanks.”
He gave her one of his half smiles. “Hell of a day.”
“You said a mouthful, boss.” There was a silence that threatened to become strained.
Justin slapped his hand on Brian’s knee. “Fuck this depressing shit. I’m starving, let’s order something. Cynthia, what do you like?”
“I can’t, really, I should be going…”
“You heard the man, fuck this depressing shit. The condemned are going to eat a last meal and you’re going to join us, now what do you want?” Brian handed her the phone and a menu.
“Chinese. I feel the need for shrimp.”
“Oh, Christ. Not another one.”
Return to Simon's Fanfiction