I'LL BE RIGHT HERE
Chapter Sixteen
"Rule number one: this business, real life, it's boring."
(From: 'Kiss Kiss Bang Bang'.)
-x0x-
Then…
Burton Guster sat cross-legged on the floor of his tiny office, balancing a plate of hors d'oeuvres on his knee and wishing with all his might and main that an alien spaceship would touch down, right now, on the roof of Central Coast Pharmaceuticals.
(Or maybe in ten minutes, when he had finished eating. Finch's home-baked mini quiches were surprisingly delicious.)
The open day was running smoothly and Gus was pretty sure his speech was going to be a hit – he had wrangled with it all through the night and his ongoing sugar binge had worked miracles – but he was bored; so bored; so very, very bored. If Shawn had poked his head around the door at this precise moment and snaffled all of his mini quiches, Gus would still be overjoyed to see him.
Shawn.
He dragged his personal cell phone out of his pocket and stared at the blank screen, feeling guilty. He had turned it off this morning, certain that his friend would be unable to keep his word and leave him alone. Especially with an alien – fake alien – in tow. If Gus were to turn his phone back on, he knew there would be a stream of… well, frankly hilarious messages waiting for him. And he could do with a laugh.
He pressed the button and waited.
Ten minutes later, he was still waiting. The message inbox on his phone was as empty as his plate. Absent-mindedly, Gus collected the last few crumbs of quiche with his fingertip and dropped them into his mouth. The buttery goodness dissolved on his tongue but he didn't even notice. He was troubled. Shawn never left him alone for this long. Ironically, his ridiculous observations and jokes were the one thing that always kept Gus sane at work. They popped up with startling frequency because, apparently, Shawn couldn't keep a single thought to himself once it had occurred to him. And yet, today of all days, there was absolutely nothing. Even more surprising - when Gus tried to call his friend, it went straight to voicemail.
"You listened to me, Shawn?" he said out loud, still staring at the screen. "I don't believe it."
Pulling out his work phone, he studied that one too. Three messages this time, and all of them from Frankjim Ogletree, his creepy line manager.
Guster. We've run out of quiches.
Guster. Where are you?
Speech minus 30. Get here now and bring more food. The peasants are revolting.
"No," said Gus to his work phone. "You're revolting."
A tingle ran down his spine, as though someone officious with terrible hair had just walked over his grave. For one nasty moment, he truly believed that Ogletree had heard him. Pigeon spies on the window ledge, perhaps? He looked up – and squealed in surprise.
"There you are," said his boss.
Gus leapt to his feet and checked that his shirt was still tucked neatly into his waistband. "Ah," he said. "Yes. Um…"
Nope. I've got nothing.
The empty plate lay on the floor behind his desk, shiny, white and accusing. He tried not to look at it, hoping it was well out of Ogletree's line of sight. Frankjim folded his arms and gave that irritating almost-smile of his, the one that said: I've got you now.
With a glance at his watch, Gus clung to the only escape option he had at his disposal. "Oh my gosh," he exclaimed. "Here I am, just taking a moment to centre myself and practice my speech one last time – not eating quiches at all – and I could have missed it altogether! Thank you, sir. I expect they're waiting for me. I'll be going now," he added hopefully.
Ogletree continued to stare at him, as though willing his runaway tongue to say something even more unfortunate. Knowing how likely that was, Gus clamped his lips together. He grabbed the speech from his desk and sidled past Ogletree, sucking in his gut and holding his breath in case it smelled of cheese and onion. The man watched him pass with pale, unfriendly eyes, but didn't try to stop him.
Oh my gosh…
Walking down the corridor, Gus managed to control his pace but his mind was racing at a mile a minute. Once he had turned the corner and left Frankjim Ogletree safely behind (for the moment, at least), he paused and leaned back against the wall to steady himself. Closing his eyes, he breathed through the problem and sorted it carefully into three categories.
Number one: least alarming. I have to give a speech in ten minutes. Okay, he could manage that. It was written down and it was good. All he had to do was read it. No need to look at the sea of faces… Stop that!
Number two: mildly alarming. Frankjim Ogletree hates me. So, what else was new?
Number three: extremely bothersome and – oh, come on, just say it. "Very alarming indeed," he muttered. Shawn was off the grid. Incommunicado.
Once again, he tried to call his friend. Once again, he came up against that ridiculous answerphone message. "I'll give you 'wait for iiiiiit'," Gus grumbled. "How can you do this to me?" Which was unfair, he knew, but his heart was beginning to bang like a drum and his go-to response for that was always to blame Shawn Spencer. Rightly, as it often turned out. It was only in the last few weeks that he had noticed a subtle change in his friend. Beneath the insanity, there was a happiness, grounding the man in a way that Gus had never seen before. Would it last? Impossible to tell. Shawn really was his own worst enemy sometimes. But Juliet loved him, and he loved her back. Gus was a great believer in the power of love; a romantic at heart, and he hoped for the best…
Juliet.
Juliet! Who had tried to call him, he noticed, when he looked back at his personal phone.
"You're an idiot, Burton Guster," he breathed, as he keyed in her number.
-x0x-
It was Paul Haversham, the Vice President himself, who came upon Gus this time, just as he sank to the floor in a daze.
"Oh," said Haversham, somewhat vaguely. He wandered past and then halted. "That you down there, Guster?"
What? "Yes, sir," Gus replied automatically.
"Mind if I join you?"
Whaaat?
Haversham bumped into the wall and slid downwards. Now they were side by side. Gus could smell the contents of the V.P.'s paper cup, and it wasn't coffee; that much was certain. One little mystery solved.
"Ah… sir? Can I help you?" he asked politely. Inside, he was screaming: I have to get out of here! I have to find Shawn. Juliet's news had ranked at number four on the Guster scale: so alarming that he could barely cope with it. This was turning into a very bad day.
"Mm? Yes. Help," said Haversham. "You can pass on a message to that friend of yours. The psychic one. The smartass. The busybody."
I wish I could, thought Gus unhappily.
"Tell him there'll be no more 'favours'. This is the las' one. I'm retiring, so he'll have to find another patsy." Haversham's words were slurred, but his eyes were gleaming. "Though, I have t' say, he was right about you, Guster. You do throw one hell of a good shindig."
What?
"Wait a minute." Gus spoke slowly. Had he really understood what Haversham was saying? "Are you telling me that Shawn…?"
"I had a good run, didn't I?" Haversham closed his eyes and tipped his head back, taking another sip of his not-coffee as he did so. "I was a good boss… Just ask Bianca… Sweet Bianca, with her wonderful pappardelle…"
Don't go maudlin on me, Gus sighed. He didn't have time for this; really he didn't. "I always liked you, Mr. Haversham. Paul," he said with as much sincerity as he could fake at this difficult moment. "Tell you what – I'll go and find Shawn right now. Pass on your message. No more favours – got it." He clambered to his feet. Haversham gazed up at him, bleary-eyed, and raised his paper cup in a wobbly salute.
"Basil Guster. Good man."
Gus walked away, shaking his head.
I have to get out of here.
-x0x-
The lobby was a minefield, with the front door beckoning on the other side; a gleaming hope of freedom. Gus stared at the milling crowd of employees and visitors, all waiting to enter the conference room. All waiting to hear his speech.
He clutched the sheaf of papers in his sweating palm and swallowed, hard.
A hand clapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey," said a sharp voice. "You hear about Haversham?"
"Actually, yes." Gus turned and found himself staring into the cold face of Dorian Creech, his least favourite co-worker. "He's leaving. So?"
"So," Creech echoed, watching him carefully. "That's a job worth aiming for. Right?"
"Maybe." Gus really wasn't listening.
"They'll be looking for someone who knows how to make their mark around here." Creech glanced down at the crumpled papers. "That your speech, Barton? Any good?"
"What?" I really don't have time for this. Taking a deep breath, Gus stared him squarely in the face. "Yes, it is, as a matter of fact. But I can't do this right now." He shoved his precious work into Dorian's hands. "Knock yourself out, okay? I'm leaving. Tell them I'm ill or something. I really don't care."
Creech stared at him in shock but Gus was done with the man. He felt reckless and unafraid. It was strangely exhilarating. Marching through the crowd with such determination that it actually parted for him, like the Red Sea for the Israelites, he reached the front door and laid his hand upon it. So close. So close to freedom…
"Leaving, sir?" Sally, the doorman with the crooked smile, gave him a shrewd look.
"Yes, I am," said Gus.
"Coming back?"
"Not today, Sally. Not today."
"Very well." Sally continued to stare at him. "If I may say so, you look like a man on a mission."
"That's very observant of you." Gus was bouncing on the balls of his feet by now, so desperate was he to escape from this nightmare.
"Thank you, sir. That means more than you know." Sally leaned in and lowered his voice. "I've been training myself, you see. I don't mean to be a doorman for ever. I have my eye on another position…"
"V.P.?" said Gus, who wouldn't have been surprised by anything at this point.
Sally tapped the side of his nose and gave a secretive grin. "Better."
"Okay. Well…. erm, good luck with that."
"Thank you," Sally replied with deep satisfaction. "Thank you very much." And he opened the door.
Gus shot out of Central Coast as though Sally had fired him from a cannon. The fresh air was blissful, the sunshine a tonic. His ordeal was over. The fallout (and the grovelling) could wait until Monday.
Time to find Shawn.
-x0x-
A/N: This chapter includes several characters from 'Ghosts' and 'Office Space'. They aren't mine, but I had a lot of fun borrowing them (and doing the research, of course, which meant re-watching two great episodes).
More soon...