Samhain.doc 5
2005
"Dr Varady, after last Halloween, I thought I issued a memo ending the wearing of costumes by employees. Is my memory failing me?"
I put as much sternness into the question as I could manage, but after all, I was dealing with Laura Varady, a kind, decent woman who very likely was the only person on site who cared what happened to me. I was never completely successful at convincing Laura that my new post Incident X persona was my true and genuine self.
Laura Varady stood there in my office. She couldn't sit down, not in my chairs, because attached to her back was a pair of orange and black butterfly wings, patterned like a Monarch butterfly. She was dressed all in black; clipped across her head was a set of...'insect feelers', bouncing on springs.
Her grandchildren must love this.
"Your memory is fine, Mason. It's just that the third quarter profit statement was disappointing. Everyone here knows that no matter what project they personally work on, that all of our raises are tied to sales in the agricultural division, and sales have not approached projections.
"Sad, but true, Dr Varady. Sales of seed for the new 'Harlequin' green and purple variegated brussel sprouts...were disastrous. Demand for wool-bearing Holstein cattle is slow to develop. Shearing the beasts has proven a challenge. The only bright spot has been the "Indigo" rose, a free-blooming, pest-impervious floribunda with incredible disease resistance."
"At last, the elusive blue rose! One is happily growing in my garden," Laura beamed. Her butterfly wings fluttered slightly. "Well, people have been moping for the past month, knowing the Christmas bonus will be modest, and raises small."
"Can't be helped. My bonus is calculated by the same formula used for everyone else. The employees do know that, don't they?"
Laura was silent for a moment. I knew why. She was a gentle soul, and did not want to hurt my feelings. Few employees believed that I had them, but Laura had known me in the 1980s when I did all I knew to do to live an unexceptional, mainstream life.
"How to say this...I don't think many of them imagine you have a need for money. They don't know you have three children to put through college."
I sighed. Laura meant well enough, and would never undermine my authority about getting the better of me after going against my wishes and re-instating Halloween festivities.
"Please don't do this again without speaking to me first."
"Mason, you should come down to the cafeteria for pumpkin caroling at lunch." Laura had completely recovered her typical –and genuine—cheerfulness.
"Pumpkin carols?"
"Yes! Just as in the Charlie Brown Great Pumpkin carton. You know about the Great Pumpkin, don't you?"
"Ah, yes." I had watched that program with Grey the last autumn I had been part of a family.
"Is something wrong?"
"No." Yes. Recalling that memory was painful every time.
"Mason, we're going to have fresh-pressed cider, the real stuff with pulp, not filtered, pasteurized apple juice. Dr Shah and Dr Steyn took a Genomex van and are picking up gallons of it right now."
"On company time?"
"Well, yes. I wanted it to be fresh. I'll come around near noon to take you down to the cafeteria."
"I never eat lunch there."
"You'll be there for the cider and the pumpkin carols. Please, Mason, don't fuss. I worry about your isolation from everyone. The cafeteria will even be decorated."
Not waiting for the anticipated objection, Laura turned and 'fluttered' out of my office, orange and black wings flapping. Laura Varady could get just about anything she wanted from me.
"The Decorating Committee did a spectacular job in the cafeteria. We have some talented people here at Genomex."
I had imagined paper pumpkins on the tables and paper ghosts, witches, and skeletons on the walls. The cafeteria was nothing like that. O, no.
The cafeteria was awash in purple light, except for the area where servers were working and the serving line itself. I could barely see anything else.
"Isn't it wonderful?" Laura cooed.
"It is...dramatic."
In the poor lighting, few employees recognized me immediately. I even heard one fellow say, "Hey, who's that dressed up just like Eckhart?", and another close by respond with, "That is Eckhart, fool."
There was a choir belting out pumpkin carols. Mercifully, I could not understand the words. Laura led me towards the cider table.
My face brushed against something soft and fuzzy at eye level. Startled, I jumped backwards.
"Mason, I'm sorry. I should have warned you about the 'spiders'. There are dozens of them hanging from the ceiling. Hell's Belles thought of almost everything, didn't they?"
"Hell's Belles?"
"he committee that put all of this together. After planning began, Mayakovsky and Jayaraman joined the group, and they were the only men. They both found it terribly amusing to be called a 'Hell's Belle', so the group retained its name."
"I can imagine those two being highly amused."
My eyes had adjusted to the semi darkness, and I could now brush aside dangling spiders instead of colliding with them. Laura brought me to the table staffed by three Hell's Belles pouring out cups of cider, including a bubbly Mayakovsky dressed as a pirate, complete with eyepatch and plush toy parrot affixed to his left shoulder.
What a funloving crew.
Through the gloom, I was able to discern that Dr Shah was dressed as some kind of bacterium, and that Dr Steyn was some sort of ancient Egyptian, including overdone eye makeup.
"Everyone seems to be having a good time," Laura said, handing me a paper cup of cider.
She was correct. About half of the employees were in costume, and they all seemed quite jolly.
"That they do, Laura."
"Ah, Mason, you called me Laura again! You're relaxing! Great!"
As soon as she spoke the words, the alarms sounded, and the emergency lights came on just before the purple ones were extinguished. Electric service had been cut. Three of my agents ran towards me: McCracken, Katz, and Melnyk, dressed as the Frankenstein monster, the Wolf-Man, and the Mummy respectively.
There must be a Dracula here somewhere.
"Where's the breach?"
"The labs." I could see only one of Melnyk's eyes through the mummy wrappings.
"Adam's probably come shopping again. Let's go get him before he checks out."
My little band of stalwart agents shuffled toward the door, McCracken impeded by a pair of clunky, oversized boots, Katz having problems with bushy eyebrows coming loose and blocking his vision, and Melnyk tripping over his mummy wrappings.
I turned as we reached the door, and shouted, "Everyone else, stay here in the cafeteria."
Fortunately, the lab section was not far. We left a trail of torn mummy wrappings and fallen eyebrows. We turned a corner into a corridor leading to an outside door.
O DEAR GOD.
Adam was there, only a few yards from a door, wearing a shimmering black cape. He opened his mouth, and hissed, baring his vampire fangs. I was prepared for anything but a hissing, be-fanged Adam. No one must have looked closely at his face since he was in costume.
He was dragging two heavy-duty, black trash bags. I could make a guess about what was in them: pipettor tips, disposable gloves, weighing boats, and boxes and boxes of plastic Pasteur pipettes. That's what he always took, along with a few small, expensive items.
"Adam, why don't you get a Fisher catalogue and order these things?"
"I enjoy the challenge!"
And the vampire theme does suit you, more than you know.
My band of agents lurched forward—their movement could not be fairly described as surging.
Adam laughed, and turned, running towards the door, cape flowing out behind him, bags sliding on the floor.
Melnyk the mummy went down after a few running strides. McCracken was hopelessly slowed down by his absurd footwear. Only Katz had a chance, bounding ahead after Adam.
I helped Melnyk get back to his feet despite the tangle of funerary wrappings.
"Thank you, sir. Sorry, sir."
"Don't you ever do anything like this again, Melnyk."
"No, sir."
I looked down the corridor in time to see Adam turn and wallop Katz with a black, silver-headed cane. Katz went down in great pain, and Adam slipped through the door.
"Get the medical staff here, and call the paramedics. Katz could have bad injuries."
I returned to my office for some peace and isolation from the madness. I sighed upon entering what I thought of as sacred space. Someone had placed faux cobwebs all over my window onto podding operations.
I sagged down into my chair and closed my eyes. Maybe I needed a nap after all of this. Then my door opened. Laura Varady fluttered in.
"I'm so sorry, Mason."
"It was not your fault. How were you to know light-fingered Adam would pay a visit?"
"You're not angry with me?"
"No, Dr Varady."
"Everyone was thrilled! Next year, we're planning something even grander!"
I just nodded. If Laura Varady wanted it, somehow, it would happen.