2PM Wednesday, March 28, 2007.
In a black plastic chair in a waiting room on the top floor of a downtown office building sat a humanoid gumball machine, dressed in jacket and tie. Looking behind him, through a large floor-to-ceiling window, he could make out the entire skyline of Delta City: buildings, houses, the Park where he worked, and even the snow-dusted mountains beyond. Looking forward, he could see the interior of the office. It was your standard "industrial moderne" office: no ceiling of white acoustic tiles, just bare concrete with exposed pipes, round steel ducts, and skinny single tube fluorescent fixtures casting bluish-white light on the polished mahogany floors. In the distance, behind a glass wall, he could make out rows of cubicles and behind them a large conference room with a sturdy walnut table and a view of the outdoors.
Directly in front of him was a large curved mahogany desk with the large brass plaque in its center. It had the words "Maellard Capital" emblazoned in bold Sans Serif font against a stylized image of the Moon. Behind this desk sat a receptionist, who, for the moment, was busy playing Solitaire on her computer.
Midway through her third hand, she received a call on the large gray phone on her desk. Pausing her game, she picked up the headset:
"Uhuh, will send those letters right away," said her to the unseen voice on the other end of the call.
"On a different note, Sir, there is a Mr. Benson here. He claims he is here for a 2 o'clock appointment. Shall I let him in?"
"Uhuh, ok, oh, I see, right away..."
And as she hung up the phone, she turned towards the gumball machine and said, "Sir, Mr. Maellard is ready to see you. 3rd door on the right."
And with that, the gumball machine got up from his chair and walked down the hall. Passing by cubicles and conference rooms, he walked on until coming to a large wooden door. In the center of the door was a small brass plaque engraved: "M. Maellard, Chairman/CEO."
"Must be it," he muttered to himself, "place sure has changed since they remodeled" before gently knocking above the handle.
The door was propped ajar. Peering in, the gumball machine saw an old man with a cratered face smoking a pipe, wearing an Italian business suit. Although his back was facing the door, the old man nevertheless sensed the presence of a visitor and beckoned his entry: "Ah! It's you, Beanteen! Please, do come in."
The gumball machine looked around the ornate office. While he has seen it before, its contents were still a source of wonder: the mahogany floors, the beautiful oak desk, the wood-paneled walls with shelves lined with rare books and artwork, the leather chairs, and the oriental rugs.
The old man motioned to a fancy leather chair facing a large wooden desk, beckoning his visitor to sit down, while he himself sat in a large leather chair behind his desk, ready to face his visitor.
"So Beanteen," the old man started, "what brings you here today?"
"The name is Benson, sir." the gumball machine replied with a sigh.
"Beanteen," the old man replied with a sense of superiority, as he knew full well his staff's names. But as the firm's boss, he will call his staff by any name he pleases, a privilege he seemed to relish in today.
"My annual performance review?" continued the gumball machine.
"No, that is next month," responded the moon-faced man.
Confused, Benson asked, "If you don't mind me asking, then why am I here?"
"I'm getting too old for this, Beanteen; I just turned 150 last August. In exactly 30 days, we will celebrate the 100th anniversary of the Park. 100 years, do you believe that?"
"And I've been in charge of the Park for 75 of them! It is time that I step down and name my successor. So at next month's Gala, I will nominate my son, Pops, to take over as Chairman/CEO of Maellard Capital, as I believe he is more than capable of taking the helm."
Benson shuddered at the words. While Pop's is certainly a nice fellow, never once would he consider him mature enough to handle the management of a multi-billion real estate empire, yet here he was about to be promoted. Knowing Maellard's plan for his son piqued his curiosity. What plans might the Boss have in store for him, he wondered. "A promotion, perhaps? Or heaven forbid, a demotion?"
"And as far you're concerned..." continued the moon face man. Benson stared at him with tight lips, saving his emotions for the final answer.
"Well, you'll be promoted to Pop's old position of Executive Director of Parks and Recreation."
"You're placing me in charge of the park?" said a shocked Benson. "Wow, Sir, that is quite the honor! I assure you, Sir, that you have my utmost gratitude, and I will do my best to uphold..." replied the gumball machine before being cut off by the moon-faced man.
"Enough with the platitudes, Beanteen!" said the old man, interrupting Benson.
"You are not Director yet. And, as you know: next month is our Annual Spring Gala! Ordinarily, seating at the Annual Spring Gala is reserved for donors only. However, given the unusual circumstances: my retirement, the Park's 100th anniversary, your promotion, and my appointment of a successor... Well, I'm making an exception. For this Gala only, all park staff and their guests are hereby invited" Maellard said with a smile.
"Wow, Sir! That is quite an honor. I'll be sure to tell the staff," said Benson.
And then, in a split second, the old man's face went from a smile to a menacing glare. Maellard's blue eyes focused on his target, with a laser-like gaze that pierced Benson's soul.
"The Mayor, the Parks Commissioner, State Senator Stampington, and several other important individuals will be in attendance," continued the moon-faced old man.
"If things go as planned, you can rest assured of your promotion and the lucrative benefits that come with it," said Maellard.
Maellard paused to let Benson self-congratulate for a bit. Then, he narrowed his eyes yet further, darkened his voice even more, and continued the conversation.
"However, if anything goes less than smooth, well, getting fired shall be the least of your worries. You understand, Beanteen?"
Benson nodded sheepishly.
And in a stern yet quiet voice, he finished, "Good. Good. For, I do not want ANY FUCK-UPS... on my Park's biggest day, now would I. Is that understood?"
"Yes," gulped Benson, scared at the change in Maellard's demeanor and his sudden use of strong language.
"Are we clear?"
"Yes, Sir. Clear as crystal", gulped Benson.
"Excellent, then what shall not happen on the day of the biggest event in Park history?" asked Maellard wryly, wanting to be sure Benson paid attention.
"Fuck-ups, Sir. No Fuck-ups on your big event," said Benson with all the confidence he could muster while holding back his fear.
He knew Maellard was a powerful man with powerful connections, not somebody to displease. He shuddered at the thought of what might happen to him should any such "fuck-ups" occur.
"Excellent, my boy!" said Maellard while condescendingly patting Benson on the back.
"I knew it! I knew it! I knew it! My boy! Promoting you was a smart move! Even though some members of the board advised me against it. Now get back to work, and do not make me regret my decision!"
As Benson was heading out the door, Mr. Maellard said, "Oh..Oh...Ohh...I almost forgot... A couple just rented the ballroom for a wedding reception the day after the Gala. In return for my generosity, I trust that you and your staff can get the place clean and the job done right. Good luck, my future Executive Director, Benson Dunwoody! And do not disappoint me."
"That's strange, he actually pronounced my name right for once," thought the gumball machine as he made his way to the exit.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here, we learn about the Gala and its importance to Maellard. I used "Beanteen" to signify Maellard's sense of superiority over his Park Manager, emphasizing the disparity in wealth and power. Maellard calling him by his real name at the end represents not only the newfound respect stemming from his new position but also the increased risk Benson now must face in his new role as Executive Director of Parks and Recreation.
