Fast Forward 6 Months
A Call From Mr. Woodward
The wall phone in the warehouse rang.
"Yes, sir! I will tell him right away. Yes, sir. Good-bye." Mel was almost standing at attention while on the phone. He set the receiver on its hook and looked around for Stephen.
Stephen was lining a dustbin with a plastic bag; finishing up his rounds of collecting rubbish. It was almost time for his coffee break.
"Peacock! I need to have a word with you ASAP!" Mel yelled across the warehouse.
"Yes, sir?"
"Mr. Woodward rang down here. He wants to see you in his office right away!"
Stephen could feel his stomach tense up. He thought he was doing a good job in Packing and Maintenance.
"Do I have enough time to clean up a bit?" he asked.
"Yes, but get on with it."
Stephen rushed over to his locker. He opened it and took out a brush with which to brush off his work smock. He then took out a can of black polish and a shoe brush. He snapped open the lid and ran the brush through the black cake. He set his foot up on the bench and brush-shined his shoe. Then he did the same with the other shoe. He set the polish and brushes back in his locker. He took out a comb and dragged it through his hair.
"Hurry up, Cinderella! You haven't got all day!" Mel teased.
"What's Mr. Woodward want with him?" asked Colin.
"I dunno. I hope he's not getting the sack. I kinda like his old grouchy ass!" Mel chuckled.
"He does rather grow on you once you get to know him. And he does play a good game of football," Colin agreed.
"True."
Stephen strode over to where they were gossiping, "How do I look?"
"You look lovely! Now don't keep your date waiting!" They both chuckled at him.
Stephen marched to the service lift and pressed for the 5th floor. The bell dinged and he disappeared into the open lift. Inside he fidgeted, checking his look in the reflection of the stainless steel walls. His palms began to get clammy and the lift ascended.
The bell dinged and the doors opened. He was on the executive floor: personnel, accounts, security. The halls were decorated in dark paneling, dark gold carpeting; a large portrait of the late Mr. Lothrop hung in a gilded frame; small sconces with flickering gas flames lined the walls. Ornate crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling.
He stopped at the receptionist's desk, "I'm Captain Peacock. Mr. Woodward rang for me to see him," Stephen introduced himself.
"Yes," she said curtly, "take a seat. I will let him know you're here."
She couldn't have been more than about 20. She had shoulder-length blonde hair, a young schoolgirl face, narrow shoulders, and blue eyes.
The phone buzzed. She picked up the receiver and put it to her ear, "Yes, sir? Yes, he's here. Right. I'll send him in. Out," she hung up the phone and turned her attention to Stephen, "Mr. Woodward will see you now."
She stood up and opened the door for Stephen. Stephen smoothed his smock and trousers and confidently entered the office. The office had bright white walls. An aerial picture of London hung over Mr. Woodward's desk. His desk was massive, piled with manuals, papers, and samples from sellers. There was a wide floor-to-ceiling window adorned with sheer curtains; it allowed a view of High Street and let the sunlight in. On the desk squatted a banker's lamp, seated next to it was an executive pen set.
Mr. Woodward was a large, imposing man. He had broad shoulders and a prominent chin. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and a dark charcoal-colored suit. His hair was salt and pepper, parted on the side. He extended his hand to Stephen.
Stephen grasped it firmly.
"Stephen Peacock, right?" Mr. Woodward started.
"Yes, sir."
"Have a seat, Peacock."
Stephen sat down in a burgundy leather wing chair
"Well, Peacock, I'll cut to the chase. The reason I called you in is that I've been talking to Mr. Grace from Grace Brothers. He said he rang a few weeks ago to offer you your old job back and you told him that you have it good here. He said you turned him down flat, despite his offer of a pay rise. Is that correct?"
Stephen could feel his face grow hot, "Yes, sir."
"Well, Peacock, loyalty like that does not go unnoticed here at Woodward and Lothrop. Do you like your job down in Packing and Maintenance?" he inquired.
"I'm grateful for my job, sir," he answered, trying not to sound nervous.
"But, do you like pushing a broom, scrubbing toilets, pulling rubbish, changing light bulbs, greasing the lift tracks, unloading lorries in the rain? Is that how you saw yourself at 50-something? You can be honest," he pressed.
Stephen was on guard. He didn't know what Mr. Woodward was getting at and feared that if he said he did not like his job, he might be on the chopping block; he was afraid they were letting someone go and since he was the least senior, it might be him.
"Yes, sir. I like my job. I like coming home and my wife is happy to see me and has my tea waiting," he explained.
"Mr. Grace said you would say that!" he chuckled, "OK, here goes. The floorwalker in the Menswear Department died unexpectedly last night…"
"I'm sorry to hear that, sir," Stephen interjected humbly.
"He was a good man; been here 35 years. He will be missed. I need a floorwalker. You have the experience. You know men's clothing. You have the customer relations thing down. You look good in a suit. You come with accolades from Mr. Grace. The man loves you. If you want the job- it's yours." Mr. Woodward smiled broadly.
Stephen's heart leapt. Floorwalker? Basically his old job back!
Mr. Woodward searched Stephen's face, "Do you need time to think it over?" he asked almost teasing.
It wasn't funny to Stephen. As much as working in Packing and Maintenance was a demotion, he grew fond of his co-workers and felt they had a mutual respect for each other. The camaraderie they had developed playing football was incalculable.
Part of him wanted to dance; another part of him began to feel the loss of his friends.
"I'll take the job, sir," he declared.
"Good. That settles it. You start tomorrow morning, 8:30. Menswear is shut for the day," Mr. Woodward affirmed.
"May I please have the rest of the day off to get things in order?"
"Yes, you do that. Welcome to middle management, Captain Peacock!" He offered his hand to Stephen and Stephen immediately shook it.
The ride down in the lift was bittersweet. He would be happy to be back in the Menswear Department, but he knew he would miss being a bit of a lad joking and carrying on with the guys in the warehouse and stockroom. His face screwed into a grimace as he fought between wanting to gloat and feeling a let down.
The lift bell dinged and the doors opened in the warehouse. He took a deep breath. They all stood waiting.
"Well, what'd he want?" beckoned Colin.
The crew gathered round him: Jack, Richard, Colin, Paul and Mel.
"You're not getting sacked are ya?" asked Richard.
"Let the man talk! G'head, Stephen!" urged Jack.
"I've been promoted. They're sending me up to Menswear!" Stephen fought to contain himself.
"To clean?" Paul joked, "Is their loo bound up?" They all laughed.
"No. Floorwalker," Stephen said.
Their faces fell. They shuffled about and stared at him.
"Good on ya, Stephen!" Jack cheered, "You don't belong down here! You with those baby's arse soft hands and your cuff links and fancy ties! You belong up there! But, don't forget us down here. Don't forget where ya came from!"
"I won't," he promised, "I've got to clean out my locker. Thank you...for everything."
He was somber. They all patted him on the back as he walked off. He left them and wended his way to the locker room.
He arrived at Grace Brothers about an hour after his meeting with Mr. Woodward. He had changed into his suit and carried his smock and work togs in his sport bag.
It was almost Betty's lunchtime. By now he was bubbling; he couldn't wait to tell Betty.
He entered Grace Brothers and stepped into a waiting lift.
"Second floor, please," he requested.
"Oh, hello, Captain Peacock!" greeted the lift girl, "What brings you down this end of town?"
"Hello, Julia. I'm going to have lunch with my wife," he smiled. She smiled back and pressed the floor button.
Ding! The lift doors opened and he stepped out. He stood surveying the department; it had been a long time since he took in this view from the top of the stairs. It was a slow day. Betty was arranging some wigs on the center display stand.
"Mrs. Peacock! You 'ave a customer!" called Miss Brahms, motioning toward Stephen.
Betty straightened up to see Stephen gliding down the stairs. His face lit up when he saw her. He advanced quickly, rushing up to her and wrapping his arms around her. He caught her off-guard and she pounded his back, acting as if a stranger was accosting her.
"Stephen! Have you gone mad?" she sputtered.
"I didn't mean to startle you, Dear," he apologized.
By now, Betty's coworkers were all staring.
Mr. Lucas and Mr. Humphries looked on to see what was going to happen.
"I hope he doesn't make a scene. I can't go through that again!" warned Mr. Lucas.
"No. I don't think it's that. Look at him, he looks positively giddy!" Mr. Humphries related.
"I got a promotion at work!" he blurted.
"Yeah? What did they promote you to?" She dared not make a joke, not in front of everyone. Even though Stephen was too proud to show it, he was very self-conscious about working in Packing and Maintenance.
He whispered in her ear, "Floorwalker." He could barely breathe; he held her tightly.
"Well done, Sweetheart! I am very happy for you. I've always been proud of you," she playfully mussed his hair.
He kissed her, "Let's get lunch!"
The End