MM Plude

MM Plude is a novelist who, during the day, puts on a serious face and with a mathematical mind, goes to work in the financial  industry. It is in early mornings, late nights, and bouts with insomnia where her sadistic side wreaks havoc on her fictional characters' lives. She takes particular joy in making plausible events bend to fit into potentially dangerous situations, commandeered by larger-than-life antagonists as her characters struggle to survive.

Ms. Plude enjoys walking in the country with her husband. They're expecting their first "Frukrainian" this winter, which is what happens when the French and Ukrainians procreate.

Ms. Plude is currently marketing two books: one about a strong but quirky female in a difficult work situation and a thriller that combines terrorism's obstinate creativity with nature's force.

plude@metrofiction.com

Pink Fedora

He wore a pink fedora.  Not all the time, just on Fridays.  Usually, that would be something I'd like about a person.  If I walked into a bar and saw someone wearing a pink fedora, I'd certainly make sure I was sitting next to him.  But Max was different.  He was a mean little man who wouldn't let me do the job I was hired to do.  Max was supposed to have retired several years ago, which is why I was brought in. But did he retire?  No, he kept clinging to his job in the same sorry way that wearing that crazy hat helped him cling to his youth.

You wouldn't think someone who wore something with such personality could be a nasty human being, but he was.  Lying to my superiors, he hoped that he could continue in his capacity as Chief Financial Officer with his green-lined ledger accounts and abacus for twenty more years.  He was 75, for crying out loud!  If I weren't all too familiar with his heart problems, I'd believe he didn't have a heart, just an empty chest cavity that somehow propelled his evil plans into action. Instead, he always walked around with those little green pills just inches from his reach.

"Must be nice to have the luxury of sleeping in."  Max pounced on me first thing as I step into the office.  I looked up at the clock; it was 7:01 a.m. Except for Max and the round-the-clock manufacturing floor, the company was still asleep.

"Good morning."  I stepped straight into my office and turned on my computer.

"Did you get the pro forma balance sheet done?"  He followed me into my office.

"How was your weekend?"  I mumbled, while I tossed my bag into my drawer.

"The pro formas?"  He ignored me.

"I was waiting to hear back from John in the shipping department."

"Did you telephone them?"

"No, I sent them a telepathic message."  I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples feigning some extra sensory capabilities.

"I wouldn't be joking around if I were you.  Franklin wants those." Max put his angry hands on his thin hips and rocked back and forth as if I should find his diminutive stature intimidating.

"Relax, I'll handle it."  I put my hand up to silence him.

"You'll 'handle' Franklin?" He tweaked his fingers making air-quotes, ducking his head at me like he was some kind of a prizefighter.

"I'll handle the project," I corrected him.

"Obviously you can't handle the project if he's calling looking for the statements."

"I can't give you something I don't have.  I put three calls in to John on Friday afternoon and he hasn't gotten back to me."  I looked down at my message indicator.

"Call him right away,"  he demanded, turning and sashaying out of my office. I watched him leave, willing him out of my life.  But with two little girls at home and jobs tight in this small town, Max would continue to be a part of my life.

By mid morning, I still hadn't received a phone call from John, so I walked over to his office on the other side of the manufacturing floor to see what was up.  He promised to get the expense numbers to me by noon.  I returned to my office and the phone rang.

"Strykeright Manufacturing, this is Karen."

"Karen?  Franklin here."  The terse voice came over the phone.  "Can you come to my office?"

"Sure."  I swallowed the lump in my throat.  "Right now?"

"The sooner the better."  He said as he hung up.

I stood up and looked around, not sure if there was anything I'd need. There was only one thing I could think of that Franklin would want to talk to me about, and that was the pro formas.  I grabbed the unfinished reports and made my way to Franklin's office.  I looked at Max as I walked out. He looked up, and then quickly looked back down like he was involved in his work.  Franklin didn't sound happy, that was for sure.  The sooner the better?  It's not something you say to someone that you're going to give a bonus to, promote, or something positive like that.  I could tell that this was another situation stirred up by the manicured hand of Max.

"Good morning Franklin."  I stepped into his office with feigned confidence.

"Have a seat."  He put down what he was doing and looked up at me.

"What's up?"  I smiled.

"Why aren't the pro formas on my desk?"  Franklin dove right in.

"Like I told Max earlier, I'm waiting for some numbers from John."

"You understand that everyone from God on down is waiting for those numbers. I'm beginning to regret having given you this responsibility.  I believed you when you said you were up to the task.  Maybe I should've given this responsibility to Max."

"Look, I've got them all done except for the numbers from John." I extended the unfinished reports so he could see I'd done my job. "I've put in numerous phone calls to him and stopped by his office earlier."  I felt bad ratting on John, but I had kids to feed.

"I understand that this isn't the only project you're having trouble getting done."

"What other projects aren't done?"  Mentally I went over my workload to see if there was anything I was forgetting.

"The Carson Project?"

"There's a computer glitch they're working on."  I hesitated, looking for a calendar on Franklin's desk.  "And that's not due until the 28th."

"I understand you haven't even started it."

"Of course I've started it.  How else would I know there's a computer glitch in the program that needs to be fixed?"

"That's not what I hear."  Franklin looked at me, not sure who to believe.

"I'd consider your source."

"Max has worked here for over 30 years, whereas you're new."

"Yes.  Exactly.  You've brought me into Max's little fiefdom and he's not happy."

"I've never had troubles with him before, why would I start having them now?"

"Because you brought me in to replace him when he retires, assuming he ever will."

"Let me ask you this."  He leaned back in his chair.  "Did you say you could handle me?"

"No."  I couldn't help rolling my eyes.  Why didn't I see this coming? "When Max told me you were looking for the reports, I said I could handle it, meaning the project.  Not you."

"That's not the way I hear it, and quite honestly, I don't like being referred to as somebody who needs to be handled."

"I don't blame you.  I assure you, I was talking about the project."

"Listen.  I don't know what's going on down there between you and Max, and I frankly don't care.  We're all here to do a job and it better get done, or else."

"Or else?"  It slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"Let's put it this way: there's really only a need for one of you around here."  He looked at me dead on, indicating that I would probably be the one to go.  "I want those pro formas on my desk by noon."

"Yes sir."

I shut the door behind me as I exited Franklin's office.  Fricking Max!  This time he'd gone too far, messing with my livelihood.  I rubbed my sweating hands down my pants.  He was so evil.  How could a man who wears a pink fedora be so evil?  What was I going to do? I silently reassured myself: Well, first of all, you're going to get the pro formas to Franklin before noon.  Then you're going to stop telling Max how each project is progressing.  Just tell him they'll be done by the timeline.  That's all.

I couldn't believe he told Franklin that I said I could handle him. I should've seen that coming.  I'd never met such a mean little man.  This job would be great without Max around.  Why wouldn't he retire?  Because his life was empty and he needed the 10-hour daily diversion.  I was sure he didn't need the money, considering the pension plan here.  But to mess with my livelihood.  To mess with putting food on the table for my children, that was not fun and games.  Maybe I should off him.  What did they do in the movie "9 to 5"?  Replace his coffee sweetener with rat poison?  Or better yet, I could replace his little green heart tablets with Tic Tacs.  I liked that.  Not only would he no longer be a thorn in my side, but he'd also have minty, fresh breath.

The phone was ringing as I stepped into the office.  Max was nowhere around.  I ignored it.  I'd let the machine pick it up.  I needed to get to John and demand those numbers, turn the heat on him for a change.

"Karen." I stopped.  It was Max leaving a message on the answering machine.  "Karen.  Help.  I need my pills." His voice broke up.  "Hurry.  On my desk." He gasped.  "My pills.  Please. I'm in the parking lot."

I stepped into his office, and his green pills were sitting on his desk.

Next to the green pills was his pink fedora. The once dapper and colorful hat was now faded to a pale pink, perfectly maintained, yet still showing the passage of time. I couldn't help but wonder what it was like when he saw it for the first time.

I bet it was a dandy, brightly colored and sharply shaped.  It made me sad, seeing something that had probably once been so beautiful, but now looked so aged and worn.  I gazed back at the pills and then looked around the room.

I'm the only one who heard Max's message.  I looked back at the clock and remembered that Franklin wanted those reports by noon.  Should I run the pills out to him?  How horrible of a person I was to even consider not doing so, but what would Max do if the situation was reversed?  I knew exactly what he'd do.  I picked up the reports, left Max's office, and headed to the shipping department, the image of the bottle of green pills and the worn pink fedora lying on Max's desk indelibly forged in my head, forever lost from his grasp.