Elizabeth looked at him with concern. “No, Walter,” she said slowly. “We’re not fired. We’re in charge.”
* * *
—
Four days later, Walter sat behind Phil’s old desk, the room swept clean of ashtrays, the Persian rug gone, the phone buttons ablaze with important calls.
“Walter, just make the changes you know need to be made,” she said, reminding him that he was acting executive producer. And when he balked at the responsibility, she simplified the job description. “Just do what you know is right, Walter. It’s not that hard, is it? Then tell others to do the same.”
It wasn’t quite as easy as she made it sound—the only management style he knew was intimidation and manipulation; that’s how he’d always been managed. But she seemed to believe—god, she was so na?ve!—that employees were more productive when they felt respected.
* * *
—
“Stop flailing, Walter,” she said as they stood outside Woody Elementary awaiting yet another conference with Mudford. “Take the helm. Steer. When in doubt, pretend.”
* * *
—
Pretend. That he could do. Within days, he’d made a series of deals, syndicating Supper at Six from one coast to the other. Then he negotiated a new set of sponsorships that could double KCTV’s bottom line. Finally, before he could chicken out, he called a station-wide meeting to update everyone on Phil’s cardiovascular condition, including Elizabeth’s role in saving his life, and how, despite the “incident,” he very much hoped everyone would continue to enjoy their meaningful work at KCTV. Out of all those things, Phil’s heart attack got the loudest applause.
“I asked our graphic artist to create this get-well greeting,” he said, holding up a gigantic card featuring a caricature of Phil making a winning touchdown. But instead of clutching a normal football, Phil was clutching his heart, which now that Walter thought about it, maybe wasn’t the best choice. “Please take the time to sign your name,” Walter said. “And if you’d like, add a personal note.”
Later that day, when the card was delivered to him for his own signature, he glanced at the well-wishes. Most were the standard “Feel better!” but a few were a bit darker.
Fuck you, Lebensmal.
I wouldn’t have called an ambulance.
Die already.
He recognized the handwriting on the last one—one of Phil’s secretaries.
Even though he knew he couldn’t possibly be the only one who’d hated the boss, he’d had no idea what a large club he belonged to. It was validating, sure, but also gut-wrenching. Because as a producer, he was part of Phil’s management team, and that meant he was responsible for pushing Phil’s agenda while ignoring those who ultimately paid the price for it. He reached for a pen and, for the fourth time that day, followed Elizabeth Zott’s simple advice: do what was right.
MAY YOU NEVER RECOVER, he wrote in huge letters across the middle. Then he stuffed the card in an enormous envelope, put it in the out basket, and made a solemn promise. Things had to change. He would start with himself.
Chapter 32
Medium Rare
“Does Mom know?” Mad asked as Harriet bustled her into her Chrysler. It was well into the new school year, and as promised, she’d gotten Mudford for her teacher again. That’s why Harriet thought she could miss a day. Or twenty.
“Good gravy, no!” Harriet said as she adjusted the rearview mirror. “If she knew, would we be doing this?”
“But won’t she be mad?”
“Only if she finds out.”
“You did a pretty good job on her signature,” Mad said, examining the note Harriet had written to get Mad out of school. “Except for the E and the Z.”
“Well,” Harriet said, irritated, “aren’t I lucky the school doesn’t employ forensic handwriting experts.”
“You really are,” Mad agreed.
“Here’s the plan,” Harriet said, ignoring her. “We stand in line like everybody else, and once in, make a beeline for the back row. No one ever goes for the back row. We want to sit there because should something go wrong, we’ll be right next to the emergency exit.”
“But the emergency exit is only to be used for emergencies,” Mad said.
“Yes, well, if your mother spies us, that qualifies as an emergency.”
“But the doors will be armed.”
“Yes—another bonus. Should we have to make a quick exit, the noise will distract her.”