More than just a slight

The magnitude of a slight is relative, and to those with limited perception, it can be less than a neuron firing into the abyss, a moment swept away into the basket of irrelevance.  For the inflictor, it often leaves not a mark on the edifice of that day’s events, and sails like a plastic bag in the breeze. But to the inflicted, it can sit and fester and accumulate like mould in a bowl, until it captures everything around it.

Finn sat slumped, almost hunched over in the office of Mr Altman. He was shaking his head slightly, peering out behind Mr Altman to the rows of screens with graphs and chyrons.

“I thought you were smart Finn!” Mr Altman half-joked. He then turned serious.

“You’re not going to make without me Finn. Without me in your corner, covering for you all the way. You’re just not all there sometimes. I’m always covering for you. I don’t know how long I can do it for.”

Mr Altman sat back, appearing to choose his next words carefully.

“I don’t know how to say this. I just don’t think you have the horsepower upstairs. The analytic ability to get there.”  

Finn sat up and skewered Mr Altman’s chest with his pupils. Mr Altman was projecting. His wife had left him for a beastly six-foot-five South African man with tanned skin and huge hands. The kind of man that could dominate Altman and his wife at once and make him watch, pinned helplessly to the corner in the most ancient shameful anger. Finn had seen the South African pick her up and throw her over his shoulder and fling her across the threshold with squeals of girlish delight. Mr Altman could only struggle a disgusting, pathetic excuse for a struggle, because Mr Altman was a slimy, squirming, surface dwelling charlatan.

Finn knew it all. Finn suspected it before he saw it, from the sporadic and flustered outbursts, and the saturnine and salty manner which Mr Altman performed even the most enjoyable of tasks.  Finn wore those outbursts with grace and style, with a ‘of course’ and a ‘I see it now.’ But today marked the end Mr Altman’s probation.     

“You should know by now we can’t present this to them Finn. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I really don’t have time for this.”

Mr Altman gave Finn a contemptuous signal with his fingers and ushered him to come close, as if to teach basic arithmetic to a small child. He pointed to the printed slide deck.

“Did you even read this before sending it to me Finn? Did you actually look at it?”

Mr Altman had confused Finn’s work for Aaron’s. Aaron was an associate, one rank above in the same team, but Mr Altman had been preoccupied with whatever the hell he was pretending to do that day to notice where the email came from. He skinned Finn on reflex. Finn sought no exculpation. Justice would be on Finn’s terms for all involved.

“You’re right Mr Altman. It was written by an idiot.”

Mr Altman had never seen him so animated. He darted worriedly between Finns face and the presentation.

“Finn, I wouldn’t go that….”

“I know how busy you are Mr Altman. It makes you look bad. It makes the firm look bad.”

Finn wasn’t slouched anymore, his posture was upright. He was indignant. How could he present something so pathetic?

“Finn it’s not the end of”

“Mr Altman leave it with me, I’ll have it fixed today. You won’t even have to review it.”

Mr Altman reclined with his bushy monobrow raised. Before he could lean forward Finn was bustling out of the door.

Aaron was at Finn’s desk waiting for him. A post-it note with big bold letters was on his keyboard.

“You need to clean the SynTech Model. I adjusted the gearing and cash rate forecast and now there are reference errors all over it. Not sure where it’s coming from. Me and Alt are presenting Friday so final comments come in tomorrow which means.”

“Tonight.”

Aaron began to walk away, he turned with a furrowed brow and an angled neck.

“What were you talking to Alt about?”

“You know the PropFin presentation you sent him?”

Aaron nodded and leaned in. His eyes exploded. He had a face like a funeral.

“He loved it”

The small wrinkles around Aaron’s eyes relaxed. Finn’s eyes glimmered for a moment.

“But” Finn continued, he had wet the appetite just enough with the pause, he was a lion eyeing the carcass,

“He thought I did it. I kept trying to explain to him that it was yours but he wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t get a word in. He just kept saying ‘Finn you’re improving so much’ and ‘it’s almost bonus time’ and all of that.”

“I bet you didn’t say anything you little rat. When I get out I’m gonna” His voice trailed off. Martha from human resources was walking past. She kissed Finn with her kind eyes and a knowing look.

Aaron leaned in.

“Stick to what you’re good at and get that model cleaned tonight Finn. We’re reviewing first thing tomorrow.”

“Got it boss.”

Finn knew the source of the error, he impregnated the model with the circularity himself. A circularity in a model that large is almost impossible to find for an Aaron-shaped idiot. Finn scrunched the note and slung his backpack. With a quick walk he caught his pale taught in the mirror adjacent to the hulking elevator, his cold blue eyes were barely slits. He’d waged a holy war against his own eyelids, which seemed in a terminally unholy alliance with gravity, pushing forever downwards. He exhaled an acknowledgement, a brain finally recognising the pain of the body.

“Feeling okay Finn?”

“I think I caught my own tail today Martha, how are you?”

“You say the cutest things sometimes. Busy as always hun. Oh’ look at your face darling! You need some rest. Promise me you’ll book some leave in for yourself. And actually do it this time please. I won’t speak to you until you do it. Promise me Finn.”

“Don’t worry Martha. I’m taking plenty of time shortly.”

The elevator only stopped on Fibonacci numbers today, a relief, better than primes of Tuesday.  Finn walked three songs worth to the convenience store and stopped next to the line of newspaper sheets that lined the footpath near the entrance. On the front page was a pillow and hat with a splattering of coins. On the other end there was a shopping trolley full of detritus.

“Usual Joe?”

“Usual Finn.”

The pale boy in the slim fit suit returned after a few moments with a thick double chocolate milk and placed it carefully in front the headline on the front page.

“Want me to mind that for you Finn?”

“Thanks Joe. Do you have a plastic bag I can borrow?”

“As long as you bring it back.”

Finn paced another two blocks and took a quick right turn. The autumn leaves hung low above him and painted a quiet picture against the darkening grey sky. He didn’t know the weekday sky. It was a lost friend, a memory.  

The spare key for number 18 was kept under a loose brick. He heard the booming South African from the street. They were upstairs and it was two o’clock. Finn had at least fifteen minutes.

He returned the key after cleaning the scene and looked forward to something less tribal reverberating in his ear drums. A flickering of sympathy began to bubble. There was a curdling in his stomach, the acid had accumulated into a near critical mass, but hadn’t quite alchemised into guilt. The acid had a face liked Altman’s.  The small black receiver in the plastic bag hung loosely in his hands. Shortly he’d forgotten the receiver entirely, he was counting cracks in the pavement.

“Thanks Finn. See you soon.”

Joe took the bag graciously.

“There’s something still in here?”

“All yours.”  

Finn crept into the office at six-thirty the following morning. By the time the first batch of Adderall had hit the stomachs of other analysts he had cleaned the model and finished the presentation. He skipped around the office, doing his morning rounds and collecting orders.

“Coffee Martha?”

“Skim flat white Finn, here’s some change for you.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

Finn returned with a tray of coffees and a sanguine disposition. It bothered him not a hair that Aaron was waiting with a disgusted look.

“Leave the coffee. Alt’s office. Now.”

Finn sat relaxed in front of them both. Somehow Aaron was on Alt’s side of the desk, which made little sense to anybody but Aaron.

“Where’s the model Finn?”

“On the server.”

“Clean?”

“Yes.”

The first spreadsheet was lit green. All the error checks were complete, the model was humming beautifully. Aaron was visibly frustrated.

“You were supposed to send it last night!” Aaron boomed. Alt tilted his head.

“Give me some space here Aaron, for goodness sake.”

Aaron slothed his way back around to the other side of the desk.

“Aaron is right Finn, I thought we were going to be more organised after yesterday.”

“Apologies. It took longer than expected to fix it.”

Alt shook his head in frustration.

“Very well. What about the PropFin presentation? Is it updated?”

“Yes. On the server also saved down as today’s date.”

Aarons eyes exploded.

“Alt! I can’t believe this is still going! The PropFin presentation was mine. All of it. Everything you saw yesterday that Finn has taken credit for is mine. He should have told you but he’s a weasel. He’s really testing me Alt, I don’t know what we’re gonna do with him.”

Alt’s face scrunched and twisted, he was furious. Finn was blank. He was a spent cartridge. He wasn’t in the room.

“We’ll talk about that later Aaron. I don’t have time for this. It’s done now. Is it fixed Finn?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We’re presenting in twenty minutes so we can’t review it. Finn you’ll be coming in case the client has questions about the model. Try not to talk Aaron.”

Aaron’s body was a furnace.

The client came in and so did Martha with a notepad. Aaron ordered a mocha with two sugars and everyone else was fine with water. A nervous tickle flicked Finn’s neck but he soon relaxed. Everything was in order.  

Alt rose and the chaos began. The third slide triggered it. It started softly. A muffled moaning, so soft to hear it was to imagine it. The speakers were at the front of the room above him. He heard it first. His head twisted only a fraction, lifting his ear towards the sound. The moaning grew louder. Is everyone hearing this? He couldn’t ask out loud. The client leant forward. It grew louder still. It was here now. Alt began to panic. Surely it wasn’t the presentation. Something next door? It was a heart gripping moan. A woman’s moan. It grew still louder. Then more chaos. The sound of flesh hitting flesh. Like clapping. The moan was violent, guttural. Grunting. Hard grunting and slapping. Then voices. A south African voice. Alt’s eyes grew wide. The client was shocked.

“What the hell is happening here?” The client was up in arms.

Alt’s bottom jaw was detached from his pale face. He was frozen. He looked wildly from side to side, swiping at the laptop.

Aaron was yelling, “what’s going on here!” Trying to assure the client, telling them it’s something to do with the network. They left as he spoke. And then it was the three of them. Finn sat with his hands clasped softly. Aaron paced, alternating between a soft, sheepish look for Alt and daggers for Finn.

“What the hell was that Finn! What was the noise! Who was that! Where did it come from!” Aaron was almost on the verge of tears. Finn said nothing.

“Both of you out.” Alt whispered. His head was fixed on the matte grey carpet. His body might have turned to stone such was his posture and frame of face. He was sobbing. His eyes were sweating. He was beyond despair. He sat on the floor, legs crossed.  

It wasn’t until the afternoon that Finn was called in. It was just Alt. Aaron was inconsolable. He needed some time to 'process everything.' Finn was already changed. He was in faded blue, baggy jeans and a buttoned flannelette shirt.

Alt’s eyes were dry and a pinkish red, his shoulders were flat and his hands were spread evenly on the desk.

“Why would you do it Finn? Why would you do it to me? After everything I’ve done for you.”

Finn nodded a knowing nod, then began.

“If you’re wondering if there’s more, there isn’t. I don’t care about it. But if you want an explanation, I’ll give it. 

You see, I was initially stung by the most stunning and profound empathy for you. I mean that honestly. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more for someone in my life. I knew something was dreadfully wrong. You weren’t yourself, and I could see why. I was stung upon seeing your wife’s glistening body shaking and quivering at his hands, convulsing time and time again after orgasms the likes of which you’d never known, because she was possessed by a lust and desire for everything you are not. For his hands. His size. His strength. You heard it all. For what you are physically incapable of being. It is your helplessness which dulled my disdain for your incompetence. But that anaesthetic has a half-life and my compassion only extends to the manner of your outbursts, not to the matter.”

Alt wanted to interject. Finn lifted a finger to hush him.

“You lied. Not a white lie. Not to yourself, or about your credibility, or what you do, or how amazingly you do it. You lied with animosity and venom. It was a pernicious lie. You lied about me. You lied to me. So now you are alone. Your wife is never coming back. That moment when you roll over and see her sparkling eyes is only a memory now, a simmering mirage in a desert you are destined to walk alone until you drop. You might decide to envelope yourself in the meaningless work you stumble through here, but even if you had any idea how to perform the tasks with a degree of competence to warrant anything besides your retrenchment, no one cares about you. If you don’t decide that a permanent and intimate view of the pavement from the thirty second floor is better than trudging back to this place, there’s no one here. I was the last one. Goodbye Alt. Best of luck with everything.”

Finn gave Martha a kiss and began to walk. He walked three songs worth and stopped. A young man, free from the stifles of work exited the convenience store with a chocolate milk in each hand.

“Long day Finn?”

He nodded.

“Spot for me there Joe?”

“Of course.”

Joe patted Finn's back.

“Cheers.”