DAYS & NIGHTS AT THE SALT MINE

         The plug-ugly car nudged its silver nose onto the New York Thruway at seven on a gloomy Sunday morning. At the wheel was the star consultant for the Firm, heading toward the nation's fifth largest city to hobnob with the firm's clientele at meetings scheduled for that day. Prior to 1999 the Firm's office had been in that city, and the consultant would spend twelve hours every day of the week from mid-February through mid-April meeting clients. Now he was being sent back to show the flag; rumors persisted among customers that he did not exist at all, hence the need to send him back over the wall.

         As he headed south on the almost empty highway, his cell phone rang. He pulled the car to the shoulder and answered the call, thinking that it must be Headquarters with some more meddling in his affairs. Instead it was his new coworker, a woman the Firm had hired to squeeze more appointments into the short window of opportunity that day. The two of them were to meet at the distant office at eleven o'clock. She was driving the same distance, but from a point ninety miles east of him. Now she was calling to tell him that she had overslept and would be late.

         He listened and accepted this as his inevitable fate. He had all the details: the files, the telephone numbers and the schedule. He would contact her clients in route and tell them to come at a later time. He thought to himself, 'What was the Big Boss thinking when she was hired?' Then he reflected that speculation was useless. He paraphrased an old political slogan in his mind. She was 'younger, tougher and no one owned her.' She had not signed a lifetime contract but was a freebooter on the make.

         Seventy-five miles out, he stopped at a rest area to make the required phone calls, and to let his dog, his constant companion, out of the back seat for a break. As he got in the car again, he pulled out a second set of keys and put them in the ignition. With horror he realized that this set should not start the car. This key ring should have held different keys, ones to the office. He reached in his pocket to search for them. They were not there. He searched his pockets, his computer and document cases, but they were not to be found. He had left the keys to the office at Headquarters.

         He called his coworker on her cell phone and told her what had happened, and that he would have to retrace his steps. She was happy; she would be able to stop and eat something on the way. Ceding moral superiority over to her was a tactical loss, but he had no choice. He considered other options. He had a magic card that would allow them into the building. The building was small, ten stories, with two suites to a floor. The rest rooms were unlocked and had electric outlets. Could they each occupy one and see clients there, at the cost of some dignity?

         He was going to propose this to his accomplice, but cringed at the thought of the sitting on a commode, laptop balanced on his knees, taking down information. And where would the clients sit? To posit this idea would bring forth gales of laughter from the other end of the phone, so he put it aside, hung up and pushed the gas pedal to the floor as he headed back north.

         He hoped to get in and out of the office without being seen. He found the keys where he had left them, made a few calls, and began to tiptoe back to the car. He was halfway down the hall when out popped the Major Domo. Thoughts of blaming his new coworker flew through his mind, but telling lies was not his style. He might allude to the fact that she had overslept, but he knew her crime was a misdemeanor compared to his felony. The big Mahoff put a hand on his shoulder and asked him to wait on the bench outside his office.

         While he waited nervously, he heard the man arranging matters for the rest of the day and then saw him emerge with what looked like a set of golf clubs. He remembered George Raft’s men with their golf bags holding tommy guns and grew nervous. The boss pulled out a two iron, slammed it on the bench next to him and warned that this would be dealt with tomorrow, first thing, but for now he was to drive like hell to the City.

         Reprieved, he and the dog started off. The dog was smiling to herself. She always thought she could do the job better than he could, and thought herself the prettier of the two. Would this be her opportunity to take his place? As he drove, however, she began to realize that she could not drive the new car with the stick-shift and thought better of taking over.

         In New Jersey his cell phone began to ring. He was out of state now and could talk on it as he drove. Nick the Massage Man, the first appointment for the new woman, could not push back his time and wanted to know if he could come in later. As he was on the line, a second call came in from the new hire, but he did not know how to put Nick on hold and downshift to fourth. His first clients called to see where he was, and then he saw he had other messages.

         One was from his best friend in the world, and one of perhaps three or four people who could put up with him. She had called from the airport in Florida where she was waiting for her plane home. He called her home and left word of his stupidity. Then he called his coworker and found he was about four miles ahead of her on the Turnpike, but she said she was driving fast and expected to catch him. Putting the phone away, he began to do a mental calculation in his mind. If he were speeding along at 75, how fast would she have to be driving to catch him? By the time he worked out an answer, he had reached the exit, where he waited for her and let her follow him into the city.

         They met her clients on the street as they walked from the parking lot. Inside the lobby of the building were his first clients. All including the dog rode the elevator to the office and settled down to a day of work. The clients followed one after another on their revised schedules. All hung on his words and ability to manipulate the computer program. He fed off their admiration but was glad that they had not spread palms in his path as he walked to his desk.

         While he worked thoughts crossed his mind. Did these people think he could do this work forever? He remembered Guy Lombardo popping up on a Laugh In blackout, "When I go, I'm taking New Year's Eve with me." Where would these people go without their day with him as winter turned to spring each year? Worse yet, how could people be so stupid as to engage a man who left his office keys at home? 'Oh, sweet mystery of life at last I've found you.'

         As he thought and worked, he talked, telling stories and jokes and making their time pass painlessly, even if they would later have to write large checks to the government, 'lighten the wallet' was his phrase. When he had a free minute, he would slip into his new associate's office where he observed that clients had taken to her and her personality. She exhibited the enthusiasm for pressing the flesh that he had to resurrect each time he came to the city.

         Day passed into evening. The clients kept coming. They kept telling him how well he looked. They did not know his secret. At one point his cell phone rang. It was his friend, calling from home. His face lit up as they talked. Her simple 'hello, I'm home' gave him the boost needed to carry him to the finish. As cases were packed, his new associate positively bubbled about the joy of meeting people. He wanted to scream at her, "Get out, get out now before they rope you in and strap themselves to your back for their ride through life." He thought better of it. Let her find out herself.

         On the drive home on the deserted Thruway to an uncertain fate the next day, he envisioned his final moments in life. Clients flocking to his bedside, asking how he was and remarking how he must miss his busy season, and then smoothly integrating into their concern a question about the deductibility of long term care insurance. How would they ever interpret his wink?