Up For Review

    Larry Liebowitz shifted uncomfortably in his rough tweed pants, feeling the shrinking waistline squeeze his gut. He had forgotten to do the laundry, and the grey pants he’d long outgrown were the only thing clean in his barren wasteland of a closet. He tried to dig a thumb in at the waist to relieve some pressure, but could barely wedge it any farther than the first knuckle. He debated undoing the button at the top of his fly. He peeked above his cubicle and looked around the office, everyone was heading out to lunch, and only a few stragglers remained over by reception, at least twenty yards from Larry’s desk. Starting to sweat, he rubbed his hands.
    He scooted himself close in to his desk, shoving his thick legs as far as they would go under the desk, and slowly undid his belt. He kept peeking over his shoulder to check his blind spot, and took both ends of his waistline in his chubby fingers, pulling agonizingly tighter, and then threading the button free. The zipper slid open on its own as his hands left his pants, and for a brief moment Larry felt release and magnificent splendor.
    He leaned back a little, enjoying his private payoff, and reached out playfully to bounce the head of his Hawaiian hula-dancing wobble doll. She smiled at him with tipsy, plastic sentiment, and he smiled back.
    His tiny intercom squealed on and blared out the voice of Carol from reception as the hula girl wound down her dance.
    “Mr. Liebowitz? Mr. Sontag would like to see you in his office.”
    She clicked off before he could reply.
    Fear and sweaty panic gripped him at his core. Why did the head of the branch want to see him in his office? Larry had only had two previous run ins with Nicholas Sontag: once when he was hired and subjected to a panel interview of the company’s higher-ups, and once on the elevator up to the fourteenth floor, where Larry had to drop off a document to someone who had a job of actual importance. Larry just ran data analysis.
    The realization that his pants were still undone hit Larry in a blinding flash. His heart pounded in his chest, and he struggled to pull the zipper closed. Squeezing his gut back into the pants was making his stomach gurgle, and immediately he regretted starting the morning with a four egg omelet and hash browns. His forehead was slick with sweat when he finally reached the top stop of the zipper, and went to work on the button. The top of the fly was a hard ‘V’, and despite all his pulling, he could not make the ends meet. He slid his shapely hips from side to side in the chair, trying to find the magic angle that would allow him to finish the job and get up to Sontag’s office.
    “Mr. Liebowitz? It is an urgent matter.”
    Carol’s voice was high and grating, and only amplified by the trebly intercom system.
    Defeat and shame filled Larry’s head, and he quickly buckled his belt over the undone button. The letters YKK stared back at him in bronze contempt.
    He stood up, pulling tissues from a pink box on his desk to wipe his brow, and buttoned his equally unfit blazer over his waist. His stomach was churning with the eggs and the razor thin chance at losing his dignity. He walked with baby steps towards the elevator, and it seemed to only get farther away.     
    
    He made it up the six floors to Sontag’s office, down the narrow hallway to his secretary (where Larry had felt the zipper give a little as he sat down), and had finally regained a little composure when the skinny redhead behind the desk told him, “Mr. Sontag will see you now.”
    Larry felt like he was going to the principal’s office. Had he forgotten to send his quarterly reports to Records? Maybe a slip in his reconciliation of last year’s comparative profits? He tried to shake the notion. If Nick Sontag wanted to reprimand him, he would have just sent a memo.
    “Larry! Please, have a seat.” Mr. Sontag pointed to the overstuffed leather chair that was aimed at his giant desk. He was eating a fast food sandwich, with its thin plastic wrapper spread over his desk like a  placemat.
    Larry sat down slowly, feeling a few more metal teeth giving way, and tried to take in the sight of a man who made six figures chowing on a five dollar sub with his napkin in his collar.
    “You wanted to see me about something, sir?”
    “Yes. You know Mulligan up in the Seattle branch?”
    “Sure.” Larry nodded vigorously. He had no idea who Mulligan was.
    “Well, he’s dead.”
    Sontag fished a pickle from the sandwich with his teeth and dropped it onto the plastic with a splat.
    “Heart attack. It’s a shame really, he was a great manager.”
    Larry stared at the fluorescent green pickle slice.
    “Well anyway, Davidson from your office is actually pretty well qualified to replace him, and he’ll be moving up there next week.”
    Larry’s mind started to put things together.
    Davidson was his boss, and he was getting promoted.
    “And we’re going to need a good replacement.”
    Sontag smiled at Larry with a winning, s**t-eating grin.
    “And I’ve looked over your performance reviews from the last couple quarters. Seems you’ve been keeping your nose to the grindstone.”
    Larry smiled for the first time that day. A couple more millimeters of zipper gave way.
    “Bottom line is, do you want the job?”
    “Yes sir!”
    Larry was beaming.
    Sontag stood up and leaned towards Larry, reaching his hand out to shake.
    Larry, in a moment of glee and amnesia, bolted up to meet his hand.
    As he shot upright, the thin thread holding the solitary button on his blazer gave way, and it shot directly into Nicholas Sontag’s throat. As Larry’s blazer parted like theater curtains, his fly unraveled itself, and his pants dropped promptly to his ankles. He held his hand out in mid air as Sontag collapsed back into his chair, clutching his throat and gasping.
    Larry’s proud smile faded to a look of sheer horror, and he tried to run to Sontag’s aide.
    He tripped over his pants trying to round the desk, and clipped his head on one of the sharp corners on the way down, knocking him unconscious before he hit the ground.
    When he came to, the paramedics were zipping Sontag up in a heavy black bag, and a forensics man was taking photos with a bright flash. Larry sat up while a EMT held his arm and asked him inane questions like, “Are you all right?”
    He watched as they wheeled out Sontag on a stretcher, the medics casually chatting to each other.
    “Must’ve choked on the sandwich.”
    “Yeah, but what with the half naked guy on the ground?”
    Larry turned bright red and felt very small.
    The medic, a kind looking woman, helped him to his feet, and genially looked away as Larry pulled his pants back up.
    She put a hand on his back and asked him, “What happened here?”
    He looked her deep in the eye, and uttered back,
    “I got promoted.”
            

Reviews

[DavidRyanM]

Nice man. I dig the characters a lot. Fleshed out perfectly. And the whole scene of killing his boss is fantastic. Is this for class? Or just for fun? Either way, it's great. The only thing that made me pause was at the beginning when he was undoing his pants the sentence "The zipper slid open as his hands left pants..." read a little weird. But, other than that, awesome.

[Tim M]

Fixed it!