Karl’s hands were causing his resume to curl. Was he nervous? Simon had told him not to be. All he had to do was show up, be polite, not give any speeches, and the job was most likely his.

After all, his future brother-in-law was in charge of the company.

That might make up for his resume being only a few lines long.

All he had to do was wait for someone named Jay to pop in from the next room, call his name and invite him in. Jay. Was that a man’s name? A woman’s? The fact that he couldn’t picture who this might be, bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

The chairs in the HR department of Cray Reliable were uncomfortable vinyl. They felt about four inches too short, like schoolroom chairs, and he wondered if that was for psychological impact. Companies loved mindgames like that. All part of the dehumanizing process, so you’d obey their every—

You promised Simon you wouldn’t do that.

He sighed. Get up? Walk around? No point, there was nothing in the room worth looking at. A small table with magazines from two months ago, like waiting in the dentist’s office.

Face it, you’re not nervous about the job. You’re not even thinking about it. You’re thinking about him.

Ah, there it was. Who had been on his mind every moment since he got home? Burns. He’d jacked off until he was sore, thinking about Burns. Wanting to call him, reconsidering, thinking maybe he should just show up to Burns’ house, reconsidering, then just lying on the couch and going at himself with his hand.

Is it lame, how excited he makes me?

Sure there was a little tension between them, but they could get through that. Burns was like a timid little lamb who needed to be carefully led to the meadow. A lamb with incredible quads. A lamb whose cock—

Um, yeah, let’s pick a different metaphor.

It was still so shocking. But it made so much sense. Ever since they’d first been friends, something had just clicked between them. Hadn’t it? Now that Karl looked back on it, it had really just been a matter of time before one of them broached the topic and—

“Mr. Bowden? Oh. Oh.”

He glanced up at the woman who had opened the HR office door.

The lady from the coffee shop.

The lady who had cost him his job.

“You’re Jay?” he asked.

A cruel smile played over her lips. “Why yes, I am. Won’t you come in?”

* * *

“Mr. Bowden, would you consider yourself a team player?”

“Do you mean sports?”

The resume seemed damp and limp on Jay’s desk. She’d spent ten seconds looking down at it, before beginning her questions.

“No, Mr. Bowden—”

“Call me Karl.”

“What I mean, Mr. Bowden, is: Are you comfortable collaborating in groups, or are you more of an individual worker?”

Damn it, you knew that! Were you making a joke?

Why was he nervous? He couldn’t let it show. Simon worked here, Evan worked here; for all that it was a vicious capitalist enterprise, this woman couldn’t simply throw him out.

Just answer honestly.

“Definitely a team player. I’m extremely pro-group. Workers need to stay—”

He cut himself off before he said the word organized. No need to go off on a tangent.

“They need to stay…?” Jay prompted.

“Um…inspired. They need to stay inspired. In the way that only close collaboration will allow.”

Ugh, I’m going to have to gargle bleach when I get home.

She tapped a finger against his resume. “In your work experience, you list an establishment called Perky Pete’s. Is that correct?”

Oh god. I thought we were going to avoid that topic.

As though he were on the stand answering a prosecutor’s questions, he said, “Yes, that is correct.”

“It says here that your employment with them ended quite recently.”

What was her game? She knew what happened, he knew what happened, why draw it out?

“Quite,” he said. “Last week, actually.”

“And was this a voluntary resignation?”

It was like she was tempting him. Hoping to get him to say something nasty and critical, to justify not hiring him.

These power-plays that people got into were the root of so much evil in the world. Maybe she’d like a lecture about that!

He swallowed. Let’s play it your way.

“It was an involuntary dismissal,” he said. That sounded both true and emotionally neutral.

“I see. Were these other jobs you have listed also, as you put it, involuntary dismissals?”

Karl’s face colored. He could recall every single time he’d gotten fired. Each conversation with his family afterward, the look of disappointment on their faces when he tried to explain it hadn’t been his fault. Sometimes it was that the management was tyrannical. Once it was that the schedule seemed personally vindictive to him, as though his boss were trying to keep him from going to political meetings. Twice he’d been fired for reading on the job. Reading! As though it required that much intellectual effort to be a cashier.

His dad would just shake his head, pat him on the shoulder and tell him to try harder next time.

For all your talk about the perfect society where workers rule the country, you don’t seem to like actually working very much, Simon had told him a few years ago. Are you sure you’re not just using your politics to cover up laziness?

He’d yelled at Simon for that, told him he didn’t understand, called him a bourgeoisie-loving class traitor. He’d thought about the conversation a lot since then.

You don’t understand, I really did try at the coffee shop. In fact, I’ve tried hard at the last three jobs. But something always happens, something gets under my skin, and I don’t know how to handle it, it’s like everything in my head is saying The Error Must Be Corrected, like something in my mind is forcing me to explain things the way I see them, and when people don’t agree, I get so freaked out—

“Mr. Bowden?”

“I’m sorry, what was the question?”

“These positions in the past. Were they resignations, or…?”

He sighed. “Can’t we just be honest here? You know I got myself fired from Perky Pete’s. I got fired from those other jobs, too.”

“I see.”

“For what it’s worth, I never should have said the thing I did, about your coffee.”

“Mr. Bowden, I’m a professional. The outside world doesn’t concern me, except insofar as it predicts job performance. I’d appreciate it if you did not bring personal history into this interview.”

“Really? I mean, I referred to you as having disgusting appetites. Tell me you’re not holding a grudge about that one.”

“I have quite a few questions to get through, Mr. Bowden.”

“But I’m apologizing—”

“Mr. Bowden—”

“I’m sorry I got mad about—”

“Mr. Bowden—”

“I honestly don’t—”

“Mr. Bowden will you please answer my questions!” Her face was tight, her lips pale as they pressed together.

He sat back and blinked. “Ask away.”

“Oh…kay,” she breathed. Her pen scratched something in a file. “Let’s talk about your strengths.”

“All right.”

She stared at him.

He stared back.

She tapped her pen against the desk.

He smiled politely, even though his skin felt very hot.

“Well?” she asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“What are your strengths, Mr. Bowden?”

“I…I’m very well-read?”

“Is that a strength that has helped you at former jobs?” she asked.

“Don’t you think reading is important?”

She took a breath. “And weaknesses? What would you say your greatest weakness is?”

“Oh, you know that one.”

She gestured at her file. “If you’d answer the question please.”

“Obviously, my weakness is that sometimes I can’t keep my mouth shut. Sometimes I see something wrong, and I can’t help myself, I’ve got to talk about it. It’s like this force inside me, and I can’t stop it. I know you don’t want to talk about the other day, but that was a good example.”

“Mr. Bowden.”

“Because I knew that it really didn’t matter, in the grand scheme of things, whether I’d given you the wrong number of pumps of syrup, because that stuff is so sickly sweet—”

“If you could focus for a second here—”

“But it was wrong of me, I know that, because it was none of my business, and the snotty thing I said to you about just getting a black coffee was out of line—”

“Mr. Bowden, if we could get back to these—”

“And I know you’re sitting there thinking there’s no way I can do this job, and I don’t know, maybe you’re right, but I just need you to know I felt horrible after you left Perky Pete’s—”

“Mr. Bowden—”

“And I admit it was totally my fault, and I’m really going to make an effort not to—”

“Mr. Bowden will you please shut up?”

Her voice was loud enough to carry. He jumped back, eyes wide. Her eyes were wide, too. Red dotted her cheeks.

She lifted her hand, patting the air gently, as though the atmosphere in the room was unsettled and needed a calming touch. “I think I have enough, Mr. Bowden.”

He sighed, then nodded. “Okay. I get it. I’m really—”

“Please don’t apologize again.”

“All right.”

She didn’t rise when he did, didn’t shake his hand or walk him to the door.