The Colour of Sunday Afternoons Read online

  "Are you sure it's safe?” said Grace. “I mean, you hardly know the man. Out there, on the water, in a small boat, anything could happen."

  "This isn't a Hitchcock film, Grace!"

  "Whatever you say."

  "Anyway," said Jane, "if he gives me any trouble, I'll just capsize the boat."

  Grace considered this for a moment. "You probably would, wouldn’t you?"

  "It's a jungle out there.” Jane shrugged, and walked away.

  When Jane reached the programming room, she waved hello to her colleagues, went over to her customary desk – which was now empty, since she had been given her own office as a manager – and dumped her handbag.

  Steve shouted mischievously, "Hey, that's not your desk! You've got an office now." This brought a chorus of mocking from the others.

  "Thanks for reminding me, Steve,” said Jane. “It takes a little getting used to, this boss stuff. So, for your insolence: give me a hundred push-ups!"

  Gary, standing at the photocopier, volunteered. "Oh, pick me, Jane. I just love push-ups! Give me two hundred. And, by the way, I need to speak to you about a raise."

  Jane chuckled. This was going to take a little getting used to, she thought. Since Christina had left for Regional Headquarters, Jane was the boss. It was a big opportunity and she didn't want to blow it. She decided to spend a few minutes with the young crowd: Albert, Janette and Nira. Soon, she was in their corner of the programming room, laughing and chatting with them comfortably.

  Joe was off territory, back at Biopharm’s small office. As he rushed past reception, he wondered why Kerryn wanted to see him so urgently again. It had been a typically busy morning. When his pager had beeped with a message summoning him to the office, he couldn't imagine what it might be all about.

  Joe approached Kerryn's open door.

  He cleared his throat loudly. "Ahem."

  Kerryn looked up from her desk. "Oh, Joe! Come in. We need to talk."

  Joe took a seat.

  Kerryn was suddenly humourless. "I've just been speaking to Dr Martin Jefferson. And there are a few things we have to put right, I’m afraid."

  "Oh? Is something wrong? It’s nothing serious, I hope."

  "Very serious, Joe." Kerryn broke into a smile. "Dr Jefferson is very seriously pleased with your work on the Cardiac Society meeting. He says that he, and the Society, can finally rest easy, now the meeting is all set to go."

  Joe was pleased. "Oh! That’s great."

  "It's more than that, Joe. I've been very aware of the excellent work you've been doing, this last year. The Cardiac Society meeting is just the icing on the cake. And, I’m here to tell you, that possible promotion I was telling you about has come through. Headquarters agree – it's time you were promoted. You've earned a lot of attention, Joe, and all of it good. Congratulations."

  A dull pain thumped in Joe’s chest. He felt stressed. "Oh, ah, thanks."

  "No need to thank me, Joe. You’ve earned it. Vikram’s moving to New York, next month. We'd like you to fill his position. You'll be the Assistant Manager here, and I can assure you, we see that role as being a stepping stone to the eventual position of State Manager, when I myself move on."

  "Vikram's promotion has come through, then?" said Joe.

  "Yes. New York has snapped him up for their Product Development Bureau. He’s wanted to move on from sales management for some time. But that has nothing to do with your promotion. We’d already decided your time had come. So, what do you say? Ready to take up the challenge?"

  Kerryn asked as if the question were rhetorical. She'd gotten to know Joe fairly well and he'd always been keen on promotion – he was ambitious and had the talent to match. In fact, she was so sure of his answer that she wasn't even looking at Joe. She sifted through the paperwork involved in his promotion.

  Joe shifted uneasily in his seat. "Well, Kerryn, there are a couple of things I'd like to know, first, before I give you my answer."

  Kerryn looked up, surprised. "Yes, Joe? What?"

  "The Assistant Manager position involves a lot more interstate travel, doesn't it? About four months a year away?"

  "Yes, that's about right. You'll be to and fro from Headquarters, of course, and all the biggest and best conferences will be yours. It's an exciting position."

  "Vikram's often here on weekends,” said Joe, “and until very late at night, several nights a week. I guess that would be expected of me, too."

  Kerryn was beginning to look worried. "Well, it's not formally expected, no. But it is a more overloaded position than your current position of Senior Sales Representative. Even being an SSR takes pretty long hours, as you know. The AM position would need more hours again. I know you'd want to give it your best shot. So, yes, in effect, that is what’s involved. Is that a problem, Joe?"

  Joe paused for what seemed a very long time. He looked down at his tie and rubbed the gold saxophone tiepin. A feeling of dread rose within him. He couldn't believe he was going to say it, but he'd made up his mind; he had to say the very thing he'd been trying not to admit to himself for months. Joe Mathews, who had always looked toward promotion and the fastest possible career track to the top, was about to change his life. The familiar pain gripped his chest. It felt like he was about to step off a precipice and tumble into the unknown. Finally, he spoke. "Kerryn, um ..."

  “Yes, Joe?”

  "I really appreciate the promotion. It's an honour. Thank you very much. But I have to turn it down for ..." Joe let out a heavy sigh, “personal reasons."

  Kerryn rocked back in her chair. "Personal reasons? What's happened? If there's trouble in the family, we can give you some more time to think about it. You’ve wanted this promotion for years. Why turn it down now?"

  "It's not that, Kerryn. My folks are fine." Joe suddenly felt at ease. He thought of Shamus, and of the strange dream. Was it all imagined? It didn’t really matter, he concluded. All that mattered was that he was making the right decision. “It’s just not for me, that’s all; I’ve decided I want to keep playing jazz. That means gigs a couple of nights a week. I can do that as a rep, but I'd never be able to give the AM position the time it demands. And you know I wouldn't take on something I couldn't give a hundred percent to. I guess I've discovered my career path is more like Karen's than Vikram's—I just want to be a good career rep. I don't want to end up in New York. I’m happy right here."

  Kerryn rubbed her chin, deep in thought. "Joe, let me tell you a story."

  "A story?" said Joe, suspiciously.

  "Sure.”

  “Okay.”

  “My first husband was an artist, Joe. I was, too. We painted."

  "Oh." Joe wondered what this had to do with his promotion.

  "Well," said Kerryn, with a forlorn smile, "I was almost good enough – no, really – I was good enough to exhibit. But I gave it up for my management career. That was a long time ago. Of course, the marriage ended, too." Kerryn looked honestly at Joe. "This doesn't go outside of this room, Joe, but I regret giving up my painting. You know, I spent the best part of a lifetime developing that interest, and I’ve spent the last decade totally neglecting it. My artistic skills have gone. I try to pick up a brush now but it's not the same. A door has closed for me. Anyway, I really don't have the time these days."

  Joe didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry."

  Kerryn waved a dismissive hand. "I made my decisions, Joe, and I'm not entirely a bundle of regrets. My second marriage is going well, and I have a challenging position at Biopharm with a good future. It's just that a part of me got lost along the way." She sat more upright and said with determination, "And I can respect your decision to give your music the time it needs. I have to say I'm surprised, but at the same time, I respect it."

  Joe had never seen this side of Kerryn before. "Thanks."

  "And I can see you as an excellent career rep, like Karen. She does a fine job for the company. Yes, she's mostly a nine-to-fiver, but her sales figures are among the very best, as are
yours, Joe. You can rest assured there’s a place for you here in the same capacity. We certainly don’t want to lose one of our best reps! So, here's what we'll do. As of today, you'll handle all our top clients. I'll groom Michelle for promotion into Vikram's position, and in the meantime we'll get a temp AM from Headquarters. And I think a significant raise is in order. You're overdue for recognition. Plus, I think we can give you most of the evenings you need for your music – if you’ll agree to one condition."

  "Oh?"

  Kerryn smiled broadly. "That you invite Carlos and I to one of your concerts! We've been dying to hear you play, but you’ve never invited us."

  "It's a deal," said Joe, overcome with a sudden feeling of peace. He had done it – declined the promotion. And the sky hadn’t fallen down.

  “Great,” said Kerryn.

  The pain in Joe’s chest had gone.

  When Sunday finally arrived, Joe Mathews and Jane Hamilton did something very uncharacteristic: they took the day off and went sailing. Joe looked nervous, gripping the slippery fibreglass hull of the small racing boat as if it might sink at any moment. Jane, in contrast, was completely at ease guiding the craft across Lake Metropolis. The city skyline made a pretty backdrop. Joe and Jane sat side by side, the wind blowing over their backs into the sail. It was a warm day on the lake; brilliant sunlight played on the chalky sail and glinted like fireworks on the water. They had been sailing for an hour, when at last Jane noticed Joe was getting tired.

  "Need a break?" Jane asked cheerfully.

  "Maybe. I'm not used to this." Joe wasn't a natural sailor. The park by the jetty looked very inviting. It was only a hundred yards away.

  "Okay. Let's take her in to shore, then. COMING ABOUT!" Jane yelled the warning just before she tacked the boat across the wind, changing direction toward the shore.

  Joe ducked the metal boom and sail which swung over his head. He and Jane moved to the other side of the boat to balance it properly.

  "I'm having a great time," he said quietly. "Thanks."

  "You're welcome. I'd almost forgotten what it was like to sail, myself," said Jane. In a few short moments, the jetty was beside them. Jane let the sail go slack and the boat slowed. “Catch that rope if you can."

  Joe leaned out and grabbed the thick grappling rope which ran the length of the jetty. He pulled the boat toward it, bumping the hull softly against the old tires that were lashed to the wooden platform, and tied the boat safe.

  "Okay, we’re moored!” said Joe. “How about some coffee?"

  "Great idea."

  Jane grabbed her small canvas carry bag, which contained a vacuum flask of hot coffee, and carefully stepped off the boat onto the jetty – never an easy feat in an unstable dinghy. Then she helped Joe out. Together they wandered down the jetty toward the grassy parkland by the water's edge.

  Joe indicated an old willow tree by a park bench, not twenty feet from the lake. "Over there looks nice.”

  "Yeah."

  A few families were picnicking nearby, but it was an unusually quiet day at the inner-city lakeside park. An elderly couple walked past with a Labrador. It was getting late; the quiet Sunday afternoon was sliding slowly into evening. Jane followed Joe to the waterside park bench by the big willow tree. Sitting down, she fished the vacuum flask out of her bag and poured them each some coffee in little camping mugs. It was still steaming hot.

  Jane sipped slowly, but Joe gulped his coffee down like an addict gone cold turkey. "Mmmm! That hits the spot! Please ma'am, may I ..."

  " ... have some more? Sure. I don't drink much of the stuff, myself. It’s all yours." Jane poured him another cup.

  This time, Joe drank slowly. "You know what? I got offered a promotion this week, to Assistant Manager. My boss was pretty excited about it."

  "That's great, Joe. Hey, now we've both been promoted!" Jane looked genuinely pleased. Her expression changed. "Sorry. Did I say something wrong?"

  "No, no. It's just I turned it down. I knew if I took it, I'd never get the chance to play my music. Better to stay a humble rep, do a good job, and cut down my hours a little. You know, stop trying to be the world's greatest workaholic and just do a good job, then go home happy. That way I can play with the boys in the band."

  Jane spoke slowly. "Hmmm. It takes guts to stand by your dreams. I'm impressed. Good for you!" She hugged him briefly, a shy one-armed hug.

  Joe smiled at her, a little embarrassed. "Thanks. By the way, my boss, Kerryn, wants to come hear the band. Would you like to come along too, sometime?"

  "Love to. But, tell me, what made you so decisive about not taking the job? How did you make up your mind?"

  "It's all a little odd,” said Joe. “I'm kind of ashamed to admit it, but I had this dream, this amazing dream, one night. It just hit me."

  Jane looked worried. "A dream?"

  "Well, yeah. Now, don't laugh, but I met myself in this dream, only it wasn't really me. There were these two guys who said they were me; one was a gardener, and the other was a piano player. Oh, I'm not making any sense." Joe gave up.

  "But I had a dream like that! I met two Janes; one was a sailor – a happy woman – and the other was a businesswoman who wouldn’t take no for an answer, who kept trying to tell me what to do. And I was in this burning house. I don't remember the rest. It was a nightmare, more than a dream, a recurring nightmare. I think I’ve had it more than once, but I don’t really remember."

  Joe looked at her, as if she were from Mars. "But this is impossible! My dream was just the same. I met two Joes. One was working in his cottage garden. He told me a few things. Don't remember what, exactly. Seemed like good advice. And there was this other guy, all in black, a jazz musician. He yelled at me, tried to get me to do things his way. But there wasn't a burning house in my dream. I do remember something about a woman in a green sequin dress, though."

  "Sequin dress?" said Jane. "It was one of those dreams, was it? I hope it wasn't anyone I know."

  Joe blushed. "No, no. Of course not!"

  Jane grinned. "That's okay, then.”

  Embarrassed, Joe laughed.

  “You don't believe in ghosts, do you?” said Jane. “Angels? It’s a dumb question, I know, but ... um, what about leprechauns? Do you believe in them?"

  Joe tensed up. "Leprechauns?" He looked around quickly and sniffed the air. There was no green smoke, much to his relief. Pausing for a moment, he wondered what this lovely woman – whom he liked very much – would think, if he admitted to being visited by a guardian angel in a bogus leprechaun suit. "No, no. Of course not!"

  Jane decided to agree. She wasn’t going to make a fool of herself. After all, she liked this guy. "Of course. Of course not. Just checking. Grown-ups don't believe in ghosts and angels and people floating through walls, pots of gold at the end of the rainbow." She forced a laugh. "No, no. Not me."

  "Right," said Joe. "Me neither." Behind his back, he had his fingers tightly crossed. Little did he know, Jane Hamilton was doing the very same thing.

  "You know, Joe," she said. "I'm so glad we met. I haven't done things like go sailing in a long time. I never have the time to slow down. This is great."

  "I know what you mean,” said Joe. “Just look at that sky! It’s like a painting. Everything’s red. I never take the time to stop and look at things like that. I never seem to have the time."

  Jane looked out across the lake. "It’s beautiful."

  "The colour of Sunday afternoons,” said Joe.

  Jane took a moment to appreciate the magnificent sunset.

  “Do you think we should do this again, sometime?” said Joe.

  Jane smiled. "You've got a deal, Mr Mathews. Meet you here, Sunday after next, same time, for sailing and coffee by the lake?"

  "Sure," said Joe. "But we’d better not sit around talking all day. We’ve gotta put the boat away. Buy you some dinner, afterwards, if you like?"

  "Okay. But only if I can go in my jeans and tennis shoes. I don’t feel like dressing up. Could
we go somewhere casual?”

  “You’re on,” said Joe. “No problem.”

  They got up and walked slowly back to the boat.

  At last, the time came for Jane's first monthly meeting as a manager. The whole team was there: Steve, Gary, Janette, Albert, and Nira. Jane stood up and addressed the group gathered around the long conference room table. "Good morning, everyone. Let's make a start. We don’t want to waste the whole morning in this stuffy room. Steve, any problems with the networking system?"

  Steve spoke from his chair. "The network's running fine, Jane. No problems. My biggest hassle, at the moment, is with the new travel agency software. It's not going well. I'm waiting on some object code from Hong Kong."

  "Really?" said Jane. "I thought the disks and manuals were coming in from Hong Kong last month. Did something go wrong?"

  "No. I'm sorry, Jane, but I made a mistake ordering – we got the wrong ones. It's taken a while to track down the right files again. It's my fault."

  Jane nodded. "Hmmm. The nomenclature for our object files is pretty ambiguous. I've ordered the wrong ones myself, a couple of times. I'll tell you what, Steve, I’ll send a memo to Head Office and see if we can't upgrade the naming system. In the meantime, let's all be doubly careful. We all make mistakes, I know, but let's try to avoid the simple ones."

  "Sorry, Jane," Steve repeated.

  "That's okay. Like I said, I've made the same mistake myself. Anyway, you might be pleased to hear something, Steve. I got a message from the CEO recently, that your Dymadex program is being considered for an industry award. Sounds like a little recognition, at last!"

  There were friendly congratulations from around the table.

  "Well," said Albert, dryly, "with the amount of time he spends sleeping under his desk, I'm not surprised his programs are so good."

  Jane laughed. "That's something I wanted to talk about. Look, guys, there's going to be a change around here. I know it's trendy in the industry to pull all-nighters, and heaven knows I've done it as much as anyone else, but it has to stop. From now on, that kind of thing should be the rare exception, not the rule. You guys are the best programmers in the state. I want you to still be with Infosolve five years from now, not flown off to some other company. That means no burnout. No more sleeping bags!"