Fiction: Bobo at the Piano
“You’re kidding, Bobo, you are actually going to play that thing.” Mary Stewart laughed as she looked over to Frank Bottoms for a reaction.
“You’re kidding, Bobo, you are actually going to play that thing.” Mary Stewart laughed as she looked over to Frank Bottoms for a reaction.
The two commanded over the grand lobby of the twenty story Fazger Bank Building whenever they entered. They ran the sixth and seventh floors respectfully for Thomas McCall Insurance Underwriters. Every subordinate knew they were like lovers who regretted the spouses they married twenty years earlier.
“Bobo, you don’t play the piano, don’t make a fool of yourself.” Frank looked back to Mary and they both snickered as Bob Goon ignored them.
The growing number of employees in the lobby stopped to watch the scene before heading for the elevators to work — spectators to the drama between the office lovers and the quiet clerk with twenty-two years in the company. Less than twelve hours earlier the piano arrived as the new piece of decor to the marble art-deco lobby. Goon would be the first to play it.
“Bobo, please get up to your office before you embarrass yourself.” Mary continued. “You will look ridiculous.”
“Mary, let him go.” Frank signaled to turn from the scene and go to their offices. “Let Bobo be.” He almost sounded like he was giving an order.
“But Frank, he will look foolish and it will be an embarrassment to our company. I am sorry, I am not going to watch this ridiculous fool behind a piano he never played.” She tried to let go of his hand and head towards Bob. Frank held it gently enough but firm to communicate his caution to her. Each one in the lobby was well within earshot of the two. Bobo either chose to ignore their words or was too much in concentration to pay attention.
Bobo as Mary and Frank called him was actually Robert “Bob” Goon. It was an unfortunate name that gave him great trouble growing up. Quiet throughout his life, he suffered terribly in almost every year of school. His pain discouraged him enough that he never went to college, but trained himself in accounts receivable. Mary’s predecessor, Tim Birch, hired Bob one month before he retired. She came in as head of HR two weeks later. Bob was not quite twenty one when he began and had been in the company long before Frank ever stepped foot in Thomas Mcall Insurance Underwriters.
Frank and Mary had demeaning nicknames for each one. Dodo Reilly, Goofy Jackson and of course Bobo Goon and more. Everyone hated the names and hated them, but they were executives and not to be crossed. Mike Johnson told them to stop calling him names and found himself out of work less than twenty-six hours later.
The lobby remained silent save the notes from the new piano and even as more employees from the insurance company, the bank and the advertising company on the top three floors came to work. Many stopped in their tracks as the music continued. Others, too busy, just headed for the elevators as if the lobby was empty. Still, the sound of Dave Brubeck’s Take Five played note by note, perfectly, drifted softly through the air. The quiet accounts receivable clerk with more than twenty years in the company, almost unknown despite his tenure, played with passion. One person remarked, “It is as if he is playing it for his long lost girl, begging her to come back.”
Of course, those who knew Bob also knew that no such person existed, but Bob played the music with feelings the likes of which no one knew he even had.
Everyone at one point shook their head or rolled their eyes at Mary Stewart and Frank Bottoms and then back to the piano.
Tom Michaels and his wife kissed as she dropped him off to work handing him his bagged lunch. They gazed at Frank and Mary with a snarl and then back to the piano. Tom smiled at his wife, they kissed again and he headed for the elevators almost backwards to catch every note in the air.
Mrs Michaels stood in awe as if hoping the tune would never end. The two detractors humbled and frozen in the center of the lobby, felt their faces become like red hot beacons screaming out warning of danger ahead as they felt the disapproval upon them of each employee. No one cared anymore that Frank was the head of marketing and Mary, the director of HR.
Jack Thomas, soon to retire, the one who mentored Bob Goon when he first arrived looked back at both of them. “I’ve said it before and I will say it again: you two have no shame.” Then turning to Bob “Thanks for a great way to start the morning Bob. I had no idea you even played.”
Bob tipped his head and continued note for note both hands moving across the keyboard as if they had minds of their own knowing each key to play at the right pressure, each foot hitting the pedals with pristine timing.
Frank headed off to the elevator, silent and quiet, his head down. He tried not to disturb the music nor to call attention to himself.
Mary Stewart walked the other way towards the revolving door, deciding not to come to work that day. She never came to work again. HR had a new leader one month later.
It was the day everyone said they were rid of those two. The day Bob Goon sat behind the piano and played Take Five, the only tune he knew.
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