Scissor Link, Georgette Kaplan [best 7 inch ereader .TXT] 📗

mugs would be. Wendy gestured to a cupboard and Janet opened it up, fetching out a black mug with one sly finger.

“Her name is Wendy,” Janet said. When her voice cooled, it was rich as chocolate. “It’s on the memo. Which you did send, yes?”

“Yes.” Wendy nodded. Then she moved hurriedly out of the way as Janet went to the coffee machine behind her. “I assume—I mean, I pretty much know—yeah, you’re here about the TCB memo? To upper management?”

“My memo!” Donnie said. He nearly squeaked. “To my upper management!”

The sound of coffee cascading into a cup cut through him like a knife into butter. He seemed to sputter at every little mitosis in Janet’s cells, which was Wendy’s first real indication that Janet was as important as she assumed. Of course, she just was important to Wendy. Anything else would be like looking at the Pope and saying ‘what’s with the dumb hat?’

“Donald, please.” Janet seemed infinitely concerned with the aroma of the coffee she was pouring, and not at all interested in the meeting she was attending. “If it’s anyone’s upper management, surely it’s mine. I am assistant vice president, after all.”

“Yes, miss, ma’am, of course, you are, of course, I just mean—” Donnie stopped and cleared his throat. “It’s my office’s responsibility to send out all communiqués, with my express permission—” He eyed Wendy like she was something he’d stepped in, and he was wearing really nice shoes. “Not hers.”

“Yet she does work in your office, yes?”

“It was my project, yeah,” Wendy answered.

Donnie took being cut out of the conversation as if it were his father’s will. “It was not your project, it was mine. I assigned it to you, you were supposed to bring it back to me.”

“For a rubber stamp,” Wendy retorted.

“For my approval. As your boss—”

“This is very good coffee.” Janet had taken a sip. “You made it?”

“Yes,” Wendy said, flustered by the recognition. It suddenly felt like a long time since anyone had really noticed her. “I’m glad you—”

“Company beans?” Janet asked.

Wendy tried her best not to preen. “I bring some from home.”

“Tastes expensive.” She pursed her lips to underline the hint of approval.

Wendy restricted herself to only quasi-preening motions. Her main imperative was not playing with her hair. “Well, everyone here works really hard, and no one likes the coffee you can make with the, uh, provided beans.”

“So you buy coffee for everyone?” Janet asked.

“Just the people who want to use it.” Which was everyone, Wendy thought, but also thinking that would sound too full of herself to say.

Janet favored Donnie with a look. “How much does she make?”

“She’s an intern.” Donnie managed to make it sound like something for which you could be deported to Australia.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Janet said, with another sip.

Donnie took a breath. “We don’t pay our interns. Especially not when they take it on themselves to deny approval to multimillion-dollar contracts integral to this company’s—

“I thought we suspended the unpaid internship program.” Janet set down her cup of coffee. “The Old Man himself wanted it done away with. Said that even if we just want someone to make paper airplanes, we should pay for the paper airplanes.”

Donnie waved his hand as if some insidious smell was making an attempt on his nostrils. “That’s in the Chicago division, this is New York.”

“Do people in New York not like money?” Janet asked. She pointed at Wendy. “Is this some kind of Amish woman, doing her work out of Christian charity?”

“I really don’t need the money.” Wendy tried to smooth over the defensiveness she saw on Donnie’s face, the rampant disapproval she saw in Janet’s eyes. “I’m doing this for the experience, to learn the trade—”

“Well, I do need the money,” Donnie interrupted. “And I’d rather not be out of the job because this company has no new helicopters to produce!”

“He does have a point about needing money. Ms. Cedar, please do tell us why you want to cost your company hundreds of millions of dollars?”

“To save us billions in lawsuits!” Wendy gritted her teeth. She knew people would be mad, but after they saw the problem, how could anyone not take her side? She grabbed a stack of napkins and, taking a pen from her pocket, began to sketch out a diagram. “Look, this is the swash plate, right? Two plates connected to each other. The upper part moves with the rotors, spinning them, while the lower part is stationary and moves under the pilot’s control to direct the helicopter.”

Wendy stopped drawing and blotted up the napkin. The diagram wasn’t really helping. She regretted not taking more art classes in college, if not the additional hundreds of thousands of dollars that would put on her tuition.

Janet crossed her arms. “Please assume that the executives at a company that manufactures helicopters know how a helicopter works.”

“Yeah, right, sorry—but this is very important. The scissor link connects the two, right?”

“Ten seconds,” Janet said.

“Scissor link connects the two, allows them to move somewhat so that the pilot can control it, but restrains excessive movement so that the helicopter doesn’t—well, worst-case scenario, crash.”

Janet raised an eyebrow on the word ‘crash.’ “Ten more seconds.”

“So the scissor link has to be about the most durable part of the helicopter, otherwise it won’t stay in the air. We have to know it’s rated to withstand the stresses the rest of the helicopter takes, if not more.”

“And Mr. Parsons here assures me it will.”

“The tests assure you it will,” Donnie said, seeming very pleased to correct her.

Wendy threw her hands up. “Maybe! Here’s the—” She paused on the ‘fucking’ she so dearly wanted to say “—the thing, though.” Grabbing another napkin, Wendy wrote ‘20,500 feet’ in big letters. “That’s the service ceiling of our last chopper. Here’s the service ceiling for our new chopper.” She wrote ‘25,000 feet’, nearly taking up the entire napkin. “The air pressure at 20,000 feet is 13.74 inches of mercury. The air pressure at 25,000 feet is 11.10.Less air pressure means less