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originalsam_backupETA 10/1/10: This is a FIRST DRAFT of Charitable Getting. Please see this post for the index to the second and most current draft.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bo Sparks was not a man accustomed to being kept in the dark, and since Sarah had dragged Naomi, Ian, and Anna out of his office and into a taxi he'd been pacing, fidgeting, fretting. He loved his employees and knew they loved him, but he didn't want anyone falling on a sword for him. He had a bad feeling that perhaps they were forming some atrocious peace delegation prepared to march on Union Arms and grovel for forgiveness. True, Sarah didn't seem the type, but she was a force to be reckoned with and Anna was dating the man, wasn't she?
Both Ian and Naomi could be devious when they wanted.
When they returned, Anna looked scared to death, and Ian looked like death warmed over. Sarah and Naomi seemed calmer than the other two, but were still jittery. Sarah planted Anna firmly in one of the lobby chairs, sat down next to her, and rubbed her arm.
"I'm getting coffee," Ian said. "Boss, can you ring the gong?"
"Why?" Sparks asked.
"We need everybody together."
"You didn't go to Byron, did you?" Sparks asked, worried.
"What are we, idiots?" Sarah demanded. "Ring the damn gong, boss."
Sparks went back into his office, got the hammer, and gingerly took the gong down. He thunked it half-heartedly, then gave up and let Sarah take the hammer away from him. She bashed it so hard he was sure they heard the reverberations in Galena.
By the time Ian returned and pressed a cup of coffee into Anna's hands, the entire staff had assembled. The interns looked especially interested. Sparks was under the impression that Sarah had broken their spirits, but apparently these were stubborn ones.
"We just got back from the DA's office," Ian said, trying to shove his hands in his pockets and inadvertently snagging his cast on his shirt. He pulled the cast back, sighed, and did the best he could at crossing his arms. "Anna made a statement that Trent Byron told her he was stealing from Union Arms. Naomi has a friend at Union Arms who managed to dig up just enough for a warrant for the company's computers. They should be serving it now."
"You did what?" Sparks asked, staring at her.
"It wasn't right," Anna said. "And anyway it's going to save SparkVISION. If he's a big fucking liar then nobody's going to believe him about us, either."
Sparks considered this.
"I could kiss you," he said, finally. Anna gave him a small smile. "You did that for us?"
"She did the legal and ethical thing," Sarah said firmly.
"Yeah, but for us," Sparks tried.
"Maybe a little," Anna admitted. "God, I need a cigarette."
"That was your big announcement?" Cee asked.
"That was one of them," Ian said, at the same time Anna said, "Yes."
Sparks glanced at Ian. He was staring at Sarah, who gave him a small nod.
"How long have you known?" Ian asked her.
"I know everything," Sarah said, almost apologetically.
"Known what?" Erin asked, holding up her phone. "That Trent Byron's a bastard? Because Non Prophet just...posted about...oh," she added, and lowered the phone, shoving it quickly in her pocket.
"This has to do with Non Prophet, doesn't it?" Jess asked.
"Yeah," Sarah said.
"I don't want to know," Sparks said, and tried to go back to his office. "I don't want to know!"
"Boss, you have to know," Ian called. Sparks hesitated in the doorway. "Tanya Montray followed us to the DA's office. She wants to publish a story about how Anna is Non Prophet."
"I didn't want to know!" Sparks said, and then it hit him. "Wait, what?"
"What?" Anna asked.
"You're Non Prophet?" Hanna gasped, turning to Anna. "You're my hero!"
"I'm not Non Prophet!" Anna shouted.
"No," Ian said. "She's not."
"No," Sarah repeated. "She's not."
"Screw cigarettes, I need a drink," Sparks said.
"You know who he is, though?" Roxy asked Anna. "Come on, if you know you have to tell us."
"She doesn't know," Ian announced, and Sparks had a terrible moment of foreboding that he made a mental note to talk about in his memoirs someday.
"Who is it?" Erin asked. She looked like she didn't actually want to know the answer.
"It's me," Ian said. "I'm Non Prophet."
Sparks felt that he was to be commended, in some small way, for not following his first instinct and blurting But you're the receptionist!
John did it for him.
"But you're a receptionist!" John said.
"Yeah," Ian sighed. "It kinda means I hear everything you guys talk about. And I'm going to have to talk to Montray tonight and tell her, or she's going to say it's Anna and the whole thing's just going to explode. Not that it won't anyway. I'm really sorry, boss," he added, looking down at his feet. "Really, really sorry."
"You're Non Prophet," Roxy repeated. "You. I spent all that time trying to get your IP address and you were fifty freakin' feet away."
"Sorry," Ian mumbled.
"So when you said SparkVISION threw great parties..." Cee began.
"Well, we do," Ian protested.
"And Two For Non -- that's how you knew he didn't know about the matching gift this morning," Erin said. "I was totally going to rip off that campaign for the summer ask-letters, by the way."
"I wanted to tell you," Ian said, turning back to Sparks but still not quite meeting his eyes. More like his necktie. "But you said you'd have to fire him if you knew who he was, and -- the blog makes some money, but without this job I wouldn't have anything to talk about anyway."
Sparks tried to put his thoughts in order, which was surprisingly difficult. "So...SparkVISION is going to be linked to the fall of a major charity, because one of our writers was dating a thieving asshole, and he was outed by a guy who this morning raised three hundred thousand dollars with a blog post, and that guy's going to be outed as my receptionist."
"Worst Monday ever," Zoe said.
"Yeah, mine is definitely sucking," Ian put in.
"I should call Melinda," Naomi announced, taking out her phone and retreating down the hallway.
Sparks turned to Anna, because he couldn't deal with the rest of it. "How are you?"
She smiled. "I could do with a beer."
"Yeah. Okay. This is a mess, and I don't want to think about it," he said. "Office is closed. Anna and I are going to Beermaki. Anyone else who wants to come is welcome."
"I'll talk to legal and figure out our next step," Sarah said. Sparks could see her already mentally preparing a brief on the subject.
"I'm...going to pack up and go home," Ian said softly, as the rest of the staff dawdled back to their cubicles to pack up their bags and gather their coats. Sparks watched him pull his messenger bag over his head and dig in his desk for his hat.
"I'm not mad with you, Ian. You want to come to Beermaki with us, you can," he said.
"I think that would probably not be wise," Ian replied slowly.
"You're right. That said," he added, as Ian edged towards the door, "You, be in my office first thing tomorrow."
Ian nodded. "Thanks, boss."
"Don't thank me, kid. See you tomorrow."
Ian slunk out the door and fixed his eyes on the down-arrow button until an elevator arrived and he could make his escape. Sparks went to get his coat as people began trickling back into the lobby. On his way, he placed the gong hammer gently back in its stand.
***
When Ian arrived home, stamping the snow off his boots, Zeke was in the living room, glued to the television.
"Are you fucking seeing this?" Zeke asked, pointing at the TV. "Some dude got arrested for robbing a charity blind. Man, you look like shit. Hey, you're home early. What happened?"
Ian walked into the kitchen and took a beer from the fridge. He returned and dropped onto the couch, without even taking off his hat.
"Well, I helped cause that," he said, tipping the beer at the television, where cameras were showing a herd of cops trooping in and out of the Union Arms headquarters, carrying boxes. "I outed myself as a professional blogger to my boss." He passed the beer to Zeke, who opened it for him and passed it back. "Also, I'm probably fired. How about you?"
Zeke gave him a sidelong look. "I learned how to play the 1812 Overture on the Chromatic. Want to hear?"
Ian looked at him, took a long drink, and laughed hysterically.
"Yeah," he said. "Lay it on me, Zeke."
Zeke was halfway through the opening when he stopped. "Wait, what do you mean, outed yourself?"
"Not like that," Ian told him.
"Cause if you're gay, that's cool, but you could've told me -- "
"Zeke, what did I say after 'outed myself'?"
"Professional blogger," Zeke said. "The hell do you mean by that?"
"You know, like the newsblogs you read. I'm a blogger. I blog. I have blogged. I may blog again," Ian said.
"For real? What blog?"
Ian leaned back and covered his eyes with his hand. "NonProphetBlog.nfp."
"Oh. Gotcha. Hey, Drudge Report linked you," Zeke said, and went back to his harmonica. Ian stared at him, then reached for the laptop on the side-table. Zeke stopped again.
"Great American Novel?" he asked, with a tentative smile.
"Something like that," Ian told him. "I'm fine, Zeke."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure," Ian said, logging into Non Prophet's gmail account, which was already filling with letters since he'd locked comments on the post. He opened a new email window and began entering names. "Sometimes you just have a shit day, and you have to make the best of it."
"You wanna order a pizza?"
Ian cocked an eyebrow at him. "Zeke, do you mean I want a pizza but I'm broke?"
Zeke nodded sheepishly. Ian considered it.
"Yeah, okay," he said. "You order, I have work to do."
***
The SparkVISION staff were greeted on entering Beermaki, as they usually were, by a hearty "Irasshaimase!" from the bar staff. One of the sushi chefs waved at them and then pointed his very large, very sharp knife at the television in the corner, which was tuned to Chicago local news. The staff stopped in a clump and stared up at the screen.
...accused of stealing hundreds of thousands or possibly even millions of dollars from Chicago-based, nationally-known charity Union Arms. We're told a warrant was served on the Union Arms headquarters this evening, and Executive Director Trent Byron was led away in handcuffs. For more on this story...
"Hey," Anna called, because apparently nobody else was going to do it, "Come on, what, isn't there a playoff game or something?"
The sushi chefs looked at each other and then, as one, chorused "DA BEARS!"
"Sarah, if you love me, get me something fried," Anna said, sliding into a chair as SparkVISION ranged itself around the table and Sparks went over to the television to flip through for a football game.
"I do," Sarah said, kissing the top of her head. "We need beer," she told the bartender. "A lot of beer. And sushi. Omakase. For everyone. And lots of tempura stuff."
"Monday, huh?" he asked.
"Like you would not fucking believe."
"Are you sure Ian's okay?" Hanna asked Cee, who was fiddling with her chopsticks.
"Well, he's not the type to go and off himself over a job," Cee said.
"This is weird," John muttered.
"The part where I'm suddenly a big-business whistleblower, the part where Ian's an internet celebrity, or the part where SparkVISION is going to be a Trib headline tomorrow?" Anna asked.
"Just...I don't know," John said, as Sarah brought two pitchers of beer to the table. "It's not like Ian's going to have it easy getting another job."
"Do you think we should like...all threaten to quit or something?" Jess asked. "It's not easy for anyone to get a job right now."
"As much as I love Ian, if we all quit then SparkVISION goes under, and if he stays it goes under," Zoe said. "I have a kid to feed. Ian's a great guy but Bolo comes first."
"Melinda might be able to get him a job," Naomi said. "She's looking around now."
"He'll land on his feet," Sarah assured them. "Probably get a book deal or something. He's a flexible kid."
"He had to know what he was doing," Sparks said, returning to the table. Anna saw half the staff shoot him guilty looks. "He knew the consequences if he was found out. He could have closed down the blog, but he chose to take risks, and when he failed he took it like a grownup. Good for him. Bears are crushing the Vikings, by the way."
"You're still going to fire him," Sarah said.
"I'm thinking about it," Sparks told her. "Which means I don't want to talk about it. I -- " He stopped as his phone rang, checked it, and sighed. "Dell Raymond. I better take this. Be right back," he told them, and answered the phone, stepping away from the table. "Dell, hi..."
The rest of them seemed content to brood over their beers while they waited for the sushi.
"Wait..." Sarah said suddenly. "Did he say Dell Raymond?"
"Who's Dell Raymond?" Hanna asked.
"Oh, little one, so much to learn," Naomi said. "He runs LLFAC."
"Ull-Fack?"
"Librarians, Literates, and Friends Against Censorship. Sparks has been trying to get him for three years. He's dying to re-brand him," Cee said.
"That was weird," Sparks said, returning to his seat.
"What was weird?" Erin asked.
"Raymond just -- hang on," Sparks interrupted himself, as his phone rang again. "What the -- shit. Damage control, it's one of our clients. Save me some tempura," he said, rising to walk away again and take the call.
A waiter arrived with an enormous plate of sushi and tempura, an entire tray of wasabi and ginger, and a giant bowl of edamame. By the time the tempura was cold, Sparks still hadn't returned, though he had answered his phone three more times. Erin's phone had rung twice; she'd answered as well, and was sitting with him at an empty table near the entrance, making a hilarious tableau as they spoke facing each other but into their phones.
"They look like the worst power date ever," John said. "I thought Sparks said he wasn't going to think about this tonight."
"He doesn't look as upset as he should," Zoe added.
"How upset should he look?" Anna asked, alarmed.
"Well, more upset than that. Look, he just laughed," Zoe pointed.
"This is ridiculous," Sarah announced. She picked up a clean plate and heaped it with food. Anna gathered up two cups of beer and followed her over to where Sparks and Erin were sitting; Sparks gave her a grateful look as he tried to talk, hold the beer, and eat nigiri at the same time. Erin nibbled on a handroll.
"No, that's great," Sparks said into the phone. "Sorry, mouth full. Yeah -- it's fine, it's sushi, it chews easy. Monday works. Hahaha. Okay."
He ended the call, only to be met with the beep of the voicemail notification. "Three messages. Are you kidding me?"
"Can we help?" Sarah asked. Sparks shook his head. "What's going on?"
"Ian emailed everyone," Erin said, covering the mic on her phone.
"Everyone?" Anna asked. She decided she was planning on getting very drunk.
"Most of the big names in Chicago philanthropy -- no, Mr. Belmont, happy to hold -- and a few in New York," Erin said. "He told them who he was and what he does. Dealing with the fallout."
"Gotcha," Sarah said. "Yell when you need a fresh beer."
"You're awesome," Sparks said. A sudden frantic look crossed his face as a voice came over the line; Sarah offered him a Beermaki promotional pencil and a napkin. He started scribbling away, names and phone numbers, while Erin talked to Mr. Belmont (of the Chicago Belmonts, founders of the Belmont Philanthropic Group) and picked through the tempura.
"What's going on?" Jess asked, when Anna and Sarah returned to the table.
"I'm not positive," Anna said, studying the pair.
"I think we're probably going to have to cover their portion of the bill," Sarah said. "They're gonna be there a while."
***
Excerpted from Dot Org: The Fall Of Trent Byron
by Tanya Montray
With perfect hindsight, the statement sworn against Trent Byron by an employee of SparkVISION does seem suspect. Bo Sparks undoubtedly acted perceptively and with political skill: when Union Arms stated its intent to sue SparkVISION over the re-branding debacle, SparkVISION retaliated immediately, bringing the business of their former client to a screaming halt.
As ruthless and savvy as the move may seem, Anna Whittaker has stated many times that she felt making the statement about Byron's activities was the right thing to do. Had she been aware of it sooner, she has often implied, she would have revealed it sooner. Telephone records show that she did contact Sarah Adler on the afternoon of the 25th, which both women agree was a phone call requesting legal advice on how the matter should be handled.
Much more disingenuous, and perhaps even more brutal, was Non Prophet's open attack on Byron's character and business practices. His revelation of Byron's behavior was posted literally while the District Attorney for Cook County was being presented with evidence of it, from the waiting room of the DA's office.
I encountered Ian Butler in the waiting room that day, where I unknowingly witnessed this event as I watched him type away on a smartphone touch-keypad. I was only peripherally aware of him as the SparkVISION receptionist, and at the time my research seemed to indicate that either Bo Sparks or Anna Whittaker was Non Prophet. We exchanged words briefly, during which he demonstrated an unusual grasp of literature and politics. Afterwards, he warned me not to publish my then-speculation about the identity of the mystery blogger.
Accounts of the following events vary slightly, but it is generally agreed that the SparkVISION staff returned to their office, where they informed the rest of the staff of their actions and Butler confessed to being Non Prophet. At that point Sparks made the decision to shut down SparkVISION for the day, and most of the staff gathered at a local watering-hole to discuss events. Butler, on the other hand, states that he "went home, opened a beer, and tried to set things right."
Acting under the assumption that he must be fired for his actions if for no other reason than the public relations nightmare which would follow, Butler wrote an email to many of Non Prophet's professional contacts and all of the clients of SparkVISION. This would, eventually, be entered into evidence by Trent Byron's defense team in a (failed and irrational) attempt to imply that Non Prophet had a grudge against Byron.
I was copied on this email, which was sent from Non Prophet's public gmail account. I accepted it for what it was: full confession, and permission to make Non Prophet's identity public.
My dear colleagues and friends,
No doubt you have heard or will soon hear of the arrest of Trent Byron, in which I played a role as facilitator. In the interests of this legal proceeding, my identity has come under scrutiny, and I believe tomorrow morning may be announced publicly. I wish therefore to provide you with prior notice, out of respect for your positions and out of an interest in protecting my employer, Bo Sparks.
My name is Ian Butler. I am an administrative assistant and the front-desk receptionist at SparkVISION, which some of you employ as a consulting company. In writing for nonprophetblog.nfp, I acted without the knowledge, consent, or approval of Bo Sparks or of any other employee at the company. My aim was simply to discuss our community culture. I was not seeking to publicize SparkVISION, though I have mentioned them from time to time in the course of my commentary.
This afternoon I pled on behalf of Union Arms that the company not be punished for the actions of one individual, and now I find myself pleading again for the same lenience to be shown to SparkVISION. I could not wish for a wiser employer than Bo Sparks, or for a better, more honest and upstanding company to have worked for. I don't expect my tenure there to last much longer, but I will tell you this: Trent Byron's anger with SparkVISION arose from our ethical refusal to engage in a counterintuitive re-branding. I stand behind SparkVISION's decision. For my own part, I bear Mr. Sparks and the company no ill will. I hope you feel likewise.
I remain, very sincerely,
Non Prophet
(Ian Butler)
The ripples and waves this email caused in the community resulted in a reaction that neither SparkVISION nor Butler himself expected.
***
When Ian arrived at work the next morning, his stomach was in knots; he knew he was likely to be fired, and that was hard enough, but he didn't want to be scolded or shouted at. He wished he'd just crawled away and sent in a resignation, but he needed some of the stuff in his desk, and whoever took over his job would need a list of where everything was.
The knots tightened a little when he found their elevator bank staffed by security, who were checking the badges of everyone who entered.
"Mario, what's going on?" he asked, presenting his badge and hoping he wouldn't be turned away (or arrested).
"Just a little security check," Mario told him. He grinned. "You're good, go on through. I know you work here."
"Are you sure?" Ian asked.
"What, did you get fired? No? Then go," Mario said. "I know you're just trying to slack off."
Ian tried to laugh a little at the joke, clapped Mario on the shoulder as he passed, and got into the elevator.
"There's security in the lobby," he said, as he walked in the front door of SparkVISION. Cee was just putting the morning papers in order.
"Yeah, apparently some reporters tried to get into the office," she replied. "How are you?"
"Wigged out," Ian said. "My Mom called me last night, they heard about it in another state. I've never been happier I never talked about my family in my blog."
"Get yelled at?" Cee asked.
"Not really. I mean, she's proud of what I said, but she's totally terrified for me. She wanted to hire me a bodyguard. I should have let her, there was a news van in front of my apartment this morning. I had to sneak out through the basement. Zeke's going to flip his shit when he wakes up."
"Sarah says that Sparks says you emailed half the charitable-giving executives in the world last night," Cee told him.
"Yeah, but I'm used to that kind of thing," Ian said, setting his bag down. "No, that sounds bad, I mean...I've spoken with most of them before. Well, Non did. That's so weird. It's like I'm two people."
"Some of us think so, too," Cee said, but there was a gentle note to her voice.
"Sorry," he murmured. He took the morning Tribune she handed him and looked down at it. Trent Byron's face was above the fold, with the headline; he saw his own picture, a dorky one he'd posted on his Facebook last month, staring up from an inset, bordered by Non Prophet's blog header. Another Facebook photo of him and Anna had been on the cover of the commuter paper, captioned THE PROPHET AND THE MOLE. People had stared at him on the train.
"It's just going to take some getting-used-to," Cee said.
"I don't think I'll stay here long enough for you guys to need to get used to it," he sighed. "Sparks here yet?"
"I am now," Sparks replied brightly, taking off his scarf as he walked through the door. Ian frowned. Sparks could be inappropriately cheerful at times, but he did think the boss was kinder than to seem so excessively happy about firing him. "Office, Ian."
"Yessir," Ian said, leaving his bag on his desk and following Sparks past Cee, into the inner sanctum. He'd stuffed his bag with a couple of other bags, in preparation for cleaning out his desk; he never thought he'd be so grateful for the tote bags his mother kept sending him. He put his hands in his pockets to try and warm them; they wouldn't stop shaking.
Sparks sat in one of the chairs by the window. Ian stayed standing, facing him (on the carpet, somewhat appropriately). Sparks just watched him, not speaking. Ian considered bolting, but disappointing Sparks twice would be even worse, and he was here now anyway.
"I'd like to explain, if I can," Ian said, keeping his voice steady.
"All right." Sparks steepled his hands.
"I just -- it started out just as a place to talk about stuff I saw. I needed somewhere to think about it all. I never thought it would turn into this. I got linked a few places, and people just kept coming..." Ian gestured haplessly. He could feel the blood rushing to his face. "Before I knew it, I was this...authority. By then it was too late."
"Too late to tell me?"
"You, or anyone else. I learned so much here, I wanted to share it," Ian said. "I loved working here. I don't expect you to keep me on, that would be ridiculous, I know that."
"I'm glad you understand our situation," Sparks said. "You're fired."
Ian nodded miserably. "I'll pack up my desk. Do you want me to call security to escort me out?"
Sparks held out an envelope. "You'll need to pack up, but I think you should read this first."
Ian hesitated, frowned, and made himself step forward. He took the envelope out of Sparks's hand and opened it, unfolding the paper inside.
"It's a website printout," he said, looking up. "Our staff page?"
"I edited it myself. Roxy didn't even have to help me," Sparks said proudly.
"Well, that explains the unorthodox commas," Ian replied. Sparks chuckled.
"Read down," he ordered.
Ian scanned down the page until he reached his own photograph. It was out of place; it was supposed to be at the bottom, just below Cee's. Instead it was two thirds of the way down, under Erin's. The words didn't make much sense; he just wanted to leave, and he looked up before he managed to read much.
"I don't get it," he said.
"You're ruining my grand gesture," Sparks told him, which didn't make sense. When Ian didn't reply, Sparks rolled his eyes. "Last night, after you sent out that email, I started getting phone calls."
"I'm sorry, I just wanted -- "
"Let me finish," Sparks interrupted. Ian fell silent. "Some of them were from our clients. We lost two."
Ian winced. "I -- "
"Ian, shut up," Sparks ordered.
"Yessir."
"The rest were mostly from the people you emailed," Sparks continued. "A few got the news through the grapevine. Now, on the one hand..." he held up what looked like a napkin from Beermaki, "...you have a couple of job offers."
"What?" Ian asked.
"On the other hand..." Sparks ignored him and held up another napkin, creating one of the most surreal visions Ian had ever seen, "...we have the names of twenty new companies interested in becoming SparkVISION clients."
"That's...good?" Ian ventured. Sparks offered him a second packet of papers, this time without an envelope.
"Page one is your letter of termination, effective immediately," Sparks said. "It's all legal, standard stuff. Page two is an offer letter. Sign it and you'll become SparkVISION's newest Client Joy associate, in charge of research and New Client Services."
Ian felt his jaw fall open. It fell a little more when he noticed the yearly salary at the top.
"I mean it in the most serious way," Sparks said, "when I say that you are blessed by some kind of god, kid. Anyone else in your situation would be out of the charity business for good. Instead, everyone I talked to said that if our receptionist can write that, they want to see what the rest of us can do."
"But..." Ian looked back at the staff page, which did, indeed, list him as a Client Joy associate. "But I'm a really good receptionist."
"And I expect you to be a really good associate," Sparks told him. "Especially since we need you to learn fast, because we're taking at least ten of those new clients and we haven't got the manpower for that yet. You'll report to Erin, of course, so now you're her bitch, but I hear she's gentler than Sarah." He tossed the first napkin down in front of Ian. "Or, well, you've got options. But I think you'll find I'm cooler than they are."
Ian looked down at the napkin. "Your handwriting sucks, boss."
"So?"
"So clearly you need me around," Ian heard himself say. "When do I start?"
"In about five minutes," Sparks told him. "Come on."
He opened the door and Ian followed, numbly, not even flinching when Sparks took down the gong and smacked it resoundingly.
"IAN!" someone yelled from the Creative pod. "DON'T GO YET!"
Sarah appeared in the lobby, looking stormy and unhappy, but Ian was more focused on Zoe, who was barreling down the hall with a giant plastic bag in her hands.
"Okay, so, I made you some lasagne," she said, "because I don't want you going hungry, and there's a new coat that doesn't fit Charles and some snacks for you and I had it all in a really nice tote bag, I know you like tote bags -- "
"What is it with the tote bags?" Ian wondered aloud.
" -- but it was glittery so Bolo hid it. So I just put it in a regular bag. Do you need cab fare? You can't carry everything. Or John said he'd give you a ride."
"Uh," Ian said, as his arms were suddenly full of lasagne and coat.
"Hang on, I want to say goodbye!" Naomi yelled. "Ian, Melinda says if you send her your resume she'll...what's in the bag?" she asked, bewildered.
"Lasagne, I guess," Ian replied.
"Oh my god," Anna moaned, wandering out from the bathroom. "Don't hit the gong again. It hurts in my head."
Sparks banged the gong again. Anna whimpered.
"I have an announcement to make, before anyone gives Ian any more pasta," he said sternly. "Yes, I have fired him, with extreme prejudice and my best Stern Face on. Move on. And now, it gives me great pleasure to introduce you all to our new Client Joy Associate, who will be assisting Erin with our new client intake."
"What?" Naomi asked.
"Where?" Sarah demanded.
"He's the one holding the sack of lasagne," Sparks said. Everyone turned to stare at Ian. "Non Prophet dragged a ton of new clients in. We needed the help."
"Apparently I'm awesome," Ian told them. "I wasn't aware."
"Hanna, how'd you like to be our new receptionist?" Sparks asked, turning to her. Hanna's eyes got really big.
"Like, for real?" she asked. "With a salary and stuff?"
"Benefits, too," Sparks said. "And access to the company yacht we don't have."
"I could go back to school," Hanna said. "I mean! Yes! I will be receptionist and go to night classes."
"That's my Hanna," Sparks said approvingly.
"Great! Here," Ian said, dumping the bag into her arms. "Take care of that for me, would you?"
Hanna snapped to attention so fast it almost hurt to watch, and ran away down the hall towards the kitchen, presumably to put the lasagne in the fridge.
"I'M BRINGING COFFEE!" she hollered over her shoulder. The other interns looked envious.
"Morning!" Erin called, pulling off her gloves as she walked in. She stopped when she saw the crowd in the lobby and looked around, suspiciously. "Okay, What did I miss?"
***
NON PROPHET
www.nonprophetblog.nfp
CLOSED FOR BUSINESS
Date: Friday, 01/01/10
Subject: Blowing the Whistle Ends the Game
Good morning, readers. (And voyeurs!)
So. It's been four days since my photograph was all over the Chicago papers and the news. I've been deluged with e-mail, both here and at my professional working account. The comments are a firestorm, which is why I locked them on Tuesday. My colleague, who has been accused of every kind of perfidy with regards to her informing the police of a criminal act, is unused to such attention, so before I say anything else I'm going to say this:
KNOCK THAT BULLSHIT OFF RIGHT NOW.
Okay, I feel better. Not that I think it's going to do any good, but she'll see it and appreciate it.
From what I can see, the visitors here have been about equal parts regular readers and curious newcomers. Some of you have expressed support, for which I'm grateful, and some of you have stayed out of it; the rest of you can go to hell. My colleague and I did what we did because we believed it was the right thing to do.
Yes, I am Ian Butler. Until a few days ago I was a receptionist at SparkVISION Consulting. I was hoping to spend the holiday season opening gifts, celebrating the new year, and basking in the good fortune of my friends. I have done all that, but I've also had to grapple with this very public spectacle and defend my friends and family from the less enlightened elements among you. I understand that this is the lot that falls to the famous, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.
Despite all that, if it were up to me, I'd keep writing NonProphetBlog. Even known as I am, even knowing that if I had stalkers before, their task has been made much easier by this. I like it here.
But it's not up to me. As has been pointed out to me, I maintain not only my own image but the image of my employer. Bo Sparks is a good and merciful man who has agreed to keep me on staff in a slightly different capacity than before, and I owe it to him to follow his guidance, which in the past two years has not led me wrong.
Thus, I have to admit that it is, again, the right thing to do to close down Non Prophet. The entries will remain public for now, but there will be no new posts and comments will remain closed.
However, as we all know, when one thing ends another begins. I will continue to write, under the auspices of SparkVISION, at a new location on their domain: the VISION blog. This blog will continue to comment on trends and topics relevant to the interests of our community, but with the endorsement and approval of my new direct superiors.
Some might see this as a form of censorship, but those are people who don't know Sparks. I see it as a way to explore new aspects of the charitable sector with mentors to guide me. I'm not allowed to sit and watch anymore. I've been forced into a place where people talk about me, so I need to do something worth talking about, outside of Non Prophet's safe little world.
I invite you all to come visit The VISION Blog, and not to laugh at the name.
This is Non Prophet, signing off.
Comments Closed
EPILOGUE
When Roxy found Hanna, she was standing in the back of the kitchen, helping the waiters open wine bottles.
"Hi!" she called, waving the corkscrew she was holding. "What's up? HEY, WATCH THE CRAB CAKES," she shouted over Roxy's shoulder, as one of the chefs plated them sloppily.
"Help me," Roxy said.
"Okay!" Hanna replied, handing off the bottle and corkscrew to a passing chef. "Help with what?"
"I can't find Ian," Roxy said. "We have to start and I can't find him!"
"Wasn't he talking with Sparks like, two minutes ago?" Hanna asked. "Did you text him?"
"This stupid hotel has no reception! Why do we keep holding dinners here? And also, he has to stop talking to Sparks. Do you know what Sparks wants to do now?"
"No, what?" Hanna asked, glee in her eyes.
"A YOUTUBE CHANNEL," Roxy announced.
"That's a great -- that's a terrible idea," Hanna said, correcting herself when she saw the murderous look in Roxy's eye. "Absolutely awful. Maybe Ian knows you know he suggested it and is hiding?"
"He has stage fright," Roxy hissed. "That's why he's hiding. If he bails, so help me God..."
"Ask Sarah, she'll know," Hanna said. Roxy sighed and left the kitchen, only to find Sarah lifting a glass of wine from a tray for Mark.
"This is super-swanky," Mark told Roxy, when she reached them. "Are you sure it's cool I snuck in?"
"Totally cool," Roxy said absently. "Sarah. Ian. Where? Please."
"Hiding," Sarah said. "Try coat check."
Roxy glanced across the room and saw Ian -- and then facepalmed.
"He's checking coats," she said.
"He likes to be helpful," Mark observed.
"He's supposed to be making clients joyful!"
"Well, technically..." Sarah gestured. Roxy scowled at her and ran off again. When she reached coat check she was out of breath and cursing her high heels.
"You are so fucking busted," she told Ian, who looked at her guiltily.
"I was just...the interns needed...and Jess..." He gestured at Jess, who was sitting with the interns and apparently watching a video on her phone.
"He insisted," Jess said.
"You are coming out here right now," Roxy ordered, as Ian shamefacedly rounded the table. "Where's your tie?"
"Found the tie!" Erin announced, coming up behind them. "It was in your messenger bag."
She let the tie unroll from her fingers. Ian's suit itself was charcoal, and one of the sleeves was unbuttoned to accommodate his cast; the tie was a deep goldenrod, and on close examination the apparently abstract pattern was dozens of tiny Vitruvian Man drawings.
"That's your tie?" Roxy asked.
"I got it from the Field Museum, it's my favorite," Ian said defensively, taking the tie and trying to knot it one-handed. He finally gave up and waggled his cast pathetically. Roxy sighed and took the tie away, looping it around his throat.
"It's coming off in a week," he reminded them as Roxy knotted it.
"And then you'll have no more excuses," Naomi said, sweeping up in a new dress that almost hid the sensible shoes underneath.
"I don't -- !" Ian began, then rolled his eyes. "Fine. Okay."
"God, you have to get a new suit. Can't you afford tailoring now?" Naomi demanded.
"What's wrong with this one?" Ian asked, looking down at it.
"You need pinstripes," Naomi told him.
"By the way, later we're going to have words about the YouTube thing," Roxy said, smoothing the tie down. "Now, can I trust you to run the PowerPoint without me hovering?"
"Hey, I did the webinar all by myself last week, and that sucked," Ian told her.
"Just punishment," Erin snorted.
"Don't trip!" Naomi called after them. Ian lifted his cast and threw her a very subtle finger.
"Ian!" Sparks shouted. "Stop that!"
"Aaargh," Ian groaned theatrically. "Boss, if I quit, will you make me receptionist again?"
"Hanna's got a death grip on it," Sparks said, as Anna ran up. "Hey, it's my favorite whistleblower!"
"Stop calling me that," Anna hissed.
"Enjoy your fame," Sparks told her.
"It's infamy!"
"It didn't sound like infamy when you got to go on Letterman," Ian reminded her.
"You never get to talk to me again," Anna pointed a finger at him. "If you fuck up the speech I wrote for you I'll -- "
"Okay, you look passingly snappy," Sparks interrupted, speaking to Ian. "Ready?"
"If I die onstage," Ian said to Erin, "remember we're helping John move into Cee's place this weekend, and you are to mock him mercilessly."
"It's in my BlackBerry," Erin said indignantly.
"Come on!" Sparks called, already ten paces ahead.
Roxy ran past them to make sure the computer hadn't come unplugged or gone on standby or any of the other dozen disasters that could happen. When she saw everything was in order, she took a deep breath, let go, and stepped aside.
"Good evening!" Sparks yelled, bounding up the platform. Ian lingered below in the shadows. "Good evening everyone. Thank you, quiet down, yes, the food is exceptional. All listening? Good."
He clapped his hands together and bounced on this toes.
"I'd like to welcome you to our New Client meet and greet," he said. Cue the smile; gleaming teeth. "We're very excited that you're joining our SparkVISION family. I know you're all anxious to start the ball rolling on your various projects, and of course you know we're ramping up for this expansion with a lot of new people. We have quite a bit of information to cover tonight, primarily from our excellent Client Joy manager Erin..." he gestured to Erin, who waved and pointed to her SparkVISION branded ball cap, which clashed horribly with her dress, "...but first we're going to have a few words from our new Client Joy associate, who will be handling some of your accounts once he's got two hands again."
Ian winced; everyone else chuckled. Roxy patted his shoulder.
"Many of you know him better under a nom de plume -- more of a Non de plume, hahaha -- but I'd like to formally introduce you to Non Prophet's alter ego, Ian Butler."
Ian didn't move. He looked terrified. Roxy planted an elbow square in his kidney, just to get him going, and pressed the computer remote for the PowerPoint into his hand. He stumbled up the stairs and blinked in the light on the stage.
"Hi," he said, shifting the remote back and forth in his hands. Roxy saw Erin make a "smile!" gesture with her hands. Ian smiled, or anyway tried to. He cleared his throat.
"I, um, I'm very new at this," he said hesitantly. "Most of the time, when I'm talking with any authority, it's from behind a computer screen."
Polite laughter. Roxy bit her lip, but Ian looked faintly encouraged.
"SparkVISION appreciates your confidence in our abilities, and we anticipate a very satisfying relationship with all of you," Ian continued, starting to get into the rhythm of the speech Anna had carefully written for him, after much screaming. "It's been an interesting month since Non Prophet was outed..."
"If he falls off the stage getting down, I'm going to throttle him," Erin whispered to Roxy. Cee, appearing on her other side, offered her John's flask. "Oh God, thank you."
"He'll do fine," Sparks said. "You know you're still my number one, right?"
"I'm the one who doesn't fall over furniture," Erin recited. "Therefore I get to be Queen of Client Joy."
"That's right," Sparks said. The rest of the gathering laughed at a joke in the speech.
"I told you that was a good joke," Anna said to Sparks. Ian looked momentarily confused by the laughter before continuing.
"My kerning is so hot," Zoe declared, as Ian advanced to the first PowerPoint slide.
"How many new interns are we getting?" Sarah asked. "I still get to break them, right?"
"Yes," Sparks said, rolling his eyes. "You get to break them."
"Good." Sarah accepted the flask from Erin and took a quick sip.
"New year," Sparks mused, and Roxy saw him sweep the assembled staff with a pleased gaze. "New directions, new clients. It's gonna be great. We're gonna save the world."
"It's like he talks these things into existence," Sarah whispered to Cee.
"Maybe he does," Roxy said. "Erin, by the way, did he tell you about Ian's idea for a new YouTube Channel for SparkVISION?"
Erin looked speculatively at Ian, who was showing off the Banana of Website Philanthropy. Zoe, standing nearby, almost choked on her wine as her little animated banana began to dance in the corner.
"I'm going to stab him," Erin decided.
END
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bo Sparks was not a man accustomed to being kept in the dark, and since Sarah had dragged Naomi, Ian, and Anna out of his office and into a taxi he'd been pacing, fidgeting, fretting. He loved his employees and knew they loved him, but he didn't want anyone falling on a sword for him. He had a bad feeling that perhaps they were forming some atrocious peace delegation prepared to march on Union Arms and grovel for forgiveness. True, Sarah didn't seem the type, but she was a force to be reckoned with and Anna was dating the man, wasn't she?
Both Ian and Naomi could be devious when they wanted.
When they returned, Anna looked scared to death, and Ian looked like death warmed over. Sarah and Naomi seemed calmer than the other two, but were still jittery. Sarah planted Anna firmly in one of the lobby chairs, sat down next to her, and rubbed her arm.
"I'm getting coffee," Ian said. "Boss, can you ring the gong?"
"Why?" Sparks asked.
"We need everybody together."
"You didn't go to Byron, did you?" Sparks asked, worried.
"What are we, idiots?" Sarah demanded. "Ring the damn gong, boss."
Sparks went back into his office, got the hammer, and gingerly took the gong down. He thunked it half-heartedly, then gave up and let Sarah take the hammer away from him. She bashed it so hard he was sure they heard the reverberations in Galena.
By the time Ian returned and pressed a cup of coffee into Anna's hands, the entire staff had assembled. The interns looked especially interested. Sparks was under the impression that Sarah had broken their spirits, but apparently these were stubborn ones.
"We just got back from the DA's office," Ian said, trying to shove his hands in his pockets and inadvertently snagging his cast on his shirt. He pulled the cast back, sighed, and did the best he could at crossing his arms. "Anna made a statement that Trent Byron told her he was stealing from Union Arms. Naomi has a friend at Union Arms who managed to dig up just enough for a warrant for the company's computers. They should be serving it now."
"You did what?" Sparks asked, staring at her.
"It wasn't right," Anna said. "And anyway it's going to save SparkVISION. If he's a big fucking liar then nobody's going to believe him about us, either."
Sparks considered this.
"I could kiss you," he said, finally. Anna gave him a small smile. "You did that for us?"
"She did the legal and ethical thing," Sarah said firmly.
"Yeah, but for us," Sparks tried.
"Maybe a little," Anna admitted. "God, I need a cigarette."
"That was your big announcement?" Cee asked.
"That was one of them," Ian said, at the same time Anna said, "Yes."
Sparks glanced at Ian. He was staring at Sarah, who gave him a small nod.
"How long have you known?" Ian asked her.
"I know everything," Sarah said, almost apologetically.
"Known what?" Erin asked, holding up her phone. "That Trent Byron's a bastard? Because Non Prophet just...posted about...oh," she added, and lowered the phone, shoving it quickly in her pocket.
"This has to do with Non Prophet, doesn't it?" Jess asked.
"Yeah," Sarah said.
"I don't want to know," Sparks said, and tried to go back to his office. "I don't want to know!"
"Boss, you have to know," Ian called. Sparks hesitated in the doorway. "Tanya Montray followed us to the DA's office. She wants to publish a story about how Anna is Non Prophet."
"I didn't want to know!" Sparks said, and then it hit him. "Wait, what?"
"What?" Anna asked.
"You're Non Prophet?" Hanna gasped, turning to Anna. "You're my hero!"
"I'm not Non Prophet!" Anna shouted.
"No," Ian said. "She's not."
"No," Sarah repeated. "She's not."
"Screw cigarettes, I need a drink," Sparks said.
"You know who he is, though?" Roxy asked Anna. "Come on, if you know you have to tell us."
"She doesn't know," Ian announced, and Sparks had a terrible moment of foreboding that he made a mental note to talk about in his memoirs someday.
"Who is it?" Erin asked. She looked like she didn't actually want to know the answer.
"It's me," Ian said. "I'm Non Prophet."
Sparks felt that he was to be commended, in some small way, for not following his first instinct and blurting But you're the receptionist!
John did it for him.
"But you're a receptionist!" John said.
"Yeah," Ian sighed. "It kinda means I hear everything you guys talk about. And I'm going to have to talk to Montray tonight and tell her, or she's going to say it's Anna and the whole thing's just going to explode. Not that it won't anyway. I'm really sorry, boss," he added, looking down at his feet. "Really, really sorry."
"You're Non Prophet," Roxy repeated. "You. I spent all that time trying to get your IP address and you were fifty freakin' feet away."
"Sorry," Ian mumbled.
"So when you said SparkVISION threw great parties..." Cee began.
"Well, we do," Ian protested.
"And Two For Non -- that's how you knew he didn't know about the matching gift this morning," Erin said. "I was totally going to rip off that campaign for the summer ask-letters, by the way."
"I wanted to tell you," Ian said, turning back to Sparks but still not quite meeting his eyes. More like his necktie. "But you said you'd have to fire him if you knew who he was, and -- the blog makes some money, but without this job I wouldn't have anything to talk about anyway."
Sparks tried to put his thoughts in order, which was surprisingly difficult. "So...SparkVISION is going to be linked to the fall of a major charity, because one of our writers was dating a thieving asshole, and he was outed by a guy who this morning raised three hundred thousand dollars with a blog post, and that guy's going to be outed as my receptionist."
"Worst Monday ever," Zoe said.
"Yeah, mine is definitely sucking," Ian put in.
"I should call Melinda," Naomi announced, taking out her phone and retreating down the hallway.
Sparks turned to Anna, because he couldn't deal with the rest of it. "How are you?"
She smiled. "I could do with a beer."
"Yeah. Okay. This is a mess, and I don't want to think about it," he said. "Office is closed. Anna and I are going to Beermaki. Anyone else who wants to come is welcome."
"I'll talk to legal and figure out our next step," Sarah said. Sparks could see her already mentally preparing a brief on the subject.
"I'm...going to pack up and go home," Ian said softly, as the rest of the staff dawdled back to their cubicles to pack up their bags and gather their coats. Sparks watched him pull his messenger bag over his head and dig in his desk for his hat.
"I'm not mad with you, Ian. You want to come to Beermaki with us, you can," he said.
"I think that would probably not be wise," Ian replied slowly.
"You're right. That said," he added, as Ian edged towards the door, "You, be in my office first thing tomorrow."
Ian nodded. "Thanks, boss."
"Don't thank me, kid. See you tomorrow."
Ian slunk out the door and fixed his eyes on the down-arrow button until an elevator arrived and he could make his escape. Sparks went to get his coat as people began trickling back into the lobby. On his way, he placed the gong hammer gently back in its stand.
***
When Ian arrived home, stamping the snow off his boots, Zeke was in the living room, glued to the television.
"Are you fucking seeing this?" Zeke asked, pointing at the TV. "Some dude got arrested for robbing a charity blind. Man, you look like shit. Hey, you're home early. What happened?"
Ian walked into the kitchen and took a beer from the fridge. He returned and dropped onto the couch, without even taking off his hat.
"Well, I helped cause that," he said, tipping the beer at the television, where cameras were showing a herd of cops trooping in and out of the Union Arms headquarters, carrying boxes. "I outed myself as a professional blogger to my boss." He passed the beer to Zeke, who opened it for him and passed it back. "Also, I'm probably fired. How about you?"
Zeke gave him a sidelong look. "I learned how to play the 1812 Overture on the Chromatic. Want to hear?"
Ian looked at him, took a long drink, and laughed hysterically.
"Yeah," he said. "Lay it on me, Zeke."
Zeke was halfway through the opening when he stopped. "Wait, what do you mean, outed yourself?"
"Not like that," Ian told him.
"Cause if you're gay, that's cool, but you could've told me -- "
"Zeke, what did I say after 'outed myself'?"
"Professional blogger," Zeke said. "The hell do you mean by that?"
"You know, like the newsblogs you read. I'm a blogger. I blog. I have blogged. I may blog again," Ian said.
"For real? What blog?"
Ian leaned back and covered his eyes with his hand. "NonProphetBlog.nfp."
"Oh. Gotcha. Hey, Drudge Report linked you," Zeke said, and went back to his harmonica. Ian stared at him, then reached for the laptop on the side-table. Zeke stopped again.
"Great American Novel?" he asked, with a tentative smile.
"Something like that," Ian told him. "I'm fine, Zeke."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure," Ian said, logging into Non Prophet's gmail account, which was already filling with letters since he'd locked comments on the post. He opened a new email window and began entering names. "Sometimes you just have a shit day, and you have to make the best of it."
"You wanna order a pizza?"
Ian cocked an eyebrow at him. "Zeke, do you mean I want a pizza but I'm broke?"
Zeke nodded sheepishly. Ian considered it.
"Yeah, okay," he said. "You order, I have work to do."
***
The SparkVISION staff were greeted on entering Beermaki, as they usually were, by a hearty "Irasshaimase!" from the bar staff. One of the sushi chefs waved at them and then pointed his very large, very sharp knife at the television in the corner, which was tuned to Chicago local news. The staff stopped in a clump and stared up at the screen.
...accused of stealing hundreds of thousands or possibly even millions of dollars from Chicago-based, nationally-known charity Union Arms. We're told a warrant was served on the Union Arms headquarters this evening, and Executive Director Trent Byron was led away in handcuffs. For more on this story...
"Hey," Anna called, because apparently nobody else was going to do it, "Come on, what, isn't there a playoff game or something?"
The sushi chefs looked at each other and then, as one, chorused "DA BEARS!"
"Sarah, if you love me, get me something fried," Anna said, sliding into a chair as SparkVISION ranged itself around the table and Sparks went over to the television to flip through for a football game.
"I do," Sarah said, kissing the top of her head. "We need beer," she told the bartender. "A lot of beer. And sushi. Omakase. For everyone. And lots of tempura stuff."
"Monday, huh?" he asked.
"Like you would not fucking believe."
"Are you sure Ian's okay?" Hanna asked Cee, who was fiddling with her chopsticks.
"Well, he's not the type to go and off himself over a job," Cee said.
"This is weird," John muttered.
"The part where I'm suddenly a big-business whistleblower, the part where Ian's an internet celebrity, or the part where SparkVISION is going to be a Trib headline tomorrow?" Anna asked.
"Just...I don't know," John said, as Sarah brought two pitchers of beer to the table. "It's not like Ian's going to have it easy getting another job."
"Do you think we should like...all threaten to quit or something?" Jess asked. "It's not easy for anyone to get a job right now."
"As much as I love Ian, if we all quit then SparkVISION goes under, and if he stays it goes under," Zoe said. "I have a kid to feed. Ian's a great guy but Bolo comes first."
"Melinda might be able to get him a job," Naomi said. "She's looking around now."
"He'll land on his feet," Sarah assured them. "Probably get a book deal or something. He's a flexible kid."
"He had to know what he was doing," Sparks said, returning to the table. Anna saw half the staff shoot him guilty looks. "He knew the consequences if he was found out. He could have closed down the blog, but he chose to take risks, and when he failed he took it like a grownup. Good for him. Bears are crushing the Vikings, by the way."
"You're still going to fire him," Sarah said.
"I'm thinking about it," Sparks told her. "Which means I don't want to talk about it. I -- " He stopped as his phone rang, checked it, and sighed. "Dell Raymond. I better take this. Be right back," he told them, and answered the phone, stepping away from the table. "Dell, hi..."
The rest of them seemed content to brood over their beers while they waited for the sushi.
"Wait..." Sarah said suddenly. "Did he say Dell Raymond?"
"Who's Dell Raymond?" Hanna asked.
"Oh, little one, so much to learn," Naomi said. "He runs LLFAC."
"Ull-Fack?"
"Librarians, Literates, and Friends Against Censorship. Sparks has been trying to get him for three years. He's dying to re-brand him," Cee said.
"That was weird," Sparks said, returning to his seat.
"What was weird?" Erin asked.
"Raymond just -- hang on," Sparks interrupted himself, as his phone rang again. "What the -- shit. Damage control, it's one of our clients. Save me some tempura," he said, rising to walk away again and take the call.
A waiter arrived with an enormous plate of sushi and tempura, an entire tray of wasabi and ginger, and a giant bowl of edamame. By the time the tempura was cold, Sparks still hadn't returned, though he had answered his phone three more times. Erin's phone had rung twice; she'd answered as well, and was sitting with him at an empty table near the entrance, making a hilarious tableau as they spoke facing each other but into their phones.
"They look like the worst power date ever," John said. "I thought Sparks said he wasn't going to think about this tonight."
"He doesn't look as upset as he should," Zoe added.
"How upset should he look?" Anna asked, alarmed.
"Well, more upset than that. Look, he just laughed," Zoe pointed.
"This is ridiculous," Sarah announced. She picked up a clean plate and heaped it with food. Anna gathered up two cups of beer and followed her over to where Sparks and Erin were sitting; Sparks gave her a grateful look as he tried to talk, hold the beer, and eat nigiri at the same time. Erin nibbled on a handroll.
"No, that's great," Sparks said into the phone. "Sorry, mouth full. Yeah -- it's fine, it's sushi, it chews easy. Monday works. Hahaha. Okay."
He ended the call, only to be met with the beep of the voicemail notification. "Three messages. Are you kidding me?"
"Can we help?" Sarah asked. Sparks shook his head. "What's going on?"
"Ian emailed everyone," Erin said, covering the mic on her phone.
"Everyone?" Anna asked. She decided she was planning on getting very drunk.
"Most of the big names in Chicago philanthropy -- no, Mr. Belmont, happy to hold -- and a few in New York," Erin said. "He told them who he was and what he does. Dealing with the fallout."
"Gotcha," Sarah said. "Yell when you need a fresh beer."
"You're awesome," Sparks said. A sudden frantic look crossed his face as a voice came over the line; Sarah offered him a Beermaki promotional pencil and a napkin. He started scribbling away, names and phone numbers, while Erin talked to Mr. Belmont (of the Chicago Belmonts, founders of the Belmont Philanthropic Group) and picked through the tempura.
"What's going on?" Jess asked, when Anna and Sarah returned to the table.
"I'm not positive," Anna said, studying the pair.
"I think we're probably going to have to cover their portion of the bill," Sarah said. "They're gonna be there a while."
***
Excerpted from Dot Org: The Fall Of Trent Byron
by Tanya Montray
With perfect hindsight, the statement sworn against Trent Byron by an employee of SparkVISION does seem suspect. Bo Sparks undoubtedly acted perceptively and with political skill: when Union Arms stated its intent to sue SparkVISION over the re-branding debacle, SparkVISION retaliated immediately, bringing the business of their former client to a screaming halt.
As ruthless and savvy as the move may seem, Anna Whittaker has stated many times that she felt making the statement about Byron's activities was the right thing to do. Had she been aware of it sooner, she has often implied, she would have revealed it sooner. Telephone records show that she did contact Sarah Adler on the afternoon of the 25th, which both women agree was a phone call requesting legal advice on how the matter should be handled.
Much more disingenuous, and perhaps even more brutal, was Non Prophet's open attack on Byron's character and business practices. His revelation of Byron's behavior was posted literally while the District Attorney for Cook County was being presented with evidence of it, from the waiting room of the DA's office.
I encountered Ian Butler in the waiting room that day, where I unknowingly witnessed this event as I watched him type away on a smartphone touch-keypad. I was only peripherally aware of him as the SparkVISION receptionist, and at the time my research seemed to indicate that either Bo Sparks or Anna Whittaker was Non Prophet. We exchanged words briefly, during which he demonstrated an unusual grasp of literature and politics. Afterwards, he warned me not to publish my then-speculation about the identity of the mystery blogger.
Accounts of the following events vary slightly, but it is generally agreed that the SparkVISION staff returned to their office, where they informed the rest of the staff of their actions and Butler confessed to being Non Prophet. At that point Sparks made the decision to shut down SparkVISION for the day, and most of the staff gathered at a local watering-hole to discuss events. Butler, on the other hand, states that he "went home, opened a beer, and tried to set things right."
Acting under the assumption that he must be fired for his actions if for no other reason than the public relations nightmare which would follow, Butler wrote an email to many of Non Prophet's professional contacts and all of the clients of SparkVISION. This would, eventually, be entered into evidence by Trent Byron's defense team in a (failed and irrational) attempt to imply that Non Prophet had a grudge against Byron.
I was copied on this email, which was sent from Non Prophet's public gmail account. I accepted it for what it was: full confession, and permission to make Non Prophet's identity public.
My dear colleagues and friends,
No doubt you have heard or will soon hear of the arrest of Trent Byron, in which I played a role as facilitator. In the interests of this legal proceeding, my identity has come under scrutiny, and I believe tomorrow morning may be announced publicly. I wish therefore to provide you with prior notice, out of respect for your positions and out of an interest in protecting my employer, Bo Sparks.
My name is Ian Butler. I am an administrative assistant and the front-desk receptionist at SparkVISION, which some of you employ as a consulting company. In writing for nonprophetblog.nfp, I acted without the knowledge, consent, or approval of Bo Sparks or of any other employee at the company. My aim was simply to discuss our community culture. I was not seeking to publicize SparkVISION, though I have mentioned them from time to time in the course of my commentary.
This afternoon I pled on behalf of Union Arms that the company not be punished for the actions of one individual, and now I find myself pleading again for the same lenience to be shown to SparkVISION. I could not wish for a wiser employer than Bo Sparks, or for a better, more honest and upstanding company to have worked for. I don't expect my tenure there to last much longer, but I will tell you this: Trent Byron's anger with SparkVISION arose from our ethical refusal to engage in a counterintuitive re-branding. I stand behind SparkVISION's decision. For my own part, I bear Mr. Sparks and the company no ill will. I hope you feel likewise.
I remain, very sincerely,
Non Prophet
(Ian Butler)
The ripples and waves this email caused in the community resulted in a reaction that neither SparkVISION nor Butler himself expected.
***
When Ian arrived at work the next morning, his stomach was in knots; he knew he was likely to be fired, and that was hard enough, but he didn't want to be scolded or shouted at. He wished he'd just crawled away and sent in a resignation, but he needed some of the stuff in his desk, and whoever took over his job would need a list of where everything was.
The knots tightened a little when he found their elevator bank staffed by security, who were checking the badges of everyone who entered.
"Mario, what's going on?" he asked, presenting his badge and hoping he wouldn't be turned away (or arrested).
"Just a little security check," Mario told him. He grinned. "You're good, go on through. I know you work here."
"Are you sure?" Ian asked.
"What, did you get fired? No? Then go," Mario said. "I know you're just trying to slack off."
Ian tried to laugh a little at the joke, clapped Mario on the shoulder as he passed, and got into the elevator.
"There's security in the lobby," he said, as he walked in the front door of SparkVISION. Cee was just putting the morning papers in order.
"Yeah, apparently some reporters tried to get into the office," she replied. "How are you?"
"Wigged out," Ian said. "My Mom called me last night, they heard about it in another state. I've never been happier I never talked about my family in my blog."
"Get yelled at?" Cee asked.
"Not really. I mean, she's proud of what I said, but she's totally terrified for me. She wanted to hire me a bodyguard. I should have let her, there was a news van in front of my apartment this morning. I had to sneak out through the basement. Zeke's going to flip his shit when he wakes up."
"Sarah says that Sparks says you emailed half the charitable-giving executives in the world last night," Cee told him.
"Yeah, but I'm used to that kind of thing," Ian said, setting his bag down. "No, that sounds bad, I mean...I've spoken with most of them before. Well, Non did. That's so weird. It's like I'm two people."
"Some of us think so, too," Cee said, but there was a gentle note to her voice.
"Sorry," he murmured. He took the morning Tribune she handed him and looked down at it. Trent Byron's face was above the fold, with the headline; he saw his own picture, a dorky one he'd posted on his Facebook last month, staring up from an inset, bordered by Non Prophet's blog header. Another Facebook photo of him and Anna had been on the cover of the commuter paper, captioned THE PROPHET AND THE MOLE. People had stared at him on the train.
"It's just going to take some getting-used-to," Cee said.
"I don't think I'll stay here long enough for you guys to need to get used to it," he sighed. "Sparks here yet?"
"I am now," Sparks replied brightly, taking off his scarf as he walked through the door. Ian frowned. Sparks could be inappropriately cheerful at times, but he did think the boss was kinder than to seem so excessively happy about firing him. "Office, Ian."
"Yessir," Ian said, leaving his bag on his desk and following Sparks past Cee, into the inner sanctum. He'd stuffed his bag with a couple of other bags, in preparation for cleaning out his desk; he never thought he'd be so grateful for the tote bags his mother kept sending him. He put his hands in his pockets to try and warm them; they wouldn't stop shaking.
Sparks sat in one of the chairs by the window. Ian stayed standing, facing him (on the carpet, somewhat appropriately). Sparks just watched him, not speaking. Ian considered bolting, but disappointing Sparks twice would be even worse, and he was here now anyway.
"I'd like to explain, if I can," Ian said, keeping his voice steady.
"All right." Sparks steepled his hands.
"I just -- it started out just as a place to talk about stuff I saw. I needed somewhere to think about it all. I never thought it would turn into this. I got linked a few places, and people just kept coming..." Ian gestured haplessly. He could feel the blood rushing to his face. "Before I knew it, I was this...authority. By then it was too late."
"Too late to tell me?"
"You, or anyone else. I learned so much here, I wanted to share it," Ian said. "I loved working here. I don't expect you to keep me on, that would be ridiculous, I know that."
"I'm glad you understand our situation," Sparks said. "You're fired."
Ian nodded miserably. "I'll pack up my desk. Do you want me to call security to escort me out?"
Sparks held out an envelope. "You'll need to pack up, but I think you should read this first."
Ian hesitated, frowned, and made himself step forward. He took the envelope out of Sparks's hand and opened it, unfolding the paper inside.
"It's a website printout," he said, looking up. "Our staff page?"
"I edited it myself. Roxy didn't even have to help me," Sparks said proudly.
"Well, that explains the unorthodox commas," Ian replied. Sparks chuckled.
"Read down," he ordered.
Ian scanned down the page until he reached his own photograph. It was out of place; it was supposed to be at the bottom, just below Cee's. Instead it was two thirds of the way down, under Erin's. The words didn't make much sense; he just wanted to leave, and he looked up before he managed to read much.
"I don't get it," he said.
"You're ruining my grand gesture," Sparks told him, which didn't make sense. When Ian didn't reply, Sparks rolled his eyes. "Last night, after you sent out that email, I started getting phone calls."
"I'm sorry, I just wanted -- "
"Let me finish," Sparks interrupted. Ian fell silent. "Some of them were from our clients. We lost two."
Ian winced. "I -- "
"Ian, shut up," Sparks ordered.
"Yessir."
"The rest were mostly from the people you emailed," Sparks continued. "A few got the news through the grapevine. Now, on the one hand..." he held up what looked like a napkin from Beermaki, "...you have a couple of job offers."
"What?" Ian asked.
"On the other hand..." Sparks ignored him and held up another napkin, creating one of the most surreal visions Ian had ever seen, "...we have the names of twenty new companies interested in becoming SparkVISION clients."
"That's...good?" Ian ventured. Sparks offered him a second packet of papers, this time without an envelope.
"Page one is your letter of termination, effective immediately," Sparks said. "It's all legal, standard stuff. Page two is an offer letter. Sign it and you'll become SparkVISION's newest Client Joy associate, in charge of research and New Client Services."
Ian felt his jaw fall open. It fell a little more when he noticed the yearly salary at the top.
"I mean it in the most serious way," Sparks said, "when I say that you are blessed by some kind of god, kid. Anyone else in your situation would be out of the charity business for good. Instead, everyone I talked to said that if our receptionist can write that, they want to see what the rest of us can do."
"But..." Ian looked back at the staff page, which did, indeed, list him as a Client Joy associate. "But I'm a really good receptionist."
"And I expect you to be a really good associate," Sparks told him. "Especially since we need you to learn fast, because we're taking at least ten of those new clients and we haven't got the manpower for that yet. You'll report to Erin, of course, so now you're her bitch, but I hear she's gentler than Sarah." He tossed the first napkin down in front of Ian. "Or, well, you've got options. But I think you'll find I'm cooler than they are."
Ian looked down at the napkin. "Your handwriting sucks, boss."
"So?"
"So clearly you need me around," Ian heard himself say. "When do I start?"
"In about five minutes," Sparks told him. "Come on."
He opened the door and Ian followed, numbly, not even flinching when Sparks took down the gong and smacked it resoundingly.
"IAN!" someone yelled from the Creative pod. "DON'T GO YET!"
Sarah appeared in the lobby, looking stormy and unhappy, but Ian was more focused on Zoe, who was barreling down the hall with a giant plastic bag in her hands.
"Okay, so, I made you some lasagne," she said, "because I don't want you going hungry, and there's a new coat that doesn't fit Charles and some snacks for you and I had it all in a really nice tote bag, I know you like tote bags -- "
"What is it with the tote bags?" Ian wondered aloud.
" -- but it was glittery so Bolo hid it. So I just put it in a regular bag. Do you need cab fare? You can't carry everything. Or John said he'd give you a ride."
"Uh," Ian said, as his arms were suddenly full of lasagne and coat.
"Hang on, I want to say goodbye!" Naomi yelled. "Ian, Melinda says if you send her your resume she'll...what's in the bag?" she asked, bewildered.
"Lasagne, I guess," Ian replied.
"Oh my god," Anna moaned, wandering out from the bathroom. "Don't hit the gong again. It hurts in my head."
Sparks banged the gong again. Anna whimpered.
"I have an announcement to make, before anyone gives Ian any more pasta," he said sternly. "Yes, I have fired him, with extreme prejudice and my best Stern Face on. Move on. And now, it gives me great pleasure to introduce you all to our new Client Joy Associate, who will be assisting Erin with our new client intake."
"What?" Naomi asked.
"Where?" Sarah demanded.
"He's the one holding the sack of lasagne," Sparks said. Everyone turned to stare at Ian. "Non Prophet dragged a ton of new clients in. We needed the help."
"Apparently I'm awesome," Ian told them. "I wasn't aware."
"Hanna, how'd you like to be our new receptionist?" Sparks asked, turning to her. Hanna's eyes got really big.
"Like, for real?" she asked. "With a salary and stuff?"
"Benefits, too," Sparks said. "And access to the company yacht we don't have."
"I could go back to school," Hanna said. "I mean! Yes! I will be receptionist and go to night classes."
"That's my Hanna," Sparks said approvingly.
"Great! Here," Ian said, dumping the bag into her arms. "Take care of that for me, would you?"
Hanna snapped to attention so fast it almost hurt to watch, and ran away down the hall towards the kitchen, presumably to put the lasagne in the fridge.
"I'M BRINGING COFFEE!" she hollered over her shoulder. The other interns looked envious.
"Morning!" Erin called, pulling off her gloves as she walked in. She stopped when she saw the crowd in the lobby and looked around, suspiciously. "Okay, What did I miss?"
***
NON PROPHET
www.nonprophetblog.nfp
CLOSED FOR BUSINESS
Date: Friday, 01/01/10
Subject: Blowing the Whistle Ends the Game
Good morning, readers. (And voyeurs!)
So. It's been four days since my photograph was all over the Chicago papers and the news. I've been deluged with e-mail, both here and at my professional working account. The comments are a firestorm, which is why I locked them on Tuesday. My colleague, who has been accused of every kind of perfidy with regards to her informing the police of a criminal act, is unused to such attention, so before I say anything else I'm going to say this:
KNOCK THAT BULLSHIT OFF RIGHT NOW.
Okay, I feel better. Not that I think it's going to do any good, but she'll see it and appreciate it.
From what I can see, the visitors here have been about equal parts regular readers and curious newcomers. Some of you have expressed support, for which I'm grateful, and some of you have stayed out of it; the rest of you can go to hell. My colleague and I did what we did because we believed it was the right thing to do.
Yes, I am Ian Butler. Until a few days ago I was a receptionist at SparkVISION Consulting. I was hoping to spend the holiday season opening gifts, celebrating the new year, and basking in the good fortune of my friends. I have done all that, but I've also had to grapple with this very public spectacle and defend my friends and family from the less enlightened elements among you. I understand that this is the lot that falls to the famous, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.
Despite all that, if it were up to me, I'd keep writing NonProphetBlog. Even known as I am, even knowing that if I had stalkers before, their task has been made much easier by this. I like it here.
But it's not up to me. As has been pointed out to me, I maintain not only my own image but the image of my employer. Bo Sparks is a good and merciful man who has agreed to keep me on staff in a slightly different capacity than before, and I owe it to him to follow his guidance, which in the past two years has not led me wrong.
Thus, I have to admit that it is, again, the right thing to do to close down Non Prophet. The entries will remain public for now, but there will be no new posts and comments will remain closed.
However, as we all know, when one thing ends another begins. I will continue to write, under the auspices of SparkVISION, at a new location on their domain: the VISION blog. This blog will continue to comment on trends and topics relevant to the interests of our community, but with the endorsement and approval of my new direct superiors.
Some might see this as a form of censorship, but those are people who don't know Sparks. I see it as a way to explore new aspects of the charitable sector with mentors to guide me. I'm not allowed to sit and watch anymore. I've been forced into a place where people talk about me, so I need to do something worth talking about, outside of Non Prophet's safe little world.
I invite you all to come visit The VISION Blog, and not to laugh at the name.
This is Non Prophet, signing off.
Comments Closed
EPILOGUE
When Roxy found Hanna, she was standing in the back of the kitchen, helping the waiters open wine bottles.
"Hi!" she called, waving the corkscrew she was holding. "What's up? HEY, WATCH THE CRAB CAKES," she shouted over Roxy's shoulder, as one of the chefs plated them sloppily.
"Help me," Roxy said.
"Okay!" Hanna replied, handing off the bottle and corkscrew to a passing chef. "Help with what?"
"I can't find Ian," Roxy said. "We have to start and I can't find him!"
"Wasn't he talking with Sparks like, two minutes ago?" Hanna asked. "Did you text him?"
"This stupid hotel has no reception! Why do we keep holding dinners here? And also, he has to stop talking to Sparks. Do you know what Sparks wants to do now?"
"No, what?" Hanna asked, glee in her eyes.
"A YOUTUBE CHANNEL," Roxy announced.
"That's a great -- that's a terrible idea," Hanna said, correcting herself when she saw the murderous look in Roxy's eye. "Absolutely awful. Maybe Ian knows you know he suggested it and is hiding?"
"He has stage fright," Roxy hissed. "That's why he's hiding. If he bails, so help me God..."
"Ask Sarah, she'll know," Hanna said. Roxy sighed and left the kitchen, only to find Sarah lifting a glass of wine from a tray for Mark.
"This is super-swanky," Mark told Roxy, when she reached them. "Are you sure it's cool I snuck in?"
"Totally cool," Roxy said absently. "Sarah. Ian. Where? Please."
"Hiding," Sarah said. "Try coat check."
Roxy glanced across the room and saw Ian -- and then facepalmed.
"He's checking coats," she said.
"He likes to be helpful," Mark observed.
"He's supposed to be making clients joyful!"
"Well, technically..." Sarah gestured. Roxy scowled at her and ran off again. When she reached coat check she was out of breath and cursing her high heels.
"You are so fucking busted," she told Ian, who looked at her guiltily.
"I was just...the interns needed...and Jess..." He gestured at Jess, who was sitting with the interns and apparently watching a video on her phone.
"He insisted," Jess said.
"You are coming out here right now," Roxy ordered, as Ian shamefacedly rounded the table. "Where's your tie?"
"Found the tie!" Erin announced, coming up behind them. "It was in your messenger bag."
She let the tie unroll from her fingers. Ian's suit itself was charcoal, and one of the sleeves was unbuttoned to accommodate his cast; the tie was a deep goldenrod, and on close examination the apparently abstract pattern was dozens of tiny Vitruvian Man drawings.
"That's your tie?" Roxy asked.
"I got it from the Field Museum, it's my favorite," Ian said defensively, taking the tie and trying to knot it one-handed. He finally gave up and waggled his cast pathetically. Roxy sighed and took the tie away, looping it around his throat.
"It's coming off in a week," he reminded them as Roxy knotted it.
"And then you'll have no more excuses," Naomi said, sweeping up in a new dress that almost hid the sensible shoes underneath.
"I don't -- !" Ian began, then rolled his eyes. "Fine. Okay."
"God, you have to get a new suit. Can't you afford tailoring now?" Naomi demanded.
"What's wrong with this one?" Ian asked, looking down at it.
"You need pinstripes," Naomi told him.
"By the way, later we're going to have words about the YouTube thing," Roxy said, smoothing the tie down. "Now, can I trust you to run the PowerPoint without me hovering?"
"Hey, I did the webinar all by myself last week, and that sucked," Ian told her.
"Just punishment," Erin snorted.
"Don't trip!" Naomi called after them. Ian lifted his cast and threw her a very subtle finger.
"Ian!" Sparks shouted. "Stop that!"
"Aaargh," Ian groaned theatrically. "Boss, if I quit, will you make me receptionist again?"
"Hanna's got a death grip on it," Sparks said, as Anna ran up. "Hey, it's my favorite whistleblower!"
"Stop calling me that," Anna hissed.
"Enjoy your fame," Sparks told her.
"It's infamy!"
"It didn't sound like infamy when you got to go on Letterman," Ian reminded her.
"You never get to talk to me again," Anna pointed a finger at him. "If you fuck up the speech I wrote for you I'll -- "
"Okay, you look passingly snappy," Sparks interrupted, speaking to Ian. "Ready?"
"If I die onstage," Ian said to Erin, "remember we're helping John move into Cee's place this weekend, and you are to mock him mercilessly."
"It's in my BlackBerry," Erin said indignantly.
"Come on!" Sparks called, already ten paces ahead.
Roxy ran past them to make sure the computer hadn't come unplugged or gone on standby or any of the other dozen disasters that could happen. When she saw everything was in order, she took a deep breath, let go, and stepped aside.
"Good evening!" Sparks yelled, bounding up the platform. Ian lingered below in the shadows. "Good evening everyone. Thank you, quiet down, yes, the food is exceptional. All listening? Good."
He clapped his hands together and bounced on this toes.
"I'd like to welcome you to our New Client meet and greet," he said. Cue the smile; gleaming teeth. "We're very excited that you're joining our SparkVISION family. I know you're all anxious to start the ball rolling on your various projects, and of course you know we're ramping up for this expansion with a lot of new people. We have quite a bit of information to cover tonight, primarily from our excellent Client Joy manager Erin..." he gestured to Erin, who waved and pointed to her SparkVISION branded ball cap, which clashed horribly with her dress, "...but first we're going to have a few words from our new Client Joy associate, who will be handling some of your accounts once he's got two hands again."
Ian winced; everyone else chuckled. Roxy patted his shoulder.
"Many of you know him better under a nom de plume -- more of a Non de plume, hahaha -- but I'd like to formally introduce you to Non Prophet's alter ego, Ian Butler."
Ian didn't move. He looked terrified. Roxy planted an elbow square in his kidney, just to get him going, and pressed the computer remote for the PowerPoint into his hand. He stumbled up the stairs and blinked in the light on the stage.
"Hi," he said, shifting the remote back and forth in his hands. Roxy saw Erin make a "smile!" gesture with her hands. Ian smiled, or anyway tried to. He cleared his throat.
"I, um, I'm very new at this," he said hesitantly. "Most of the time, when I'm talking with any authority, it's from behind a computer screen."
Polite laughter. Roxy bit her lip, but Ian looked faintly encouraged.
"SparkVISION appreciates your confidence in our abilities, and we anticipate a very satisfying relationship with all of you," Ian continued, starting to get into the rhythm of the speech Anna had carefully written for him, after much screaming. "It's been an interesting month since Non Prophet was outed..."
"If he falls off the stage getting down, I'm going to throttle him," Erin whispered to Roxy. Cee, appearing on her other side, offered her John's flask. "Oh God, thank you."
"He'll do fine," Sparks said. "You know you're still my number one, right?"
"I'm the one who doesn't fall over furniture," Erin recited. "Therefore I get to be Queen of Client Joy."
"That's right," Sparks said. The rest of the gathering laughed at a joke in the speech.
"I told you that was a good joke," Anna said to Sparks. Ian looked momentarily confused by the laughter before continuing.
"My kerning is so hot," Zoe declared, as Ian advanced to the first PowerPoint slide.
"How many new interns are we getting?" Sarah asked. "I still get to break them, right?"
"Yes," Sparks said, rolling his eyes. "You get to break them."
"Good." Sarah accepted the flask from Erin and took a quick sip.
"New year," Sparks mused, and Roxy saw him sweep the assembled staff with a pleased gaze. "New directions, new clients. It's gonna be great. We're gonna save the world."
"It's like he talks these things into existence," Sarah whispered to Cee.
"Maybe he does," Roxy said. "Erin, by the way, did he tell you about Ian's idea for a new YouTube Channel for SparkVISION?"
Erin looked speculatively at Ian, who was showing off the Banana of Website Philanthropy. Zoe, standing nearby, almost choked on her wine as her little animated banana began to dance in the corner.
"I'm going to stab him," Erin decided.
END
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