Love or Deadline

The alarm clock, useless, goes off for the second time. Clara, awake for almost an hour, reaches for her phone, torn between turning it off or postponing it for another five minutes. What follows are the same steps, sounds, and actions of every day of the week. Washing her face, making coffee, brushing her teeth, doing her skincare and makeup, getting dressed, having breakfast... Little by little, her sleep-creased, stern face is replaced by a youthful face, with an artificially created flush from pink blush precisely applied to the apples of her cheeks and nose. Pink lips and eyelids; few would have guessed that the young woman was nearing 29.

For today, an embroidered midi denim skirt with blue flowers and a sleeveless white shirt. Delicate gold earrings and necklace, and nude heels with a hint of pink. The sides of her long hair pulled back, with a few strands escaping. A feminine and romantic look.

Thus, Clara leaves home for the subway and, from the subway, to work. A tall building on a wide avenue, Clara’s company occupies two entire floors. Her section is on the seventh floor, the third door on the right. A spacious room, well lit by windows with mirrored glass on the outside. At the opposite end from the rows of paired desks, two doors. In the first, a large meeting table. At the end of the table, a white panel for projections. Through the second door, a smaller room where Patricia Nogueira, the Section’s boss, sat.

Clara enters the section smiling, greets her colleagues lightly, and receives varied reactions: smiles, “good mornings,” nods without lifting their eyes, and disinterest from those already settled in their chairs with their headphones on.

“Email,” said Marina, her friend and desk mate beside her.

Clara turned on the computer while still putting away her bag and settling into her chair. She immediately opened her email inbox. Patricia, the Section’s boss, had scheduled a meeting in half an hour for alignment.

“So early,” she exclaimed.

“Isn’t it?” Marina replied. “I was still looking for a coffee.”

“Again?”

“I barely managed to brush my teeth!” she confessed, unconvincingly considering the impeccable clothes and makeup.

“Leave the coffee to me.” Clara smiled.

Patricia was a woman around fifty years old. She had worked at this company before all the employees in the Section. She had reached her current position one year before Clara was hired. She was good with people, had a warm expression, and maintained a pleasant atmosphere in that environment. It was not difficult to understand what had led her to that position. She was organized, constantly kept herself up to date, and knew how to change the printer toner and connect the projector, a skill not always found in more experienced employees. She had enough experience to find quick answers to the main everyday setbacks without ever losing her calm. Perhaps she lacked a sense of urgency, but never a sense of serenity.

Today, however, Patricia carried a rare worried look. On the panel behind her, graphs with the half-yearly targets, or rather, with the failure to meet the semiannual targets. Clara looked from the graph to Patricia and then back to the graph. Unlikely that this was the source of the concern, she thought, since the graphs had shown the same thing for a few years already. Perhaps it was a personal problem. Clara sketched a smile at Patricia, as if reinforcing the friendly atmosphere always encouraged by her immediate superior. Patricia, however, showed no reaction.

“We need to align some actions. As you can see, nothing we have tried so far has had an effect. Gustavo, distribute the copies of the reports I asked for yesterday.”

Gustavo was one of the most recent hires. An investment to improve the team’s performance. One of the few employees with a college degree in the field. He was quick and polite. Everyone knew he would not stay in that position for long, but that did not discourage his efforts. On the contrary, he constantly showed his superiority and waited for his promotion. Perhaps he would replace Patricia herself, everyone thought, including both of them.

“Clara, what’s the status of last week’s request?”

“It’s still in progress.”

Silence followed, one Clara was already accustomed to, quickly broken by Patricia.

“We need to reduce our backlog. Clara, bring us some coffee, please.”

“Of course,” Clara replied with a broad smile as she left the room for the kitchen located in the room immediately opposite the section.

In the kitchen, Clara followed her customary approach. She made not only coffee, but served cookies as well. Decaf, with sugar, without sugar. She knew exactly what each colleague liked, and would fulfill the request efficiently and with a smile on her lips. Clara knew that Patricia appreciated a good work atmosphere as much as the completion of any request. That was why, during the years she had worked at the company, she had learned to balance minimal deliveries with attending to extra professional demands. She had no expectation of promotion; she preferred to keep that undemanding job. The salary was nothing special, but it met the needs of a single woman, without children and with her own apartment. She knew this could lead to regrets in the future, but what choice would not? She was not very ambitious. Above all, Clara liked peace and quiet.

Surviving in that corporate environment could be very difficult for ambitious people. Competition, disloyalty, in the eight years she had spent there she had already seen everything. Gossip and unbelievable rumors, smiles faker than a three-dollar bill, betrayals of all kinds. But she took no risks. The naive, sweet, and inefficient Clara posed no danger to anyone, and made good coffee.

Being helpful could be very poorly regarded in any competent employee: “look at him, he thinks no one notices how he’s sucking up to Patricia.” But that phrase would never be said about Clara, who could barely meet a single deadline, much less apply for better opportunities. Her willingness to fetch materials from the supply room, make copies, and carry documents up and down without ever inconveniencing anyone had found good use in the Section. A somewhat expensive intern, perhaps, but no one there paid her salary. Clara was too helpful and sweet to be fired. She soon realized that looking busy served just as well as being willing to help. Clara made unnecessary copies at the request of nonexistent coworkers, carried papers and anything else she could carry from one place to another with purposeful steps as if she knew what she was doing. The secret, she thought, was to always look busy. That way, she guaranteed her seven thousand daily steps counted on her smartwatch even though she was an office worker. As strange as it might seem, no one asked anything of someone who always seemed busy.

When Clara returned to the meeting room, the conversation was already well underway.

“We need to maintain this mindset if we don’t want our situation to escalate,” Patricia was saying.

That last word made the tension escalate in the room. Clara, smiling as she served the coffees, seemed not to notice. But she understood very well what was going through everyone’s minds. How could such an unproductive section still exist after so many years?

“Tomorrow we will receive important feedback from the company.”

And then the alignment was clear: tomorrow! Would we receive a visit? An inspection? Would there be tangible changes? None of this remained in Clara’s mind for long. She was more concerned about what would be for lunch. Marina, on the other hand, could barely hide her nervousness.

“Drink your coffee, I made it myself.” She tried to distract her friend, the two already sitting at their respective desks.

“How do you manage to stay so calm? What if they look at my last deliverable? Do you think they’ll see some problem? What if they reduce the Section’s budget and there are staff cuts?”

“Who are they, Marina?”

“The feedback!”

“It’s not clear if someone is coming, maybe it’s just an email.” She feigned optimism. “Let me see your last deliverable. Have you sent it?”

“But you haven’t even finished yours! Seriously, you need to worry more about your work.”

At that moment, Gustavo, who was coming from Patricia’s room, approached. He walked confidently, was handsome and charismatic, but perhaps because of that, he did not inspire trust beyond work.

“Clara, do you need help with your request? Can I see what you have so far?”

Clara had nothing. In fact, she had completely forgotten what it was about.

“You shouldn’t do that!” she said, putting on a little charm. “This time I have everything under control, don’t worry.”

Faced with Clara’s assertiveness, Gustavo could not insist. After a few seconds of silence, he laughed theatrically.

“Okay, but if you haven’t finished by the end of the day, come find me.”

“Gu!” Marina called, putting on even more charm. Her friend’s pick me personality was the main inspiration for Clara’s character, she said what to do and also which line not to cross. “Since you’re so eager to help, could you take a look at my deliverable? I need to send it after lunch.”

Gustavo, put in an unexpected situation, gave an almost convincing smile and nodded.

“Sure, send it to me before lunch and I’ll take a brief look.”

“Take a brief look,” on the eve of the deadline, clearly meant “don’t expect much.”

“Thanks, Gu!”

“Why did you ask him if you said you didn’t want to show it to me?” Clara asked as soon as Gustavo was far enough away not to hear.

“Because you’re very busy,” Marina dodged.

“Okay, are you finished already?”

“Practically.”

“Then give it to me, I’ll take it to him.”

Marina opened a wide smile.

“Why? Does it bother you that I have this time with him?”

“Oh, this again,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You know he’s into you.”

“It doesn’t matter, I...”

“Then why do you want to deliver it to him?” she interrupted.

“Just give it to me.” Clara frowned, stared at the computer, and performed the busy employee.

It was enough for Marina to return to her own work with a smile still plastered across her face. A workplace romance was all she wanted to brighten her days, even if she were not part of it. Just hearing the stories, noticing the signs, would be enough.

Less than an hour later, Marina sent her delivery to the printer.

“Let me get it.” Clara hurried ahead.

Still in front of the printer, Clara began reading her friend’s work. It was not bad, since Marina had been carrying out this type of request for a few years already and Patricia tended to be lenient, but it was not good enough for the unknown feedback expected tomorrow. Her coworker, in fact, had something to worry about. There were small data errors barely noticeable at a quick glance, but Clara, having worked at this company for years, knew exactly what to look for. The formatting of the tables and graphs was also amateurish.

Returning to the desk, Clara pretended:

“Marina, the print quality was bad. Send it to me by email and I’ll use my flash drive to print it.”

Marina, accustomed to not understanding the psychology of the printer, sent her work without even thinking. Clara went to the printer, made a random copy, and said she had delivered it to Gustavo. Then she occupied herself with improving her friend’s work, not as if it were her own, because in that case she would have submitted it just like that and late, but as someone concerned about the feedback.

“Lunch?” Gustavo asked some time later.

Marina got up and picked up her things, but Clara remained in the same place.

“I’m very busy, I’m going to take a while.”

“We’ll wait for you,” Marina suggested.

“No, please, then I’ll feel pressured. Enjoy your lunch.”

Gustavo, not very satisfied, said:

“You shouldn’t work during lunch. Don’t forget that I can help you.”

Patricia had really done an excellent job of interpersonal relations management and coordination with her team. Such willingness to help one another was not very common, but of course this was justified by Clara’s helpfulness and friendliness, always willing to help with small everyday tasks, but never able to keep up with her own. This did not go unnoticed by anyone, and many wondered why the Section’s boss was so generous with her employee. But that answer never came, and, in the meantime, no one turned down the little help Clara offered.

She left Marina’s final work on Gustavo’s desk, hoping it would not be a subject of conversation during lunch, which indeed it was not. After lunch, she fetched three or four printed materials for her colleagues, removed some papers stuck in the printers, changed a toner, fetched paper clips and staples from the supply room, served coffees, personally placed Marina’s now-corrected delivery on Patricia’s desk and, only afterward, sat down to do her own request. It was a little more complicated than she had expected, but nothing she could not accomplish. After two hours of concentration, she placed her delivery on Patricia’s desk, carefully making sure all the data was correct and that the formatting errors were simple enough for her boss to correct. Thus, although she was not efficient, she would not be useless. Patricia looked over the stack.

“Did you send it by email too?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Patricia then looked at Clara for a few seconds, making her wonder what was wrong.

“Tomorrow…” She stopped again for a few seconds. “Nothing. It’s late. Go rest.”

“Thank you. Have a good rest too.”

And so she left yet another day of work.

The return from work followed, just like the morning, always the same steps. As soon as she reached the subway station, she removed her heels and put on the flats she kept at the bottom of her bag, tied her hair up, which was already bothering her, especially on hot days, stretched the muscles of her face already tired from smiling, allowed herself to be serious after so many hours of moderate flattery. When she could sit down, she lost herself in social media so that time would pass faster. When she could not, she counted every little second until she finally got home. Upon arriving, she showered, removed her makeup and her girlish clothes, dressed comfortably and soberly. She ate a frozen meal and threw herself onto the couch. Finally, she could occupy herself with things that really mattered.... or rather, did not matter, but interested her. Series, movies, books... anything that would take her far away from there, where there was no need to perform femininity, friendliness, and incompetence.

Clara liked the life she had built for herself, but just as being an efficient employee was tiring, her programmed low performance also had its costs. Tomorrow... she remembered Patricia and her expression when saying goodbye. For the first time in years, in the comfort of her home, she allowed herself to worry about work. Would her deliverables be evaluated? After so many years of complacency, was she at risk? So what? This job had never been planned to last forever. But it had been years, and now she was settled. Perhaps she should rebalance her behavior, contribute a little more. Just a little. But that was a matter for tomorrow.

The first hours of the following morning passed like all the others. Sound of the alarm, five more minutes, five more, ten more. Finally, brewed coffee, artificially created flush, light flare jeans, heeled sandals, light pink button-down shirt, hair in a high bun with loose strands, small pearl earrings.

On her way to the subway, one thought: today, she would be more efficient. Just for today.

“Good morning!” She opened a wide smile still at the entrance to the section. What followed was a disjointed and tense chorus of “good mornings.”

“Everyone’s already like this! Did something happen?” she asked quietly to her friend and desk mate beside her as she sat at her desk.

Looking at Marina, she noticed the grayish dark circles barely covered by makeup, her pale face behind an equally artificial flush, her clothes impeccably ironed.

“How can you be so calm? You, of all people!” Marina asked.

Clara knew what her friend meant and attributed the excess of honesty to the nervousness of the situation. If anyone there should be worried about the company’s feedback, that someone was the least productive person in the Section, Clara Mendes. Thinking about whether she should pretend to be offended, she was moved by the tension in the room.

“Exactly! If I’m unconcerned, you should be even less worried. I’ll bring coffees.” And she got up without even turning on her computer and checking her emails.

Clara headed to the kitchen opposite the section, crossing the hallway that led to the elevators. She prepared two coffees, as usual. With both hands occupied, she headed toward the door, which suddenly opened, forcing her to jump backward, dodging the coffee spilling from the unbalanced cups she was holding. She looked forward and found herself face to face with an unfamiliar man. A well-cut dark suit, a well-chosen tie, hair neatly styled, but without exaggeration. Young, but with a firm and serious look. Certainly the opposite of her own performance.

“Sorry,” they said at the same time.

Clara avoided showing any expression of annoyance toward the stranger who had almost burned her with coffee. He looked at Clara’s hands, which had been spared the hot coffee, then at the floor and then at himself.

“Did it splash on you?”

“Fortunately, no,” the stranger replied.

After a few uncertain seconds in which the man stood thinking in front of the door, Clara asked:

“Would you like a coffee?”

The man then looked at the kitchen behind Clara and seemed to reach a conclusion in his mind.

“I’m looking for Patricia Nogueira.”

“Oh, it’s the door behind you, sir.”

He turned his head to look at the door, thanked her, and entered the section.

Still standing in the doorway, with the two coffees in her hands and a stain on the floor, Clara could hear the gears inside her own head turning: the feedback had arrived.

Without hurry, Clara cleaned the floor and returned to the section. The air was even heavier than before. Everyone had their eyes fixed on their computers, busy and efficient, sitting upright in their chairs without even blinking, hands typing nonstop. Every ten seconds they looked toward Patricia’s room without even moving their heads. Clara wondered how much she had underestimated the situation. She turned on the computer, accessed her emails: nothing. No request. After yesterday’s delivery, Patricia had sent her no instructions or requests. She then began staring at the Section boss’s door, when it opened. The already tense air turned to stone. The sound of the keyboards fell silent in unison for half a second. Only Clara was not typing.

“Clara, dear,” Patricia said affectionately. “Bring us two coffees. One without sugar, please. You already know mine.”

Clara smiled.

“Leave it to me, Patricia.” And she returned to the kitchen with light steps, in contrast to all the tension in the room.

But when she closed the section door, she finally let the tension take over. Patricia was smiling, that was true, but that indicated little. Yesterday, her boss had wanted to tell her something. Would this coffee request simply be an excuse to fire her discreetly, without making her employees even more apprehensive? Clara took a deep breath: it’s okay, she thought, this job was not forever. But she felt a tightness in her chest at the increasingly inevitable future: she had always known she could not live like this forever, but she had deceived herself. She prepared the coffee and headed toward Patricia’s room with a tray in her hand. With every step she felt the eyes of her colleagues following her. Now no one was typing anymore. She avoided everyone’s eyes, especially Marina’s, who, she knew, would not be able to hide her nervousness.

After knocking on the door and receiving Patricia’s permission to open it, Clara passed through the door lightly with a smile on her face. Her boss and the stranger were not sitting at Patricia’s desk, but rather in two armchairs located in the corner of the room with a small table in the center. Patricia organized the papers on the desk to make room for the coffee.

“Here’s yours, Patricia.” She served her boss with moderate flattery. “And here is the coffee without sugar for Mr....”

“Henrique,” said the stranger without lifting his eyes from the papers he was analyzing. He sat comfortably in the armchair, his back against the backrest, legs crossed. Serious, immersed in the data before him, but showing no reaction.

“It is undeniable that we have a bottleneck.” Patricia broke the silence. “But it is also undeniable that my team has synergy. I’m sure that in a short time we can reprioritize the backlog and leverage our results.”

The stranger did not answer, only continued looking at the papers. Clara had never seen Patricia like this, sitting before someone in a more comfortable position than hers, explaining herself to someone visibly above her. It was a fact: the Section’s low productivity had escalated and, now, everyone held their breath while the fate of everyone was being discussed in that room.

Clara returned to her seat, everyone’s eyes increasingly impatient, scrutinizing her, looking for the slightest sign. But Clara, after years of performance, walked around humming softly, as if absolutely nothing were wrong.

“Clara!!!” Marina exclaimed exasperatedly. “For the love of God!! Say something!” she pleaded.

Clara, who had known her friend for years, had never seen her so exasperated, her eyes almost bulging out of her face, in total contrast with her natural sweetness and the meticulousness of her appearance, especially executed for today.

“I already said: I don’t know why there’s so much apprehension. They’re talking in the room. That’s all.”

“Talking about what?” Marina, who could barely contain her tone of voice, made every face turn toward Clara, waiting for that answer. The Section in sepulchral silence.

“Oh, I don’t know. You know how difficult it is for me to understand things. Follow-up, briefing, stakeholder, kick-off. I’d have to swallow a dictionary to understand what they’re talking about.”

If it weren’t for the tension prevailing in the room, this comment would have generated barely contained and malicious laughter. After all, what could they expect from Clara? But instead, there were disappointed and disbelieving looks. At least this time, they wanted to be able to count on a more reliable coworker.

Patricia’s room remained closed throughout the entire morning. At lunchtime, the employees of the Section looked at one another, as if asking whether they should leave or stand guard, watching, as though that would make a difference. In the end, they all left, perhaps to breathe some air away from that increasingly cramped room. Clara, with no requests, spent the entire morning walking around, making copies, fetching materials from the supply room, serving coffee to everyone. She wrote random lines just to hear the sound of the keyboard. And went out to lunch.

“Gu,” Marina called as she walked back toward the building where the company was located. “I’m so nervous!”

“You don’t need to be. I saw your last deliverable. It was perfect.”

“Really? You didn’t even tell me anything.”

“Because you didn’t need anything. There was nothing to take out or add.”

Clara, walking beside her colleagues, listened with satisfaction. Her work had paid off; Marina could relax. All that remained was to know what would happen to her after this long feedback.

Returning from lunch, everyone a little more relaxed, they returned to their almost usual routine: side conversations, trips to the kitchen and bathroom, but no one dared take long breaks or put on headphones. They were still waiting. And they did not have to wait long.

Patricia positioned herself in front of everyone with her usual smile, Henrique beside her.

“I want everyone to meet Henrique Almeida. He will replace me starting today.” Everyone held back their reactions, except Marina, who took a deep breath and showed a mixture of surprise and sorrow. “Henrique has been appointed to take my place and is very well prepared for it. I have already brought him up to date on our work over the years I have been in charge of the Section. About each one of you, our achievements and our bottlenecks. I hope you will be as committed from now on as you were while I had the opportunity to lead you. I want to thank each of you for the work we did together and assure you that you will be in good hands.” She gestured for Henrique to continue.

“Paty!” Marina let out a quiet sob.

“I am Henrique Almeida. I will be in charge of the Section from now on. As Patricia said, I am already aware of the most important matters concerning our work. The main concern, as you already know, is our unmet targets. We will have many adjustments to make so that this does not happen again. I expect this to be resolved within one semester. I was able to notice many outdated practices still in this section, which means that with small adjustments to the flow of requests and deliveries, we can already achieve good results. I know Patricia did an excellent job managing interpersonal relations, and I am counting on that to implement our new process management model. Over the next few days we will have many one-on-one meetings, when I intend to guide each of you regarding your performance. For now, you can return to your tasks as you are accustomed to.”

After a silence, everyone returned to their computers. Some murmured welcomes, but Marina went over to Patricia and gave her a hug with tears in her eyes. The former boss gave her little pats on the back.

“Gustavo,” the new Section boss called. “Come to my office in ten minutes, we need to align a few things.”

Gustavo very professionally concealed his expressions, but Clara, accustomed to her colleague’s confident and friendly look, knew that behind the neutral expression was the surprise and resentment of not occupying that management position, offered instead to a stranger. Being called first for that alignment conversation was the least that could be expected for the most informed and productive employee in the Section, but it would do nothing to lessen the company’s betrayal.

Clara, sitting in her chair waiting for her turn to say goodbye to her former boss, knew she was in a very delicate situation. She stood up and walked toward the boss who would be missed. Patricia looked at her for a few seconds, opening and closing her lips several times, as if she wanted to say something but could not find the words. And then she said:

“When you arrived here.... no, all this time, I always knew you had a lot to offer. I hope you can show that I was always right. See you, dear.” She gave her face a small touch and turned to greet her former subordinates.

Clara’s stomach sank. Perhaps it had not been her meticulously created personality and performance that had kept her there for so many years. Memories of her first years passed through her mind like a flash as she looked at the now-closed door of the room where Henrique and Gustavo were meeting at that moment. From that moment on, the quiet life she had built over the years no longer existed. Today, she would take worry home.