The Pyramid Pool

Margaret stood by the office pool, her champagne warm in the glass, watching the corporate hierarchy drift through the water like fluorescent fish. Above them, the glass pyramid of the conference center caught the last purple light of Friday sunset, turning the building into a monument to ambition she'd stopped feeling three years ago.

"You look like a zombie," David said, appearing beside her with two fresh drinks. "That's the third time this week you've stared at that pyramid like it holds the meaning of life."

She accepted the drink, their fingers touching longer than necessary. "Maybe I am one. The walking dead of middle management. Forty-two years old, and the most exciting thing in my life is this quarterly success pool."

"You won, by the way. The betting pool. Everyone thought Johnson would get the promotion." David's voice dropped. "I bet on you."

The admission hung between them, heavier than the humid Atlanta air. Margaret turned to really look at him for the first time in six months of project meetings and water cooler conversations. He had the same exhausted eyes she saw in her mirror every morning.

"I'm not taking it," she said. "The promotion."

David's eyebrows rose. "You're walking away from the pyramid scheme? Finally?"

"I met someone," she lied smoothly, then corrected herself. "No, that's not true. I just realized I've been climbing someone else's pyramid my whole life. The pool—this whole corporate circus—it's just distraction."

She set her glass on a table, took David's hand. "Come with me? We could be zombies somewhere more interesting."

David looked at the pyramid reflecting against the darkening sky, then back at her tired, hopeful eyes. "I was hoping you'd say that," he said, and for the first time in years, neither of them felt dead at all.