The Scheme of Things

The hat sat on the corner of Marcus's desk—a fedora, ridiculous and anachronistic, like something from a film noir set in a cubicle farm. He'd bought it yesterday, along with a membership to what the brochure called a "revolutionary wellness pyramid." Three levels. Recruit six people, who recruit six people, who recruit six people. At the top: financial freedom. At the bottom: where Marcus sat now, staring at his salad.

His phone buzzed. Another rejection from Chloe, the third this week. The spinach in his Tupperware had gone slimy, much like his prospects.

"You gonna eat that?"

Marcus looked up. It was Sarah from accounting, the one who always smelled like coffee and quiet desperation. She was pointing at his lunch.

"It's wilted," he said.

"Everything's wilted," she said, and something in her voice made him look closer. Behind her glasses, her eyes were red-rimmed. She'd been crying in the supply closet again; everyone pretended not to notice.

"My cat died," she said, apropos of nothing. "Bastard lived nineteen years. Outlived my marriage, outlived my mother. Just stopped breathing on Tuesday, like he'd decided he'd seen enough."

Marcus thought of his own apartment—empty except for a half-packed box and that stupid hat. He thought of the pyramid scheme presentation in a Holiday Inn conference room, the way the presenter's eyes had gleamed when he talked about residual income. Marcus had wanted so badly to believe in something bigger than spreadsheets and quarterly targets.

"I joined a pyramid scheme yesterday," he heard himself say.

Sarah laughed, surprised and genuine. "Me too."

They stared at each other.

"Wait, really?"

"Essential oils," she said. "Lavender for anxiety. Bergamot for when you want to scream in a meeting but can't." She pulled a tiny bottle from her pocket. "Want a hit?"

Marcus took it. The scent was sharp, overwhelming, like a garden in heat.

"My ex-wife sold these," he said. "That's how she left me. For an upline distributor named Kyle."

"My ex-husband left me for a cryptocurrency trader," Sarah said. "At least your pyramid scheme smells nice."

Marcus put on the hat. It felt ridiculous. It felt like something.

"I have an extra sample kit," she said. "And you have that weird hat. We could be partners."

"Partners in what?"

"In trying," she said. "Even if it's stupid. Even if we're at the bottom of the pyramid with wilted spinach and dead cats. At least we're trying something."

Marcus looked at her—really looked at her. Sarah from accounting, with her coffee stains and her essential oils and her grief that felt like his own.

"I'm in," he said. "But first, let's get real lunch. Something that isn't wilted."

She smiled, and for the first time in months, Marcus felt like the bottom wasn't so far from the top after all.