Her OfficeIt was like a honing device: that little golden envelop at the bottom of my screen. It was silent and measured no more than half a centimeter each way, but I had developed a sixth sense for the moment it popped up onto my screen, luring me with new mail. I couldn’t resist. Double clicking, Lacey’s message appeared: Vi: SD strikes again...must have had bitch flakes for breakfast...details at ten. P.S. – I just love that new Kayne West song: Goldigger!
Lacey had to have a touch of Schizophrenia to be so paranoid about company e-mails; I knew no one bothered to read them. I shook my head at the code name Lacey insisted on using for Bette, our boss and secretly my sister. It was against company policy to hire family members into the same department; however, thanks to our Mom and her string of boyfriends we had different last names so no one would be the wiser if my sister and I both kept our mouths shut. My fingers flew over the keys even though her blue fabric lined walls were a mere three feet away: Break room?(yeah it has a great beat) Then, her quick reply: Of course.
Glancing at my watch I knew I had a few minutes to spare. I searched my three by three foot cell this company called a cubicle and grabbed the decoy file before making my way to Bette’s corner office. The Anna Nicole Smith signed poster came into view as I neared Lacey’s cubicle. I tried to sneak past but her mock whisper was hard to ignore.
Lacey nodded her head towards Bette’s office, “You get called by the She Devil?” she asked.
“Um, yeah. Right after you emailed.” Lie. I quickened my steps so she wouldn’t be able to read face.
I hovered in her doorway until Bette gave me the wave to come in, efficient as always she didn’t even lose her place on the pile of forms she was signing. She sat behind her heavy, mahogany desk like a judge conducting court. I closed the door behind me - we would need privacy for this - then sat in the straight backed chair opposing her. Despite the December chill outside there was a fan blowing on top of Bette’s filing cabinet: her South and West facing windows were to blame. The winter sun shined through the crystal angel I recognized as the one Mom had bought her Bette-Boo for Christmas, and the colorful beams danced in front of her work pile.
“How can I help you Viola?” She asked, her brow wrinkled in typical older sister concern, her fingers continuing their diligent work with the pen. She didn’t even look at the decoy file I had placed open on her desk; it had been one of her great ideas when I first started here.
“Why do you always pick on her?” I questioned. “You may not like the way she dresses Boop, but she gets the job done. In fact I’m sure her stats are better than most of the slackers out there.” I attempted to stare her down, then lost as usual. Bette dropped her pen with a sigh, the throat vein was throbbing.
“First of all,” she started, “you are not to refer to me as ‘Boop’”. She hated my version of the nickname. “Even behind closed doors. You know the consequences if they find out; I’ve stuck my neck out for you and would appreciate if you’d follow the ‘rules’.”
Grumbling under my breath and starting to slouch down in my chair I responded “I know, I kno-.”
“Secondly,” Bette continued, “I can’t have you running in here to be a hero every time I ask Lacey to redo some numbers. And it has nothing to do with the way she dresses. However,” God, she looks just like Mom lecturing us when we were kids. “I will be bringing up the dress code again at our next meeting to emphasis that we must be wearing professional business wear at all times. Even if the men in this organization have no complaints. How can you have anything in common with her? She’s nothing more than a professional harlot?”
I protested, “Professional harlot is pretty harsh.”
“Viola,” I hated when she said my name like that, “if I bring clients in here I don’t want them thinking we are running a brothel.” Brothel? Hmm, I remember Bette layering just as revealing skirts and shirts under the old lady wear Mom insisted we don for school. Bette picked up her pen, signaling the end of our conversation, but I wasn’t finished.
“It’s not what you say Bette, it’s how you say it. Maybe you take after your father a lot more than you want to admit.” I grabbed the file and left her office in a huff. So what if I was a breath away from eviction when Bette came to my rescue with this job? There was nothing glamorous about the data entry slash sales job and she had ‘rules’ just as she always did. But it paid the bills and I was desperate; it’s ironic how the job that I got with my degree didn’t pay enough to cover my student loan payments. This whole plot had seemed like a great idea at the time.
A few minutes later my heel tapped in unison to the silent song that the overhead fluorescent lights were beating out. I was playing the part in Lacey’s conspiracy huddle at the small, circle table as she complained about my sister.
“Then,” Lacey paused for dramatic effect. Her next words were muffled from the fat free bran muffin - smothered in butter - she had shoved in her mouth, “she told me to redo the order form as the numbers ‘didn’t quite add up’.”
I tried to think of what someone who wasn’t related to the “She Devil” would say, “That sucks” seemed safe.
“Tell me about it,” Lacey said. More bran muffin, then, “I can’t figure out where my mistake is. Do you think there could be a problem with the formulas?”
“I doubt it,” I said with a grin. “It’s probably just a couple inverted numbers. Want me to give it a quick look over? A fresh set of eyes usually helps.”
“You’re such a doll.” Lacey said, returning the smile. “The polar opposite of SD! That chick needs a man to loosen her up. ” Lacey tipped her head towards the giant analog clock above the EXIT sign. “Better get back before the time warden’s report us.”
As we made our way back through the maze of cubicles my stomach felt as if a cat was trying to claw it’s way out. I hated all the lying (or the absence of the truth, as Bette called it). Lacey and I were starting to become good friends and you can only avoid the family questions for so long. What if we started hanging out outside of work? Was I going to run around trying to hide every Bette picture every time she comes over? No, I could trust her. It will feel good to tell someone. To get this off my shoulders.
“Are you free to go for coffee after work?” I ask Lacey.
She looks puzzled for a split second, and then “Sure. Name the place.”
“Dino’s,” I said with a grin. I could feel the weight lifting already.
The next morning, as I made my way through the glass double doors separating the office from the street, I felt the best that I had in months. I hadn’t needed my daily cup of Joe on the way in, and I even bounced my way up the two flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator. By telling Lacey the truth I didn’t feel like a liar anymore. Of course she was surprised when I told her, but she hadn’t freaked out. In fact, she had been very understanding. She had smiled encouragingly as I pored out the whole story. We spent hours at the coffee shop as I told her first about Bette and I and then more about our childhood, which led to stories about my mother and her issues, and then more about Better and our power struggles.
Lacey was so easy to talk to. I suppose the brandied coffees may have helped. I had ordered the first one to calm my nerves and then Lacey had offered to buy the second round. And the third. And the fourth…how many of those had I had? Well Lacey can sure hold her liquor because she seemed to leave as sober as when we got there. When I teased her that she was getting me drunk to elicit information she paled and I apologized quickly. I didn’t want a little joke to come between our blossoming friendship.
I zipped and zagged through the other cubicles, heading towards Lacey’s pod first. Might as well say a quick hello now that we’re closer friends. My steps slowed as her pod came into sight. About half of her stuff was gone and the other half was packed into boxes. The company must be moving some pods around again. Weird that Lacey hadn’t mentioned that.
I was lost in thought when I settled into my own cubicle so I didn’t immediately notice the message taped to my screen. I chocked on my herbal tea when I read it: Please see Mr. Westin. Mr. Westin, the big cheese? Why would he want to see me? Scrambling through my drawers I located a blank pad of paper and a pen, then hustled to the elevator.
My mind raced with possible scenarios that would have trigger my appointment with Mr. Westin. It seemed like hours before the shiny metal doors parted to reveal a small, intimidating lobby. I stepped onto the black marble floor, slipping slightly, heals clicking rebelliously as I scurried over to the large desk that dominated the center of the space. The guardian of the doorway, Mrs. Perkins as per her nameplate, was answering the steady ringing of the telephone via her headset, shiny silver curls sprang loose from under her headset. A framed photo on her desk for all to see: Mrs. Perkins sprawled on a perfectly manicured lawn, her bright smile the center and surrounded by grandchildren of varying ages. The photo relaxed me as I envisioned my own grandmother. I tapped the pen on my pad of paper, reading the names engraved on the plaque behind her tightly wrapped bun as I waited. Mr. Westin – Senior Manager, West Division.
Her voice barked at me, echoing in the stark room, “Please stop that incessant tapping.” Startled I dropped the pen onto the floor; the sound seemed to annoy her even more as she peered at me through small, wire glasses. Hmm, more like an evil Mrs.Clause than my grandmother.
“I’m-,” bending over to pick up the offending pen, flushing neck up “here to see Mr. Westin.”
Her eyes swept over me, “Viola?”
I nodded, afraid to speak. In one swift motion she got up from her chair and had the door open. “Good luck,” she smirked after me. When secretary’s graduate do they get their own personal stash of cameras and microphones with their diplomas?
I read the names on the solid oak doors, after the third one I found it. Even the grain in the door seemed to be foreshadowing doom. I pause, knuckles ready to knock. Should it be a swift knock? Or my patented “jingle bells” knock? I opted for a business like short two raps.
A deep male voice boomed, “Enter.”
I subconsciously held my breath as I pushed open the heavy wood door. There were three people already in the room: Bette sat in the middle chair, she had turned to look at me and her eyes were red, swollen - I hadn’t seen Bette cry since we were kids; commanding attention from behind his desk sat Mr. Westin: greasy, curly black hair topped his small oval face, black thick frames sat on his large protruding nose. His face was marked from teenage acne which couldn’t have been more than ten years ago, and his slight frame looked like it was going to be swallowed up by the chair he perched himself from. Lastly in the third far chair was Lacey, wearing a Cheshire cat grin on her face and that was about it: her skirt was about a foot away from decent and she was aiming her exposed chest at Mr. Westin and his eyes kept darting to the target. Dread set in as I started to piece together what Bette must have already known.
“Thank you for finally joining us Ms. Gray. Please have a seat,” he gestured towards the remaining empty chair. “We have quite the situation here this morning. Ms. Gherkin here,” he gestured at Lacey, “has informed me about what was going on right under my nose. Sisters?” he scoffed. “Bette I thought you’d have more sense than that. Company Policy is clear about what I should do with you two in this situation.”
My chest felt like there was a time bomb ticking inside. Would he really fire both of us? Would the company press fraud charges? Omigod, what had we gotten into?
“However-” However was good. It gave me hope. I held my breath as he went on. “A mediocre manager is hard to find in this labor market let alone a great one. Data entry staff on the other hand,” he paused, a smirk emerging through his eyes and then twitching at the corners of his mouth, “are a dime a dozen.”
My heart registered the meaning of his words before my mind did. I was canned.
The weasel Westin continued “It is rare that we are able to find gems in our entry level positions so when we do, we like to cultivate them quickly.” He looked at Lacey, “Which is why I am going to be promoting Ms. Gherkin to account manager in our marketing division, here on the third floor, effect today. I believe you have already packed?”
I didn’t think it was a coincidence that he was promoting her to the same floor he worked on. “Just a few more little things, Mr. Westin,” Lacey reached out to squeeze his hand, then purred “Thank you for your confidence in me.”
“As for you Bette, I am deeply disappointed in your actions and I cannot leave you unpunished. Your bonus will be suspended and you will be on probation for a year. This will also be going on your permanent record.” To signal this he opened what I presumed to be her file and began to write in it. “I want to remind you of how nice I am being in this circumstance.”
He then picked up his phone and pressed a speed dial button “Yes Mrs. Perkins, can you call security in here please.” He hung up the phone and then directed his next comment towards me “Our security will escort you from the building and your personal items will be mailed to you. I shouldn’t need to tell you that we won’t be providing a positive reference but seeing as you’ve overlooked our other policies, well…”
A quick knock at the door could only be the security guards that were here to escort me away like a common criminal. As they hustled me out the hall and through the lobby I heard Mrs. Perkins call out “Have a great day!”
