Chapter 1

 

The instant the old secretary was out the door, Carol was beginning to think that firing her had been premature. Throwing a glance at the heap of unopened mail on the desk, she made up her mind it had really been stupid to fire the girl before finding a replacement for her.

"I'll put an add in the paper tomorrow," she thought. "Meanwhile…"

She picked up the phone and stabbed in the buttons with her fingernails.

"Melissa, dear, could you come over and give me a hand?"

 

***

 

"Should I assume you can type?" Carol asked, arching her eyebrows. She lived with the preconceived idea that men could do nothing, particularly works that require skill, attention, patience and dedication, such as cooking, typing, raising children, and the like. And the candidate for the job of secretary sitting before her was, well, a man.

"Yes, Miss Sharp."

A man polite enough to show he was in desperate need of a job.

"And you can answer the phone as well?"

"And talk on it for under three minutes," came the sharp answer.

"Actually, I would rather my secretary had the ability to put an end to a conversation in less than a minute," Carol said coldly, but she had to admit to herself that she had never managed to train her former secretary to put down the receiver.

"Can't you unglue yourself from that damned thing and actually get some work done?" Carol had complained a million times. She always received plenty of apologies in return, but no noticeable effects, which convinced her that the girl needed to have the receiver surgically removed both from her hand and her ear. Meanwhile, awaiting that life-saving operation, Carol had removed the girl from her office.

"Are you married?" she asked mechanically. She had interviewed so many would-be secretaries in her life, she knew the questions by heart, like a nonsense nursery rime.

"No."

"Is your girlfriend pregnant, or does she plan to become pregnant soon?" Carol went on in a business-like manner, browsing through his résumé.

"What?"

"Mr. Carbuncle," Carol began to explain, raising her steel-cold eyes and fixing them on the imprudent applicant, " if you get this job, I do not wish to have to give you a paid paternity vacation any time soon. It is a question an employer always asks a female applicant, I find it only fair, and safe, to treat everyone equally, so I'm asking again: do you anticipate having a baby any time in the near future?"

The applicant laughed, which wasn't really a good recommendation, as Carol hated having her cold glares ignored. Even Marla didn't do that, except on purpose, and as for Mary… well, allowances must be made for blondes, as they are always used to having their malapropos overlooked on account of their hair colour. They are really pampered by society, and Mary was taking full advantage of it and presenting her blondness as the only excuse for all her faults. And she wasn't even a natural blonde.

"I assure you I take the matter very seriously, Mr Carbuncle," Carol pointed out gloomily.

"I assure you there is no reason to worry about it," the applicant answered. "My girlfriend has just kicked me out, so whether she plans to get pregnant or not, I doubt I'll be the one asking for a vacation about it."

"Thank you," said Carol, not much appeased, shuffling through the papers on her desk. "That would be all. I shall call you if I need your services."

And she waved him out the door without bothering to lift her eyes from her papers.

There were no other applicants for the day, so she waited a few minutes to make sure he was out of the building, then she went to check on Melissa. The front desk was a mess, and the waiting room floor was covered with papers, but at least the smell of coffee was encouraging.

"You should be Sherlock Holmes to find anything in this mess," Carol noticed, pouring herself a cup.

"It does look like Sherlock Holmes's study," Melissa answered, looking proudly at the room.

"Very post-modern," Carol complimented her. "I knew I didn't need a professional interior designer. Though Marla was rather in favour of Art Nouveau."

Melissa drew her head between her shoulders. She knew it was coming.

"I, for one," Carol went on, "would, however, prefer something a bit more… functional. I am trying to run a business here, after all. Or perhaps I should say I am trying ."

"I am a writer, not a secretary," Melissa whispered.

"Yes, my best writer. Which reminds me: when can we expect your new novel?"

Melissa wanted to support Carol's accusing look, but she knew she had no excuse that would work with her. She tried her repented, imploring look instead.

"Never, never work with friends!" Carol told herself. "They can always pull that old emotional blackmail on you!"

"I could finish it in a month if I didn't have a 'day-job' as well…" Melissa tried.

A month! But, on the other hand, Melissa's work never needed any editing.

"Very well," Carol agreed with a sigh, "get me Mr. Carbuncle on the phone."

A minute later she was asking in a resigned voice:

"Can you make coffee?"