Again by Sharon Cullars Page B

and that cost. As did her apartment in Chatham. How she had managed all that on an administrative assistant’s salary, especially at this paper, Tyne had no idea. She put down the resume, walked over and stood in Gail’s doorway. The woman had her back to the entrance, but the steady shaking of her shoulders indicated smothered sobs.
    “Gail” she said softly. Gail turned around, tears streaming down her face. Then a torrent spilled forth.
    “What the fuck am I gonna do? I got bills to pay, too many of ’em, and Chris’s daddy barely sends us what he owes as it is! Damn, that fucking Allen Jr.! His father would’ve never fucked us over like this!”
    Tyne winced at the venom, but entered anyway. “Gail, you’ve got to stay calm. You’re a good assistant and you’ll find another job, probably even better than this one. You’ll survive.” That was the same thing she had been telling herself.
    “I know.” Gail said. She blew her nose into a tissue she held in her hand. “My son and I will get through this somehow. God won’t let us down. Not like this shit-ass paper, taking all your time and energy and giving nothing back in return. I’m glad I’m leaving this shit rag.”
    Tyne smiled at the woman’s about-face. Yeah, Gail was a survivor. She went back to her cubicle to get her resume. Then reached deep inside her purse and dug out David’s card. It was nicely embossed with gold lettering on cream-covered paper. Not the cheap kind, but the more expensive stock. She studied his name David Carvelli, Partner, Gaines, Carvelli, and Debbs, LLP, Designers and developers of residential and commercial properties . The fax machine was in an empty cubicle just outside Stan’s office, but she didn’t care at this point. Let him come out and see her using office property for personal reasons. She dialed in the fax number and placed the resume along the ledger.
    Her stomach fluttered as the machine fed the paper through. It was too late to stop it. Soon it would be in his hands. Soon he would be calling.
     
     
     
    “That’s bullshit!”
    David paced around the two occupied chairs facing his desk. The window of his office looked out on the beige block structure of the Water Tower and its surrounding park. A survivor of the 1871 fire that devastated the city, the octagonal tower stood as a testament to the resiliency of the past. Across the street, farther north, the black-steeled edifice of the Hancock building hovered over the sidewalks streaming with North Michigan shoppers. The sky was pale blue, no clouds. But a storm was coming. He could feel it brewing inside. A headache blazed behind his eyes. His fingers tightened into a fist.
    He rounded his desk and sat down again. Both Rick and Clarence stared at him, one chastened, the other defiant.
    Clarence, after having sat silent while Rick tried to stammer out an explanation, spoke up. “What can I tell you, man? It’s like I said. Kershner called, said he wanted me to design the condominiums. He’s comfortable with me since I designed his home a few years back. Dave, I don’t see what the problem is. We’re partners and any job I get is one for the partnership.”
    David looked at Clarence and wondered at his balls. Wondered at Rick’s lack of same. Did they really think he was going to eat the bullshit they were trying to feed him?
    He sat back in his seat, hands behind his head, a stance more casual than what he was feeling. “Then why the secrecy?” he asked, his voice more controlled than a moment ago. “First, you blow off the meeting Kershner scheduled with all of us, and Rick and I walk away with egg on our faces. Then you go and meet with Kershner by yourself without telling us.” He looked at Rick, noticed the hangdog expression, “Or at least me.”
    Clarence leaned forward, putting on his let’s-see-reason face. David thought Clarence resembled a ferret. A sneaky, backstabbing ferret. “Look Dave, stop acting like this is some kind of