of the trappings.” She slid her glasses (the size of goggles) back over her head, giving her a Marlo-Thomas-in-the-convertible look.
“How long have you been wearing glasses?”
“I don't. Look, will you stop acting like Penny meeting Sky King for the first time? It's what I've been telling you. It's all in Robby Winner's book. You have to look like success and play the game. The tan came from a sun lamp so my clients will think I have the security to vacation in Florida during the winter. I never sweat because I wear lightweight clothes all year round and keep the thermostat at sixty-two. Coffee?” she asked.
I nodded. Her secretary brought in one cup and set it down in front of me.
“Aren't you having any?”
She shook her head. "An urgent bladder is a sign of weakness. I never indulge. You use all the tricks, honey.
That chair you're sitting in ... it's three times smaller than mine and has a soft cushion that makes you sit lower than me. Gives me an advantage. The books are all paneling. This desk set wasn't presented to me in appreciation by anyone. I just had a plaque engraved last week and it looks like I'm a recipient of something."
“Are you saying all of this is contrived, right down to your attache case?”
“The insides smell like egg salad,” she shrugged. “I cannot believe you are so naive,” she chided. “We're competing in a man's world and it's serious business . . . well, maybe not all of it.”
“You know something,” I said, leaning closer.
“No, I was just thinking about an office party we had the other night that was rather interesting. Kay had to take Mark home.”
“Who's Mark?”
“You saw him when you came in. He's the little red-haired secretary to Ms. Hamstein in Research and Development.”
“You mean he had too much to drink?”
“Kay told me he was running around with a Cadillac hood ornament in his hand, shouting 'Anyone here lose a Krugerrand?'”
“Is he married?”
“Of course he's married. He probably should be at home with the kids anyway. He doesn't have to work. His wife has a good job, but it's an ego thing.”
"I think office parties should be legally outlawed.
What purpose do they serve?"
“Kay says it's a nice thing to do, but I don't know. Women turn into beasts when they've had a drink or two. Can you imagine those women executives plying all those struggling male clerks with drinks they're not used to? Why, even Cecil Frampton was discoing all over the place. Oh, he's got a nice figure all right. Hides it under those leisure suits. But by the end of the evening he was calling Ms. Hathcock ... get this . . . GLORIA! And Debbie was cruising around. Marriage certainly hasn't settled her down.”
“What's wrong with that?”
“I'll tell you what's wrong. She left with the new office boy and she is old enough to be his mother. There is really something pathetic about a woman who refuses to act her age. Oh sure, it may be a way out of the mail room, but he has to live with himself.”
There was a silence as she shuffled through her handbag looking for her lipstick.
“I had a big week,” I said. “I color-coded my leftovers.”
You had to give it to Stella. She certainly had made the transition from plastic plates to power city. But she was the exception. Most of my friends didn't have such a flashy set-up. One worked in the school cafeteria, another passed out sausage samples in a supermarket, another sold real estate, and Kathy was a Girl Friday for an insulation contractor.
I rarely saw Kathy any more. She lived by a timetable. Even her headaches were scheduled. The sun never set on an empty Crock Pot. She left the house at seven, returned at four-thirty, and her domestic schedule never missed a beat.
Kathy had certainly changed. When I knew her, she was possibly the most unorganized homemaker to ever come down the pike. She was always running out of staples like meat, milk, and toilet paper. Her gas gauge was always on E and her
“How long have you been wearing glasses?”
“I don't. Look, will you stop acting like Penny meeting Sky King for the first time? It's what I've been telling you. It's all in Robby Winner's book. You have to look like success and play the game. The tan came from a sun lamp so my clients will think I have the security to vacation in Florida during the winter. I never sweat because I wear lightweight clothes all year round and keep the thermostat at sixty-two. Coffee?” she asked.
I nodded. Her secretary brought in one cup and set it down in front of me.
“Aren't you having any?”
She shook her head. "An urgent bladder is a sign of weakness. I never indulge. You use all the tricks, honey.
That chair you're sitting in ... it's three times smaller than mine and has a soft cushion that makes you sit lower than me. Gives me an advantage. The books are all paneling. This desk set wasn't presented to me in appreciation by anyone. I just had a plaque engraved last week and it looks like I'm a recipient of something."
“Are you saying all of this is contrived, right down to your attache case?”
“The insides smell like egg salad,” she shrugged. “I cannot believe you are so naive,” she chided. “We're competing in a man's world and it's serious business . . . well, maybe not all of it.”
“You know something,” I said, leaning closer.
“No, I was just thinking about an office party we had the other night that was rather interesting. Kay had to take Mark home.”
“Who's Mark?”
“You saw him when you came in. He's the little red-haired secretary to Ms. Hamstein in Research and Development.”
“You mean he had too much to drink?”
“Kay told me he was running around with a Cadillac hood ornament in his hand, shouting 'Anyone here lose a Krugerrand?'”
“Is he married?”
“Of course he's married. He probably should be at home with the kids anyway. He doesn't have to work. His wife has a good job, but it's an ego thing.”
"I think office parties should be legally outlawed.
What purpose do they serve?"
“Kay says it's a nice thing to do, but I don't know. Women turn into beasts when they've had a drink or two. Can you imagine those women executives plying all those struggling male clerks with drinks they're not used to? Why, even Cecil Frampton was discoing all over the place. Oh, he's got a nice figure all right. Hides it under those leisure suits. But by the end of the evening he was calling Ms. Hathcock ... get this . . . GLORIA! And Debbie was cruising around. Marriage certainly hasn't settled her down.”
“What's wrong with that?”
“I'll tell you what's wrong. She left with the new office boy and she is old enough to be his mother. There is really something pathetic about a woman who refuses to act her age. Oh sure, it may be a way out of the mail room, but he has to live with himself.”
There was a silence as she shuffled through her handbag looking for her lipstick.
“I had a big week,” I said. “I color-coded my leftovers.”
You had to give it to Stella. She certainly had made the transition from plastic plates to power city. But she was the exception. Most of my friends didn't have such a flashy set-up. One worked in the school cafeteria, another passed out sausage samples in a supermarket, another sold real estate, and Kathy was a Girl Friday for an insulation contractor.
I rarely saw Kathy any more. She lived by a timetable. Even her headaches were scheduled. The sun never set on an empty Crock Pot. She left the house at seven, returned at four-thirty, and her domestic schedule never missed a beat.
Kathy had certainly changed. When I knew her, she was possibly the most unorganized homemaker to ever come down the pike. She was always running out of staples like meat, milk, and toilet paper. Her gas gauge was always on E and her
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