It all started because the washing machine
broke.
Kelsey had
exactly five skirts that were appropriate for work, with mix and match blouses
and jackets, every one of them wash-and-wear. She refused to buy anything that
said Dry Clean Only on the tag. Of course, the washing machine broke on a
Sunday night, after she’d procrastinated doing laundry all weekend, leaving her
desperately searching her closets for something, anything!
That’s how she
ended up in a black mini-skirt, black and white striped tights, and a
camouflage t-shirt, feeling like a cross between Beetlejuice and Beetle Bailey.
“Kelsey, coffee.”
Oliver breezed by her, swinging his briefcase and looking at his watch.
She hid behind
her computer screen, mumbling something to the affirmative, and waited for him
to go into his office before heading towards the kitchen. Putting the coffee on
was the very first thing she did every day, and it was already full and warm
and just the right amount of strong for her critical employer. She had to
measure carefully, or she’d hear about it.
Making a
face—she had never been a coffee-drinker and even hated the smell—she poured him
a cup. He took it black.
“Here you go.”
She put the mug on a coaster on his desk. He didn’t glance up from his computer
screen and she was glad. She turned to go.
“Kelsey, can you
get me the—” Oliver’s voice stopped dead and so did Kelsey, wincing already,
her hand on the doorknob, so close to escape. She waited, her face scrunched up
as if she were waiting to be pummeled, but was greeted with the longest silence
she had ever endured.
Finally, she
couldn’t stand it, and turned her head to look. He was staring at her legs in
the black and white striped stockings, transfixed, the papers in his hand
forgotten and floating to the floor.
“Yes?” she
prompted, clearing her throat and shifting back and forth in her heels. At least
those were work-approved—black pumps.
“The Lockheed
file…” he went on, his voice sounding far away. “The whole account file. The
red one… you know…”
“Yes,” she
agreed, inching her way out. “Is that all?”
He nodded, his
gaze following her stockings around the edge of the door. She breathed a sigh
of relief when she was on the other side, amazed that he hadn’t admonished her,
or even sent her home. She wouldn’t have put it past him. Although that
expression on his face… she’d never seen Oliver look like that before.
The Lockheed
file was in the main office, and she went past the reception area, where her
own desk was, and peeked around the corner to see which employees had arrived
to work this early. Just a few of the telemarketing girls, she noted with
relief, and she made her way to the wall of filing cabinets, kneeling down to
open it—the L’s were at the bottom of the third in a row of six.
“Nice stripes,”
said a voice right behind her and she jumped, nearly spilling the entire
Lockheed file onto the floor. “Should we call you zebra-girl?”
Kelsey winced,
looking up, up, up, into the face of the carefully made-up and perfectly
coiffed brunette. “Excuse me, I have to get this to my boss.”
“Are you the
receptionist?” the woman inquired, blinking at Kelsey’s short skirt and festive
stockings. “There was no one out there and Oliver’s door was closed.”
“Oh… I…” Kelsey
moved around the woman’s tall frame, edging along the filing cabinets. “Yes.
You are?”
“Helena Lockheed!” A male voice called out and Kelsey
glanced over her shoulder at Matt from sales coming toward them. He was always
smiling like a salesman—but she still liked to pretend he was smiling just at
her. “You look great! Have you lost weight?”
Of
could he was talking to the brunette, who smiled and simpered and let him shake
her hand and Kelsey realized with dawning horror that this woman was the head
of the company her boss was so concerned about today. And as far as Kelsey
knew, she
broke.
Kelsey had
exactly five skirts that were appropriate for work, with mix and match blouses
and jackets, every one of them wash-and-wear. She refused to buy anything that
said Dry Clean Only on the tag. Of course, the washing machine broke on a
Sunday night, after she’d procrastinated doing laundry all weekend, leaving her
desperately searching her closets for something, anything!
That’s how she
ended up in a black mini-skirt, black and white striped tights, and a
camouflage t-shirt, feeling like a cross between Beetlejuice and Beetle Bailey.
“Kelsey, coffee.”
Oliver breezed by her, swinging his briefcase and looking at his watch.
She hid behind
her computer screen, mumbling something to the affirmative, and waited for him
to go into his office before heading towards the kitchen. Putting the coffee on
was the very first thing she did every day, and it was already full and warm
and just the right amount of strong for her critical employer. She had to
measure carefully, or she’d hear about it.
Making a
face—she had never been a coffee-drinker and even hated the smell—she poured him
a cup. He took it black.
“Here you go.”
She put the mug on a coaster on his desk. He didn’t glance up from his computer
screen and she was glad. She turned to go.
“Kelsey, can you
get me the—” Oliver’s voice stopped dead and so did Kelsey, wincing already,
her hand on the doorknob, so close to escape. She waited, her face scrunched up
as if she were waiting to be pummeled, but was greeted with the longest silence
she had ever endured.
Finally, she
couldn’t stand it, and turned her head to look. He was staring at her legs in
the black and white striped stockings, transfixed, the papers in his hand
forgotten and floating to the floor.
“Yes?” she
prompted, clearing her throat and shifting back and forth in her heels. At least
those were work-approved—black pumps.
“The Lockheed
file…” he went on, his voice sounding far away. “The whole account file. The
red one… you know…”
“Yes,” she
agreed, inching her way out. “Is that all?”
He nodded, his
gaze following her stockings around the edge of the door. She breathed a sigh
of relief when she was on the other side, amazed that he hadn’t admonished her,
or even sent her home. She wouldn’t have put it past him. Although that
expression on his face… she’d never seen Oliver look like that before.
The Lockheed
file was in the main office, and she went past the reception area, where her
own desk was, and peeked around the corner to see which employees had arrived
to work this early. Just a few of the telemarketing girls, she noted with
relief, and she made her way to the wall of filing cabinets, kneeling down to
open it—the L’s were at the bottom of the third in a row of six.
“Nice stripes,”
said a voice right behind her and she jumped, nearly spilling the entire
Lockheed file onto the floor. “Should we call you zebra-girl?”
Kelsey winced,
looking up, up, up, into the face of the carefully made-up and perfectly
coiffed brunette. “Excuse me, I have to get this to my boss.”
“Are you the
receptionist?” the woman inquired, blinking at Kelsey’s short skirt and festive
stockings. “There was no one out there and Oliver’s door was closed.”
“Oh… I…” Kelsey
moved around the woman’s tall frame, edging along the filing cabinets. “Yes.
You are?”
“Helena Lockheed!” A male voice called out and Kelsey
glanced over her shoulder at Matt from sales coming toward them. He was always
smiling like a salesman—but she still liked to pretend he was smiling just at
her. “You look great! Have you lost weight?”
Of
could he was talking to the brunette, who smiled and simpered and let him shake
her hand and Kelsey realized with dawning horror that this woman was the head
of the company her boss was so concerned about today. And as far as Kelsey
knew, she
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