But as we rounded the corner to Mr. Martin’s suite, my heart dropped. Because the most beautiful woman was sitting at a desk right outside the massive double doors, a woman with gleaming blonde hair effortlessly swept into an elegant updo, wearing a chic black dress that highlighted her slender figure, her long arms and legs.
Norma smiled.
“Hi Jeanette, this is Tammy our new typist,” she said by way of introduction. “Jeanette is Mr. Martin’s personal secretary, she handles all of his appointments, his bookings, his everything. If you need to get to Mr. Martin, you’ve got to go through Jeanette first,” she said with a wink.
And my heart dropped even further at that. Everyone knew that some secretaries were more like wives than employees and it certainly seemed like Jeanette fell into that category. The blonde was elegant, beautiful, with a charming smile and an air of sophistication. I felt dumpy and plain next to her, my curls a mess, my dress suddenly tight in all the wrong places, hopelessly frumpy and outdated.
“Hi,” said the blonde, extending a hand. Oh god, even her hand was perfect. Long, lean fingers surrounded mine, cool, almost cold, whereas my hand was fleshy and warm, my nails slightly bitten.
“Hi,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “Nice meeting you.”
“If you need anything just let me know,” Jeanette said, her red lips curling into a fake smile. “I’ve been here two years already.”
And Norma nodded approvingly.
“Mr. Martin goes through secretaries like crazy, he’s very particular about who works for him. For Jeanette to be here two years means that you’re doing a very good job,” the old lady praised.
And Jeanette preened at the compliment.
“Thank you, I do my best,” she said with a smirk. “I’m organized, efficient, and I know just how Mr. Martin likes it. Exactly how,” she said with a wink.
That got Norma laughing.
“Young ladies these days!” she clucked, winking at the double meaning. As we moved away, she leaned in, whispering confidentially.
“If you ask me, Jeanette’s got her eye on the boss and if Nick Martin’s a real man, he’ll put a ring on her finger. After all, he couldn’t do better than her. Beautiful, efficient, sleek, sophisticated, who could ask for more?”
I nodded although my mind was whirring. Norma had just described what to me sounded like a computer or some kind of high-end iPad. Couldn’t Siri do all that with more feeling?
But I shook my head. I was a lowly typist, part of a pool of secretaries available to transcribe notes, type up labels, and file documents. I was lucky just to have a job, much less at a place like Luxor.
So my heart heavy with disappointment, I followed Norma down a hall, then down another hall and to the right. Before me was a sea of cubes, the walls about chin-high, a maze of repeating grey nylon. She led me to a cube on the far side and it was with a sigh of relief that I saw my old desk. The shabby metal frame was banged up and scratched, but everything else was intact, all the drawers closed.
I sat down in my chair and swiveled happily.
“Yep, this is my stuff,” I said gratefully.
The old lady smiled gently back.
“Well I’ll let you get settled then. It’s your first day, help yourself to supplies from the supply closet, and Tammy, the women’s restroom is right over there,” she gestured. Sure enough, the door was about ten feet from my cube. “You’re lucky and unlucky,” confided Norma. “This cube is so out of the way that hardly anyone uses that restroom, but on the other hand, yes, you can hear the toilets flush,” she added wryly.
I colored. Oh god, I had such a tangled past with the women’s restroom, did Norma know? But I scolded myself. There was no way the old lady could know, my masturbation incident had happened only yesterday and Mr. Martin wouldn’t confide in a receptionist.
So I pasted a bright smile on my face.
“Thanks, I’ll look you up if I have any more questions. And thank you again for the tour!” I chirped.
The elderly lady just smiled back and slowly scuffled off, her bent form disappearing as she rounded the corner.
Taking a deep breath I turned back to my cube. It was tiny and Spartan, to say the least. Grey cloth walls surrounded a desk and chair, with my old computer already plugged in. There was a banker’s box on the desk with a few of my belongings, my paper weight and some binders, as well as a photo of my mom and dad from long ago.
Slowly reaching a hand forward, I tested the handle to my desk drawer. Oh thank god. It was locked. Taking a deep breath, I shook myself, determined to start fresh, give myself an opportunity to succeed.