There came a sharp rap at the office door, the glass pane revealing a petite figure dressed in a low cut chemise.
"Who are you?" he rumbled, peering at the svelte figure who had eased her way into his office.
"I am here for the interview? It is three o'clock, is it not?" One inquisitive eyebrow quirked towards the ceiling.
The lanky gorilla adjusted his glasses, confused yellow eyes peering at the middle-aged woman. He was built like a tank, his bulky body crouched behind a custom built desk. A stress ball and lids from peanut butter jars were scattered off to the side.
"I don't recall scheduling an interview for today," he mumbled, reaching for a banana.
The interviewee reconsidered offering her hand and settled her shapely derriere on a chair that looked like it had been ordered out of a kid catalog.
"My name is La Petite Mort. I am interviewing to join your newsroom." She reached out and set down a manila folder on his desk. "Here is my portfolio."
The gorilla made a low growl, rattling the contents on his desk. He palmed the folder with one massive hand, still chomping on the banana. She waited for him to browse through the documents, suppressing the urge to fiddle with her fingernails.
A minute passed, then two. She wanted to speak up, but he continued to flip through the folder, saying nothing, just grumbling to himself. He set the folder down, threw the banana peel behind him, then looked at her with a puzzled expression. "Who are you?"
Before she could reply, the door sprung open and a gray haired woman wearing a striking eye patch stalked into the office. "Winston!" she bellowed in a stern voice. "How can you hide in here while this little chit freezes my tea every day!"
Close behind her danced a young girl dressed in a heavy parka, the thick luxurious fur out of place in the climate controlled office. "Yay!" she exclaimed happily, waving her hands in the air.
"Now Ana," said Winston with his massive hands outstretched. "You know what I'm going to say. Forget and forgive. It's not just a phrase – it's our company motto. And one I personally live by."
He pointed to a sign on the wall that helpfully had the phrase printed in large block letters. His gesture seemed only to increase Ana's rage. She marched up to the wall, pulled down the sign, and tore it into little pieces that she let fall to the floor. "I can't forget! Or forgive! It happens every day, without fail! I never saw such insolence, even from my own daughter!" She was choking with rage.
The young girl was making a snowman on the floor of the office, placing small black spectacles on its face. "You have to let it go!" she remarked.
Before Ana could respond, Winston gathered her by the shoulders and gave her a wide, vacant smile. "Look at me! I forget more each and every day, and I'm happier for it. Perhaps you ought to practice forgetfulness more often."
There was a flash of light and a blur of motion. A skinny girl wearing a bomber jacket had appeared at Winston's side. "Everything going alright in here, love?"
Winston sat back down, his face growing confused. "Where did I put my pen?" He gave the new girl a questioning look. There was a quick distortion effect and a strange noise, followed by a black pen materializing in his massive hands. "Thank you. I had forgotten where I had placed that."
Ana tossed up her hands and paced back out of the office. "Impossible! Children, all of you!"
Winston put the pen back on his desk, looking at the smooth wooden top with dismay. "No peanut butter? There's no peanut butter!"
His mouth started to froth, his eyes turning red, electricity sparking around the corners.
There was a shimmering musical effect and a winged woman wearing a halo floated into the office, her hair elaborately coiffed. She talked in a sing song voice. "Winston! It's time to take your medicine!"
She cradled a staff in her arms, a glowing beam lancing into the agitated gorilla. This seemed to have a calming effect, his eyes drifting shut as he laid out behind his desk and snored.
In the confusion, the interviewee found it easy to palm the folder and plant a listening device under the desk. She smirked as she left, watching the silly girl in the parka poking a carrot into the snowman's head.
Once she had taken the elevator to the ground floor, she paused and settled an earpiece into one ear. "Operation complete. Infiltration canceled."
A dark, deep voice came from the other end of the line in a long drawl. "Why?"
"The monkey is an invalid," she replied. "He's already forgotten me, if he ever remembered I even exist. His memory is more moldy than a block of Roquefort. All we need to do is make an offer and snipe some of the talent when they decide they are tired of his monkey business."
They both chuckled darkly.