Lunch With the Boss's Secretary

V

Ten-forty-five wasn't much better. Again they gathered, guardedly. Trowa was finishing the paperwork for the minivan, and he, too, drifted toward the window, more out of mild curiosity than interest. The clipboard remained in his hand, at his waist, his shirt decidedly more crumpled than it had been when he walked in. He was one of the few still wearing one; the garage was kept well-heated and the rest of the men were required to do more labor then he. They sweated in the pale, butter sunshine from the weak summer sun, shifting their weight impatiently.

Cars sped along the highway, turning off, but never into the lot. At last a modest four-door pulled in, and a pair of panty-hosed legs stepped out. The anticipation sucked every atom of air from the massive space, and collectively they all leaned out to see her. The black pumps, the sheer, dark calves, the skirt that began at her knee only to be hidden by a plush black coat, edged in false fur. One hand, nails a glossy magenta, held the door open as the men began to fidget like eager puppies, muttering encouragement to the woman who couldn't hear them.

Smoothly, she stepped out, and they could all see the richness of her coat, and the all too familiar design on her handbag. "Where'd she get that?" one man hissed.

"What's wrong with that?"

"It costs a coupla hundred! For a small one!"

Joe looked at the guy skeptically. "And how do you know that?"

The other man glared at him irritably. "'Cuz my sister's been angling for one since she was fourteen. What do you think I am?"

Joseph decided it was best not to answer that, and they all watched the woman dramatically slide on a pair of large, rhinestone-studded sunglasses, and strut into the Head Office. Some seemed enthusiastic about this one- "Gonna make a big impression on him!" but the rest just shook their heads.

"No way in hell," said Fabian succinctly, as he grabbed his goggles and went back to work.