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by Elorise Holstad

     Beth Loew peeked into my cubicle with a manila folder clutched to her chest. "Do you have a minute, Holly? I so need help."

     “Who doesn’t?” I shrugged and kept my gaze fixed on my computer screen.  “Don’t ask me to rescue you on a Monday morning.  The summary is due today.”

      “Please,” she persisted, voice quavering.

      I sighed heavily.

      Trendex, the consulting firm I work for, is a watchful arbiter of moral precepts reporting to various and sundry religious and politically conservative coalitions.  Today, I have only until a two o’clock deadline to sift, count and summarize numerous types of public transgressions.

      Beth, who sorts mail in the company’s communications center, often creates chaos with my deadlines.

      I waved a dismissive hand at her, a shooing motion.  “No can do.  I’m under the gun with this summary.”

     “Me, too.  The mail has to be distributed.  But I’m totally freaking here.”  Her back stiffened.  “Oh, my God.  Is Mrs. Legler watching us?”

     Trendex employees do not toil away in offices; they occupy work areas.  As head of the department, Mrs. Legler rates an orbicular enclosure of wood and glass in the exact center of our floor.

      I glanced to where the middle-aged woman sat -- a spider at the hub of a web, a spider in an expensive gray business suit. 

      "Who knows? I answered. "Her blinds are open. She's probably doing employee evaluations today."

     Beth moaned.  “This is like so big.  When I opened the mail, I didn’t notice that one of her letters was marked personal.  It’s a valentine card.”

     “So what?”  I shrugged.  “Tell her it was a mistake.  Apologize for opening it.”

      “I can’t!” she quickly protested.  “I didn’t mean to, but I read it.  Twice.  There was this special message, X-rated.  It was dynamite, from its sweet salutation down to its very complimentary close, which, by the way, was signed by Craig Partridge.”  She squinted down at me.  “Do you recognize the name?”

      “Never heard of him.”  I typed a command, started to rummage through my computer text files.  “My advice is to give the woman her Valentine, opened, or not.”

      “Listen,” Holly whispered.  “I’ll put the folder on top of your monitor.  Read it.  Now.  I’ll just stand here like I’m waiting to see if I’ve given you the right report."

      I touched the folder warily before opening it.

       After scanning the inked message inside a card that was covered with charming, stylized hearts, I pursed my lips in a silent whistle.  “Hot stuff.”

      Beth’s brown eyes glinted.  “He can so totally turn a phrase, can’t he?  I glory in your hot, silken flesh and tremble to tantalize your pleasure points.”

      “Your analogy to dynamite was on the money,” I said, handing back the folder.  “If this bomb comes to light, Legler can kiss her inflated salary good-bye.”

     In the Trendex work environment, upright behavior looms large.

     Very large.

     We employees diligently count and crunch statistics on how many abortions are performed on promiscuous teens, how many times homosexuals kiss in movies, how often infidelity occurs on TV sit-coms, et cetera.  Finger-pointers can’t abide it when fingers point back.          

     “How about that PS he wrote?”  Beth giggled.  “Hooking up in the tub … the water perfumed with ‘Electric Passion’ Bath Oil … as I lathered your little velvet … "

     “The Valentine must be a sick joke,” I interrupted.  “Legler is pretty stiff and starched.  She wouldn’t cheat on her husband.”

     “What should I do with the card?”

     “Are you kidding?  Send it through the shredder.”

     “What if Craig Partridge mentions sending it?”

      “So what if he does?”

      Beth gave me a baleful look.  “I’m the only person who handles mail around here.  I need this job.  Legler would never stand for my knowing about her extra-marital affair.”

     “I see your dilemma.  Damned if you do, and if you don’t, yada-yada.”

     “What would you do in my place?”

     “Laugh it off.”  I flinched at the dismayed expression on Beth’s face.  “Well, they always say honesty is the best policy."

      “Yeah, well, they clearly don’t know Mrs. Legler.”

       I settled my elbows on my desk, frowning thoughtfully.  “How much daily mail does she receive, counting junk and internal memos?"

     “Lots.  Tons.”  Beth indicated a distance between her thumb and index finger.  “This much.  A pile of it.”

     “In that case, you don’t usually have time to do any more than just glance at whatever piece you’re sorting?”

      She nodded.

      “Okay, then.  My advice.  Put the darn Valentine somewhere in the middle of her stack of mail, and act nonchalant when you put it down on her desk.”

      “Are you crazy?”

      “Working here?  You have to ask?”   I paused and smiled encouragement.  “Just give Legler her mail.  Be casual with her.  Ask about her health.  Chat her up about the weather.  If your performance is good enough, she’ll assume you didn’t read the note.”

       “You think?”  Beth hesitated.  “All right.  I’m no actress, but it looks like I don’t have any other choice.”

      Tuesday, with several statistical reports to compile and the usual research meetings to attend, I was much too occupied to speak with Beth.

      Wednesday morning, late by more than twenty minutes, I rushed into the office and went straight to the restroom to check the makeup I had applied in the car.

      I waved at Beth’s reflection in the mirror as I entered.  “Why the long face?”

     “I’ve been terminated,” she wailed.  “Pink-slipped.  Mr. Baldwin fired me a few minutes ago.  I was supposed to vacate the building, but I came in here to wait for you.”

     “What happened?”

      “Nothing nice,” she answered, starting to sniffle.  “Baldwin was standing by the Xerox machine this morning, you know, like he had a copy project for me to do?  He yelled at me.  It wasn’t pretty.”

      I stared at her blotchy face.  “He yelled at you?”

      “Did he ever.  It was so lame.”

      “What did he say?”

      Beth mimicked Baldwin’s voice: “Yesterday, Miss Loew, there was seventeen dollars and forty cents in this box.”

      “What box?”  I frowned.  “The honor box?  Where we’re supposed to put in twenty-five cents per personal copy?"

       “Thirty-five cents, now,” she corrected.  “Baldwin sent for Mrs. Legler.  She rummaged around in my in-box.” 

      “Why?  For what reason?”

      Beth frowned.  “I don’t know how it got there, but seventeen dollars and forty cents, in change, was there beneath some papers.  Mr. Baldwin had me babbling.  You know how it is?  I swear.  When you’re telling the truth and the more you protest, the more it sounds like a lie?"

     I pressed a tissue in her hand.

     “It was awful.”  She blew her nose, choked back a sob.  “Mrs. Legler told Baldwin she’d heard complaints about my general inefficiency.  She went on and on about my lack of honesty and integrity and trust.”

      “You were set up!” I exclaimed.  “Legler planted the money, then went to Ted Baldwin with her vicious lies.  Baldwin is insufferably self-righteous.  He’s the only Trendex executive who would actually fire someone on so little evidence.” 

     “You think Mrs. Legler did that?”

      “Yes, I do.  I’m sorry that I gave you bad advice.”

       “Not your fault.”  Beth tossed her used tissue into the wastebasket.  “Legler has sent for a temp.  I’ve cleaned out my desk.”

      “Go to Baldwin,” I urged.  “Describe the letter.  Tell him why Legler wants you out of the office.  Let him know he was manipulated into firing you."

      “Drop it, Holly.  Let it go.” 

       “If you don’t defend yourself, I will,” I threatened, continuing to voice my outrage.  “Spider-woman won’t find it easy to get rid of me.”

      Beth arched her eyebrows as she slouched against the door.  “What makes you think Baldwin will take your word over hers?  You have a career here with Trendex.  Don’t jeopardize it on my account.”  She paused, the expression in her eyes heavy with misery.  “Cheer up, Holly.  I’ll find another job.”

      By Thursday, I had roused my courage.  Although I didn’t like taking the role of informant, I decided to level with Mr. Baldwin.

      As luck would have it, though, the man was out of his office every time I looked in.

      Mrs. Legler?

      She spun out the day, happily lurking behind the vase of still-fresh Valentine roses on her desk.

      Friday morning, Beth telephoned me with an exciting update.  She’d been scheduled for a job interview at an art gallery downtown.  Even with this good news, my sense of outrage didn’t lessen.

      I spent my lunch hour that day completely preoccupied with errands and shopping.

      Very important shopping.

      At four-thirty, I detoured to Mrs. Legler’s empty office, shopping bag in hand.  I was alone. The staff had abandoned the fluorescent lighting of Trendex’s eleventh floor aerie, eager to begin the weekend.

      Leaning across Legler’s desk, I scribbled a few words on a Post-It note, and stuck the note on a glass jar, which I’d removed from my shopping bag.  Then, I strolled to the elevator, anticipating the spider woman’s mortification at receiving an unexpected gift of ‘Electric Passion’ Bath Oil from the office staff.

      It’s sweet to have the last word.

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