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.”“There’s nothing there,” I reminded him.“It’s all smoke and mirrors.Just like your little speech about statistics.Which I assume was meant to distract me from something.”“Distract you?”“Yes.You’re familiar with the term, right? Distraction? Subterfuge? Obfuscation?” From my memory I pulled terms that I’d learned on The X-Files, the ultimate paranoia TV show, except maybe for that old series The Prisoner, but that one didn’t teach me as many words.I said, “Based on the statistical crap you’re throwing at me, I’m starting to think my two days in the library were nothing but a diversion.”“Are you insinuating something, Carol? Why don’t you just come out and say it, if you have something to say? If you…” and here he paused, looking wildly around his desk as if he’d lost something, “if you’d like to imply that somehow I have the power to guide a woman to overdose herself to death.Like I have suicide telepathy or something.Maybe that’s what you’d like to say.”“Can I ask you something strange, Bill? Were you at my house this weekend?”“Was I what?” He pulled his hands into his lap, almost protectively as if I’d punched him in the stomach.“What do you mean?”“It’s a simple question.Did you come to my house this past weekend?”“No.I didn’t.Why would you think that?”“Because someone was at my house, who hates disorder almost as much as you.”“No.I wasn’t at your house.As I told you, I was rather busy this weekend.”“I doubt that Suzanne’s making a pass at you took the entire weekend.”“What reason would I have to come to your house anyway?” When I didn’t answer his question right away, he folded his arms and glared at me.Bill was not a stupid man.He could make as many leaps of logic as I could.“Well Carol, we have some work to catch up on.If you’re not too nervous around me to work, that is.”I pressed my lips hard together, turned on my heel and left him.This is really what chaps your hide about working in an office.Regardless of what happens, be it disaster or tragedy or serial killer, everyone is still expected to get their work done.*****I tried to type the dictation tapes and couldn’t even concentrate on that.I couldn’t focus on my computer’s monitor.I couldn’t make myself pay attention to the morning’s mail.What I felt was not comfortable or even familiar; I had reached what I think they called a fork in the road.I had to make a decision, and it wasn’t an easy one, not like would I rather watch The Inspector Lynley Mysteries or Angel, Season 5 this weekend, not like would I rather paint my kitchen orange or green.No, this was would I rather press the issue of the dead women or not.Bill Nestor was lying to me, but I didn’t know why.In life sometimes it is okay to know that people are lying to you.I’ve been lied to before and known that it was done in an effort to protect me from something far less pleasant; hell, sometimes it is pleasant and preferable to hear lies.Like: “No, honey, I never even notice other women.” Or, “Gosh, Kay, I thought your poem about playing volleyball for God was terrific.” Or, “Of course, the employees here wash their hands before serving my meals.” Even the time I spent in philosophy class learning about the value of veracity didn’t convince me otherwise.Lies have their good side as well as their bad.I was very upset, and the root of it all was not whether I was being told lies or whether I was involved in some vast evil conspiracy of widow-killing, but whether I was obligated to do anything about it all.I was just a secretary, for crying out loud.If a woman wants to take the world in her hands, she probably does not become a secretary.We secretaries like to do our typing and then go home, leaving the big decisions and the big responsibilities to someone else.I wanted to do that then.My mistake in this whole mess was getting involved.How to become un-involved, at this juncture, was the biggest, most unfathomable question in my mind.In my distress over the chasm between me and Bill, I forgot completely about Suzanne.So she had quit; I didn’t really care.So she had declared her intentions to Bill—big deal.That was only news to him.Lucille caught my attention by the reception desk as I listlessly wandered off to lunch at my allotted time and said, “Ah can’t believe that Suzanne’s quitting.What happened?”I dared not utter a word of what I knew to Lucille, or the knowledge would spread throughout the office at goddess-speed.I was noncommittal in my response.“I haven’t talked to her.”“She’s not even working today.” Lucille looked miffed.“So much for two weeks’ notice, if you don’t even bother to work them.”I considered the humiliation I might feel in Suzanne’s place and didn’t find it so strange.I wouldn’t want to face Bill Nestor, either, if I’d been the one rejected.Charlene Templeton appeared unexpectedly behind me, and Lucille turned the same question to her.“Do y’all know why Suzanne quit?”“I only knew she was unhappy,” replied Charlene, who appeared to be genuinely saddened.“I hate that.I just hate it when we lose good people who have been here for so long.It’s a blow to the whole firm.”I exchanged a glance with Lucille, whose thoughts had apparently gone the same direction as mine.Charlene caught it and asked, “What?”I admitted, “We, well, I, anyway…I didn’t think you and Suzanne got along very well.”Charlene stared at me.“Why would you think that?”Helpless in the face of all this denial I swung back to Lucille, looking for help.“Well, y’all are always sniping at each other,” answered the brazen Lucille.The term “y’all” softens a lot of the force behind a phrase, and I wished I knew how to use it.Charlene gave a slow shake of her head.“No, that’s just how Suzanne talks.It’s all right.I feel sorry for her.She’s had a hard time.I know she’s unhappy.” Perplexed still by our behavior, Charlene walked past us and went to the elevators.“Are you coming, Carol?”“Yeah, not just yet.” Once Charlene was gone, I looked back at Lucille and said, “I can’t cope with magnanimous people.”“Ah think you’d get a different story from Suzanne,” was Lucille’s response to that.Her eyes were glittering.“There’s unhappy, and then there’s just plain catty.We’re shed of her, whatever the reason, and Ah’m not sorry [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.”“There’s nothing there,” I reminded him.“It’s all smoke and mirrors.Just like your little speech about statistics.Which I assume was meant to distract me from something.”“Distract you?”“Yes.You’re familiar with the term, right? Distraction? Subterfuge? Obfuscation?” From my memory I pulled terms that I’d learned on The X-Files, the ultimate paranoia TV show, except maybe for that old series The Prisoner, but that one didn’t teach me as many words.I said, “Based on the statistical crap you’re throwing at me, I’m starting to think my two days in the library were nothing but a diversion.”“Are you insinuating something, Carol? Why don’t you just come out and say it, if you have something to say? If you…” and here he paused, looking wildly around his desk as if he’d lost something, “if you’d like to imply that somehow I have the power to guide a woman to overdose herself to death.Like I have suicide telepathy or something.Maybe that’s what you’d like to say.”“Can I ask you something strange, Bill? Were you at my house this weekend?”“Was I what?” He pulled his hands into his lap, almost protectively as if I’d punched him in the stomach.“What do you mean?”“It’s a simple question.Did you come to my house this past weekend?”“No.I didn’t.Why would you think that?”“Because someone was at my house, who hates disorder almost as much as you.”“No.I wasn’t at your house.As I told you, I was rather busy this weekend.”“I doubt that Suzanne’s making a pass at you took the entire weekend.”“What reason would I have to come to your house anyway?” When I didn’t answer his question right away, he folded his arms and glared at me.Bill was not a stupid man.He could make as many leaps of logic as I could.“Well Carol, we have some work to catch up on.If you’re not too nervous around me to work, that is.”I pressed my lips hard together, turned on my heel and left him.This is really what chaps your hide about working in an office.Regardless of what happens, be it disaster or tragedy or serial killer, everyone is still expected to get their work done.*****I tried to type the dictation tapes and couldn’t even concentrate on that.I couldn’t focus on my computer’s monitor.I couldn’t make myself pay attention to the morning’s mail.What I felt was not comfortable or even familiar; I had reached what I think they called a fork in the road.I had to make a decision, and it wasn’t an easy one, not like would I rather watch The Inspector Lynley Mysteries or Angel, Season 5 this weekend, not like would I rather paint my kitchen orange or green.No, this was would I rather press the issue of the dead women or not.Bill Nestor was lying to me, but I didn’t know why.In life sometimes it is okay to know that people are lying to you.I’ve been lied to before and known that it was done in an effort to protect me from something far less pleasant; hell, sometimes it is pleasant and preferable to hear lies.Like: “No, honey, I never even notice other women.” Or, “Gosh, Kay, I thought your poem about playing volleyball for God was terrific.” Or, “Of course, the employees here wash their hands before serving my meals.” Even the time I spent in philosophy class learning about the value of veracity didn’t convince me otherwise.Lies have their good side as well as their bad.I was very upset, and the root of it all was not whether I was being told lies or whether I was involved in some vast evil conspiracy of widow-killing, but whether I was obligated to do anything about it all.I was just a secretary, for crying out loud.If a woman wants to take the world in her hands, she probably does not become a secretary.We secretaries like to do our typing and then go home, leaving the big decisions and the big responsibilities to someone else.I wanted to do that then.My mistake in this whole mess was getting involved.How to become un-involved, at this juncture, was the biggest, most unfathomable question in my mind.In my distress over the chasm between me and Bill, I forgot completely about Suzanne.So she had quit; I didn’t really care.So she had declared her intentions to Bill—big deal.That was only news to him.Lucille caught my attention by the reception desk as I listlessly wandered off to lunch at my allotted time and said, “Ah can’t believe that Suzanne’s quitting.What happened?”I dared not utter a word of what I knew to Lucille, or the knowledge would spread throughout the office at goddess-speed.I was noncommittal in my response.“I haven’t talked to her.”“She’s not even working today.” Lucille looked miffed.“So much for two weeks’ notice, if you don’t even bother to work them.”I considered the humiliation I might feel in Suzanne’s place and didn’t find it so strange.I wouldn’t want to face Bill Nestor, either, if I’d been the one rejected.Charlene Templeton appeared unexpectedly behind me, and Lucille turned the same question to her.“Do y’all know why Suzanne quit?”“I only knew she was unhappy,” replied Charlene, who appeared to be genuinely saddened.“I hate that.I just hate it when we lose good people who have been here for so long.It’s a blow to the whole firm.”I exchanged a glance with Lucille, whose thoughts had apparently gone the same direction as mine.Charlene caught it and asked, “What?”I admitted, “We, well, I, anyway…I didn’t think you and Suzanne got along very well.”Charlene stared at me.“Why would you think that?”Helpless in the face of all this denial I swung back to Lucille, looking for help.“Well, y’all are always sniping at each other,” answered the brazen Lucille.The term “y’all” softens a lot of the force behind a phrase, and I wished I knew how to use it.Charlene gave a slow shake of her head.“No, that’s just how Suzanne talks.It’s all right.I feel sorry for her.She’s had a hard time.I know she’s unhappy.” Perplexed still by our behavior, Charlene walked past us and went to the elevators.“Are you coming, Carol?”“Yeah, not just yet.” Once Charlene was gone, I looked back at Lucille and said, “I can’t cope with magnanimous people.”“Ah think you’d get a different story from Suzanne,” was Lucille’s response to that.Her eyes were glittering.“There’s unhappy, and then there’s just plain catty.We’re shed of her, whatever the reason, and Ah’m not sorry [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]