Her Boss

Her boss

Sally was hurrying to the office, dreadfully lateshe imagined the nightmare of standing before the editorinchief without having swiped through the turnstile. If she didnt make it, she would be forced to write a full apology explaining how the employee of the month, Peter Miles, could have been so embarrassingly tardy.

Peter Miles adored paperwork of every stripe: explanations, endorsements, reports, congratulatory notes, apologies and, of all things, endless shopping lists. No one in the newsroom could fathom why he was such a bureaucratic zealot.

His wife, Olivia Fairfax, constantly slipped him grocery lists from the pocket of her coat. Colleagues fed him memos of every sortnothing escaped his attention, and Peter was pleased.

Why do you put up with this? Emily, Sallys friend, would say, working at the café halfowned by the two girls. Theres no better job in the world. For heavens sake, write to him by emailit’s modern and ecofriendly!

You dont get it, Em, Sally would sigh. Hes made of paper. It sticks out of every pocket and spills from his notebook. He seems to enjoy it. Hes in his element, as they say. And he pays us well and never forces us onto the spring community cleanups.

Emilys protest softened a little. Every April the café owner forced his staff to paint the shops fence and scrub the walls, a task that made Emily sneeze from the paint and choke on the dust. So the lack of compulsory cleanups was a welcome excuse, and the subject was never raised again.

If, on that day, Sally did not slip just ahead of Peter Milesno matter how brieflyshe would end up penning an apology.

What would she write? Oh, there would be many clauses

She had overslept because the alarm had gone silent along with the whole houses electricity. She and Emily scrambled, mopped a puddle beneath the leaking fridge, gulped cold oatmeal that had been boiled the night before, and then tried, with gratitude, to splash water on their facescold, but water nonetheless. After the hurried wash came the typical womens paraphernalia: mascara, blush, eyeshadow, lipstick.

Emilys jacket emerged crumpled; a cat named Mittens had leapt onto it from a frosty puddle under the freezer, burrowed in, and then, in a panic, bolted into Emilys slipper, which sent him sprawling onto his fluffy rear. The cat, never before so humiliated, stormed off to the balcony in protest.

Emily searched for another coat because the iron was dead

All of this devoured precious minutes. By the time they realized the hour, it was already late.

Sally, finally dressed and wishing Emily a good day, barely caught the step of a departing bus. She was squeezed into the crowd like jam, and a gentleman tried to cradle her to keep her from being crushed by the doors. The moment she glanced at him, his protective hand vanished along with its owner.

Now, if she missed a signal or brushed a railing, thieves might take advantageanything could happen in that crush.

If Sally were caught late, she would lose the bonus that had already been earmarked: part for a seaside holiday, part for a new microwave, part for a pair of shoes. The girls called it the rubber bonus, and Sally had earned it fair and square; one slip could spoil it all.

Sally kept her composure, refusing to sprint and overtake the bus. She knew she couldnt beat it, but the illusion of effort always kept her warm.

Just as she was about to step onto the pavement, a young man clutched the rail, his coat sleeve slipping to reveal a roundfaced watch with numerous hands and dials.

Sally stared, frightened, at the clock and the minutes, trying to look away, yet her eyes kept returning.

Running late? the lad asked sympathetically. Its a dreadful day.

Yes, Sally replied, pressing her bag tighter against her already sweaty side.

People say you cant be late where youre expected, he smiled.

Sallys lips twitched. Normally she would have nodded, but now the philosophical remark felt out of placeher microwave and holiday were at stake.

Im Colin, he said, pausing for an answer that never came, then continuing, And you?

Im Margaret Fairfax, the woman in the light coat and lace gloves intervened, pushing Colin aside with a generous bust. Her perfume hinted at lavender, and her lips were painted a bold crimson, as if brushed with beet juice.

She brushed the coat with her beetred lips, accidentally grazing Colins sleeve.

Sorry! she muttered. Its stormy today!

At that moment Sally recognised herPeters wife. No one had ever seen her, not even a photograph in Peters office, yet her voice on the loudspeaker was familiar to everyone.

I saw your paper this morning, Pete! Its useless! The mammoth story is passé, you understand? I saw a clerk toss it into a bin, and a vagrant

She continued unabashedly, sprinkling vivid colour on her critique, while the unwitting clerk faded into the shadows of the vestibule.

What’s the verdict? asked a colleague.

Its a disaster. Your mammoths didnt impress the aunt, Oliva! the reporter sneered. But my porcelain exhibition melted the heart of that crocodile lady!

A slap on the cheek followed the reporters snide comment, then Peters thunderous roar demanded everyone into the conference room.

Olivia never appeared in the newsroom herself, yet her spirit seemed to linger in every corner.

Who does she think she is, criticising our Peter? the canteen staff complained, already aware of the formidable spouse. Poor manhell gobble pastries, sip tea, and shell already be on the line, interrogating everything! Good grief!

Megan, a stout woman with a decisive stride, pushed through the tram doors, shoving a group of smartphoneglued youths aside, and seated herself beside Peter.

Excuse us, Peter stammered, clutching his briefcase on his knees. Were were sorry.

Like a schoolboy! Sally thought, amazed to witness the famed Megan in person. The girls would be jealous.

Stop babbling! Hand over your bag! Olivia snapped, snapping the briefcase shut with a click. Where are the keys? Peter, where are the keys? Are you going to hide under the door while I stroll with Simmy through the mall? Youve lost your mind!

Sally and the watchbearing lad watched as Peters face flushed with either shame or embarrassment.

Lily, calm down. No need to shout. Youll be fine. Ill pop over to Mothers, he muttered.

What mother? We visit her every third Saturday. Isnt today the third Saturday? Olivia asked sternly.

Its Wednesday, Nicholas, a colleague, supplied.

And you, young man, are never asked! Olivia barked.

Colin sighed, shrugged, and leaned close to Sallys ear.

Funny, isnt it? he whispered. I still dont know your name

The tram rattled. Colin nudged Sallys cheek with his bare, stubbly one.

What on earth? Alexandra gasped.

My apologies, the storm raged as some have noted Colin grimaced at Olivia. And forgive the stubbleIve been on duty two days straight, no time to shave.

Sally noted his tired, greygreen hue.

You should get some sleep, she said kindly.

Its not the word! Im off to a friends, must walk the dog, then home for a nightcap. Thank you for the concern, Colin replied with a grin.

Olivia, meanwhile, shuffled a pile of papers, rattling them like a witch in an old tale.

Peter, remember this list: drycleaning, the address of my masseurdont need that, put it in your coat pocket. This is the order for my sisters nieces. Were visiting them Sunday, remember? Peter nodded. All right, moving on

She kept riffling through the slips, and Peter, still nodding, met Sallys eyeseyes that held a plea to keep this embarrassing scene secret.

Thus there was a private secret between them.

Why did Peter endure such tyranny, such control? He had, in a way, been made by her. She had spotted his talent at university, married him, then, via her father, uncle, and contacts, nudged him up the ladder.

Olivia never actually worked a day; she was perpetually busy with phone calls, meetings in cafés, and watching over her familys affairs.

It was she who, seven years earlier, phoned a certain Fiona who then pushed Peter into the editors chair. Fiona, a powerful figure in the newspaper world, had long adored the energetic Olivia and used the connection to her advantage.

Fiona, you must arrange this! Peters no longer a boy; hes taking charge. Find him a position, will you? Ill treat you to dinnerjust kidding, Olivia laughed coquettishly.

Fiona called the Clean Sheet office, where the retiring editorinchief had just stepped down. Her secretary tapped out a promotion order.

Olivia was satisfied. She didnt actually go to the restaurant, citing a migraine, but Fiona still held out hope for another meeting.

Peter finally became editorinchief.

He entered his newly paneled oak office on his first day, bewildered.

Olivia, I cant! I cant run this machine! Its beyond me! he whispered, then fell silent as tea and scones arrived from the staff kitchen.

Olivia surveyed the waitress, gave Peter a pat on the shoulder, and said, Dont worry, Pete. Not all of us are born with golden ladles. Well manage.

She was the graycardinal behind the scenes. Peter, whenever he could, called her for advice on which stories to run, not because he didnt know, but out of respect for his wife. She suffered from chronic stomach ailments, often in hospital, yet between bouts she ran the little empire of Clean Sheet.

The mammoth article, pushed by a reporter named Grey, had been swapped for a piece on daylight bulbsan article Peter found dull, according to Olivia.

Mammoths will sell! Trust me! Grey danced in the editors office. Everyone loves ancient beasts and the power of the ice age!

Peter called Olivia five times to confirm the story, but she never answered, busy strolling through the department store.

The mammoth piece hit the front page, pricking Olivias ego like ivory tusks. She was not pleased.

At Olivias request, the system administrator gave her access to staff attendance logs. She, fuming, berated Peter for a colleagues minuteandfortysevensecond lateness.

It was just a situation, were all human! Peter tried to explain.

Ah, so youll leave, Peter? If you protect them, you treat me like a fool, Olivia shrieked, slamming the phone.

Peter, nerves frayed, fled to the staffroom, devoured forbidden pies, gulped tea without sugar, then summoned the offenders for explanations. He read each excuse to Olivia, sugarcoating, reshaping, then sighed with her, who finally relented and spared any firings.

He might have walked away, divorced, but he never learned to live on his own. Olivia decided everything: what to wear, what to eat, how to work. Peter existed under her shadow, yet he loved her dearly. He had sworn, and now he kept that vow.

One day Olivia, eyes bright, spotted Sallythe girl who snatched the bonusand asked, Wheres that journalist, the one who earned the prize?

Sally, startled, lifted her eyebrows, then scowled.

Where? Olivia, youve got it wrong! Sallys long been dreaming of work! Peter shook his head. Olivia, I must go. Hand over the briefcase, please.

Olivia scrambled for the scattered papers; Colin pushed Sally toward the doors. She thanked him.

What a woman! What a bulldozer! Nicholas remarked halfadmiring, halfsarcastic, as he offered Sally a hand, helped her out of the tram, then lifted the pale Peter onto the pavement, waved a farewell at Olivia, and blew her a kiss.

She fingerpointed a stern warning, turned away.

On my way, the young man said, heading toward the highrise on the right.

And Im headed that way, Sally shrugged, pointing to the lefthand alley.

Peter shuffled nearby, unsure whether to say goodbye or simply drift away.

Farewell! Colin grinned at both. What a woman what a bulldozer he repeated before departing.

Dont hold a grudge, Sally. Let what you saw stay between us, alright? No judging, no mockery. We all do the best we can, Peter murmured behind her. Without Olivia Id be nothing

Sally wanted to tell him it was the oppositethat hed be a nothing without herbut the sad, pleading look stopped her.

Im a grave, Peter, she whispered. Lets go. May I slip in ahead of you, or perhaps use the back door? Whatever is best.

Go calmly, Ill tell Lottie, shell adjust your time. A favour for a favour. We always take taxis, but my driver fell ill, so were on the tram. What happened to you? Peter asked kindly, taking Sallys elbow and leading her forward.

She recounted the power outage, the soaked jacket, the cat, the puddle beneath the fridge.

Peter listened, smiling. He missed the lively, unguarded chatter, the youthful laughter and cats.

In his childhood home, cats roamed freely, but Olivia could not stand them and forbade their presence.

Dont scold Innocent, Peter sighed. He acted out of desperation, poor thing

Whos scolding him? Hes our dear cat. We dont touch him with a finger. Theres another story, too

Sally kept talking, Peters shoulders relaxed, his face flushed, and a sudden urge to burst out laughing seized him.

He bought them both a coffee and a scone.

Just then his wife called, asking what he was doing in a coffee shop, having received a message about his frivolous expenses.

He hung up, hid his phone in his coat pocket.

Right then. You go ahead, Ill follow, Peter said. Have a good day!

He wandered the streets, arriving at work only by lunch. He never divorced, never changed, never truly breathed anew; fatigue simply forced a pause.

That evening, when Olivia, exhausted and scented with a blend of every perfume, returned home, she felt how much shed missed him. She loved him, sinfully, simply, like a cat.

Sally, after turning out a couple of sensational pieces on Mayan mysteries, left the newsroom late night, utterly drainedsuch is the fate of creative souls, or of those who have not slept.

Sarah! Im waiting for you Nicholas emerged from the shadows. I didnt know your favourite flowers, so I bought these

He handed her a bright, mismatched bouquet, which Sally dubbed a hodgepodge.

She smiled, accepting the flowers.

May I escort you? I may seem forward, but after that tram kiss I feel I have a right he teased.

Alexandra frowned, ready to discard the bouquet, then decided to keep both the flowers and the man.

They strolled down the evening street, laughing, admiring shop windows alight with coloured bulbs, grateful that life lay ahead and perhaps their love would be something special, unlike Peter Miless.

Indeed, hes a fine fellow, your chief! Nicholas said confidently. You know the saying: a man is made by his woman. Without her, he might never have stood up.

Sally shrugged. To each his own

He loves cats, she added softly.

A good sign, Nicholas agreed. May he stay healthy.

They hurried to the tram, laughing simply because everything was alright.