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Bobbi's Story 6 One, Two, Three, Kick!
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
time. Calling Paul might be a good idea too. He now worked for
a very large company in Manhattan on Park Avenue, and he might
have something for me. The only trouble was that I might have to go
back to being his part-time mistress to get it. That was not really so
bad, but I would have liked to get away from using sex to get what
I wanted. "Maybe he would not want that anymore," I thought,
knowing full well that I was kidding myself.
"Thanks," I said to Edith. "I'll do it. I shouldn't be late coming
home tonight, but I may have a rehearsal for the G.G.Girls tomorrow.
We should have a show to do on Saturday night at the club." A sly
grin crossed Edith's face, and she said, "If you do, can I come to
the show? I've never seen you dance on stage, and I think I'd like
to." This took me by surprise. I just could not imagine proper Edith
sitting in the audience with all the campy drag queens, but I knew
if she asked like this, her mind was made up to do it. "Sure," I said.
"I'll even get you a table down front." Edith got up to leave for work.
"That would be nice," she said.
Edith left for work, and I went to my room, leaving Sarah in the
kitchen to finish her coffee. It was quite normal for us to do that.
Sarah was a very independent lady. I am sure that came of the years
of struggle in her homeland of Estonia, and the restless wandering
across half of the world that she and Edith had done for the last
thirty years or so. I never knew all that much about Sarah in Estonia
before Edith was born. I knew that she came from an upper class
family, and had been well educated at a famous European university.
I knew that she was married to an officer in the Russian army under
the Czar, and that her family had not approved of the marriage, but
I was not clear, at that time, as to if this had been Edith's father.
Sarah was, and always has been, a mystery to me. I only wish I had
taken the time to learn more while I was with her.
It only took me a little while to change from my robe and nightie
into something suitable for job hunting. My dark blue dress with the
high neckline and three-quarter sleeves seemed best for this purpose.
This might have been the era of the mini-skirt, but there were better
ways to dress for a job interview. I like showing off my body, but I
did not want to appear as some little chippie who would spend most
of her time by the water cooler flirting with the office-boy. The dress
had a skirt that fell to just the top of my knees. That would show
enough to get the personnel manager interested, but not enough to
get him to make a pass at me.
The dress had a little trim of white lace at the neckline and cuffs,
and a white leather belt, so white leather pumps with three inch
heels were the order of the day along with a white leather handbag.
Red lipstick was my favorite, but I did not want to come on that
strong. A dark shade of pink did the job nicely, and did went fine
with the clear nail polish that I had used to do my nails on Sunday.
It was still only eight-thirty in the morning when I emerged from my
room for my day of job hunting.
"That's for you from Edith," said Sarah pointing to something
on the kitchen table. "She said Thomas get it for you." On the
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table was a copy of today's New York Times. Edith had apparently
sent Thomas, the doorman, to get it, and bring it up here while I
was dressing. At least she had not told him to open it to the "help
wanted" ads, but the message was still clear. Edith was pushing, but
she had good reason to push. It was what I needed, and she knew
it. I had always needed some sort of push to get me to do anything.
I did not know why that was. Maybe if I had been different, things
would have gone in another direction. There is no way of knowing.
I do know, however, that no matter how much it annoyed me at
times, Edith was there to give me the motherly push I needed, and
no matter how much it annoyed me at times, I was always grateful
afterwards that she had been there to do it. Now was no exception.
The "help wanted" ads that I felt I could confidently answer were
few. Most of what was in the newspaper specified that experience at
the job was necessary. Those are the most daunting words that any
job hunter can see. That is especially true for someone like me who
was looking for their "first" job. How does one get experience if no
one will hire you in the first place? That is actually a rationalization,
for there are many entry level jobs available, but they are not always
advertised in the newspaper. They are found through schools, per-
sonal referrals, and word of mouth. My problem was that I did not
seem to have any access to those sources. The newspaper was my
only doorway into the job market.
I did manage to find five ads that appeared as if I might fit the
jobs they described. Three were from stores looking for salesgirls,
and two were office jobs. All were in mid-town Manhattan either in
the Times Square or the Rockefeller Center areas, so I could get to
all the other things in my life easily if I got one of them. I cut the
ads out of the newspaper, and tucked them into my purse. It was
time to head into The City, and get started.
It was not about ten minutes after nine, so I thought I might
take the chance of trying to phone Paul to see if he could help.
Edith had given me the name of the large chemical company on
Park Avenue that he now worked for, so I called information to
get the number. A few minutes later I was asking the switchboard
operator at the chemical company for his extension. A female voice
then said, "Hello?" "Yes," I replied, "is Paul there?" Her voice was
very businesslike as she said, "No, I'm sorry, but Paul won't be in
until Wednesday. May I take a message?" I gave her my name and
number, saying that I wanted to apply for a job, and she said Paul
would get back to me. I thanked her, and hung up. I would have to
wait a few days to see if Paul could, or even would help me.
"You going out now?," asked Sarah when she saw me putting on
my coat. "Yes," I replied. "I'm going out to start looking for a job.
I won't be too late tonight, so I should see you at dinner later. Wish
me good luck!" Sarah shook her head. "I pray for you instead," she
said. "It's better than luck." Sarah was a grandmother clear to the
bone. I finished adjusting my coat, primped my hair one last time,
and headed out the door. "Bye, grandma," I called as I left. "Have
a good day, grandchild," she replied as the door closed.
_Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________163___
It was only a few blocks to the subway station, so I walked there
quickly. This part of Queens was a nice sort of neighborhood for
New York City. It was a bit like the towns in Hudson County, New
Jersey that I had grown up in. That was not at all surprising. Hud-
son County is on the west bank of the Hudson River across from
Manhattan, and the Boro of Queens is on the east bank of the East
River across from Manhattan. The two places flank the downtown
areas of Manhattan Island like a pair of bookends. It only follows
that they should be alike in many respects. It was, however, very
different from living in mid-town Manhattan the way I had when I
shared the apartment with Margo. I liked living here in Queens a lot
better.
The subway was not crowded when I got there, but it was well
after the rush-hour, and our stop was almost at the end of the line.
I too a seat, and was enveloped in the never ending roar that filled
every tunnel, station, and car of the New York City Subway System
as the train jerked into motion, and plunged through the thick, grimy
blackness of the vein-like network of tunnels that stretched like the
web of a demented spider, beneath the streets of The City and its
Boros, unifying the polyglot of neighborhoods that make it up, into
one, at least semicoherent, municipal entity. I received a few passing
glances from my fellow riders as we went along, but those were merely
a lustful look or two, or an attempt to determine if I posed a threat
of some sort or not. It was all quite normal for a subway ride.
Before long, I found myself out of the subway, and working
through the throng and push of the mid-town Manhattan crowds
on my way to the first job opportunity of the five I had chosen. That
was an office job as a file clerk and typist for a music publisher in
the Brill Building on Broadway at 51st Street. I told the receptionist
why I had come, and she just handed me a job application, telling
me to fill it out. About twenty minutes after I had finished, I was
escorted to see the Office Manager. The interview did not take long
at all. There was just something in the way he handled it that told
me they were looking for someone with more office skills and experi-
ence than I had. The Office Manager's eyes, however, did not leave
my legs for the whole time I was there. He might not have been
interested in my office skills, but there were other skills that I was
adept at that he was very much interested in. At the end of the
interview, he gave me the standard lie about having other applicants
to see before he made a final decision. I thanked him, and left. Job
hunting is just not fun.
My second stop was a large stationary store on one of the side
streets between Times Square and Rockefeller Center. It took me
fifteen minutes to find someone who was not too busy to tell me
where I could find the store manager. Then it was still another
fifteen minutes to find him. When I finally got to talk to him, all he
said was, "Sorry, but the job is taken," and abruptly went back to
his work. That was two down, and three to go.
The other office job was in one of the Rockefeller Center build-
ings as a clerk/typist for a large, western railroad in their east coast,
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freight traffic office. Again I filled out an application with the re-
ceptionist, and she gave me a typing test. Then she told me that
the Chief Clerk, who would have to interview me, was on a sudden
business trip to the main office in Omaha that week, and that he
would call any applicants that he wanted to see next week. I left to
try the next place on my list.
Just outside of the Rockefeller Center area, on a side street off of
5th Avenue, was the next stop of the five I had picked. The classified
advertisement had said that it was a fashionable ladieswear shop, and
it looked like it might have been fashionable in the depression, but
not since. A look through the windows told me that the store's very
existence depended more on the inertia of the owner in not disturbing
his state of rest long enough to put up a "Closed" sign, than from
any influx of customers. The fixtures were old and out of date, and
the display was unimaginative. The owner, or at least an old man
who looked like he was, sat in a chair by the cash register while a
woman of about his age pretended to be busy by fiddling with the
stock. I did not bother to go in. I needed a job, but not here. I was
not that desperate yet.
The last place on my list was a boutique for a world famous design
label in a store on 5th Avenue near 55th Street. This was more to
my taste than any of the others. It was clean, elegant, and very up-
market. If I got any job today, this was the one I wanted it to be. A
salesman showed me the way to the manager's office, and I filled out
another application. The manager and I talked for a while in a sort
of interview until at last he said, "Well, Bobbi, we were hoping for
someone with some experience, but we might do a trainee... if she
had the right... qualifications." His eyes wandered from my legs to
my chest all the time he talked, and fixed on my breasts as he said
"qualifications" with a wry smile. If that was the way to get a job,
I would give it a try. I leaned over toward him, so he could see a
little further down the front of my dress, and said, "You know all the
qualifications I have now. I can perform an the job too." He nodded.
"We make a decision by Friday," he said. "I'll call you then." I stood
to leave, and said, "I hope so. I'd really like working under you."
Then I turned quickly, and left. I know he was watching the jiggle
of my backside as I walked away.
That was the end of my list for today. I started walking back down
5th Avenue with no particular purpose in mind. My wristwatch said
it was about three o'clock. I only had to be home when Edith got
there around five-forty-five, so there was lots of time to kill. I liked
windowshopping on 5th Avenue, so that is what I did. I just killed
an hour or so walking down the street, and drifting in and out of the
stores. I got lots of admiring glances from the men as I walked, and
I liked that. About twenty minutes after four, I found myself on the
west side of 5th Avenue, between 37th and 38th Streets. I was in
front of the department store where Edith worked, and from which
I had recently been fired. On a whim, I walked in. I would meet
Edith, and go home with her.
It seemed strange to be in the store again. It all looked so familiar,
_Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________165___
and yet there was something very different about it. I knew every
department and stockroom in the building because I had been in each
of them at one time or another during the time I had been there, but
then, I had never been there in a dress before. The last time I was
in the store, I had been just one of the lowly stockboys who hauled
things from stockroom to selling floor and back again. Little notice
was ever taken of us except in the breech when we got in the way, or
neglected something. Now I was a potential female customer to be
waited on, and sold to.
There was nothing moralistic in the distinction between stockboy
and female customer. Neither role was more or less right to play when
set against the overall system of right and wrong in our society. They
were just very different, and it was interesting for me to compare
those differences. Few of us ever get to see two sides of a situation
on a first person basis the way I now could. More than anything else,
I counted myself quite fortunate at that moment.
I was a little concerned that Edith would leave before she knew I
was there. Then I saw one of the floor-walkers leaning on his desk. I
recognized him as one who had worked on the same floor as I had for
a little while. He had never liked me, seeing me as just a "queer," and
quite below his own social standing. Feeling very brazen, I walked
over to him, and asked if he would help me. His eyes got big, and I
thought for a moment he had recognized me too, but the drift of his
eyes from my chest to my ankles along with the expression of lust
that glinted in them, told me that his mind was on things other than
the little "faggot" stockboy who had bothered him so much.
He was both professionally and personally eager to do all he could
for me, so I asked if he would phone Edith in her office, and tell her
that her "daughter" would meet her at the employee's entrance on
her way out. "Her daughter?," he said. "I didn't know Edith had a
daughter, and such a lovely one at that." I smiled sweetly, and said,
"Well... I'm not actually her 'daughter.' I'm a very close friend,
and she sometimes calls me that. My name is Bobbi." The stars
were growing in his eyes, no matter how ironical that was. "That's a
pretty name," he said. "Could I show you anything after I call Edith
for you?" With a toss of my head, I replied, "No... Not this time
anyway. I'll be back when I have more time to spend letting you show
me around." He started dialing the phone, and said, "I hope so. I'm
sure I have some things you might like." I walked away wondering if
he would ever know the truth of what just happened. Seeing things
from both sides was certainly an enlightening experience.
I walked almost aimlessly through the store for a while, and
stopped at a few counters to look over merchandise that I already
knew well. Now I could look at it as something to buy, and not just
another load of stock to be moved. I even bought a couple of scarfs
that I particularly liked.
My walking took me to the floor where the children's departments
were, and past the children's shoes department at the end of the floor
by the elevators where I used to work. Just to have a longer look
there, I picked up a knit slipper from a display as if to admire it. Mrs.
166____Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________
Adams, always quick to grab a sale, appeared as if from nowhere, and
said, "May I help you?" With a mildly disdainful look, I said, "No, I
don't think so. These vile things would never do for my niece. The
material is just too coarse for her tender skin," and walked away with
a flip of my hips that got a few stares from two salesmen in the boy's
clothing department across the aisle.
I could hear the little bang of Mrs. Adams' sales-book being
thrown on a counter as I walked away. That was her signal that a
customer had annoyed her in some way. It sounded like music to
me. I knew that what I had said would bother her. She loved those
ridiculous knit slippers for some reason, and Mr. Conlin, the buyer,
had given her buying responsibility for them. I think they were called
Mukluks, or something like that, but they were absolutely awful.
They were the sort of thing that were given on Christmas by maiden
aunts to children whom they saw only once a year. While they were
auntie's dream gift, they were a kid's, any kid's, nightmare. I had
a picture in my mind of Mrs. Adams' family on Christmas. All
were wearing last year's batch of Mukluks while eagerly awaiting her
arrival with a new shipment wrapped in paper covered with syrupy
sweet Christmas images of Mickey Mouse perched on Santa's sleigh.
I always thought about that whenever I needed to throw up.
It was just about closing time for the store, so I made my way
down to the first floor again. I went out through the front door on 5th
Avenue turning left to 38th Street where the employee's entrance was.
The usual tiny crowd of departing employees and people meeting
them was gathering around this side door to the building, and I
joined them to wait for Edith to come out. It would only be a few
minutes.
I waved to her as Edith emerged from the door, and she came
straight over to me. "Bobbi," she said in a tone that could have
been either surprise or mild annoyance, "what are you doing here? I
thought you were looking for a job?" "I was," I replied. "I've been
to five places that I found in the paper today. It started getting
late, and I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd see if you'd
like to ride home together." Edith looked more at ease after I said
that. "What a nice idea," she said pleasantly, and we walked to 5th
Avenue. "Let's take a cab," she added.
The taxi, with us in its rear seat, was soon ensnared in the evening
version of the twice daily snarl of traffic that gripped mid-town Man-
hattan and the roads leading out from it as millions of people tried
to travel between where they worked and where they lived. The sub-
way probably would have been a bit faster and a lot cheaper than
the cab, but this was more comfortable even if we did have to sit in
traffic for a while. It would be nice to be able to commute this way
every day, but it was good as a treat too. We just sat back, and
enjoyed the ride.
"How was work today?," I asked to make conversation. "Oh, it
was kind of ordinary," Edith answered. "Most of it was quiet, except
for Mrs. Adams. She had some bee in her bonnet about her son-
in-law when she came in, and had the sales people going all day.
_Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________167___
You know how she gets. She didn't start to get calmed down until
well after lunch, and then, just before closing, some customer said
something that set her off again." I gave a sly smile.
"What did the customer say?," I asked. "I don't know," Edith
replied, "but Alicia said it was something about her blessed slipper
display." I was laughing now. "That was me," I said. "YOU!," Edith
exclaimed. "Yes," I replied through my laughter. "I told her that
her Mukluks were vile and coarse things that irritated the skin, and
made the person wearing them look foolish. I thought that would
get her." Edith was shaking her head, and laughing a little too. "It
did, and I'm betting she takes it out on her son-in-law tonight. You
took a big chance of being recognized, you know. Alicia said that she
couldn't place her, but the customer looked familiar from somewhere.
She might have given you away." I cocked my head to one side, and
said, "Maybe... but she didn't!" We both laughed.
"How did the job hunting go?," Edith asked. "Not bad for a first
day," I answered. "I went to five places, and two of those said they
might call me back for a second interview. The others were the pits
anyway, but I really didn't like any of them. I'll check the paper
again tomorrow." Edith shook her head, and said, "The ads won't
be any different. Tomorrow you just go to all the big offices, and put
in an application. They are always turning over people, so they will
call you sometime, and they don't always advertise unless they need
some special talents." She was right as usual. I was lucky to have a
"mother' who was so smart.
The skyscrapers of The City soon dropped behind us, and we
drew closer to home. "Did you call Paul?," asked Edith. "I tried," I
answered with a sigh. "He wasn't in his office, but I left a message,
and his secretary said she would ask him to call. I don't know about
him, though." Edith looked puzzled. "Why? He seemed like a nice
enough guy to me," she said. "Yes," I replied, "but... Look, mom,
please don't tell this to anyone, but Paul keeps trying to seduce me.
He is not really Gay, but he isn't Straight either. He had me in his
office at the store, and if I ask him for a job, he might want more as
a sort of payment of some kind. I like sex well enough, but I'm not
sure I want to get that involved with him again."
I was expecting Edith to be shocked, but there was only a moth-
erly smile on her face. "I didn't know it had gone that far," she said,
"but that's all right. You can talk to me about things like that, you
know. I know about it. I'm not a virgin myself, and we are friends.
Friends don't judge friends, so I wouldn't criticize you." Edith turned
on the seat to face me. and said, "Look, Bobbi, women have to do a
lot of things to get what they want. Even with all this Women's Lib
talk that's going around now, men still control things. The secret
is to learn how to control men. What a man might want from you
as a woman doesn't have to be what he gets from you. Give him
only what you can give him, but if you just don't say that you're not
giving him the rest, he will still keep coming back for more. Do you
understand what I mean?"
I did understand. I understood more about myself, more about
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Edith, and more about being a woman. Edith was always just a little
bit wiser than I would at first give her credit for at any moment. She
gave the impression of being a sweet, middle-aged lady, but inside
beat the fiery heart of a philosopher. I liked being around her.
== * ==
The smell of coffee wafting into my room finished the job that
my alarm clock had started a few minutes earlier. I really did not
want to get up, but I still had some job hunting to do. Had it been
up to me, I would have taken today to just be lazy, but Edith would
not have let me do that. She had told me that I needed to find a job
soon, so I had to work at it. My "mom" was sweet and gentle in a
lot of ways, but she could be a stern task-mistress when she wanted
to be. This was one of those times she wanted to be.
I dragged myself out of bed, and put a robe over the skimpy, baby-
doll nightie that I had slept in. I did not have to dress for breakfast,
and I was going to go back to bed for a little while after Edith left
anyway. The only job hunting I was going to do today was putting
in applications at some of the larger companies in Manhattan. I also
had a rehearsal for the G.G.Girls chorus line this evening, so I would
not leave until just after lunch, go to two or three offices in mid-town
to put in applications, and then directly to "The Gilded Grape" for
the rehearsal. I ran my fingers through my hair to straighten it
enough for breakfast, and headed for the kitchen.
Sarah was in the kitchen, and poured me a cup of coffee when
I arrived. "Drink," she said. "You will feel more of awake. You
are not getting dressed? You are not going into The City today?" I
took a sip of coffee, and said, "Later, grandma. I'm going in later
to look for a job, and I've got a dance rehearsal tonight, so I'll be
a little late." Sarah nodded, and poured a third cup of coffee. I
turned to see Edith coming in for her breakfast. "Try not to be too
late at rehearsal, dear," she said. "You may have to get up early
again tomorrow. Job hunting is not something you should let up on
if you're serious about it. It's good to do some every day until you
find one. It's the only way." Edith would not say anything that was
directly critical of me, so that was her way of reminding me that I
had to keep on looking for a job. She obviously thought I should be
out doing that this morning, and was mildly displeased that I was
waiting until after lunch. She was probably right, but I just wanted
to stay home this morning. Something inside said it was right to do
it.
Edith left for work, and I headed back to my bedroom. I do not
think I actually slept, but I lay there for a couple of hours in a sort of
daze, thinking about everything and nothing, and dozing on and off.
Around ten-thirty I heard the telephone ring, and a moment later
Sarah at the door to my room, saying, "Bobbi, a man is wanting to
talk on the phone. He say his name is Paul."
In a flash I was up, and pulling my robe on again. I had not
expected to hear from Paul until tomorrow. A minute later I had
the telephone in my hand, and said, "Hello?," into the receiver as
sweetly as I could. "Hi, cutie," Paul's voice replied, "what's up? I
_Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________169___
didn't expect you to, err... call me. What can I do to, err... for
you?" I caught his joke, but passed it off. We caught up on a little
news first, and then I asked him, "Paul, I need to ask you something.
I need a job. You helped me once already with the modeling job, but
I need something almost full-time to fill in. Can you give me some
ideas of what to do?"
"A job, eh?," he said. "As a woman?" I told him that it would
have to be, so I could do my Real Life Test properly. "Hmmm...,"
he said. "There might be something. Can you, err... come to my
office today? I don't know yet, but I, err... might be able to help if
you look and act as much, err... like a real woman as you did the
last time I saw you. We started working, err... well together, if you
recall our, err... arrangement. Maybe there is something I can do.
Can you, err... type?"
I remembered our "arrangement" all too well. Paul was not bad
as a lover, but that just was not the sort of thing I wanted to do
just to get and hold a job. I did, however, need a job. I needed it to
live, but I also needed a job as a woman. It would not be easy to get
one with no references from other jobs as a woman. Even if I had to
put up with Paul's sexual advances to get a job, it might be worth it
just to get things started. That way I would have a reference for any
other job I might move to. The other five places I had gone to did
not seem all that promising. If Paul could get me a job, then that
would be a start.
"I can type about twenty words a minute, but I haven't had much
practice lately," I answered. "That's, err... fine," he said flatly. "You
come to my office, err... about two o'clock, and we'll, err... see what
we can do. Wear, err... something pretty. A lot of people might be,
err... seeing you." We exchanged a few more pleasantries, and hung
up.
I sat in the chair by the telephone for a few minutes to think.
It was obvious that Paul had a job for me in mind already. It was
also obvious that he expected a few sexual favors in return for it. At
least he would not, and could not come here with Edith and Sarah
around. He would probably want me in his office, though. I went to
dress in something pretty for him. It was time to go to work.
The subway was noisy as usual, but it was getting me where I
needed to be. The dark blue dress I wore got quite a few looks from
my fellow riders even if it was mostly covered by my coat. I guess
the short skirt the dress had could account for some of that. It was
getting into the late fall, and the skirt was perhaps a little shorter
than I would be wearing as the weather turned progressively colder,
but it was just fun to wear it. The hem came to a tiny bit more
than an inch above my knee. I have good legs, and I do not mind
showing them off. A number of the men in the subway car were very
appreciative of that.
The building on Park Avenue that was owned by the company
Paul worked for was only a few blocks from the Lexington Avenue
Line subway station so it took little time for me to walk there. It
was a large chemical company, and their building had won some
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architectual awards when it was built. Park Avenue was also a good
neighborhood to work in. It was very high class, and close enough
to all the places I had to go for dance class and modeling. I sort of
hoped I would be working here even with my "arrangement" with
Paul. It would fit in with the rest of my life nicely.
"May I help you?," said the Personnel Department's receptionist
when I approached her desk. I set the Kelly green canvas bag that
held my dancing clothes for the G.G.Girls rehearsal later that evening
on the table in the reception area, and told her that I was here to see
Paul. She picked up a telephone, spoke for a moment, and then said
as she hung up, "He says for you to fill out one of our applications
here, and then I'll take you back." She handed me a clipboard with
an application form on it, and I sat to fill it out. I thought this could
be a good sign. If Paul was having me fill out an application, then he
might have a job for me here. It was either that or a ruse to throw
the receptionist off the real reason he wanted to get me into his office
alone. I would find out the answer very soon.
After I had finished the application, I handed it back to the re-
ceptionist. "You just got to take a typing test before we go back,"
she said with the music of Brooklyn echoing in her voice. She di-
rected me to a desk on one side of the reception area. The desk had
an electric typewriter on it, and I got things ready for the test. She
handed me the text I was supposed to type, and I worked the keys
feverishly for five minutes. She took what I had typed, put it with
my application, and said, "Now we can go back to see Paul. Follow
me." I retrieved my canvas bag and coat, and walked after her down
a short hall to Paul's office. The door was open, and she walked
straight in, handing my form to Paul. I stepped in too, and she left,
closing the door behind her.
"Hi, cutie!," Paul said excitedly after the door had closed. He
walked over, and kissed me in greeting. I kissed back. I did like him
as a friend anyway. "You look great!," he said. "Sit down. Sit down.
Relax. We've got, err... lots of time to talk. You sort of surprised
me by, err... calling. I thought I wasn't going to hear from those
SIZE LIMIT (48K) EXCEEDED!!!
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