The Secretary

I was dreaming about playing with an orange ball in a pool. I kept pushing it under to keep it from coming back up. Despite my efforts, it kept rising to the surface. At first I used my hands but my arms got tired. Then I tried sitting on it but it threw me off balance. No matter how hard I tried, that little orange ball always found a way to explode into the air.

A raspy cry stirred me from my dream. I didn’t know whether it was real or a phantom cry. A side effect of life with a baby.

I felt Hannah lift her head off the pillow. That’s when I knew it was real. That our little fleshy alarm clock—our baby girl, Elliot—awoke us at five am.

As I lingered in bed pretending to still be sleeping, Hannah flung the covers off and stomped her way to Ellie’s room. I couldn’t tell if the thump I felt was my heart beating or her feet colliding with the floor.

The laptop was conveniently sitting on my wife’s nightstand. A Jack Bickham book rested on top of it. I took the opportunity, swiping away the book, to open the laptop. A pale blue light cast itself over the room. As I navigated the private web browser, flickers of light burst from the laptop as if a thunderstorm raged around me.

The further I got into it, the faster my heart raced. My fingers gently worked the keyboard as my mind and eyes engaged with the screen. A part of me kept listening for Hannah’s pounding steps. Every creak expelled by the house—as old houses do at night—made me pause.

Hearing the faint jostle of a doorknob, I quietly closed the laptop and placed it back on the nightstand. I rolled over, trying to dampen my breathing that lumbered like Hannah’s footsteps, as if I went for a night stroll, and retreated to pretending to be asleep just as Hannah stumbled in.

Later that morning—when sane people start their morning—I drifted through our normal morning routine. We ate oatmeal for breakfast—again.

I stared at my rack of clothes trying to decide which white shirt to wear today. My attention shifted to the hanger draped with several ties, collecting dust. My first day on the job as an accountant, was the day they decided to loosen the dress code, meaning, a tie was no longer part of the uniform.

A thought about the secretary crossed my mind. It materialized out of the abyss like a time traveler.

I looked away to the laptop for a moment. It sat innocently on the night stand, where I left it from the night before, begging for me to use it.

I brushed my fingertips across the slick metallic surface.

Hannah shouted, “bye,” from the front door in her usually perky tone—I say sarcastically. One of the few words we spoke to each other that morning.

I peeked around the door frame just in time to see her walk out of the front door, returning her “bye,” when the door’s bolt struck home.

I noticed Ellie on the floor entertaining herself with magnetic toys and returned to picking out my clothes.

The custom tailored shirts were a gift from Hannah for passing the CPA exam a little over a year ago. It took every bit of a year to pass all four exams. I don’t miss the late nights and weekends devoted to studying. The sacrifices like my relationship with Hannah and anything fun. I would have dragged out the exams longer but Hannah was pregnant by the time I passed the second one.

Thinking about taking the exams again made me shiver.

My eyes found the laptop again. Its emblem gleaming in the morning light. I wondered if I had time.

I leaned around the door frame again and saw Ellie still fascinated with the primary colored magnet blocks.

I looked past the watch on my arm to the phone in my hand. It was eight fifteen. I had a few minutes before daycare drop off.

Tossing a throw pillow off the bed, I grabbed the laptop and sat down, using the headboard as a chair back.

Instead of Hannah’s footsteps, I listened for Ellie’s crawling hand smack. All I heard was the clacking of magnets.

My face logged me in without making a keystroke—before long, we probably won’t have to use keyboards at all. I opened a private browser and returned to the site. Looking it over, just like last night, brought me a buzz. No need for coffee this morning.

I was jolted out of my tunnel vision by my phone’s eight thirty alarm. Shit, I panicked, late for daycare.

With Ellie dropped off at daycare, I headed to work—back home. We were living the American dream. A mortgage seemingly inspired by McDonald’s—super sized—and limited space, making a bedroom double as an office—wake up, work, sleep, repeat.

I went straight to the desk and fired up the work station—a computer with three monitors. I hovered the mouse icon over Outlook but couldn’t command my finger to click it. Coffee first, I thought.

As I waited for the coffee to finish brewing, I checked my phone. A predictable message from Hannah read, “how was drop?”

I’m sure she thought the same thing—predictable—when I responded with, “it was good.”

I finally sat back down at the work station with the freshly brewed coffee in hand. This time I launched Outlook without thinking. The bold mail icon showed thirty-nine unread messages—great.

I never know when it will hit me, the feeling, the urge, whatever you want to call it. This morning was no different. When it did hit me, I couldn’t think of anything else. It consumed me.

The laptop sat open on the bed, calling for me to come use it. I could see myself, the work station, and scattered papers—I, the accountant, what a cliche—reflected on the black screen. It would have to be quick, I told myself.

With the laptop in hand, I picked up where I left off from earlier.

Just as I was getting going, a jingle rang out from my workstation. A coworker was calling me for our nine o’clock morning meeting.

Shit, my meeting with Geoff, I thought, but I can’t jump on a meeting like this. I would have to call them back. I need to finish before the feeling escapes me.

I wanted to continue, but couldn’t, so I powered down the laptop. Instead of putting it back on the nightstand, I gazed into the black screen seeing only a dark version of myself. Again the thought crept into my mind, why do I do this to myself? I’ve worked so hard to get where I am. I…we’ve sacrificed so much. Now I’m wasting our time.

Geoff—a poster child for the 1970s—was calling again. I walked to the work station, put on my head phones, and answered the call.

The rest of the day dragged on as I completed one job after another. From time to time, I found myself pulled away, staring at the laptop. It may have been out of reach, but it was always on my mind.

Later, I told myself. Hannah is meeting a friend for dinner. I will have time later.

With the workday over, everybody was back home. Hannah had our bed covered in three or four outfits as she was getting ready for her night out. Ellie entertained herself in the living room by scampering back and forth on her hands and feet, her butt thrust into the air to avoid using her knees, like a possessed child climbing up a wall in a horror movie. Meanwhile, I counted down the minutes to my night alone, the laptop and me.

I peered over the book in my hand to check on Ellie, now playing with her magnetic blocks. Holding a blue and red block in separate hands, she slammed them together. The magnets clacked. Ellie gurgled, “grr-ga,” in response.

I returned to my book.

A few moments later, Hannah said, “hello?”

“Hi,” I said nonchalantly in response, still looking at the page.

“I said, I don’t have time to feed her before bed.”

“Ok,” was all I could muster as I read faster to reach a stopping point.

“Caaannn you feed her,” she said, ending with a snicker.

Finally finding a place I’ll remember stopping, I set the book down.

“Yea, I’ve got it. Go have fun.”

“Do you?” she said, ending with more of a nervous laugh this time.

Ellie looked up at Hannah, smiled, and giggled. She has always been quick to reciprocate a smile or laughter. Then Ellie looked at me and giggled again. Hannah and I looked at each other and laughed.

Hannah picked up Ellie and gave her a hug. Then set her back down on the floor and said, “Byeee.”

I got up off the couch to start on Ellie’s dinner.

After dinner, and a little more playtime, I put Ellie down for bed.

Finally alone, I hurried towards my bedroom office. I stopped halfway there once the craving for something cold, something hoppy, hit me and redirected myself to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I grabbed the last IPA. A little something to help get the juices flowing, I thought.

I headed for the bedroom. Ideas popped into my head as I thought about the secretary again. The beer swished around in the glass, almost toppling over the rim a couple times, as I rushed down the hallway.

In the bedroom, I brushed the pile of paper to the side to make space for the laptop. Then went to the nightstand to pick up the laptop, knocking a baby monitor off it first.

Before settling in, I shot Hannah a quick, “how’s it going,” text. It went unanswered. A typical occurrence when Hannah is out with a friend. She’s always been great about focusing on a conversation, connecting and socializing with other people. A skill that comes so naturally to her. Something I’ve always struggled with and envied about her.

It was time for something I was skilled at, something that seems to come naturally to me. I swung the laptop open and powered it on. Then headed for the site. It didn’t take me long to get my heart pumping, my hand moving. The secretary was clearly on my mind.

I checked my phone again. Still no response from Hannah. A part of me worried, a part of me always worries. But I shrugged it off with the last few sips of my hoppy IPA.

Looking over the laptop’s screen I thought, this is lovely. Then started back up.

I was in a groove when I thought I heard something.

Leaning back in the chair, I listened but only heard the fan twirling above me and the occasional car passing by the house. So, I returned to the laptop.

After only a few keystrokes, I heard it again, a soft squeal. Shit—is Ellie up? I wondered.

It remained quiet for a moment. Then I turned to the baby camera but it was off. I never turned it on. Walking towards it I heard, at the front door, Hannah!

Suddenly, the front door slammed shut. I took a couple steps toward the nightstand but stopped, thinking, shit…the laptop. Then I shuffled back towards the desk but stopped again to listen.

The floor creaked under Hannah’s footsteps. I couldn’t tell where she was going, just that the creaking got louder.

I glanced to the nightstand again even though the baby monitor was of no use to me. When I turned around, Hannah stood in the room.

Her eyes were fixated on the laptop but she stood uncharacteristically quiet.

I couldn’t tell whether I would be sleeping in our bed or on the couch tonight.

Finally I said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Her eyes swayed from the laptop to me. A slender smile kissed her face. Then she said, “Tell me what?”

I swallowed what felt like a block of marble and said, “About the writing I’ve been doing.”

“That’s what you’ve been doing?!” she asked, rhetorically, escalating the pitch of her voice.

“It’s something that I’ve been holding in. I mean, I—we sacrificed so much getting through the CPA exams together and then Ellie. It’s been a lot over the past few years. I knew when I started studying, that if I wanted to pass them, I couldn’t spend time on anything else. But this desire to read and write was already there, bubbling at the surface.”

She fiddled with one of her earrings and just said, “mhmmm.”

So I kept going, “I had passing the exams as my mission, my goal. Once that was done, I thought I just needed some time to…to do nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say we’ve been doing nothing, raising a baby and all.”

“You’re right, but I’ve needed something, a project, a hobby, a goal. For the past year I’ve had nothing to work on and kind of just drifted.”

“So, you’re telling me we are nothing to you,” she responded, playfully.

“Hah, no. You and Ellie are my world. But I still needed that project, that mission to drive my inner self.”

Hannah moved to her closet, started to undress and get into her pajamas. But she was still listening.

“Anyways, when you got me that book for Christmas, about—”

“The one about writing that you read 24/7. How’s ol’ Stevie doing?”

“Stevie is probably just fine. I just bought another one of his books that he wrote under a different name.”

“Another one?” she replied amusingly. “You’re going to bankrupt us.”

“Well, it captured me and it’s like the damn had burst and the heavens had parted. I knew it was time I finally start to write. And so I did. That’s what these papers are,” I said, motioning to the desk. “My first fictional short story. Will you be my first reader?”

“Of course,” she said a little reluctantly, “how long is it?” She’s not a reader, despite how hard I try to nudge her.

“Seven pages.”

“Oh, I can do seven pages!”

“I was working on another story over the past few days. Trying to improve my writing using techniques in that Jack Bickham book.” I pointed to a blue book on the nightstand.

“Oh yea? What’s it about?”

“An executive secretary at a big, publicly traded company that uncovers something malicious about the CEO. She becomes a whistle blower but the CEO and his goons try to silence her.”

I made a gesture when I said silence her to indicate that I meant harm her.

“She’s the protagonist of my story. But I’m still working on it. Mostly pantsing it, as they say in the writers world.”

“Pantsing?”

“Going with the flow of the story, not plotting. I have an idea of where it’s going but letting the story unfold as I write it.”

“Ah, I see.”

Hannah worked her way into her pajama bottoms.

“Sorry, it’s a lot to lay on you.”

“I was wondering what you were doing. I thought maybe you found an online girlfriend. So, that’s a relief.”

“It’s just, I put us through so much to become a CPA. Now that I was one, I felt a little lost.”

Hannah headed for the bathroom. I followed her.

“Then I thought I was crazy to start writing. I just knew it felt right and made me feel spectacular when I came up with something and wrote about it. I have ideas flying at me right now that I don’t know what to do with other than write them. I feel like I’m good at this. But, the problem is that I don’t know if it’s actually any good.”

A nervous laugh escaped me.

Hannah started to brush her teeth.

“For all I know it’s garbage and I should quit and focus on building my career as a CPA.”

“I’m sure it’s not garbage,” she gargled through a mouth full of toothpaste.

“I need you—to read it and tell me the truth. Like I know you can.”

Hannah brushed her hair to the side, leaned over, and spat out the toothpaste.

“Go pour me a glass of wine, and I’ll read your story.”

“Done!”

I left Hannah with her wine and my story then retreated to the bedroom office.

Stopping along the way, I lingered at the door frame and watched Hannah. She caught be ogling her and said, “I’m not going to read it with you staring at me.”

“Fair enough,” I said as I turned and walked into the bedroom.

Besides, I have the secretary to write about.