Our Girl Friday

Maybe it was the still green and living plant thrown callously into the garbage can at my next door neighbor's curb that set the tone for the day. Who throws out a perfectly alive plant without at least trying to plant it somewhere or foist it off on an unsuspecting relative who perhaps has a very green thumb? Nothing alive should be thrown away like trash. I seethed all the way back up the driveway from dropping my own can at the curb.

Or perhaps it was the pink slip email in my inbox when I finally fought my coffee machine into producing a cup of lukewarm, watery almost-coffee and sat down to start proofreading the day's pile of inane short stories by writers who were both less talented and far luckier than I. They had a publication deal. I had a hard drive full of unfinished or unpolished novel-like nothingness.

I sat for a full ten minutes in silence, mug paused at my lips, reading the perfunctory note from Sheena Doone-Wellington, whoever that was, over and over until the message saturated into my fuzzy, pre-caffeinated brain.

> Dear Ms. Allen,

> I regret to inform you that due to the hardness of the times we are in,

> Turtledove Printing will no longer be requiring your services. Thank you

> for your six years of dedication.

>

> Sincerely,

> Sheena Doone-Wellington

> Administrative Assistant

>

> PS: You will be receiving a severance package notification in the

> standard mail shortly.

I glanced at the mug in my hand, a pale blue Turtledove Printing gift for my five year anniversary, and hurled it across the kitchen counter where I sat with my laptop. The mug landed with a loud shatter in the kitchen sink, splashing a mess of brown semi-coffee across the countertops and floor.

"Right," I said out loud. "Time for Starbucks."

I was angry, believe me. Due to the hardness of the times we were in it was going to take me a long time to find another job. And it was a sure thing that whatever I found would not pay what I was worth or allow me to telecommute as I'd become accustomed to doing in the past six years with Turtledove Printing.

That was why I ended up sitting in the cafe of one of those trendy bookstores that offers a thousand variations on the strongest brewed coffee in existence Monstering new jobs on my laptop. The drone of shoppers around me was a welcome addition to my large, steaming hot dark roast, drowning out the part of my brain that was quietly campaigning for an acerbic response to Ms. Sheena Doone-Wellington, Administrative Assistant.

What was that anyway? I wondered. They had the admin fire me. Nice. I almost thought "bull" but then I remembered my mother, clear as a bell, saying, "I didn't bring up my daughters to talk like truck drivers."

It was then that I both chuckled out loud, much to the disdain of a large woman conducting an argument with her husband about his probable philandering, as though that were not a wholly inappropriate conversation for a public venue, and I found the posting on the job board. I say the posting because it's the one that started it all. And by "it all" I mean the job that begat the fiasco of a lifetime.

Fiasco wasn't the word I would have used in the moment however. Because, as I read the description, I wondered who exactly they were even looking for and if they didn't know, maybe I could fit the bill. The posting was titled "Our Girl Friday" and I gave them mental kudos for checking a very positive box in the cinematic column at the very least. The company listed itself as Private which usually gave me pause when applying for a job because there wasn't any real way to explain in an interview why you were interested in working for them specifically which seemed to be the thing HR managers everywhere were very concerned with knowing. As though everyone down on their luck due to the hardness of the times we were in has the luxury of caring deeply about the core values of the company they earned a paycheck from.

I kept reading purely because I'd chuckled again and the woman chastising her probably involuntarily celibate husband glared at me. That had to be a good sign. And I was good at a lot of things, having worked my way through college for the degree that got me the job at Turtledove Printing by taking odd temporary jobs. By odd, I don't necessarily mean they were random. Some of them were downright odd. So I could certainly see myself as a Girl Friday, doing a little bit of this and that for a boss who appreciated my eclectic skill set.

The job description was incredibly general. It sounded both below my pay grade and above my security clearance level at the same time. Confidentiality, can-do spirit, and the ability to handle clients with incredibly large demands. Oh, I could keep a million secrets while smiling and doing a cheerleading routine that would garner the applause of even the stuffiest old money client. Check, check, check. Personal Assistant experience a plus. I'd done that for a very needy personal stylist and for the Executive Director of a non-profit. Check. Bilingual a must. I speak four languages other than English fluently, mostly due to boredom and access to Duolingo. Check.

I have to admit I was getting a bit excited and clicked the "Apply Now" button, prompting the browser to pull up a very basic jobs board website where the job listing was posted. I dutifully entered my name, email, and phone number into the preliminary box to apply and clicked enter. I skimmed through the more in-depth description of the job. I was intrigued by the mysterious air around the duties which ranged from running errands to planning events to responding to client mail on their behalf. There was more to it but I knew I could handle whatever came my way.

Sure, I was still a little salty over losing a cushy telecommuting job but it had been a long time since I had felt the rush of excitement about a job. I'd never even considered looking for a new one. I'd always wanted to work at Turtledove Printing. I'd been sure that it would lead to a successful writing career. I was sure that if I was still employed there, it would only have been a matter of time before I'd been able to slip one of my own manuscripts in and finally be on the way to the career of my dreams. Writing had been all I'd ever wanted to do. Did I really want this major change?

My excitement cooled some and I realized my coffee had as well. I looked over the job description again; glanced at the site once more but discovered nothing new about the company who posted the ad. This was probably a scam. Still, it would have been fun. At least, that's what it seemed like. I had the vague idea I'd perhaps stumbled across a Miranda Priestley job posting and I was within an inch of a job that required selling my soul to the Devil who Wore Prada or some such nonsense. That was definitely not my thing. No, I was not doing that.

I sighed and clicked away from the job posting, closed my browser, and considered whether a top up of coffee would bolster my spirits. My phone rang and I glanced at it sitting beside my laptop, face down. I imagined it would be Sheena Doone-Wellington calling to ensure I had gotten her oh so important email. I flipped the phone over, hit the button to answer, and greeted the caller with a semi-deflated hello.

The voice that answered me was bright and feminine. "Hello! I'm Mitzy and I was calling because I wanted to be sure you planned on finishing that application. We are sure you'd make a great addition to our team!"

I looked at the phone in startled disbelief. Then I remembered I had entered my phone number into the box. Along with other identifying information. How difficult was it, this day in age, to find out someone's credentials? I had a LinkedIn and a Facebook after all. I held back the sigh and forced a smile.

"I actually hadn't planned on it -"

Mitzy sounded very sad. So sad that she almost sounded like she was speaking to a teacup poodle when she said, "Oh no! But we need you! We know you're good with a secret. You haven't told on Belinda Turtledove for her illicit affairs with interns yet. And you never let on that you were aware Christian Darling is embezzling millions from them even though he didn't give you a dime."

"I - " This went beyond LinkedIn, clearly. Who were these people? "That's true..." I admitted, suddenly wondering if this was some kind of exit interview tactic to ensure I kept quiet. Was I in danger?

"That's right," Mitzy said and I could hear the perky smile in her tone. "And we have an even bigger secret for you. One that you'll never be able to write about but could possibly inspire countless best selling novels. Hm? And we'll throw in a very alive plant for your desk. Not that you'll spend much time at it!"

This clearly went beyond Turtledove Printing. My mind went through a tiny cycle of conspiracy theories and ideas of what this possibly could be. It turned out later that it was nowhere near what I could have imagined or read on the internet. Not in my wildest dreams did I come close to guessing but I was so intrigued and the job seemed easy enough for me.

"I... alright. I will-"

"Congratulations! Your interview is tomorrow at 9am." Mitzy went on to give me an address and a phone number and I, eyes slightly wide with disbelief, wrote it all down. I even knew what I would wear. Not that it mattered. I would find out later that I'd already had the job long before I stepped foot in the office.