She was beautiful the
way career women are: great figure, smartly styled hair, and expensive clothes,
which she wore with ease and grace. He stood in front of her desk holding the
files in his hand. It always annoyed Frank that Miss Bailey’s secretary allowed
him to enter her office and then he ended up waiting like a schoolboy who had
been sent to the principal after one too many pranks.
Amy Bailey looked up at
Frank. “Yes,” she said in her well modulated
voice. Sometimes Amy felt exhausted from
how hard it was for her to play this role. When she made the decision to pursue
a career in business, she knew that she had to abide by the rules. But there
were times she wished she had the freedom to grab lunch with the girls from the
office.
Frank discreetly handed
her the bulging file folder. She set it on her desk and thanked him. Taking
that for a dismissal, Frank headed toward the paneled oak doors that isolated Amy
in her coveted corner office from the warren of cubicles where the workers toiled.
Amy swiveled around on her cushy leather chair and drank in the panoramic view
of Lake Erie. A kaleidoscope of sailboats skimmed over the green-blue water. The dome of the lighthouse peeked out from the
treetops. It was summer in Buffalo—a
short season of warm days followed by cool nights, perfect for afternoon
picnics or evening campfires on the beach.
“If only,” Amy
whispered. It had been two years since there
had been anyone in her life. The last
romance had ended, as they all had, with recriminations and hard feelings. Her career was ramping into high gear while
his had stalled. After that last breakup,
Amy had allowed her work days to become never-ending and to spill over into her
weekends. Even her girlfriends had
stopped calling, tired of her excuses for why she couldn’t join them for drinks
and a chick flick. Her work engaged her,
and to Amy it was like nurturing a child. Her service on several boards of directors earned
her accolades for community service. And
the annual charity ball that she organized gave her a certain celebrity in the
community. Photographs of her, dressed
in designer gowns and escorted by strikingly handsome men, appeared regularly in
the newspaper.
Yes, she had come a
long way for a girl from gritty, blue-collar South Buffalo.
As Frank went back to
his desk, he wondered about Miss Bailey’s life outside work, although the
office rumor mill claimed that work was her life. He imagined her going home to a fashionable condo
with a stunning lake view and savoring the dinner her housekeeper had cooked,
or dining at a trendy restaurant with her model- handsome boyfriend. Frank had seen the pictures of her at the
Charity Gala, dressed to the nines—as Frank’s father would say—with a guy that the office gossips called eye-candy. Frank looked at the clock, another hour to go
and then the usual Friday afternoon fish fry with his parents at Ryan’s in the South
Buffalo neighborhood where they still lived. Later his friends from the office
were headed out for a pub crawl on Chippewa Street which would end with
breakfast at the all-night Greek restaurant. Frank was finishing last minute phone calls
when his email alert dinged. He was half
tempted to ignore it—after all it was 4:57—but instead he clicked the message
open. Miss Bailey needed him for “just a
minute.” He shrugged back into his
jacket and knocked diplomatically on her office door.
She had her back to him.
Her shoulders were squared and her
auburn hair was pulled back into an intricate French braid. For a moment Frank wondered what she would
look like with her hair freed from the tight weaving and discreet clip that
held it in place.
“Beautiful view, Miss
Bailey,” Frank said to interrupt her reverie. He had plans and he wanted to be on his way. She turned and smile, a really engaging smile,
Frank noticed.
“Yes, it is lovely. But sometimes I envy those people out on their
boats.” Her voice had an almost
nostalgic quality to it. Frank nodded
and looked at her expectantly.
“Okay, listen, I hate
to do this, but I’m really stuck. Corporate
wants figures on projected costs for the Henderson account updated right now. I know you have a handle on things—could you
stay a few more minutes and run the numbers again?” she asked.
Frank dashed back to
his cubical and logged onto his computer. He really wanted to impress Miss Bailey. Rumor
had it that a managerial position was opening. Frank had his eye on that job,
and he knew that she would be making recommendations to fill it. He had just looked at the file earlier today;
it shouldn’t take more than a half hour to update that information. As he
scanned his computer screen, he called his Mom and apologized for missing their
traditional Friday dinner.
Two hours later, his
eyes crossed from looking at numbers and a calculator tape that wound its way like
a garden snake to the wall, Frank had completed the task. He sent Miss Bailey the file, but in his
desire to be thorough, he ran a single copy and then decided to use the copier
to make a few extra copies. Forty five
minutes later, his shirt smeared with toner, he had the copies, which he now
realized would have been a cinch to run on the computer printer.
Meanwhile, Amy Bailey
wandered out of her office to find Frank. He was in the copier work room, his coat and
tie had been abandoned on a nearby chair while he tried to coax a paper jam
into submission. Hurrying back to her
office, she waited for Frank. She wondered if he had any idea that he was her
first choice for the position that was coming up. She felt herself blush when she thought about
how much she would enjoy working more closely with him. Get a
grip woman, she though. I’m sure that he has a real life—and a girl friend
to go with it. She shook her shoulders
as if to let go of any thoughts about Frank other than what a dedicated worker
he was.
A moment later, he was
at her office door, his hair a little disheveled, his tie and jacket missing. Amy had to look away to keep from blushing. She took a deep breath and accepted the
collated and bound copies he presented. Man, he did good work, she thought. She started to thank him, but he had left.
Suddenly her office
felt like a cage. Deciding to call it a day, she quickly packed her briefcase. The sun wouldn’t set for at least another hour,
and maybe she could enjoy what was left of a picture perfect summer evening.
Nearing the elevator,
she saw Frank standing there punching buttons. He turned and smiled as she
approached, “I think the elevator is on the fritz,” he said. She found it curious that he used such old
fashioned expressions. Sometimes he
talked like her father, even though she knew that Frank was about her age.
“Again,” Amy said in an
exasperated voice. “This is the third
time this week. It looks like we’re
going to have to walk down,” she added.
They clambered down to
the first floor landing. It was like a
monk’s cell, and sweltering. Frank went
over to the red steel door that was clearly marked, EXIT. He pushed and then he pulled. Nothing happened. Then they both tried together. The door would not budge. Finally Amy used her cell phone to call the
building superintendent, and after three tries, got his voice mail. Tension showed on her face as she left an
urgent message. Then both Amy and Frank slumped
on the bottom step of the stair well.
“Should I try to go
back to the office?” Frank asked.
Amy shrugged her shoulders. “Thanks for
offering. But I think we just have to sit tight and wait.” With that she reached up and freed her hair. Then she kicked off her high heels and began
to rub her feet. “These shoes are not meant for anything practical,” she said,
looking up at Frank. He felt a little
off kilter, sitting in this tiny space with Amy. The atmosphere was charged, much like the
moments before a first kiss.
They sat there awkwardly.
Amy made another call to the building superintendent,
and then in a frustrated voice asked, “Is there anyone you need to call? Is your
girlfriend waiting for you?”
He shook his head, “No,
no such luck.” He wondered if he could
ask her a similar question. After all,
weren’t they like two survivors who had to bond to live to tell their tale?
An hour later they had
shared the granola bar Amy had in her brief case and split Frank’s emergency can
of Coke. Soon they were talking about
their lives outside of work. She laughed
a surprisingly hearty laugh when he related tales of the mischief he and his
brothers managed to get into as kids. And
he nodded sympathetically as she explained that her mother had died when she
was a baby, and that she wanted to impress her demanding father, a noted lawyer.
For a moment, Frank sensed that Amy’s
no-nonsense exterior hid a woman who felt vulnerable. He wondered what would happen if he reached
over and took her hand. Geez man, this isn’t a rom-com, he
thought. This is your workplace and she’s
your boss!
Then they heard the welcome
sound of someone unlocking an outside door and the distinctly gravelly voice of
Hank, the building superintendent. Amy looked at Frank with an unguarded look
in her eyes.
“Well, your company has
made this little ordeal a lot more pleasant,” she said, her gaze steady and
unnerving. By now they both had removed
their business -correct jackets and had rolled their sleeves up to the elbows. Both were glowing with perspiration that
beaded on their lips and brows. Then the
exterior door opened, bringing a welcome surge of cooler, fresher air.
“Hey, Miss Bailey, I’m
so sorry for the delay. I was out with my wife—fish fry night, you know,” Hank explained.
“Just checked my voice mail and I got
here as quick as possible.” Hank watched
as they headed out to the parking lot. From his vantage point, they looked like a
nice young couple. He smiled when he noticed
Miss Bailey reach out and touch her companion’s arm. He could tell by the tilt of their heads that
they were lost in conversation. Then
both cars sped away, heading in the direction of the new lake front restaurant.
******
It was a mild winter day,
the sun brilliant on the newly fallen snow, when an email was sent instructing the
office staff to assemble in the conference room ASAP. Everyone knew what the announcement would be: Frank
was being promoted to the new managerial position. Upon entering the room the staff saw Frank and
Amy standing close together, smiling and chatting. To the casual observer, they might look like a
young couple who were in love. But the
office gossips knew better— Amy and Frank in love? That was impossible!
Frank beamed as he
announced his new job at the law firm on the second floor. Then he took Amy’s hand as she announced their
engagement. Later champagne was poured
and a toast was made to the couple.
Hank smiled as he raised
his glass to celebrate the joyful news. Too
bad that neither of them had known enough to jiggle the door handle that Friday
evening six months ago he thought—the door would have opened and they could
have left right away. Funny what a stuck
door can do.
