In Sheep's Clothing Page 6

  The musty man in the trench coat stared at me with a frown on his face but I kept laughing. He shook his head and moved to a seat closer to the door, still frowning at me. I didn’t blame him. He didn’t know what was wrong with me, and I didn’t either.

  I had no appetite when I got home, even though I had not eaten since noon. I was too tired to do much of anything. I didn’t even protest when James called and said he was coming over.

  I spent the evening in my nightgown, squeezed between Daddy and James in front of the television. You would have thought that I was invisible the way James and Daddy carried on a conversation that didn’t include me. I prayed that Freddie would rescue me with a phone call or a visit. She did neither.

  “Trudy, you ain’t much company tonight. What’s wrong with you?” Daddy asked during a commercial.

  “I’m just tired, that’s all,” I replied, massaging my neck. “I had a long day.” James slid his hand over mine and guided it to his thigh, giving me a knowing look. After the day I had had, sex was the last thing on my mind.

  “You can’t be that tired, baby. You are just a secretary. All you have to do is answer phones and sit at a computer all day,” James decided with a patronizing grin on his face. Like so many men, James had made up his mind that any job a woman performed was not real work. “I should be so lucky.” I was too tired to argue with him. The times that I did, he often didn’t stop until he’d won. I just sighed and kissed him on the cheek. I was so preoccupied I didn’t even know what was on television. But it didn’t matter because James had something else on his agenda anyway.

  As soon as Daddy left and closed the door to his bedroom, James was all over me, grabbing at my clothes, and moaning and groaning like a man who’d just been let out of prison.

  About twenty minutes later we slid back into our clothes and resumed our sitting position on the couch in front of the television.

  “Baby, that sure was good,” he muttered, with a satisfied look on his face. Lucky for me, it didn’t take much to please James when it came to sex. He slapped the side of my thigh and rubbed it so hard it throbbed. “There’s nothing like a dose of pussy after a hard day’s work. Believe it or not, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said something like that . . .” he whispered as he glanced toward the door to Daddy’s room. When I didn’t respond right away, he nudged my shoulder and gave me a sharp look. “What’s wrong, Trudy? You having second thoughts about that job?”

  “Huh? Oh, it’s fine,” I muttered. “I think I’m really going to like it.” James didn’t like gossip or any meanspirited conversation. I couldn’t discuss Ann with him but I did attempt to ease in a few negative comments anyway. “Some of the folks I work with could be a little nicer, though . . .” James gave me an anxious look.

  I knew that I was lucky to have a man as dependable as James. I had had three boyfriends before him and each one had only stayed with me until they found someone they liked better. After ten years I knew James like I knew the back of my hand. I felt bad about it, but I couldn’t change the fact that I didn’t love him in the passionate way that I wanted to. He was too dull, familiar, and common for that. He didn’t excite me. And to be honest, he never really did. With his tweed suits, his romance with beer, his relationship with the television, and his mama practically attached to him at the hip, he probably never would.

  James’s mother, Mavis, was a real piece of work. Like the brochure rack near my desk at work, that woman had been a huge pain in my butt from day one. We’d been playing tug-of-war with James for years and the only way I was going to win was to marry him.

  More than one person had told me that I was crazy for letting James tie me down so early in my life. Even my girl, Freddie. She already had been married and divorced, and had lived with a slew of lovers. She was now in a committed relationship with her latest lover and had three kids with him.

  Just in the last week, I’d decided that there was more to life for me, and I was determined to experience it.

  CHAPTER 12

  Socializing at work was a big deal with the folks at Bon Voyage. It seemed like every other day, they celebrated something. Just about anything was an excuse to have a potluck. The reps always had something going in their lives that called for a celebration. In the same week we’d gathered in the break room on the second floor to celebrate Joy Banning’s five pound weight loss and Dennis Klein’s dog’s new puppies.

  Pam loved to cook. Even when there was no potluck. Her desk was always cluttered with some of her baked goods right next to her daily can of Slim-Fast. The bookcase behind her desk had at least half a dozen cookbooks.

  Pam had enough fashion sense to buy outfits that hid her potbelly, the only part of her body that she needed to be concerned about. Some days, especially when she wore T-shirts and jeans on casual Fridays, the bloated wheel of fat around her middle made it look like she was pushing a shopping cart.

  The following Monday was Ann’s thirtieth birthday. One bouquet of flowers after another was delivered for her. At lunchtime we all gathered in the break room where a table had been covered with casseroles and other party foods.

  Mr. Rydell had a nearby bakery deliver a huge birthday cake. I could tell by the look on Ann’s face that she didn’t appreciate the face of the Black woman on the cake. And I didn’t either. Not only was it three shades darker than Ann, but with the flaring nostrils and bulging eyes it looked more like that grinning mammy on the Aunt Jemima pancake box. Ann looked at me in a surprisingly conspiratorial manner and gave me a rapid blink. Then she puckered her lips in such an extreme way her mouth looked like it had taken the shape of a three-leaf clover. I nodded at the cake and shrugged, pleased to see her smile at me and shake her head. It pleased me to know that she knew what was on my mind.

  “Ann, you don’t look a day over twenty-five,” chirped Lupe Gonzalez, gazing at Ann with a grin. Similar compliments from Mr. Rydell and the other reps followed and Ann lapped it all up. But she sliced into the cake like she was mad at it, successfully removing as much of that annoying black face as fast as she could.

  I glanced at Wendy, who was rolling her eyes. There was a glazed look on her face, which told me she’d already whipped out the bottle from her desk drawer. Pam, holding the lowest of all our positions, snatched a huge piece of cake and skittered back to her desk to cover the reception area while the rest of us celebrated.

  Ann had not spoken to me since the two coffee runs she’d sent me on. She stood less than two feet away when Lupe Gonzalez turned to me and gasped. “You know, you and Ann look enough alike to be sisters. Are you related?”

  “Of course not,” Ann snapped in such a hurry she almost choked on her own birthday cake. She couldn’t resist giving me a guarded look.

  After the little office party, it was business as usual. Without warning, Wendy slid her chair out of her cubicle and rolled over to me clutching a thick manila folder. She had a jaw full of mints but I could still smell the alcohol on her breath. Her red nose, shaky hands, and slurred words would have given her away anyhow.

  She let out a loud hiccup and rubbed her nose. “Vodka’s good for cramps, too” she explained. “Uh, listen up. This is important. From now on, you’ll be in charge of paying all the bills, ordering supplies, rearranging schedules. All that fun shit,” she told me, flipping open the folder on her lap. “We have four corporate credit cards. We’ll share the grunt work”—she paused and leaned closer to me and whispered—“since the reps are too lazy to do it.” She handed me two Visa cards. One was in Ann’s name; the other was made out to Lupe Gonzalez. “We order most of our office supplies from Office Depot, but every now and then we’ll run out of something and it’ll be easier for you to run out to that stationery store on Madison to pick up shit. You should carry these puppies with you at all times because you’ll never know when you’ll need to pick up a new briefcase for somebody or whatever else the hell they want.” Wendy scribbled on a buck slip and handed it to me. “Memorize this number. It’s the PI
N number for the card made out to Ann.”

  I looked at the four-digit number on the slip of paper, then at Wendy. “What do I need a PIN number for?” I asked.

  “Believe it or not, not every business accepts credit cards. How some of these pooh-butt places can stay in business in this day and age without accepting credit cards is a mystery to me.” Wendy sniffed and let out an exasperated breath. “Anyway, say you need to pick up lunch from a specific place. Or flowers or whatever, and it just happens to be a place that doesn’t accept credit. You’ll need cash. You won’t run into that much so I’ll just give you the PIN to Ann’s card. You can get up to a three-hundred-dollar cash advance a day from the ATMs,” Wendy said, waving her hand. I could see that she was getting impatient but I didn’t care because I felt it was important for me to know everything I needed to know if I was going to be responsible for company credit cards. I blinked and bit my bottom lip. It made me feel important to know that these people trusted me enough to authorize me to use the company credit cards so soon.

  “Uh, will they issue a card in my name?” I asked.

  “Yeah, right.” Wendy giggled. “Not as long as you are just a secretary. Most of the places where we use the cards know us, so they won’t ask for ID or anything. Whatever you do, please keep these cards in a safe place. The girl before you lost Ann’s card one day after she had purchased lunch from the deli next door. Whoever found the card ran up six thousand dollars’ worth of charges in just one day.”

  “Shit,” I mouthed.

  “But if that ever happens, you don’t have to worry about them taking it out on you. Shit happens. These cards are all insured up the ass so Bon Voyage didn’t lose a damn dime,” Wendy told me.

  Pam came and stood over my desk. She looked around first then cleared her throat. Wendy gave Pam a nod. “The good thing about it is, every time you have to make a run, you can always sneak a little something for yourself, too,” Pam said in a low voice, barely moving her lips.

  I looked from Wendy to Pam. “Are we allowed to do that?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry about it. For the cards you use, nobody’ll see the statements but you,” Wendy told me with a wink. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Take advantage of this company. It’s all part of the establishment that’s been taking advantage of us little people since the beginning of time. Especially you minorities. The Black girl before you, she used to buy batteries for her vibrator with Ann’s card.”

  After Wendy had explained the procedure of collecting the credit card statements and paying the bills, she snuck out to go meet her boyfriend for an extended break. Pam was still standing over my desk, as I slid the two credit cards into my wallet.

  Wendy’s suggestion that I take advantage of the company didn’t mean much to me. My main concern was to do the job that I was being paid for.

  And nothing more.

  CHAPTER 13

  Unlike the employees at some of the other companies where I’d done clerical work on a temp basis, the management employees at Bon Voyage were the most pampered group I had ever worked with. It seemed like all they had to do to persuade a large group to book an extensive tour was to hem their representative up in the reception area, wave a few brochures in a cute way, and grin. It wasn’t even enough for the reps that they got to travel all over the world, they were too spoiled to even answer their own telephones.

  In addition to my own line, the telephone on my desk contained business lines for each of the reps. The telephones in their offices each had one line, which the reps used to make and receive personal calls or to communicate with special clients.

  When I didn’t pick up a particular line after the fifth ring, the call went into voice mail. I spent a third of my day retrieving messages, typing them up on memo pads, and then delivering them to the reps’ in boxes on their desks.

  It was no surprise to me that most of the messages I handled were for Ann. No matter how hard I tried to have as little contact with that woman as possible, I could not avoid her. It was just my luck to run into her in the ladies’ room right after I’d dropped off a slew of messages. A few minutes earlier, she’d stormed into the reception area and shouted at Wendy for misplacing a file. It had amused me to see Wendy cower.

  With a triumphant look on her face, Ann was now in front of the mirror primping when I came out of the stall. Standing next to her as I washed my hands, looking at our reflections in the mirror, I could see why Lupe had thought that Ann and I might be related. And, more than once we’d been mistaken for one another. Even by Mr. Rydell. She and I were the same shade and we did have similar features. I didn’t consider myself a vain person, but it pleased me to see that I was better-looking than Ann. Her mouth was too wide for her face and she already had noticeable crow’s feet around her eyes. She must have noticed that, too, because I detected envy on her face when she looked at my face in the mirror next to hers. “You have beautiful skin,” she said.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled, surprised. When her eyes roamed up to my hair, I got suspicious. “I wish I could say the same for my hair.”

  She stared at my flat ponytail. “I see what you mean,” she said, shaking her head. “A good conditioner would help those split ends but a wig would be even better . . .”

  Like two confused warriors, we stood there sizing up one another. It was impossible to determine if what was on her mind was something that concerned me. And by the way she sighed and shook her head, while her eyes were still on my hair, I knew that it was not something flattering.

  “I . . . know,” I mumbled. A wig. I’d never worn fake hair before in my life. I didn’t even bother with extensions when I wore braids. James’s mother and some of her elderly friends were the only women I knew who wore wigs. “Where did you buy your wig?” I asked, letting the cat in me take over for a change.

  Ann sucked in her breath and looked at me with her eyes stretched open as wide as they could stretch without popping out of her head. “This is my own hair,” she declared in a worried voice. She patted her hair and let out a nervous laugh. “It really is,” she insisted.

  “Oh. I never would have guessed that,” I said, feeling her hot gaze on my face. “It’s beautiful,” I added. Ann was like a lot of women I knew. All you had to do to distract her was to throw a compliment her way. Just like I’d done with Wendy.

  “I spend enough on it,” she said, beaming. She returned her attention to the mirror. “But I do own several hairpieces.” She sniffed and smiled. “And where are you from?” she asked, surprising me with a gentle tone of voice.

  “South Bay City.” I was tempted to remind her that I’d already told her where I was from. “And you?”

  “I grew up in ’Frisco,” she announced, leaning over the sink to apply more plum-colored lipstick. Her next comment surprised the hell out of me.

  “Girl, watch your back around these White folks.” She glanced at the door. “Don’t trust a single one of them.”

  “I won’t,” I said, more confused than anything else.

  “They get their thrills by watching us fall on our faces. I learned that the hard way.” Ann dropped her lipstick back into her purse, snapped it shut. She strutted out the door with her nose held so high in the air it looked like it was on top of her head.

  I stood in my spot for a few moments, still trying to figure out where Ann was coming from. So far the only one at the company who had given me any reason to be watching my back was her.

  I stopped off in the break room on my way back to my desk. Wendy was standing by the coffee machine stirring coffee into the mug with Ann’s name on it. Her eyes were red, like she’d been crying.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, knowing how angry Ann had made her. “Ann was pretty rough on you about misplacing her file.”

  “I’m used to it,” she mumbled, barely moving her lips. “But payback is a bitch.”

  My mouth dropped open when Wendy reared her head back, cleared her throat, and hawked a huge dollop of spit
into Ann’s coffee.

  CHAPTER 14

  I believed that spitting in somebody’s coffee was one of the meanest things a person could do. Even to a bitch like Ann Oliver. Especially when there were other ways to get back at her. One was to eavesdrop on her private telephone conversations like I decided to do shortly after I returned to my desk from the break room.

  Business was slow that morning. The telephone on my desk had only rung a couple of times so far. Pam and Wendy were both occupied with their own personal telephone calls. Pam was on one of the office telephone lines whispering to one of her friends, glancing over at me every few minutes. Wendy was yakking away on her cell phone, revealing her business as usual, peeping out of her cubicle every few minutes. I had just buzzed Ann to see if she wanted to take a call from a man with a nice deep voice who refused to identify himself. “He has an accent,” I whispered to Ann on line one, even though I had the caller on hold on another line.

  “I know a lot of men with accents,” she said, letting out a breath that made her sound just as impatient as the man I had on hold. “You know”—she paused and sucked on her teeth just long enough to get on my nerves—“you could take a few tips from Pam and Wendy when it comes to telephone skills. Not only do you ask the caller to identify himself, or herself, you need to ask the nature of the call. Do you understand, Trudy?” She pronounced her words like she was speaking to an idiot. I heard her slurp and swallow the coffee that Wendy had hawked so much spit into.

  “I understand,” I said firmly, bile so bitter rising in my throat I had to hold my breath to keep from throwing up.

  “Now I want you to get rid of that rude caller and get back to work.”

  “Um, the man on hold did say that if you plan to dig a hole, dig it deep.” I sighed.

  “He said that to you?” Ann gasped.

  “Not exactly to me. I think he was talking more to himself when he said it. He kind of mumbled it under his breath when I told him I had to check to see if you were available.”