SOB

(continued)

By Wayne Scheer

Feeling like a soldier about to enter battle, she mumbled a prayer for patience and entered his office. Already at his desk, his jacket on the back of his chair, he reviewed the figures from the previous day, which she had organized for him. She placed the coffee next to him, near where the photograph of his wife used to be. Portraits of his father and grandfather, their piercing eyes haunting the office, hung on the wall opposite his desk. For a moment, she felt a wave of sympathy.

"Your wife's lawyer called, sir. He asked that you…"

"Tell him to go to hell and if my wife calls, tell her the same. And get me the McCalister file." His eyes never left the papers on his desk. He was eager for the old biddy to retire.

Mrs. Cathay searched for an encouraging word. She wanted to assure him he had proven himself as the business equal of his father and grandfather. He could relax, spend more time with his children, if not Mrs. Billings. Although she had never seen it, she still sensed a vulnerable human being beneath his gruff exterior.

"Oh, and make a one o'clock reservation for two at the club and have a dozen roses delivered to Molly at her house. She won't be coming in today." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the old lady turn red.

He thought of Molly. This would be as good a time as any to end it with her. She didn't really think he would make her his personal assistant, did she? Good head takes a girl only so far. He'd offer her a position with Research and Development, although he tried recalling if Christy still worked there. That could be a problem if the two of them compared notes.

The one problem was the old biddy would have to stick around a little longer to train a new assistant. He hated how much he depended upon her.

"If there's nothing else, Mrs. Cathay, get me that file. I don't have all day."

"Yes, sir," she said, too upset to say anything more.

He spent the morning barking orders, shouting on the telephone and shooting e-mails to various department heads with his customary signature, "SOB." Mrs. Cathay worked at her desk, quietly and efficiently.

A little before 1, he left for lunch. After waiting ten minutes, Mrs. Cathay sprang from her desk with more energy than she'd felt in years. Entering the elevator, she intended to go directly to Human Resources on the third floor. Instead, she tapped Lobby. When the doors opened, she was smiling.

At 3:30 Billings returned, his frown lines deeper, the bags under his eyes darker. Mrs. Cathay, working at her desk, barely acknowledged her boss when he rapped three times. It wasn't until he passed her desk that she looked up and watched him approach his office.

As he opened his door, his feet slid on the newly waxed floor and gave way under him. Billings found himself flat on his backside.

Employees gathered, trying not to laugh. Mrs. Cathay, unafraid to smile, displayed what she might have looked like as a young woman. She stood over him. "Oh, be careful, sir." She almost sung her words. "The floor might be slippery." With that, she handed him a neatly typed paper.

"What the hell is this?" He pushed away the hands of employees offering him help. Now on one knee, he made a slow but concerted effort to climb back on his feet.

"My retirement letter. Effective immediately."

Mrs. Cathay turned, winked at the openmouthed employees, and walked down the hall. As she neared the elevator, Luis made sure Billings couldn't see him when he offered her a huge grin and a high five.