“Bistro 814. Right down the street. You ever eat there before?”
“A couple of times. It’s nice.”
“I wanted to go to Wong’s Pagoda, over on Murdock Street. It’s a buffet.”
“I’ll have to try it sometime.”
“But they thought it was too far away, I guess, even though it’s only another block away.”
The phone rang. “Is there anyone back in accounting to get this, or do I have to answer it?” Abby asked.
“No one’s back there right now since Debbie is out sick and I’m about to get my review, and everyone else is at lunch. Answer it and I’ll help you out if you need me to.” Abby’s official title, she’d discovered upon receiving a huge box of business cards, plunked down on her desk by a disgusted looking Danielle, was Marketing Director. Because of this, the accounting department excused away her general incompetence, assuming she did hard stuff they didn’t understand.
“Thank you for calling Lorbmeer, Messdiem and Miller. How may I help you?” Abby said.
It was Clark. “Is Sharlene there?”
“Yes,” Abby said. “Would you like to speak to her?”
“No. Tell her to meet us at The Boar and Bramble instead. Bistro 814 is too packed and we don’t have time to wait for a table.”
“Okay, I’ll let her know.” Abby hung up the phone. “Now they’re at The Boar and Bramble instead. Bistro 814 was too crowded.”
“Those motherfrickers. The Boar and Bramble is acrossed the street from Wong’s Pagoda.”
“Maybe they didn’t realize that.”
“You can’t miss Wong’s Pagoda. The sign flashes.”
“Well, The Boar and Bramble sometimes has nice Irish music playing,” said Abby.
“They’re all in rotten moods today. Did you notice that? I have this feeling I’m not even going to get a raise. Ten years and two raises in all that time. I’m a single mom trying to support myself and two kids on $27,000 a year while they spend three or four times that much on vacations every year. They really do! I know ‘cause I take care of their personal shit too, and I can see how they spend their money. It’s bullshit.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s your story? Sorry, Danielle told me but I forget. Are you married? Have you got kids?”
“Yeah, I’m married. No kids. My husband actually knows Clark Lorbmeer.”
“Oh! Oh shit. Please don’t say anything about what I just said. I was way out of line.”
“I won’t say anything. I promise.”
“Goddamnit. Foot in mouth disease. I’ve got it big time.”
“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone what you said. Good luck at your review.”
“Thanks,” Sharlene said, hanging her head, shaking it with apparent self-hatred as she went out the front door.
As soon as she left, Abby grabbed Danielle’s calculator out of her top desk drawer. Clark had given her a raise after Randall had squawked at her making a measly $28 an hour. Now she made $35. She usually worked ten hours a week, now that she covered for Danielle’s lunchbreak. She multiplied thirty-five times ten times fifty-two. This meant she was making $18,200 a year.
At first Abby didn’t understand what Sharlene was complaining about. She made almost ten thousand dollars more each year than Abby did! Then she realized that Sharlene worked about forty or forty-five hours each week. She decided it was probably forty-five. She got the calculator back out of the drawer and punched in 27000 and worked it backwards, dividing it by fifty-two and coming up up with 519.23076. She then divided that number by forty-five and came up with 11.538461. Was this right? Did this mean Sharlene made $11.54 an hour? That seemed impossible and wrong. If that was right, why would she bother working at all?
Abby tried working it forward the way she’d done to come up with her own income, and sure enough, $11.54 x 45 x 52 came to $27,000. She became convinced she’d done the math wrong, got frustrated with herself, cleared out the calculator, and picked up one of Danielle’s Lady Lizabeth Lingerie catalogs instead.
She scanned through it, imagining herself wearing cute, sexy outfits for Charlie. Having someone so sweet and appreciative, not to mention sexy, gave her a whole new outlook on sex. Maybe even on life in general.
Without further hesitation, she sprinted down the hall to her own office and grabbed her credit card out of her purse. Back up at Danielle’s desk, she called the number on the back of the catalog.