Is Tommy afraid of her? I wonder. He looks like he’s being worked fairly hard for being only on the job a few days. My stomach curdles again, imagining a scenario in which Ms. Vanacore is working him over. Hard. Mercilessly. As in working her over a desk. Over her chair or another piece of furniture, or forcing him down on his knees. I close my eyes to it, somewhat grateful for a phone call to distract me. God, I think. I hope it’s not true. Though I doubt he would tell me the truth, even if I asked. Tommy’s been waiting too long for a job like this. He’s not about to put it in jeopardy, even for his own safety and well-being. I put that thought out of my mind for now and make a promise to go find him during lunch, if he takes a lunch, and ask him how things are going, how his new job, and his new boss, are treating him.
I sigh and transfer that phone call. Then another. Then another.
Lunchtime can’t come fast enough.
Isabella’s questions do, though. She asks me the moment I don’t have a call buzzing in my ear, “What’s up with you and Tommy? Are you…?”
“We’re friends,” I answer quickly, “I happened to help him spruce up before his interview, and happened to be in the right place at the right time to help him with something a little less…simple.” I look at Isabella, not caring to talk much to her today, and usually, I love talking to her. “That’s all.”
Isabella wisely doesn’t press the matter further. She just nods and gets to work.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tommy
Over the last few days, I’ve gotten into a rhythm with my job. With Ms. Vanacore, and the way she likes things done. I’ve been such a quick learner, that she doesn’t even have to double-check any of my work. Any placement of files, notes, or reports are elaborated on, and audio files are organized once they’ve been transcribed or not.
I’ve also been working some insane hours. At least nine, maybe ten hours over the last few days as well. I don’t really mind, though. It helps take my mind off of any and all of my ex-coworkers who might be out for blood, out for some kind of retribution after Melissa had her way with them. I haven’t heard much in terms of a result of whatever she brought to HR, but I’m assuming something happened.
Vanacore’s been called to various long and short meetings over the last few days. Not with any of her clients, but with some of the other people who work on our floor, or the floors near ours. Whenever they’ve coming gotten her, it’s been with hushed tones, and curious glances in my direction, as if I won’t notice these things even more, and then they leave.
This morning’s been one of those mornings. She’s been ushered out for some other conversation or meeting, and I’m left to cover the office. Not only my little cubicle of it but her desk as well. Which includes managing any incoming phone calls for her. Which I don’t mind terribly. It’s not my strong suit, but what’s helped is imagining how Melissa might answer. How she might talk to the caller, direct them, and take whatever notes.
Just as I’m finishing up a small bit of dictation from Vanacore’s most recent visits to court over a couple of cases she’s representing — one’s for a rich lady suing her husband for custody of her little teacup poodle, Curmudgeon; another case deals with an older man who’s run into trouble with her old employer — my phone rings.
By the lights flashing on the surface of it, I can tell it’s been redirected from Vanacore’s phone to mine. I take a deep breath and pick up. As I do, I try to do my best “Melissa” impression — not in terms of an accent — but in terms of poise and bearing.
“Joan Vanacore’s office, this is Tommy, how may I help you?”
I’m a little bit nervous around the edges of these words, but not as bad as the first time I had to fill in for answering her phone this week.
The voice on the other end surprises me. It surprises the caller as well. “Tommy?” It’s Melissa.
“Melissa?”
Melissa sputters for a moment, not sure what to say. Then she says, “Yes, I was just calling to let Ms. Vanacore know that I’m patching through a call for her. It’s from some guy from Mississippi — he got Kane’s number by accident — the man says he needs to talk with her about an urgent matter.”
“Forward it to me, if you like. I’ll take notes on it. Ms. Vanacore’s out of the office right now.”
“All right.” She pauses. “Just don’t be surprised if he clams up around you. He was already irritated that he had to talk to me, and not Ms. Vanacore, right off the bat.”