Elizabeth Stewart - Stray Thoughts (Ellora's Cave)

by Nicole

  Going into the office early one crisp autumn morning, before she put her purse away, she took out a white envelope, walked resolutely into Jim Eldridge’s office and set it on the top of his desk. She knew he had an appointment and wouldn’t be in until at least after ten.

  Coming out of the break room about ten-thirty, she literally ran into her boss.

  “May I see you in my office for a moment?” he asked quietly.

  “Certainly.”

  Settled comfortably in his chair, he held up the single piece of white paper.

  “You’re resigning.” It was a statement not a question.

  “Yes, Jim,” she replied simply.

  “You say it’s for ‘personal reasons’.”

  Sheridan nodded once.

  Is it something you can discuss?” Although serious, he seemed genuinely interested. “I don’t mean to pry, but if there’s a problem, I’d like to know what it is. If there’s something I can do, I’d like to try.”

  “I’ve sold a book,” she told him. “It’s going to be published soon and with the advance I got, I think I can make ends meet until the royalties start coming in. Also, my publisher says he thinks it should do pretty well but he wants to get as much publicity as he can for it. He’s talking about me making a book signing tour.”

  Eldridge leaned back in his chair and sighed with relief. “I didn’t know you were a writer.”

  “It’s not something I bring to the office,” she replied with a little shrug. “I try to keep my personal life away from business hours. Besides, I’ve been writing for a very long time and this is the first real success I’ve had. I guess I just didn’t want to jinx it.”

  “Well, of course I’m very pleased for you, but selfishly, I hate to lose you. You’re an excellent Administrative Assistant and a darned nice person to work with. I’m going to miss you.”

  There was a sincerity of feeling in his voice, a depth of emotion that surprised her. Something more than a boss losing an employee. Something personal. For a moment, she was touched with a pang of regret she didn’t understand.

  “Thank you,” she answered softly. “I’ve enjoyed working with you, too. That’s not something I say to everyone in this office.”

  He chuckled and leaned forward again. “No, I don’t suppose it is. And I’m flattered. Have you told anyone else?”

  “Not formally. I mean, you being my boss, I felt I owed it to you to tell you first. Let you break it to John and the others. Of course, Pat knew because she’s my best friend and I told her when I first got the acceptance for publication in the summer. She thought I should give notice back then, but I didn’t want to leave until everything was settled for sure.” Sheridan paused and looked down at her lap for a moment. “I would appreciate it, though, if you could perhaps suggest that all things being equal, I’d just as soon the office not do anything. A going away party or something like that.”

  “Oh?” He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Why’s that? I’m sure the people you work with would like the opportunity to say good bye.”

  “I don’t like parties and people making a fuss. With few exceptions, the people I work with are just that; the people I work with. I’m sure in the two weeks that I’m going to be here, I’ll have a chance to say good bye privately to everyone who matters.”

  “All right then. But I hope that you’ll let me take you to lunch.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “Perhaps not. But I’d really like to. And not as boss to secretary but as Jim to Sheridan.” He smiled broadly. “Please.”

  “I’d like that,” she returned his smile. “Thank you.”

  “Good. Sometime next week. Thursday, maybe.”

  “Thursday would be terrific.”

  “Okay. I’m seeing John this afternoon, right after lunch. I’ll give him the news then.”

  Reaching across the desk, he extended his hand. “I’m serious, Sheridan. I wish you nothing but success with your writing career and I’ll expect an autographed first edition.”

  “The book’s not going to come out for a few months yet,” she replied taking his outstretched hand, “but when it does, I’ll be happy to give you a copy.”

  “What’s the title?”

  “That’s sort of a secret,” she responded shyly. “Publisher wants to keep it under wraps until the big announcement.”

  “Well, what’s it about?”

  Sheridan’s smile dimmed somewhat and her eyes took on a faraway, wistful look. “I guess you could call it a love story.”

  *

  News of the book and Sheridan’s departure ripped through the office like Montezuma’s Revenge. It seemed as if the words weren’t out of Jim Eldridge’s mouth before Diana was out at her desk.

  “Oh, Sheridan,” she mewled, “I think that’s just the most wonderful thing!” She practically quivered with excitement. “Why didn’t you tell us before?”

  Because, she thought caustically, I get enough abuse in this place about my work; if you’d known I was writing, you and the rest of the inmates in this asylum would have been on me unmercifully.

  Aloud, she waved her hand and smiled demurely. “It’s no big thing,” she lied smoothly. “Just something I’ve been fiddling with in my spare time.”

  “Well, you just have to tell me all about it,” Diana giggled, fairly squirming in anticipation.

  I’d rather eat ground glass.

  “Not much to tell, really. My publisher has asked me to keep the title and the details to myself until the official announcement, hopefully, sometime before Christmas.”

  “That’s so exciting!” she squealed. “You’ll have to give me an autographed copy when it comes out.”

  Sure, Sheridan mused wickedly, in another lifetime.

  “And John too.”

  Of course. You can sit in his lap and he can read the big words like “cat” to you. Sorry. No pictures.

  “Certainly.”

  A shadow crossed the other woman’s face and she frowned, sticking out her lower lip like a spoiled child.

  “Jim also said you didn’t want to have a going away party,” she pouted.

  I’ll celebrate when I’m finally released.

  “No,” Sheridan admitted. “I’m just not much on parties.”

  “Well we can’t just let you go with nothing,” Diana insisted. “You have to let us take you to lunch. Or a cake at the very least.”

  Not in this lifetime, you stupid bimbo.

  “We’ll see.”

  By the time Diana had retreated back to her office, other staff members had begun dribbling by Sheridan’s desk to check on the news and ask about the book. She did little besides confirm the accuracy of the report and say something vague about the book’s tentative Christmas publication.

  Late in the afternoon, the dreaded summons came from King John.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?” Sheridan stood uneasily in the Director’s doorway, yellow tablet and pen in hand.

  “Yes, Sher,” he smiled. “Come on in and sit down.” He waved to a chair on the other side of his huge, oak veneer desk.

  Sheridan perched on the edge of the chair and looked at him, bracing for whatever he might have on his devious mind. With her resignation, he’d now lost the terrifying power of employment over her and seemed to have shrunk in stature. Still, she would be in the office for another two weeks and he was still capable of making her life miserable every minute of the remaining time.

  “So, Jim Eldridge says you’re leaving us,” he began in that damned paternalistic, faintly superior tone he often took with her. “Going to pursue a writing career.” He made it sound like she was a dim bulb six-year-old running away to join the circus.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied simply. She’d learned from hard experience not to get drawn into these no-win conversations with this pompous jackass. Just let him talk and get it over with so she could get out of there.

  His grin got wider. “Guess all those press releases I had you wr
ite finally paid off.”

  You mean all the press releases I wrote that got printed under some hack reporter’s by-line and that I never got credit for, she thought bitterly.

  “I suppose so.”

  “What’s the book about?” Before she could open her mouth, he made a face. “Hope it’s not one of those romance things. Don’t like to read all that sex stuff.”

  Don’t like to read it; just like to do it with your bimbo secretary.

  “I can’t really say what it’s about,” she countered. “Publisher wants to keep it under wraps for awhile.”

  “Oh. Well, we can’t have you breaking orders, as it were,” he chuckled dryly. “But I expect an autographed copy. Might be worth something someday.”

  To John Curtin: tyrant, bonehead, adulterer and general-purpose pain in the ass. May you rot in hell!

  “Of course, sir,” she smiled limply.

  “Well, you better get back to your desk. I’m working with Diana to pull together a list of all the projects that will need to be completed in the next two weeks and I’d like you to give her a list of your duties so that we can get started on finding your replacement.”

  Out in the hall, Sheridan released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. He hadn’t congratulated her or even acknowledged how marvelous the accomplishment had been. There’d been nothing but thinly veiled contempt and his usual demeaning, disrespectful attitude. His concern was that she finish up her work and make sure her slot was clean so that a new body could be inserted quickly and cleanly. Not much for almost seven years of her life.

  And at that moment, Sheridan realized that she was free. Truly free. Whether or not she did her job was no longer of any consequence. Even if she failed to come in at all. The worst John Curtin could do to her was to fire her. It was the worst thing he’d ever had the power to do to her.

  She was a writer now. A real, honest-to-God, published writer. With any luck at all, she would never have to return to being a secretary. And, worst case, even if she did, there would always be need for someone to make the word processor keys go up and down. After all the years of fear, she’d finally been liberated by the simple knowledge that there would always be another job.

  Several people working in their offices and cubicles looked up in questioning surprise as the sound of rollicking, giddy laughter passed through the hall from the Director’s office back to the front desk.

  Sheridan’s going was as simple and quiet as her coming. No crocodile tears, no feigned regret, no cake. She was gratefully, gleefully, leaving one life for another. And with the exception of Jim, who she believed was truly glad for her, she had no doubt that everyone else, including John and Diana, were almost as happy to have her gone as she was to have left.

  *

  Snow was on the ground when the book came out.

  Sheridan held her first book signing at a large bookstore downtown, the first Saturday in December. She remembered stopping and staring in delighted shock when she first saw the display in the front window, complete with a recently done “glamour shot” photo. “Come meet Sheridan Phillips,” it trumpeted, “local writer and author of the best selling novel, The Cat Who Came to Dinner.”

  That first signing was a big thrill. Sitting at a three by six table, draped with a beautiful, white linen cloth reaching almost to the floor, she watched, awestruck, as people began lining up, all of them clutching copies of her book. As she signed her name, total strangers smiled and spoke to her in glowing terms. It was like a dream come true.

  The signing had been scheduled for only two hours, but because of the demand, she’d stayed an extra forty-five minutes, basking in the warmth every moment.

  When the signing was finally over, they adjourned to a nearby hotel where her publisher held a small reception for members of the news media to “get acquainted” with the city’s newest celebrity. There was white wine and bottled water and canapés as people milled around. She did short interviews with people from three of the early news shows and a longer one with the book critic for the local paper. Near the end, the publisher announced that Sheridan would be doing several other local book signings and that after the first of the New Year she’d be embarking on a national book signing tour to cover fifty cities in sixty days.

  Not having traveled very much, she was ecstatic. First class flights. Suites in five star hotels. Meals in the best restaurants. And all at her publisher’s expense. It was absolutely too good to be true.

  As it turned out, it was.

  *

  “This is Mary Baxter,” her publisher’s rep was saying as they shook hands. “She’ll be your tour administrator. Make sure you get to your flights on time, take care of baggage. Hotels. Signings. All the details so you can sit back and take care of the book buyers.”

  “Happy to know you, Miss Phillips,” she said crisply, putting out her hand. “I’ve read your book and found it quite enjoyable.” There was no trace of enjoyment that Sheridan could detect in the other woman’s voice. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  Sheridan was struck by the grayness of her new companion. Tall, thin to the verge of gaunt, iron-gray hair pulled up into a tight topknot at the crown of her head, dull little gunmetal eyes peering suspiciously out of a gray, sunken face. A line of dark red lipstick marked her mouth and two spots of light pink blush highlighted her cheeks. She felt that Mary was older than she was, but it was difficult to say whether she was an old forty or a young sixty. Even her severely tailored, mannish jacket and skirt were a charcoal hound’s-tooth.

  “I’m happy to know you, too, Miss Baxter. I’ve very excited about the tour.”

  “Well,” she responded in an authoritative alto voice, “that’s because you’ve never been on tour. You’ll get over that soon enough.”

  The rep laughed nervously. “Now, now, Mary,” he chided lightly. “Let’s not scare Sheridan before she’s even had a chance to get her feet wet.”

  He turned to face his slightly perplexed author. “Don’t worry about a thing. It’s just that these tours can get to be a real grind. I mean, what with the travel and sleeping in strange hotels and eating on the run. But you’ll enjoy it. Really.”

  It seemed to Sheridan he was trying just a bit too hard to convince her.

  “At any rate,” Miss Baxter continued, “here is your overall itinerary for the tour.” She handed Sheridan a thick sheaf of paper, stapled neatly. “This is the general list of cities and the dates you’re scheduled for appearances.” Another sheaf of papers. “And these are the schedules for specific cities. Purely FYI. I’ll actually be handling the day-to-day details. Of course, with the winter weather, the length of the tour and your basic unforeseen circumstances, there’ll be changes, but don’t worry about them.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing, Sheridan,” the rep assured her with a pat on the arm. “Mary’s been doing this forever. You couldn’t be in better hands if your mother was running the show.”

  “I suggest, Miss Phillips,” the older woman told her, “that you look over the schedule for the coming week. You’ll find, I think, all the details in order. I pride myself on my organizational skills. If you have any questions or have any special requests, don’t hesitate to let me know. I’ll do whatever I can to accommodate you.”

  The tone of her voice made Sheridan feel that anything that deviated from the carefully arranged schedule would not be met with enthusiasm.

  “I’m sure everything will be fine,” she answered lamely.

  “Now, about your luggage, Miss Phillips.”

  “I have a set, thank you.”

  Miss Baxter eyed her like a schoolteacher when a small child gives the wrong answer.

  “I was going to suggest that one or two pieces of soft-sided luggage would be sufficient. I’ve also included a list of clothes and toilet articles you might want to pack. A few well-chosen pieces that can be mixed and matched and accessorized properly reduce the baggage considerably. And since you’ll be trav
eling with your laptop as carryon, you might want to consider carrying your wallet, identification, money and other small items in a large fanny pack. This allows you to have everything handy without having to worry about a purse. You can pack your handbag in the your luggage.”

  The rep was right. It was going to be like traveling with her mother.

  “I’ll be sure to look over the list.”

  “Very well, then. The tour begins next Monday. You can check the schedule for the exact time the car will arrive to take you to the airport. I’ll meet you at checkin.” She extended her hand once more. “Until Monday, Miss Phillips.”

  “Until Monday.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Good morning, Miss Phillips,” the voice at the other end of the line chirped. “This is your six o’clock wake up call.”

  “Mmmm” Sheridan mumbled as she set the phone back in its cradle, rolled back into her pillow and shut her eyes.

  How could it possibly be six o’clock in the morning already? It seemed she hadn’t been in bed more than fifteen minutes.

  What day is this, she wondered groggily? Wednesday? Thursday? And where was she? Chicago? Minneapolis?

  Her exhausted brain, balking at the strain, went as blank as a crashed computer screen.

  Wearily she pulled herself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed and glanced at the small message pad lying next to the phone. “Welcome to the Wilton House” it read in bright emerald ink across the top. “Cincinnati’s finest address.”

  Okay. She now knew where she was. Reaching over to the nightstand, she picked up the wrinkled, creased paper lying there. Flipping about halfway through it, she stopped at the page marked, “Cincinnati.”

  8:00 a.m. - Breakfast with the Ohio Ladies Literary Guild

  9:30 a.m. – Book signing at a local bookstore

  11:30 a.m. – Interview with local television talk show

  Noon – Lunch and rest at hotel