The Pink Ghetto. Liz Ireland

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СКАЧАТЬ reluctant to go back to her desk. “Okay—pop quiz time,” she said. “Show me the way to the coffee room.”

      That was one quiz I could ace. Asking me to put names to faces of ten percent of the people I’d just met would have stumped me, but caffeine was important. I couldn’t have made it to the coffee room any faster if I had been laser guided.

      “I’m impressed,” Andrea said.

      “Impressed by what?” A woman dipping her Celestial Seasonings tea bag into a mug of hot water turned to us. I had met her at her desk already. Her name was Madeline, and she looked like she had stepped off the pages of a magazine cover. She towered over Andrea and me. And she wasn’t just pretty, she was stunning.

      “Rebecca found the kitchen on her first try,” Andrea said.

      Madeline smiled big, as if I really had achieved great things already. “That’s terrific.”

      When she sashayed out with her cup of herbal tea, Andrea leaned toward me. “She’s an associate editor, and very well connected. From the mailroom to the boardroom, she’s got this place covered. Both James and Art have the hots for her.”

      “What about Troy?” I asked.

      “He’s got the hots for both Art and James.”

      “Well! Who have we here?” a new voice asked.

      “Hey, Mary Jo. This is Rebecca.”

      Mary Jo smiled but didn’t stop what she was doing. She wore chic rectangular wire frame glasses and was anorexically thin. Arms stuck out through the holes in her sleeveless shirt like chicken wings that had been picked clean. She poured coffee into a mug that had a Cathy cartoon on it. Cathy was sitting behind a desk; the caption read, “I hate Mondays!” Into that cup Mary Jo emptied two packets of sweetener and about a quarter cup of non dairy creamer. My mouth started to pucker just looking at that concoction.

      “Mercedes told me a lot about you,” she said.

      She never stopped smiling, or stirring her creamer, but with one sharp flick of her eyes, I felt she was telling me something. And that something was that she had my number.

      I muttered something about hoping it wasn’t all bad.

      She dropped her stir stick in the garbage and picked up her mug. “No, it was mostly good.”

      Mostly?

      “Of course, too much praise begins to sound suspicious, doesn’t it?” She laughed tightly. “Oh, well, you two go back to your tour. Don’t let it last all day, though.”

      The moment she was out of earshot, Andrea mimicked, “Don’t let it last all day!” in a snippy little whisper.

      “She didn’t seem too friendly…” I ventured.

      Andrea rolled her eyes. “Ignore her when at all possible. She’s a tyrant.”

      I nodded.

      “Don’t get on her bad side, though,” Andrea advised. “You get on her bad side, and…” She stopped and made a slitting motion across her throat.

      “For some reason, I feel like I already am on her bad side.” Like my house just fell on her sister, basically.

      “That’s just her way. You know the type—she’s a…” She frowned. “Well, a bitch. And she’s second in command under Mercedes, so she tends to get a little nervous if Mercedes takes too much of a shine to anyone. As if any of us would want her stupid job!”

      “Yeah, that’s crazy.”

      “That’s Mary Jo. You know that coffee cup with Cathy on it? She’s had it ever since she was an editorial assistant. Almost twenty years! The first year she started work, her Secret Santa gave it to her. She’s got a real thing about it.”

      “Maybe there’s some deep psychological reason, or…”

      “Yeah, and that reason is she’s a controlling, obsessive loon.” She sighed. “Okay, back to work.”

      As we trudged back to our offices, I felt a knot of dread in my tummy, like I was being dropped off at kindergarten or something. I could handle meeting people. That was a snap.

      But work. That was the tricky part.

      Chapter 4

      By lunch, I was finally beginning to relax, if only because it finally dawned on me that chances were good that I wouldn’t be fired on my first day.

      I had worried that once Andrea dropped me back by my office, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself, besides stare at those ominous manuscript piles on the bookshelves. But if there was anything I really knew how to do, it was fritter away time. First I had to check out my computer. Solitaire had not been removed, and I even had pinball! This reminded me of the e-mail question, so I set up my account at [email protected]. Then of course I had to e-mail all my family and friends and brag about my new corporate identity.

      My sister Ellen replied immediately. She had just finished law school the year before and was working in a law firm back in Cleveland.

      I’m psyched about your new job. Congrats! I don’t read romances, natch, but what a hoot to be working there. Maybe you can send me a few beach books next summer. (I guess I do read a few of those…just don’t tell anyone here at the office!) XOX, E

      Once I started looking at it, rabbot seemed like a really bizarre handle. Like rabbit misspelled, or a combination of rabbit and robot. I started imagining bad sci-fi movie titles. Attack of the Killer Rabbots!

      So after much contemplation and doodling on my notepad, I changed my address to the more respectable rebecca.abbot@ candlelight.net. And then, of course, I had to send out my change of address.

      Ellen wrote back in a flash.

      Stop procrastinating and get to work!

      XOX, E

      Oh, and one of my coworkers wants to know if you publish something called Regencies? I think they’re like fake Jane Austen books…which actually sounds kind of good, now that I think about it. Do you really get freebies?

      I made a note to send Ellen books.

      All in all, setting up my e-mail killed a good hour and a half. A few games of pinball later, Andrea was knocking on my door. I reduced the screen and swiveled toward her.

      “How’s it going?”

      “Great!” I said.

      “Lunch?”

      I was up like a shot. “Sure.”

      Rita was right behind her. “My treat.”

      “Which means she’s expensing it,” Andrea translated.

      We stopped by Cassie’s office on our way out. “Want to go to lunch with us?” Rita asked her.

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