The Doxy's Daybook: A Friday in Two Acts Read Online Free Page B

scene.
    Shoulders back, stride purposeful I march toward Richard’s private office, which is guarded by his right-hand woman Susan, a crotchety being who could greatly benefit from a ticket to a show like mine. She’s been Richard’s executive assistant for the duration of our three-year relationship.  She’s also never liked me. 
    It’s of little consequence. 
    Some days I get by without having to interact with her if she’s already off to lunch. 
    Today is not one of them.
    Ordinarily I’d arrive on time to assure Richard collects me immediately.
    Today I’m a little early.
    Mozart’s movement shifts tempo to allegro assai —fast enough.  Calculated, I’d say.
    As though sensing my presence Susan lifts her head, sees me approaching.  Her eyes shoot daggers and I’m barely within earshot when she confirms what I already know.  “Mr. Galloway is still in a meeting.” Two passing bees turn her voice lukewarm.  I’m sure had we been alone it would hold its usually frigid tone.
    Without a break in stride, I continue directly to Richard’s door—an unprecedented move—and turn the knob.  “I’ll wait inside.”
    She protests, rises from her seat as I enter.  “You cannot go in there, Miss ….” She says this last with blatant contempt as though she thinks the term far too ladylike for me. Susan is wrong on both accounts: I am every bit a lady, and already in the office. 
    Leaving my cart near the door I proceed to the mahogany desk.  It’s a spotless surface. Three elegant pens capped and placed in a round holder.  A small leather ledger is open with a not e scribed neatly upon it.  Phone perfectly parallel to the desk’s edge.  Everything neat, controlled.
    I sink into the King’s buttery leather executive chair and prop my heels up on the tabletop, hands clasped in my lap, legs crossed at the ankles.   By the darkening shade of vermillion on her face and neck Susan is utterly appalled and preparing to raise “bloody ‘ell”, as Lizzy would say, when Richard glides in behind her.
    “What seems to be the problem, Susan?”  His deep voice is flat for the benefit of his assistant.
    Susan spins, flustered.  “M-Mr. Galloway, this…th-this… woman just marched into your personal office without—”
    Richard pauses her rant with a raised palm.  “Susan, I appreciate your concern, however Miss Hayes and I have a standing appointment.  No harm done.”
    She doesn’t budge, turns to glare at me with beady black eyes that sit crowded in her pinched and pitted face. She’s very aware of our weekly meeting, and I’m convinced she knows precisely in what ways Richard and I meet. Susan’s the listen-at-the-door type.  I imagine she sits at her desk just long enough for the fun to begin before she hops from her seat and presses her ear to the wood, wet with envy. 
    She wants the King; it’s been apparent since the first day we… encountered one another.  The introduction was never formal.  But Susan’s not one of the sexy secretaries displayed at the posts of some of Richard’s underlings, lithe bodies meant to disarm clients with saccharine smiles, muddle men’s thoughts with the heave of breasts scantily covered by shirts just squeaking by the bar for office-appropriate.  And that’s why, in prim slacks, drab, mock-neck blouse and tweed blazer, Susan has been charged with protecting the King, perhaps from would-be assassins as much as from himself.
    “If you’ll excuse us,” Richard says, gently reminding the woman of her place.
    I don’t believe she’ll listen today.  A shame, really. It’s sure to be a stellar performance.  From my position on the King’s throne I wiggle my fingers at her.  In return to the dismissive gesture Susan narrows those two black holes at me and then leaves with only the smallest huff. 
    Richard’s eyes harden. 
    He’s upset that I’ve caused a scene. 
    The King does not like scenes. 
    He recently fired three new drones after