"Only because they probably work for you."
"God, you are horrible to me."
Jervois winked at Thelma and walked off.
In bed that night Thelma's mind was in a whirl so she got up and sat looking at the city lights. She couldn't believe Jervois had gotten away without being scalped. Even before he'd identified himself he's not been verbally eviscerated. Towards the end he became even more mockingly abusive and she'd taken it like a lamb. She was never like that with men. What was it? Then it hit her: he'd manipulated her with skill. He was provocative, made statements to arouse interest, then drew back just in time and ego-stroked and although being outrageous he'd remained calm and actually appeared to be very non-threatening. God, he'd mentally fucked her and that crap about the way she'd dressed stopped only just short of making her orgasm through being so emotionally aroused. God, was she making this up or had she dissected it accurately? She thought it was the latter. Damn, she wished she hadn't had so many drinks.
Thelma turned on TV and with most stations screening a film at that hour turned to a program she watched occasionally late at night because she loved to hate it and it reminded her people really were stupid. A guy and a woman worked as a team discussing questions posed by viewers who phoned in.
"It's Gladys," said the caller -- none were filmed, for obvious reasons -- and she wanted to know why Sundays were usually rainy and Mondays when she returned to work were usually fine.
The guy thought it might depend where one lived. He thought half of his Sundays were wet and half were dry.
His companion thought half her Sundays were dry and half were wet.
They laughed and Thelma rolled her eyes and then the guy redeemed himself by saying it's possible there would be something in it because he'd heard woman complain it usually rained when she put washing out to dry on Mondays. "Perhaps a weather expert or two who are listening could phone in with their informed views?"
"Hi, it's Mandy. I work in a 24/7 store out of the city and have just received tomorrow morning's edition of the 'Beacon'. On the front page it's announcing it's new fashion editor is a guy. What does the panel think of that?"
"That is sensational news," the woman panelist (Ruby-Mae) said. "Women readers will be in an uproar about that. The fashion photos will be all breasts and butt -- we all know what men are like."
The guy said: "I don't know about that. Men have a fine eye for detail, are not emotional bunnies and don't get confused about color and textures and know that change needs to be incremental, not radical. However, since Ruby-Mae has expressed her sexist view let's open the line for callers to make one sentence statement about the 'Beacon's' move to appoint a female editor. Only twenty or fewer words please.
Male: A brilliant move.
Female: I won't buy the 'Beacon'; not that I've ever bought it.
Female: Fashion is so screwed up these days that having a guy in the supreme position of fashion editor will really screw it up.
Male: Who cares?
Female: A guy wouldn't know about fashion editing even if he tripped over it.
Female: This is a courageous move by the newspaper, so I think this guy is probably more qualified for the post than any female. By the way I'm his mother.
Ruby-Mae cut in. "If you are this guy's mother, please remain online as I wish to talk to you. You are?
"Emily Rich."
"That name rings a bell. I've seen you being interviewed on TV, a trade official perhaps?"
"I was interviewed on TV and by magazine writers quite extensively last year following my retirement after long service abroad that ended as a Minister Counselor for Public Affairs at several US Embassy postings."
"Ah, now I remember -- straight white hair, a rounded face with dimples."
"Do you have my photo in front of you? These days I believe the dimples are buried in wrinkles."
"Is your son qualified for this newspaper post of fashion editor, emphasis I must say on women's fashion?"
"Yes, I would think so. He's spent the past eight years writing about fashion, emphasis on women's fashion, as a freelance writer for an international agency distributing articles to magazines and newspapers. He's won several top awards as a journalist presented to him in England, France and Italy and has had two books on women's fashion published in France -- one of them in five languages. Personally he dresses without indicating much fashion sense but that is a preference: his passion is for what he sees and not in what he wears. I suggest people wait until they see a stream of results before they judge him as a fashion editor without emphasis on the fact he's male."
"It has been most interesting listening to your comments and suggestion Mrs Rich. Thank you for sharing with us tonight."
Thelma drifted off to sleep, at peace at least, dreaming of Jervois Rich stroking her nude hip as she slept.
Next morning over coffee Thelma read all about Mr Jervois Rich, fashion editor, and had to admit his credentials probably made him over-qualified for his newspaper position. She read two interesting facts: He'd been married to a Swedish model but she died in a boating accident in the south of France just before their first wedding anniversary when he was in Buenos Aires working. Less interesting was his name Jervois was of Norman origin and was the name of a suburb where his mother lived with her parents for some years in her early teens. Thelma recalled where her English mother had lived in her early teens and was glad she'd not been called Blackpool.
Midmorning -- it was Saturday -- Thelma joined the regular bunch of six sometime eight unmarried women friends (three very unmarried, being divorcees) at the mall for coffee. Janis produced the article about Jervois. All but one was aware of the appointment. A lively discussion followed with the best comment, Thelma thought, coming from Mickey -- 'How could any guy unsure of the difference between his ass and his elbow adjudicate on fashion unless he were gay?' At that they became the noisiest group in the mall, laughing so much. As it happened the arguments provided good fodder because later that morning Thelma was invited to join an all-women panel of six on the program 'The Big Mistake of the Week at 7:00' to grill Mr Jervois Rich about his appointment. She accepted, thinking it would be fun, and was amazed she'd be paid to appear and to be told she was 'a virtual celebrity'. Thelma made the assistant producer giggle when she said, "I guess all the celebrities are out of town?"
Thelma walked into a fashion shop in the mall and was horrified that the assistants all appeared to be high school girls. She waited for the best-dressed girl to become free and then asked: Please dress me sexy, as I'll be speaking at a public function, sitting.
"Then it's all about hair, make-up, shoulders and cleavage?" said the girl, astonishing Thelma.
"How is it one so young knows so much?"
The girl tossed her head and said she was a senior at design school specializing in apparel.
"Well in that case you better assist me to build a new wardrobe likely to appeal to men who are not looking for hookers."
"Yes ma'am. You're that gutsy defense attorney who's often on TV, aren't you."
"Possibly. Please call me Thelma as I've yet to qualify to be called ma'am."
Thelma was delighted when meeting others on the panel and the producer and her fellow team members. Three of those women in off-the-rack clothes and unremarkable features gave her catty glances. If women were jealous of her appearance, despite Thelma being constantly horrified that she was about to tumble out of her shelf-bra, then what more could she asked? That incredible shop assistant Jolene had even managed to get a hairdresser friend to squeeze her in for a 3:15 appointment.
When the last panelist arrived late to make her dramatic entrance -- she was both blonde and a professional actress of note although Thelma hadn't been aware of her existence -- the producer clicked her fingers and Jervois was led out and introduced. Thelma had decided to reveal she knew Jervois and lied she'd been nude with him some years ago in a sauna at a ski resort in Switzerland. At that disclosure she received catty looks galore. The producer almost collapsed when Jervois said drolly, "Oh yes, I thought I recognized those breasts."
The presenter Dolly Rainbow (known to her parents as Jill Smith) entered and was introduced to everyone.
The half-hour show was lively, funny and some savage barbs were thrown and Jervois defended himself quite well. Winding up the conclusion Dolly said, "Thelma I understand our pilloried guest knows you slightly, recognizing your body from being in a sauna with you and others in Switzerland, although I find that recall a trifle suspect. You have the final word, as I believe this debate has been inconclusive. Go!"
Thelma remembered Jervois' mother's words expressed on TV talkback the previous evening. "My words are not original. People should wait until they see fashion pages produced under Jervois' direction before they judge him as a fashion editor without emphasis on the fact he's male."
The audience cheered and when the studio lights dimmed the panelists and Jervois were invited to stay for drinks and nibbles. After fending off the attempt by the female producer to date her, and watching the blonde actress almost bury Jervois under her bosom, Thelma left early, pleased she'd had such a rewarding day. For the next two hours she took calls from friends congratulating her plus two ex boyfriends attempting to say they were sorry for dumping her. The minor celebrity then went to bed and on TV found Jervois' editor-in-chief under fire from a panel of female journalists, mostly overweight with a hint they might by gay. The editor was valiant but was overwhelmed. He refused to concede under bombardment he'd made a mistake in authorizing the appointment.
Next morning one of her phone callers was Jervois.
"Hi, lunch at the Dumb Waiter 12:30 today?"
"I'll think about it."
The phone clicked.
Thelma, still a fine-looking woman at thirty-six, arrived at the Dumb Waiter at 1:00 wearing a white suit and a wide red hat with matching red shoes. Her new bra made her feel dangerous. She waved to Jervois, sitting morose with an empty glass in front of him. Three dumb waiters converged and the winner led Thelma to a window table for two. There was a 10-minute wait before Jervois yielded and joined her.
"You're a bitch," was his sour greeting.
