The letters landed late Friday afternoon when the office was almost empty. Bianca instinctively knew what they were yet, even as she opened her envelope, a tiny part of her refused to believe it. Across the room, others were reading, too. Their expressions showed it was the same letter.
Outside, shadows slanted across from the jagged line of rooftops. The setting sun seemed symbolic. A lurching feeling rose in Bianca's chest and, against her better judgement, she rang Cedric. "That's too bad," he said. It was a thoughtless reflex answer. He quickly added, "But you'll find something else." Bianca said nothing. Cedric asked, "What time are you coming home tonight?"
She put the phone down and cursed her weakness. From across the room, Jason spoke quietly but audibly: "The slimy bastards." He had joined the same day as Bianca.
By the time she got home, it was growing dark. Cedric was not there. She was grateful, as she was in no mood to talk to him.
She went to the bathroom and looked at her face in the mirror. In spite of her 40 years, it was still smooth--not beautiful perhaps, but, as a boyfriend once remarked, it was the spirited face of a prima ballerina. She stripped off and surveyed her body in the cheval glass. She was, she thought, in good condition. Her hair was still black, breasts round and firm, her belly flat, her thighs smooth, the triangle of hair bushy. She turned and surveyed her smooth buttocks.
v
Over the next days, Bianca wandered in haze of changing moods; from despair to hope to despondency, and back again.
Experienced people were always needed, she told herself. Maybe waitressing would do until something better came along.
Sometimes as she sat in her living room she felt she was hallucinating: the grainy pattern in her chest of drawers appeared sharper; the facets of the crystal decanter glinted more brightly than ever; her curtains seemed a deeper shade of blue. She hadn't noticed before how sharp the polished wood smelled.
v
Bianca and Meredith met at the shopping mall cafe. Meredith looked on the bright side. She always did. Life was an adventure. Meredith, at 55 not one ounce heavier than when she was in her 20s; gray hair pulled back into a pony tail; painted eyebrows rising like arches over her dark, probing eyes; flame red lips, lines forming along cheeks and jaw; floral dress cleavage plunging deep between her breasts, showing the dappled skin of a woman who has spent too much time in the sun.
"Losing a job, dear," she said, "is no disaster. It's an opportunity." She smiled, teeth showing stains of endless cups of coffee and cigarettes. She reached over and caressed Bianca's cheek and let her hand drop so it carelessly brushed Bianca's breast.
Bianca suppressed a jolting tingle.
Easy for Meredith to say, thought Bianca, but she said nothing. A free-lance artist, able to exist only because she was Harry's girlfriend. But how long before Harry found a younger girl? Harry had met Meredith through Bianca, and they shared him. For a time. Then Meredith was Harry's alone.
In her mind's eye Bianca saw Meredith, naked, speckled, flame-red lips, mouth open, grunting and heaving in Harry's thrusting embrace.
Bianca's meeting Cedric meant the transfer of affections was not painful.
They ordered coffees. The young waitress took their order impatiently. The place was only half full but she was already under pressure. A sign on the door said, "Waitress wanted part time apply within". Not here, thought Bianca.
v
Over the following days, they surfed the "jobs" columns. Bianca sent off three applications, none of which drew immediate replies.
On the fourth day Bianca tried Craigslist. One entry caught her eye: an executive needed a personal assistant. Part-time but well-paid. The qualities expected matched hers and there were "travel possibilities". She hardly registered the "and other duties from time to time" tacked on the end.
But Craigslist? Meredith was adamant.
"Go for it," she said, caressing Bianca's neck and shoulders.
Bianca did answer. An hour later a certain Linda Barry wrote back. Bianca sounded ideal, in fact just what they were looking for and Mr Brown wanted to know if she could come for an interview? And could she send pics? Bianca hesitated. Meredith did not. "Send him one. You don't have to accept, but maybe this will swing it," she said.
They found the firm on the Internet.
v
Bianca dressed in a pants suit, choosing a white blouse with the merest suggestion of frills behind the line of buttons.
She took a cab. The address was in a part of town she'd never been to--light-industrial, tatty. They pulled up at a nondescript gray building. She photographed the nameplate and sent the pic to Meredith. She took a deep breath and rang the bell.
The office was up one flight of creaking stairs. At the top, a trim, gray-haired woman smiled through layers of lipstick and sun tan.
"I'm Linda," she said, in what seemed to Bianca to be a faux posh accent.
The office was dismal, minimally furnished. A collection of photos showed the hustle of the firm's employees at work.
