Rita was a pleasant supervisor from the very beginning.
In light of how intense things became later on, it is now difficult for me to remember how approachable and agreeable she was right from that first day. But if I try, I can recall a perfectly normal, pleasant woman in her mid-forties whose prim clothes and hairdo belay a friendly and approachable personality. She was well-coiffed and always looked put-together, and the way her short straight pale brown hair framed her face almost made her look older than she was, but she never let that look become intimidating.
And at this point I must say it's impossible for me to recall even those early days through anything but a risqué lens. Even before I met Rita, I had always been tickled by the idea that people -- especially women -- who looked so prim and repressed were probably smoldering underneath. Now, of course, I know I was right about that in this case. But Rita's outwardly conservative appearance already had me wondering what naughty thoughts were just below the surface months before I was actually to know all about them.
I was twenty-five and fresh out of grad school and still accustomed to wearing jeans and sweatshirts when I was thrust into our office and its skirts-only dress code. Rita proved just how agreeable she really was when I flouted that rule by wearing pants to work, beginning with my very first day. I didn't even own a skirt, and I had no desire to change that. My long hair was all the feminine ornamentation I cared for. As I strode rebelliously into the office in my pants that morning, I fully expected trouble. Instead I got a welcoming smile from Rita. "Good morning, Anna," she said. "Nice outfit!"
"Thanks," I said nervously, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It didn't. "Let me know if you need any help," she said. "Especially if anybody hassles you about the dress code. About time somebody challenged that."
"Okay," I said. "Thanks." Sure enough, an older male staffer did comment on the matter, but after I brought the attention to Rita neither he nor anyone else hassled me again.
With the ice broken, I continued wearing pants to the office and never suffered any consequences for it. Rita, despite her encouraging words about breaking the code, always adhered to it herself. She always wore proper skirts, often pleated or otherwise frilly ones, with crisp white blouses and dark stockings and blazers, and tasteful flourishes like gold earrings and just a touch of makeup here and there. She made old-fashioned look hip. That, most of all, is what I recall about my earliest days of working with Rita: older, but comfortable with herself, and beautifully coiffed.
That, plus she never fell into the annoying habit of trying too hard to be hip with us younger staffers. And by virtue of that, she seemed cooler to us than she would have had she tried. An average Monday morning might find me comparing notes with the other young women in the office about our Saturday night at some dance club. If Rita overheard, she would chime in with a pleasant encouragement -- "I sure do remember those nights!" -- but no regrets about not having spent such a wild weekend herself. "My husband and I just spent the weekend by the pool," she would often say.
If only I knew all the significance of that statement back then! But I was soon to learn.
She was wearing a particularly lovely black suit with a long pleated skirt and a ruffly blouse on the day our relationship changed forever. I happened to be wearing a less-ornate but similar outfit, with tailored pants and a plainer top. Rita commented on as much -- "We have great taste, don't we?" -- when I met with her in the conference room to work with her on a project that was due late that afternoon.
I laughed at the resemblance and her comment. "Yes, I should follow your lead more often, Rita!" And it was all business for the next few hours.
It was a long afternoon, and the conference room grew stifling after a while. By the time I had finally hit the Send key with our report, Rita and I had both removed our coats and I was both delightfully aware of the outlines of her bra under her sheer blouse, and excruciatingly aware that she could no doubt see mine as well. I was once again thanking heavens there were no men in the room when Rita asked the big question. "Anna, have you been to the pool here yet?" There was a swimming pool in the basement of our building, but only the higher-level staff had access.
I shook my head. "Remember, only the management gets keys."
"Yes," Rita confirmed, "But we are allowed to invite anyone along that we want. I was thinking one of the others might have invited you at some point."
"Wouldn't have been able to join them if they had," I told her. "I haven't got a swimsuit handy here, after all. And I wouldn't want the others to see me in one anyway." The 'others' were all male, and had been professional enough to never suggest any such thing.
"I can't blame you for that!" Rita said with a laugh. "I'd had my key for nearly a year before I ventured there myself for that very reason. But I'll tell you, you see a fat balding male in swimming garb once, and you'll never be embarrassed again about the way you look in your suit! At least not around him."
"I'll keep that in mind if I ever get a key," I said, packing up my computer.
"Well, I'll tell you what, Anna," she said, gathering up her suit coat and her papers. "I'm definitely ready for a dip after this afternoon, and I have an extra suit you can borrow if you'd like to join me."
I looked up at my supervisor. She was looking friendly and not at all embarrassed. I found the idea of her seeing me in a swimsuit -- especially her swimsuit -- more than a bit uncomfortable. But the idea of that refreshing water did sound terrific after that long afternoon, and I had to admit that it was in my best interest to build a good relationship with her. Besides, there was nothing waiting for me back home except my tiny living room and a frozen pizza. A swim before that would be delightful.
"Sure, I'd love to." I heard myself say it, even as I could scarcely believe I was saying it.
"Wonderful!" There was that youthful grin of hers again. "Just wait for me by the elevator."
When she arrived at the elevator with her gym bag, my angst over the whole matter was gone -- we were friends, after all, why not? -- but I still had no inkling of what was about to be revealed, both literally and figuratively. As we took the elevator down to the restricted floor, the small talk was of the project we'd just finished and the anticipated reaction to it. Sex and romance couldn't have been further from that mind as we stepped out into the hallway I'd never seen before. Rita led the way to the women's locker room on the right, and given the exclusive nature of the pool I naturally assumed there would be private stalls for changing.
I was mistaken. When Rita unlocked the locker room door, I was greeted with the sight of a woman about her age, perhaps a little older, standing before a locker in her bra and panties. She turned and smiled a greeting at us, which I managed to return as I realized what I was in for now. Rita was a friend, but she was still my boss, and now she'd be seeing me naked? I felt humiliated already, but reminded myself that at least it would be over fast.
