As soon as I opened the office door, Olive started yapping and pawing at my pants leg. Laughing, I reached down and snatched up one of the many chew toys scattered across the floor and engaged her in a friendly game of tug-of-war. “Good morning, Vicky,” I said.
When Vicky didn’t respond, I stopped playing with Olive and looked across the room to where she was seated at her desk, fidgeting with her desktop items: straightening the stapler and brushing away invisible specks of dirt. I abandoned my game with Olive and walked over to her. “Everything going okay, Vicky? You seem preoccupied.”
She stopped fussing and clasped her hands over her desk blotter. “Yes, of course. I’ve already placed several queries on your desk. Ms. Duke was in earlier, but she left again in order to meet with Ms. Lambert about this afternoon’s scheduled events.” Vicky’s eyes darted toward Olive, who’d already grown bored with her toys and moved on to sniffing around the room. Vicky continued, “Flora called earlier. She isn’t feeling well this morning. She’s asked if you could arrive early to the Arts Center in order to help get Pam ready for her author talk.”
“Flora’s not feeling well again? Nothing serious, I hope.”
Vicky shook her head. “Just a virus, I believe. The stress of this week has undoubtedly made it worse.”
“No problem. I’ll make sure Pam is taken care of this afternoon.” Today’s themed events, which centered on the bridal trousseau and honeymoon, were sure to be a crowd pleaser. Ms. Lambert had arranged for several travel agents to be on hand to discuss booking the dream honeymoon, while the Dragonfly Room would be set up with displays of everything a new bride might need for her trousseau, from accessories and lingerie to bath and spa items. There would even be several cosmetologists on hand to provide mini makeovers and specialized makeup tips. And to kick it all off, Pam was going to read a couple of steamy excerpts from the latest book in her Reluctant Brides of Babylon series. Overall, it promised to be a fun afternoon.
“Has Eliot been sequestered to the break room again?” I asked, not seeing our furry orange mascot anywhere. Vicky busied herself again with straightening papers on her desk. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” I asked again.
“Just fine,” she replied tightly.
I shrugged and turned to head to my office. As I did, my shoulder bag swung around and slipped from my shoulder, bumping against her desk and sending a few of the papers flying to the floor. “Oh. I’m so sorry,” I said, bending down to scoop up the pile. As I did, one of the papers got away from me. I’d just made a move to pick it up when Olive came out of nowhere and pounced on it.
“Hey! Let go of that!” I scolded, trying to pull it from her grip. Suddenly the paper ripped and I ended up with a slobbery half in my hand. “Uh-oh. Hope this wasn’t part of someone’s book proposal.” For some reason a quote from one of Groucho Marx’s writings popped into my head. Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read. I started to chuckle, but quickly stopped as my eyes skimmed the first few lines of the paper. It wasn’t a book proposal but a letter to Bentley. A letter of resignation.
Vicky stood abruptly and held out her hand. “Please give me the letter, Lila. This really isn’t any of your business.”
“How can you say that, Vicky? Of course this is my business. I thought you were happy here. Why would you want to quit?”
Vicky plopped back down in her chair and let out a ragged sigh. “Believe me. I don’t want to resign. I love this job. But I feel I have no choice.”
“No choice? What do you mean?” I stared at her, wondering what had transpired to make her feel that way. Way back when, I’d started in her very position and knew that there was a certain amount of stress that came with the job, but Vicky always seemed to handle the demands of her position with a certain proficiency and perfunctory capacity. Better, I had to admit, than I felt I had. Then it struck me that maybe there was something going on, something terrible that Vicky hadn’t confided. Had a sudden illness brought on this change in her demeanor? Goodness, I hoped not! I moved closer, almost afraid to ask. “Are you ill, Vicky? Because if that’s the case, please know that we’re all here for—”
“Ill? No. Sick. Yes.” She pointed at Olive. “Sick of that dog!”
I sucked in my breath and stood straighter. “The dog? You’re going to resign from a job you love because of a dog?”
“Yes. Just look at her. She’s a menace.”