Retreat

Discover that weeks of gossiping, going to screen tests, taking swimming breaks and lunches with the New Man have resulted in a bulging Pending file. Open file with distaste. Lots of bills to be paid. Have often thought that since not own money being used, task ought to be fun. Close Pending file. The Contessa in low spirits. Says she is tired. Further investigation reveals that tired means Hung Over. She spent weekend with Justin the Producer but isn't sure if she likes him or not. Details not forthcoming and feel that she is a bit snappish, so go back to Pending file. Gather together lunch recipts for the vice-boss and the New Man and put in to separate piles. Make copies of receipts and then type totals into form. Hear self sighing. Hear the Contessa answer the phone. Says hello in an extremely lethargic way. Throws a paperclip at me. I look over. She mouths a long sentence. Not sure what she is saying. She repeats, which doesn't clear things up. She hangs up the phone. Guess where we get to go a week from Friday? Ask, Where? Picture that mind provides--the Roller Coaster in Coney Island--both unpleasant and not very likely. The Contessa looks grim, well, does the word marmelade ring a bell. Say, oh Jesus and smack forehead with hand. Feel very anxious while finishing up the bills. Anxiety makes the work go by quickly. The contessa puts her head down on her desk. I say, well, this time we need to bring plenty of food to the vice-boss's house. In head, make list, bananas, granola bars, dried apricots, bottled water, peanuts, cashews. Feel hungry. The Contessa says, I can't even think about food right now. Say, At least the New Man won't make us play games. Don't be so sure, the Contessa says in sepulchral tone. Think that she is to Pessimistic and say so.