Tuesday, April 25, 2006

Off the Wagon

The Vice-boss comes very late today. Hair untidy, wearing peasanty sort of top and short denim skirt. Says hello brightly and floats into office. The Contessa bugs her eyes out and mouths Jeans? As we don't wish to be caught talking about the vice boss, but do wish to talk about her, a furious email exchange takes place. (IM would be more efficient, but as the Contessa has noted before, an IM message is not the same thing as getting a real email. Agree -- though this likely make us hopelessly old fashioned, as though we are nostalgic about the passing of the telegram.) Email exchange after beginning in an almost concerned tone quickly becomes libelous towards the Vice-Boss. As type line, Maybe she just came from turning tricks, hence the denim skirt, feel suddenly very worried worried. Type: What if there is a record of what we have written? Would we get fired? The Contessa writes back impressively, Very likely we would be escorted out of the building. By guards. There is a pause in the back and forth until the Contessa types, I don't care if I'm fired, I am an heiress...I think she is on Quaaludes. This unlikely to the extreme, but am excited by the idea. Type, Quaaludes and booze, both -- her eyes were hollow and she was drooling. And need I remind you? Denim. It is clear that she has completely lost her sense of self. The Vice-Boss comes out of her office, her hair brushed and her eyes neither dull nor darting around. Says in extremely dry and business like voice, Fritz, would you please print out the Spring budget for me.

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