Dirty Secrets (2 page)

“I know. She snoops all the time,” Adele said. 

Adele started putting things back in order when Robynne placed her hand over Adele’s.

“Are you okay?  Why didn’t you call?” 

“I’m fine.  I can only take a limited dose of crazy a day.  She would have yelled over the phone and then yelled some more when I got here,” Adele said.

“If you need me to slash her tires, just let me know,” Robynne said. 

Adele chuckled and shooed her off her desk.  She thanked God for Robynne, her dingy in the sea of shit that was her life.  Hired on the same day five years ago, Robynne and Adele were the Thelma and Louise of the toilet paper industry.  

Robynne accounted for every dime of Corentini's millions while Adele practically ran Corentini, doing one hundred percent of the work and getting none of the recognition. 
Beyond her managerial duties, she functioned as Mindy’s personal errand girl, her pitch woman, psychologist and rent-a-friend. 

Last year, citing irreconcilable differences with her Italian tutor, Mindy (who could hardly communicate with half the international staff working at Corentini), demanded  Adele pick up where she left off. 
Not minding Italian, Adele loved the nuances of the language and thought speaking it was the closest she would ever come to carrying a tune:  she just resented being railroaded into it.

“Adele!”  Mindy’s shrill voice echoed through the intercom.

“Talk to you later,” Robynne said.

  Adele walked the short distance to Mindy’s office, knowing she got off way too easily.

“You called?” Adele said, taken aback by the pungent odor wafting around in Mindy’s spacious office. 

Against a far wall, a chaise accompanied by a Persian rug screamed “I’m trying too hard” just as loudly as the enormous desk currently swallowing Mindy’s entire body did.   The Dark One favored sculptures and artwork as the optimal way to boast of her wealth and social standing.  

“It smells like a skunk in here.  Are you smoking pot…again?”  Adele asked.

“It’s medicinal. I get panic attacks. You know what, I suggest you mind your business.  Did you look at the file?”  Mindy asked.

“I haven’t gotten to it yet.  I have to clean off my desk,” Adele said. 

Mindy blew out a rancid cloud of smoke. “You shouldn’t leave it so messy.”

“I didn’t,” Adele said, leaving the accusation tumbling in the air.   

“Anyway, Charmin is kicking our collective asses in sales.” Mindy slapped her bony hand on the desk sending aftershocks rumbling through her bountiful breasts to emphasize her point.

“I need your help,” Mindy said.

“Of course, you do,” Adele said under her breath.

“What?” 

“What exactly do you need me to help you with?” 

“It’s our first quarter board member’s meeting.  I need some fresh ideas to present to the board, especially since our sales have slipped because of those damn dancing bears. 

“I need to finish up a presentation; I have meetings with all the junior assistants and Human Resources.  My scheduled is packed.  I can’t help you,” Adele said. 

“You work for me. You do what I tell you to do. Give me something like the “Learn While You Go” product line.
  It was brilliant,” Mindy said, referring to the line of educational toilet paper for potty training toddlers Adele developed last year. 

“The product line I created,” Adele said.

“Sour grapes don’t look good on you,” Mindy said. 

“Are we done here?  I have work to do.”

Mindy ignored Adele and continued talking.  “What about lemon scented toilet paper made with the giant lemons from papa’s orchard in the Amalfi Coast?” 

“Lemon scented toilet paper?” Adele said, almost feeling sorry for Mindy.

Mindy’s voice raised at least three octaves, and her eyes twinkled like a child expecting a reward for taking their first pooh in the potty.

“I thought of it last night,” she said.

“Were you smoking?” 

“It’s a revolutionary idea,” Mindy said. 

Adele twisted a curl and debated on whether or not to tell the truth.  Mindy’s eyes never left hers.  

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”  Adele stepped on the land-mine.

“Who would want to use boring unscented toilet paper when you can smell like fresh lemons from the coast of Italy down there?  
Check out the
 
tagline: The Amalfi Coast, it’s behind you every step of the way when you use Corentini's lemon scented toilet paper.”

Adele’s mouth fell open.  The sound quickly intensified in Adele’s head as Mindy tapped her pen against her marble desk in anticipation. 

“Ummm…” 

“What do you know?  You’re an overrated paper pusher!” 

“I know I don’t want my ass smelling like lemons.  I think most of the free world would agree with me. 
The board would have bounced your plastic ass out of here a long time ago if it weren’t for me. You bask in all of the glory while I do all the work. 
You’re rude, bossy, and ungrateful.   You never say please or thank you.”

Adele’s verbal explosion rocked Mindy’s office.   

“I don’t have to say please.  I’m the boss.  I’d watch it if I were you.”  Mindy said.

“I’ll give you something you can watch.  You can watch my ass leave your office, you raging pothead!  It’s like an episode of bosses gone wild in here.  Newsflash, pot is supposed to mellow you out not turn you into a snarling wildebeest.  If you haven’t already guessed…..I quit.”  Adele said. 

“I don’t need you.  I could find thirty more executive assistants just like you,” Mindy said. 

“You go right ahead.  P.S.  No one likes you,” Adele fired one last insult at her former boss before storming out of her office. 

Chapter 4

 
Adele slammed Mindy’s door, opened it, gave her
 
the finger
 
and slammed it again for good
 
measure. The gravity of the situation hit her with the speed and accuracy of a fastball thrown by Roger Clemens. 
Her legs shook like jello, and she was sure  Snoop Dog could write lyrics to the beat of her pulsating heart.  Under the sedation of joblessness, Adele walked by Robynne, who had her knee primed for attack against an unsuspecting copier.

“Tell the Dark One this copier is on its last legs,” Robynne said.

“Uh huh,” Adele’s fragmented steps resembled those of a bride walking down the aisle. 

“Adele, it’s called walking.  What’s wrong with you?” Robynne said. 

She snapped her fingers several times, a gesture which only served to further irritate Adele.

“Fuck,” Adele responded. 

She looked over her shoulder to find Mindy perched in the doorway of her office.

“What?  Who?  Did you finally get some last night?  Who’s the hot piece of tail?  Robynne asked.

“I just quit,” Adele said. 

Like a shot to the arm, the words hurt at first, but now she felt relief coursing throughout her body.

“Congratulations.  It’s about time,” Robynne said. 

“You can leave with her,” Mindy said with her hands draped across her massive breasts.

“You know I can curse you out in two languages, right?  Spanish or Korean, you pick.”  Robynne said, proudly showing off the wares of her unique heritage.

“Shut up Robynne, with just one a nod of her head, she’ll grant your wish and you’ll be out of a job,” Adele said. 

“You watch too much TV.  She’s bluffing.  Besides, who would help her count to ten?”  Robynne said.

“Adele you have five minutes before I call security.  Get your shit and get out!”  Mindy said.

“Call them, maybe they can beat the ungrateful she-devil out of you,” Adele said.

“You will regret this.”  Mindy slammed the door and the frame wobbled.

“I’m so proud of you.  You’re my hero.  You finally put on your big girl panties,” Robynne pulled Adele into a bone-shattering hug.

“Why, I just quit my job.  I’m jobless.  I’m unemployed.  You’re squeezing me to death,” Adele said, trying to break free.

“I’m not worried, and it’s called a hug.  Did I pop your precious space bubble?”  Robynne’s laughter filled the room. 

“Is it because I’m a penny pinching miser?  Okay, you can let me go now,” Adele said.

“I will see you at home…maybe.  CT wants me to stay at his place,” Robynne said.

“Are you two gonna make love faces tonight?  Ewww. Nasty,” Adele said.

“It’s a strong possibility.  He crossed the three month finish line.  The first prize is this booty.” Robynne smacked her ass for emphasis.

Adele grabbed a small box from the supply closet with the intention of storing her mouse pad, some well worn stress balls, photos of her parents and an impressive candy stash:  a paltry accumulation of items summed up the five years she spent toiling at Corentini.  She picked up her box, took one last look around and headed for the door.

Chapter 5

Adele paced back and forth across the hard wood floors of her apartment.  After catching a cab home, she made and then neglected a tuna sandwich after a few bites.  It’s festering remnants sat on the dining room table.  Construction next door made it impossible to sleep, but a stubborn Adele tried nevertheless.  She studied the crevices of the ceiling for fifteen minutes, but sleeplessness pull her out of bed.

She couldn’t grasp the concept of being
home at two in the afternoon on a Monday.  She powered up her laptop and then stared at the balance of her savings account until her eyes crossed. 
A combination of thriftiness and a healthy inheritance from her father’s estate left her with a good amount of savings in the bank. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her Italian dictionary peeking out from under Robynne’s Condè Nast Traveller magazines.  She threw it across the room where it landed on a white leather sofa. 

The apartment’s black and white motif reminded Adele of a waiting room.  Robynne’s muses, two cats named Ebony and Ivory, purred on a red coffee table.  The well-done Picasso copies--courtesy of Adele--bought from a sidewalk artist in The Village, added a badly needed color infusion in their anemic apartment.  Adele clicked on the close button of her bank’s website only to be inundated with pop-up advertisements from various companies. 

“Come experience the island paradise of St. Lucia,” an ad blasted from her speakers.  The steady beat of steel drums brought the Caribbean into her living room.  A grinning couple broke through crystalline, blue water.  They ran in slow motion leaving footprints in the whitest sand Adele had ever seen.  She tried to close out the pop-up, but to her dismay, it froze on her laptop.  Staring at the beautiful island images suspended on her computer screen, Adele remembered all of the vacation time she did not take over the last few years. 

“Yes Mindy, I’m about to check in for my flight,” Adele said. 

“Your presentation isn’t working.  The board members are freaking out.  There are Italian words flying around the room.  They do not look happy,” Mindy said. 

"What are they saying?”  Adele heard the distress in her voice.

“How the hell should I know?  I don’t speak Italian.  I pay you to speak it for me, but you’re not here,” Mindy’s nasally whine gave Adele an instant headache.

“Did you turn on the projector?  Did you power up the computer?  Is the screen on and lowered?”  Adele asked.

“I did it all.  It still won’t work,” Mindy said.

“Call IT,” Adele said.

“I don’t trust them.  I want you to do it,” Mindy said.

“Just breathe.  Forget the visual presentation.  Just use the notes I gave you.  You did look at the notes, right?” Adele asked.

“I did look at them. I can’t do this.  I need you,” Mindy said.

“Can I see your ticket and ID, Ma’am,” the ticket agent asked.

“Who do I talk to about a refund?” Adele sighed. 

Adele groaned with the memory of Mindy’s incompetence.  A $385 penalty and a cancelled Caribbean cruise hadn’t resulted in a thank you from the Dark One.   Out of curiosity, she clicked the intrusive pop-up ad, resulting in a bevy of reasonably priced last minute vacation deals flooding her screen.  She looked out her window and back onto her screen. 

             
“I’m going to St. Lucia,” Adele yelled.

             
A raspy command bellowed from above, “Unless you’re gonna take me with you, shut the fuck up.” 

Chapter 6

             
One overzealous TSA agent, a seat with a view of the bathroom, an unruly child and his oblivious parents, a flight delay and about nine hours later, Adele landed in St. Lucia. 

             
With her luggage in hand and a dazzling smile, Adele met her driver, Yanice, who greeted her with a hot pink rose.   Adele figured this must have been what it was like to be a celebrity without the fame, money to burn, and gratuitous crotch shots featured in TMZ.