“What about the men’s room?” I asked. “Don’t tell me that he uses the same facilities as the rest of us plebeians?”
“Believe it or not, he actually does poop with the commoners.” She cleared her throat and looked down at her lap. “But there is one tiny detail.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s your job to wipe.”
- 8 -
Okay, okay, so it wasn't really my job to wipe, but everything else Kendra had told me was true. It was 10:25 a.m. on Tuesday, and I nervously checked the clock on my computer for the millionth time. The two potted palm trees had been dragged into the storage room, Roberta had been told to keep her mouth shut, and in five minutes I would be leaving for Starbucks. God willing, I would be back a few minutes before Rob’s arrival toting a Venti low-fat no whip mocha. If there is one thing I have learned from being an administrative assistant, it is that you are always to blame. Let’s say that for some odd reason Starbucks is unable to make mochas today. I would fully expect Rob to berate me in front of my coworkers for being such a stupid idiot that I didn’t have the foresight to go to a Starbucks that had mocha-making capabilities. Keeping that in mind, I mapped out the locations of two other local Starbucks just in case anything went wrong.
This is my fucking life, I thought as I closed out of Google Maps.
While blaming the assistant comes naturally for a person like Rob Dorfman - all managers, clients, and other assorted higher-ups are guilty of it as well. Take Fed Ex for example. Once a package of precious engineering plans has been properly labeled and deposited into a drop box, one would think that full responsibility is then transferred to Federal Express. That is not quite true. The assistant's responsibility does not end until that package arrives safely on the desk of whom it was intended.
If the Fed Ex truck breaks down, or the plane crashes, or the delivery man drops dead, those things are all your fault. Of course they won’t say it explicitly. Your boss could never look you in the eye and say “Tessa, it is your fault that Joe Delivery man ate one too many blocks of cheese and had a heart attack en route to town hall,” because to say it is to sound ridiculous. But the thought is in their head, even if it is on a subconscious level. They need to blame somebody, and Federal Express is much too general of a concept when you, an idiot human being, are conveniently standing right there in front of them.
Luckily, Starbucks was in perfect working order and I was back at the office five minutes before Rob’s red carpet arrival. I said hello to Charlene and stepped into the elevator. Just as the doors were about to close a rosy cheeked tyke of a man came rushing through the front entrance and shouted at me to hold the elevator.
The lack of a "please" or "thank you," plus the fact that I had just seen his picture, confirmed that I was about to share an elevator with the dreaded Rob Dorfman himself.
“Thirty-two,” he commanded, stepping in beside me. He couldn’t even push his own floor button.
“Thirty-two,” I repeated. “Me too.”
I smiled at him as I pushed the button, but he couldn't have possibly shown any less of an interest in me. The floor numbers lit up one by one as we rode in silence. I restrained myself from taking a sip of his coffee and letting out one of those sounds you make after drinking a Coca-Cola on a ninety degree day. He exited the elevator ahead of me, not bothering to hold the office door open, and scurried straight to reception where I heard him exchange a few heated words with Roberta. I wonder if she had the nerve to ask Rob Dorfman about his eating habits.
I headed back to my office where I found Kendra dropping off a stack of documents for photocopying.
“He’s here,” I said, trading her the coffee for the documents.
“God help us. Wish me luck!” She thanked me for the coffee then made the sign of the cross over her chest. "And bring these into the conference room when you're done, please."
As she took off for the conference room, I heard voices coming from Chris and Dan’s office. I stopped in on my way to the photocopier to see what they were up to.
“You’re smart, you’re funny, and people like you!” said Dan. He pointed a red pen in Chris's direction from behind his desk.
“So are you, buddy,” said Chris, pointing a blue pen right back. “And don’t let anybody tell you differently.”
“You know this is ridiculous,” I said. “He’s just a man. A tiny, childlike, little man. Nobody should cause this kind of fear in other people. Unless you’re a murderer or something.”
“Tessa, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was,” said Chris.
“Didn’t you know?” asked Dan. “Chris and I are the fifth set of engineers to use this office.”
“Once you miss a deadline, that’s it." Chris's face was dead serious. "Engineer corpses have been turning up all over Vegas.”
“That’s too bad," I laughed. "I was just starting to like you guys.”
“It’s a high risk profession we’ve chosen,” said Dan.
They gathered up their notepads and plans and solemnly shuffled toward the conference room.
“Good luck,” I called after them.
The documents that I needed to copy were in regard to a Jiggly Kitty project in the City of Riverlin, Nevada. That was the main subject of today’s meeting as our filing deadline with the Zoning Commission was coming up quickly. The only section of Riverlin that allows adult entertainment establishments is the Industrial Zone. And even in the Industrial Zone - a place that is also home to flea markets, tattoo parlors, and meat packing plants - a strip club is only allowed after obtaining a Special Permit. Kendra and Chris had presented their request for a Special Permit before the Zoning Commission back in December, and the hearing was a complete disaster.
The Commission is made up of seven members, five of whom you don't need to hear about. The sixth member is an established pervert and Jiggly Kitty supporter named Jasper Quick, and the seventh is a sweet but clueless older woman named Beatrice Miller. Beatrice Miller had been genuinely impressed by how well Kendra and Chris had put together their presentation, and she spoke to them as if they were two schoolchildren presenting at the science fair. The fact that they were discussing construction of a strip club in the city where her grandchildren lived did not seem to phase her. She simply remarked that Kendra reminded her of her daughter, and that the Jiggly Kitty logo was adorable. Dan was pretty sure she thought The Jiggly Kitty had something to do with cats.
The rest of the Zoning Commission, aside from Jasper Quick who, according to Chris, didn’t take his eyes off of Kendra’s ass for the entirety of the hearing, ripped the presentation to shreds. They nit-picked every aspect of the parking lot, the signs, the landscaping, you name it. The neon pink kitten spinning around a stripper pole that Beatrice found adorable, the rest of the Commission called obnoxious and blaring. They felt that traffic exiting the parking lot would interfere with traffic on the main road and requested that we install a traffic light. It seemed that for a city that wasn’t too keen on strip joints, they certainly were planning for a lot of customers. The hearing was continued for one month, and they told Kendra and Chris to come back when they had designed an establishment that “more harmoniously fit into the spirit of Riverlin” They actually said that. The Jiggly Kitty, banished to a part of town that contains slaughterhouses, now must have the outward appearance of an 18th century bed and breakfast. The irony is spectacular.
I laid my stack of documents in the feed tray on top of the photocopier and said a silent prayer. I have never worked anywhere that had a properly functioning photocopier. Particularly the machine in our Massachusetts office - that thing malfunctioned on a daily basis. And of course, as an admin, I was expected to know not only how to clear all paper jams, but also the interpretation of every error code that appeared onscreen including such classics as MALFUNCTION 3DFQR4, ERROR CODE 6Q#8! and ALERT %729&1.
The reason I was so nervous was because what Kendra had given me were original legal documents borrowed from Rob
Dorfman. Handing him back a stack of crinkled, torn, most likely irreplaceable, pages was not on my to-do list, so I held my breath as page after page was successfully drawn into the copier and shot out the other side. The job was about seventy-five percent complete when the ear-splitting squeal of a car accident and a crinkle of paper that will haunt me until the day I die caused the copier to come to a screeching halt.
Shit!
A flashing diagram showed paper jams in every possible place that there could be paper jams. I opened and shut trap doors and compartments, pulling out sheet after sheet of crumpled paper, relieved every time I didn’t see the bright blue ink of an original stamp or signature.
Then I opened the side panel.
Deep within the bowels, wound tightly around a roller, was blue ink.
Son of a bitch, you piece of garbage, you piece of shitty garbage -
I ignored all warnings printed on the machine and plunged my hand inside. A large red circle with a slash through several bolts of lightning? No matter. It was do or die time and I couldn’t be worried about minor details such as electricity or my personal safety. Do you think Rob Dorfman would care if I fried my arm off? No, all he cared about was getting his documents back in one piece. I had two arms after all, but he only had one set of documents. It was a matter of simple math.
I could just barely reach the roller with the tip of my index finger. It was extremely hot and difficult to turn, but slowly it was moving. Just when my finger felt as if it was going to snap, the paper came loose.
“Yes!” I yelled, holding the page up over my head like some kind of secretarial trophy. The damage was not too bad. I smoothed it out as best I could, and hid it in the middle of the stack. Rob wouldn’t notice until he was back in his own office, and by that point, who cared? I finished up the rest of the copies without any trouble and headed for the conference room where I hoped to just slip in, drop them off, and slip back out.
Kendra was seated at the head of the long conference table. Chris and Dan sat next to each other with their back to the door, leaving Rob sitting directly across from them, facing me, as I walked in. I smile at him, wondering if he even recognized me as the girl from the elevator. But his little boy face only glared back with icy blue dagger eyes, as if I had just punched a seal cub in the face. The tension was so thick that I was actually glad, at that moment, that my responsibilities only went as far as making photo copies. I nearly had a heart attack when that page got crumpled, I couldn’t even imagine what Kendra, Chris, and Dan felt like when something that Rob had spent thousands of dollars on didn’t go right.
“I’ll take those, Tessa. Thank you,” said Kendra. She held out a hand to me while the other one continued sketching red lines onto the set of plans in front of her. I gave them to her and had one foot out the door when I heard my name again.
“Tessa,” she said. “Do you mind staying for the rest of the meeting? We could really use somebody to take notes.”
No!
“Sure,” I said. I grabbed a yellow legal pad and took a seat at the opposite end of the table. I had never been asked to take notes at a meeting before, and if this had been a meeting between normal people I may have asked Kendra exactly what type of things she needed written down. But since my sheer presence in the room was already grating on Rob’s nerves, I decided to keep my mouth shut.
“Where were we?” asked Rob. “We’re wasting time here.”
“Well,” said Kendra, “I was just explaining that if we reduced the size of the building, we could also reduce the amount of parking and increase the landscaping. These are the kinds of things that the Zoning Commission would like to see.”
“I don’t think so,” said Rob. Kendra glanced up at Chris and Dan, who in turn exchanged confused looks.
“What do you mean?” asked Kendra.
“I mean, The Jiggly Kitty doesn't change for anybody. Each one is built to my specifications regardless of what city it’s in. Am I not paying you to do what I ask?”
“Right,” said Kendra. “But if we squeeze a full sized building onto this tiny plot of land, we’re asking the city to make a lot of exceptions to their zoning code. Do you really think they’re going to go along with that? Especially after they told us to come back with a design that ‘fit more harmoniously into the spirit of Riverlin’?”
“Shh!” said Rob, holding his finger up in front of Kendra’s face. He turned to Chris and Dan. “What would you two geniuses suggest?” He leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together.
I started sketching a little bit in my notebook to appear busy as I didn’t want him to turn his wrath on me.
“Well,” said Chris, sitting up straighter in his chair and rubbing the back of his neck. “For starters, the VIP room to the rear would need to lose the trampoline section. It extends the building too close to the wetlands out back.”
“And if we have to go before the Conservation Commission, they will never approve us,” added Kendra. “They hate us too.”
“Also,” said Dan, “the idea about reserved parking spaces for curbside lap dances will need to be eliminated. We’re low on parking even without those.”
“Those spaces will make me a fortune,” said Rob.
“The Zoning Commission doesn’t care if you make money,” said Kendra.
“Plus, I believe there are laws against outdoor nudity,” said Chris.
“Look,” said Rob. “All of these problems don’t mean shit to me. I have always been able to get my clubs built to my specifications. You idiots act like we’ve never worked together before.”
“We’re just trying to compromise,” said Kendra. “We need to be willing to make some adjustments if we want any chance of getting approved.”
“I have never made adjustments. Adjustments are made for me. For as long as you’ve known me have I ever abided by a rule that I didn’t like?”
“No,” said Kendra. “You have not.”
“And have I ever had a problem getting my approvals?”
“No,” said Kendra, staring down at the table. “You always manage to pull it off. But what you don’t seem to understand is that I need to at least try to practice some ethics.”
Boy was it getting juicy. I kept my head down, buried in my notebook.
“You people do what I pay you to do, and I’ll worry about ethics,” said Rob.
“And by ethics you mean, what?” asked Chris. “Bribery?”
An involuntary gasp escaped me and I tried to cover it by clearing my throat. Rob shot me my second dirty look of the day. But I couldn’t help it. I was very impressed by Chris’s nerve to stand up to him. To be honest, I was very impressed with all three of their abilities to make as much of an argument as they did. It was all in vain, of course, but truly a valiant effort.
“Excuse me?” hissed Rob.
“What?” Chris shrugged. “I shouldn’t have said it? You made it pretty obvious that that’s what we’re talking about.”
“Chris!” said Kendra. “Stop it. Rob, I’m sorry, he’s a little out of sorts today.”
“Out of sorts?” said Chris. “What am I, six?”
“This meeting’s over,” snapped Rob. He stood up, grabbed his briefcase, and looked down at the four of us. His rosy cheeks were giving off quite a glow. I could definitely picture him playing video games in his pajamas.
“You just do what I say and keep your noses out of the rest of my business. And learn a little respect while you’re at it.” He pointed at Chris. “Or you’ll find yourself at the back of the unemployment line.” He focused his daggers back on Kendra. “Don’t forget that there is nothing stopping me from taking my business to Richardson-Fleiss.”
Richardson-Fleiss was one of our competitors. They worked for less money than us.
“Understood,” said Kendra. She flashed a crazed smile at us as she stood up to walk Rob out of the conference room.
“Wait,” said Rob, holding his hand up in her face for the second time. I shran
k down a little bit in my chair because he had started shuffling through the stack of documents I had given back to him. “What the hell is this?” He pulled the crumpled blue signature sheet from the stack.
“There was, um, a little trouble with the copier,” I squeaked.
“The simplest task,” he said to me. “Son of a -”
“Alright then!” interrupted Kendra. She put her hand on Rob’s shoulder and gently directed him out of the conference room. I expected him to fling her hand away, but for some creepy reason he allowed it. I didn’t breathe again until they had left the room. Chris, Dan, and I sat looking at each other in silence for a few seconds.
“I thought that went well,” said Dan.
“I can’t believe you talked to him like that!” I looked at Chris in awe and chewed on the cap of my pen.
“I’m almost at my breaking point with that guy.” He leaned his head back in the leather chair and pushed his glasses up, rubbing his eyes. “And by ‘almost’ I mean I reached it about three years ago.”
“Maybe this will help.” I slid my yellow legal pad across the table. On it was a hasty sketch of Rob Dorfman spinning around a stripper pole in a three piece suit.
Dan snorted. “Well aren’t you a good little note taker!”
“Nice work,” said Chris. “You can’t handle the simplest tasks, but you sure can draw.”
“It’s amazing what the feeble secretarial mind is capable of,” I said.
As we left the conference room I was struck by that feeling of relief that you get after leaving the dentist's office. You know, the one where you realize that you don’t have to go back for another six months. I had one whole week before Rob’s next visit, and I would savor every second.
What Stays in Vegas Page 5