Iris slapped the snooze button on the clock radio and remained horizontal. After ten minutes passed in a heartbeat, she slapped it again. When it buzzed the third time, she knew she’d be in serious trouble if she didn’t haul her butt out of bed. She knew without looking at the clock that it was almost 5 a.m. She had fifteen minutes to get ready for work. She flew out of bed, leaving it unmade, plugged in the hot rollers, flung herself into the shower, barely patted herself dry, wound the rollers into her hair, burning her face and neck where they touched her skin, ran into her closet, struggled to pull on pantyhose over her damp skin, and snagged a work dress off a hanger. As she was buttoning it up, one of the buttons came off and flew into her forest of shoes. “Crap!”
She tore the dress off and grabbed her faithful herringbone-weave suit that was well overdue for a trip to the dry cleaners but never looked it. She rummaged in the closet, desperate to find a clean blouse. In the back, she found a blouse she disliked and hadn’t worn in years. She fumbled with the buttons as she put it on, hoping that no one at the office would ask her if it was new.
Hearing the minutes tick by in her head, she spent a precious minute unzipping the garment bag in which she’d packed her new dress and accessories. She breathed a sigh of relief. That thing hadn’t happened. That weird thing in which clothes that were “can’t-live-without-it” in the heat of the shopping moment transformed into “what-was-I-thinking?” in the cool light of day. The outfit was still fabulous. She swooned.
She scooped makeup into her purse, grabbed her briefcase and the garment bag, poured already brewed coffee into her commuter mug, and ran out the door, down the stairs, and into the garage. She put on her makeup by the light of a flashlight held between her knees as the Triumph warmed up. At the on-ramp to the Ten, the light was green and she orange-lined the TR.
Forty-five minutes later, she walked into the McKinney Alitzer suite, composed and on time. She walked past the investment counselors’ cubicles, her garment bag tossed over her shoulder, her briefcase held firmly in her hand, her posture erect and her stride certain.
“Rough night?” Kyle asked as she passed.
Warren Gray sniggered and Sean Bliss for once seemed to be staring at something in the vicinity of her face for a change. Amber raised her eyebrows.
What’s their problem? Iris raised her chin to a regal angle, unlocked her door, and gave them an imperious glance when she turned to flip on her light switch. As she was taking files out of her briefcase, Amber Ambrose appeared in her doorway.
“Good morning,” she chirped. She sauntered into Iris’s office and casually leaned against her window.
“Good morning,” Iris said tensely, having a natural aversion to and suspicion of early-morning enthusiasm. “What is everyone laughing about?”
“Have you looked in a mirror this morning?”
“Why?” Iris took a hand mirror from her filing cabinet and was examining her makeup when she saw it. “Son of a bitch!” She jerked the forgotten hot roller from her hair and sheepishly smiled. “A sign I have too much on my mind.”
“Oh, really?”
The comment seemed innocent enough, but there was an eager edge to it that aroused Iris’s suspicions. She started to tell her what was going on but thought better of it. “It’s nothing.”
“Hmmm.” Amber spotted the garment bag that Iris had hung behind the door. “Going somewhere after work?”
“I have a date.”
“Really? Someone new?”
“Actually, it’s someone I’ve known for a long time, but this is our first date.”
“Sounds interesting. Anyone I know?”
“You might have heard of him. Thomas Gaytan DeLacey. He’s running for the City Council.”
“No kidding? I’ve seen his picture in the paper. He’s a fox.”
Iris smiled crookedly. “Yeah.” She continued taking folders from her briefcase and getting ready for the day.
“New blouse?” Amber asked.
“Ah, yeah.” Well, it was almost new.
“Nice.”
“Thanks.” Iris couldn’t figure out why Amber was being so unusually vociferous this morning.
“So, have you heard any dish about Dexter’s leaving?”
Iris looked askance in spite of herself.
“You have, haven’t you? Tell me, tell me.” Amber’s eyes sparkled.
Iris gritted her teeth and squinted in mock pain. “I wish I could.”
“You know who Dexter’s replacement is, don’t you?”
Iris slid her eyes coquettishly to the corners. “I might.” She beamed. She wasn’t supposed to tell but she thought she’d burst if she couldn’t at least throw out a hint.
“It’s not you, is it?” Amber’s demeanor changed from chatty to stern.
“If it were me, I’d hope you’d be a little happier about it than that.”
“I would be if I thought you didn’t get the promotion on your back, or was it on your knees?”
“What?” Iris shrieked.
“You know what I mean.” She stomped out of Iris’s office.
Iris stood speechlessly behind her desk.