Louella LeBoeuf peered up from her bifocals as Tom Huff entered the office. A woman followed him.
She was tall, with a surplus of blond hair, and, in Louella's opinion, a bit overdone in the makeup department. Oh, and wearing skyscraper heels.
Huff had a certain smarmy look on his face that Louella well recognized; it instantly told her that he was up to no good. He didn't even bother saying good morning (though this wasn't unusual). The woman eyed Louella warily, holding up her right hand in a half wave.
“Louella,” said Huff, “this is my new administrative assistant, Daisy Ledet. Daisy, this is Louella. Daisy's here to help handle some of the chores— public relations and things like that. In a bit I want you to show her how to use the phone and that damn complicated Xerox machine you finagled me into buyin’. Call that business-furniture place in town and get a desk and extra phone sent over this afternoon. You'll be movin’ into the office next door. Daisy will sit here. In the meantime, bring us some coffee in my office. I've got a coupla projects I want to get Daisy started on.”
Louella nodded placidly as Huff and Daisy disappeared into his office.
What, she wondered, was this about?
Louella was a mild-mannered and generally nonjudgmental person, but this was a ridiculous turn of events. That woman was an administrative assistant like Louella was a ballerina!
In her time here, Louella had put up with a lot of grief involving her arrogant twerp of a boss. She'd only stayed because Big Tex had excellent benefits and because Huff, in his wheedling moments, kept promising her a handsome raise, which he'd yet to deliver.
And now? This was her reward?
To be displaced and humiliated by a bimbo?
The man had plainly flipped his lid!
He was probably already sleeping with her!
She was probably being hired for more money than Louella made!
A hurricane of indignation began to howl in Louella's head. She stalked over to the coffeepot. She poured the coffee into the china cups Huff insisted on, put them on a silver tray with sugar and Coffee-mate, and walked toward Huff 's office. She hoped she wouldn't do anything drastic. Holding the tray in one hand, she bothered to knock first, then pushed through the door.
Daisy and Huff were standing (quite close to each other, Louella noticed) behind Huff 's gargantuan desk, looking up at the stuffed bear's head on Huff 's wall. Daisy was clearly enraptured.
“Oh, Tom! Were you scared?” Louella heard her say.
Huff allowed himself a manly cough and said, “Of course not. At that point I realized it was either the bear or me.”
Louella suddenly wanted to puke.
The bear head was one of Huff 's dirty little secrets. A couple of years back, some loathsome cou-rouge associate of his from Amarillo, back from a three-whisky lunch with Huff, had spilled the beans to Louella. Huff had bagged the poor bear at one of those sprawling Texas ranches where they keep cast-off zoo animals for the purpose of releasing them to “big-game hunters” like Huff, who pay a pretty penny to shoot them. In this case, the bear had gotten a ten-minute head start and Huff had chased it down in a high-speed golf cart! He'd shot the poor thing in the butt, and the guide was forced to finish it off!
Louella had nothing against hunting, since she liked to cook rabbit sauce piquante now and then. But she thought this was the most revolting thing she had ever heard.
Now, to have this woman cooing and giggling over Huff 's “heroism”— clearly there was no God!
Louella set the coffee at the edge of Huff 's desk.
“That'll be all, Louella,” he said.
She glared at him and stalked out.
It was the third call—this one for Louella to go and fetch lunch, including a bottle of wine—that sent her over the edge. As soon as she hung up the phone, she went to the door and listened.
Giggles, grunts, then groans. Ooohs, aaahs.
They were making out!
They could even be having sex—sex!—while Louella had been ordered to be their waitress!
Louella found herself mouthing a string of expletives that she had not uttered since the ninth grade in Catholic school. She crossed herself, quietly uttering an Act of Contrition, went to her desk, opened a sliding drawer, and rummaged far to the back until her hand struck a metal object. She took out an ornate flat brass key.
She rose, walked to a small bookshelf, and removed three books in the middle, revealing the existence of a recessed gray metal door resembling a bank safe-deposit box. Louella had actually never looked in this box; indeed, she wasn't supposed to know it existed and wouldn't have save for intercepting a call from a chatty locksmith describing its location. “Mr. Huff had me change that sticky lock. He wanted two keys but I made three. What should I do with the extra?” he asked.
“Oh, he wants me to have it for backup,” Louella had found herself replying. She'd taken the key on some vague hunch that it might come in handy one day, though she'd never—until now—actually contemplated using it. But that day had come.
Now, for all Louella knew, maybe Huff had no dark secrets—maybe the lockbox contained his baseball-card collection or some such. But the office had an official safe where sensitive corporate documents were kept, and Louella had access to that safe.
No, surely the secret box portended secret stuff.
As she inserted the key, she heard a loud exhortation from Huff 's office and momentarily lost her nerve. Damn, was Huff summoning her?
The key fell from her jittery hands to the floor. Panicked, she quickly replaced the books, stooped, swiped up the key, and almost raced back to her desk, expecting the intercom to buzz. But when it didn't, she crept back to Huff 's outer door to listen.
The words were faint but unmistakable. Oh, Tom, honey, oh yes…oh, please. There…
That was it. Louella strode back to the bookcase, dumped the books onto the floor, stuck the key in, and opened the box. She quickly pulled six file folders, plus two envelopes—closed but not sealed. She relocked the drawer and replaced the concealing books, taking the key with her.
Louella went out to order lunch and, while waiting, visited a friend who worked at the public library.
“Of course you can use my Xerox machine,” the friend said. “Isn't yours working?”
“No,” Louella lied. “No, it's not.”
Ten minutes later she allowed herself a grim smile. She'd had no time to read the pages, but she'd copied them all on a chilling hunch that they contained things Tom Huff would rather not share with the world. Looking around and seeing the library all but deserted, she went to the back-issues magazine rack and slipped the folder with the copies under a tall stack of Newsweeks.
She would come back for them later.
Then she tucked the originals under her arm and walked nonchalantly out of the door to collect Huff 's lunch.
Louella's plan was to replace the original files, pack up the personal things on her desk, and leave a note that she'd quit. But once in the office, having returned the documents, she felt her rage flare again when she heard ever more giggling coming from the inner doors. She thought of a better plan.
She placed the lunch—roast beef po'boys and vegetable soup, along with an exquisitely cheap bottle of wine purchased from Shack's Liquor Store on the Black Bayou square—on a tray and tiptoed to Huff 's door.
They were still at it! Cooing and gooing like teenagers. Unbelievable!
Shifting the tray to one hand, she rapped on the door as annoyingly loudly as she could.
She heard Daisy squeal. A moment later Huff 's voice came blustering through. “What is it?” he demanded.
“Lunch, Mr. Huff,” Louella said serenely.
“Uh, just leave it outside the door,” he barked.
Louella persisted. “Oh, but Mr. Huff, the soup will get cold. It all looks so delicious!”
Louella clearly heard the shuffle of Huff 's impatient steps coming toward the door. He opened it, turning his back to her. “Make it quick,” he said gruffly.
Oh, yes. Louella would make it very quick.
Striding in with the tray, she immediately saw the gorgeous simplicity of her opportunity. Daisy sat in Huff 's chair behind his desk, primping in her compact mirror. Her face was flushed and her lipstick so smeared it looked like it had been crayoned across her chin by a child. Louella, approaching the desk, managed an artful stumble, and the tray—with the steaming vegetable soup, messy po'boys, and cheap red wine—went winging its way toward Daisy.
Daisy looked up too late.
The tray bounced and skidded across Huff 's desk. A po'boy, half its bun gone, veered from the tray and smacked her on the chest, its sound muted by great gobs of buffering mayonnaise, mustard, and pickles.
Next came the soup, which landed in her lap.
Daisy screamed but mostly because she was startled; she would later be glad that she had not shed her girdle, which, like a layer of asbestos, protected her from any real harm.
The bottle of wine bounced once, refused to shatter, but managed, owing to a spinning motion, to spray wine not just on Daisy but on the length and breadth of Huff 's remarkable desk. It was doing a slow drip on the floor by the time Louella picked herself up and surveyed, with secret yet complete satisfaction, the damage she had done.
Huff was in a rage so awesome that he was having a difficulty unleashing his usual string of invective.
Louella shrugged meekly and turned to go.
Huff recovered his voice and screamed, “Come back in here and clean up this mess, Louella, or you're fired! Fired!”
Ah, music to her ears.
She stood silently, gazing at her boss with a look that, had Huff 's rage not addled his judgment, he would have recognized as trouble.
He thundered again. “Clean this mess up and apologize to Daisy! Now! Now, do you hear me? Now!”
Yes, Louella heard.
She spied one of the two spoiled po'boys lying in a lump of wine-stained goo at the edge of her boss's desk.
She picked it up, marched over to Huff, and with surprising agility shoved it in his face. “Clean it up yourself,” she said quietly.
Louella was out the door and in the elevator before she heard the primal howl.
Perhaps he had really gone insane. If he came after her and put a hand on her, she would have him arrested.
But Huff didn't follow.
Rage—utter maniacal anger—had paralyzed him.