hunter and vixen

hunter and vixen


        “Yes, Mrs. Berry, I understand you don’t like your purchase. But our records show you received your Lauren blouse two months ago. Our store policy states that undamaged items must be returned within three weeks of delivery.  . . . .  Uh, huh.  . . . .  Uh, huh. You’ve only tried it on in your own home?  . . . .  And you purchased the sage-colored blouse? That’s one of our hottest items this season. Can I suggest something?  . . . .  Try it with pearls. Pearls or even white beads accent that shade perfectly. Wear it in public, and I’ll bet people will love it. Give it a try?  . . . .  Great!  . . . .  You’re very welcome. Have a nice day, Mrs. Berry.  . . . .  I will too. Goodbye.”

        Dave glowed with satisfaction. Once again he'd negotiated his way out of an unpleasant situation. He didn’t like dissatisfied customers and tried to discover ways to make them happy. Over the phone, he could talk a fish into a wetsuit.

        Although it wasn't Dave's dream job, he'd worked in the customer service department of a Macy's call center for three months. Some service reps would have just told the lady “no”, and then she would have talked to their supervisor. He knew Washburn didn’t want to be bothered. Besides, Dave gained satisfaction from problem solving.

        He glanced across the way at Amy, another customer service rep. God!  What a great pair of legs! Her wardrobe consisted exclusively of short skirts – and blouses unbuttoned just enough to reveal an inviting cleavage between her perfect breasts. The way she rocked back and forth in her desk chair with her legs slightly parted excited him.

        Wearing dark-framed glasses and long, auburn hair pulled back and pinned, she wasn’t a classic beauty. But those legs, that figure, and that pouty smile she tossed in his direction . . . .

        His face flushing, he turned to his keyboard and monitor. He yearned to ask her out, but the call center had rules. No fraternizing with other employees. The boss even staggered lunch times, making it difficult to meet coworkers. Also, Greely, the floor manager, roamed about like an overzealous, study hall monitor.

*    *

        Employed at the call center for a month, Amy noticed Dave from day one. His tanned skin, curly, dark hair, and chiseled good looks captured her attention. She stole subtle peeks as the days passed – even in the middle of customers' calls.

        He wore Dockers and polo shirts that emphasized his sculpted thighs, pecs, and biceps. Unbuttoned at the top, his shirt allowed a tuft of chest hair to escape, advertising more hidden beneath. Amy knew he wasn’t just a dumb jock. It took a quick mind and a gift for conversation to keep a customer service job at Macy’s. She should know.

        Normally, Amy didn’t act like such a predator. But management erected so many obstacles to employee relationships, and Dave acted clueless. She realized her wardrobe and subtle lady language was beginning to work because she could talk to Dave – not face to face, but online in a chat room. And Dave had no inkling he was talking to her.

        Between calls she often passed time by chatting online. One day she met a guy with the username "hunter" who worked in a call center in Houston. He dropped hints: he worked for Macy’s, had a “storm trooper” floor boss, and was captivated by a cute coworker. Voila! Dave.

        She glanced across the office space separating them. Dave was focused on his monitor, so Amy opened a tab on her computer screen and typed in www.chitchat.com. Quickly, finding the usual room, she spotted the name “hunter”. Noticing the bulge in Dave’s Dockers, she typed, “hey, hunter. what’s up?”

        “oh, hi, vixen,” she read. “just need some advice. she’s at it again.”

        vixen: what do you mean “at it”?

        hunter: she’s playing girl games again with those legs and her low-cut blouse. when she bends over to pick up something, she drives me nuts.

        vixen: well, big guy. you are big, aren’t you? (Amy quickly eyed Dave’s trousers and smirked.)

        hunter: i’m a little over six feet.

        vixen: waaayyy big enough. why don’t you just ask her out?

        hunter: I don’t know about your call center, but the floor boss here runs my department like a prison. no chance to talk.

        vixen: mine too, but there are ways. why not drop a note on her desk asking for a date?

        hunter: I guess I could.

        vixen: ask her out. do it today. it’s the only way you’re going to find peace.

        hunter: you’re a real friend, vixen. i don’t know how I’m going to repay you.

        vixen: oh, I think I can find a way. (Amy grinned at vixen's boldness.)

        hunter: oops! gotta go. my call board’s lighting up. bye.

*    *

        Dave signed off and started taking phone calls. The chat room provided a diversion. He knew he was a living, breathing paradox; at ease talking to complete strangers on the phone or unseen people on the internet, he acted like a dunce around attractive women.

        He found “vixen” by chance in the chat room. Things clicked. He knew she worked at a call center in the same city, but she wouldn’t say which one. Maybe he should ask her out. But sexy Amy beckoned ten feet away, day after day. Vixen was right. He decided to drop a note on her desk. He imagined a darkly lit bistro, then . . . . Vixen was brilliant.

        Suddenly, the interoffice phone light flickered. He pressed the button to find Washburn, his boss, on the other end of the line.

        “Hello, Dave. We’ve got a call center problem! Step into my office for a moment!” The voice boomed from the receiver.

        The hair bristled on the back of Dave’s neck. What problem? Did Washburn discover his chat room activity? Did a customer lodge a complaint? “I’ll be right there, sir.” He heard the click at the other end.

        He dropped his headset on his desk and marched down the aisle between twenty cubicles to Washburn’s office, briefly making eye contact with Amy.

*    *

        Amy wondered what was happening. Dave’s lunch wasn’t scheduled for another hour. Probably not important.

        She needed to plan for tonight – her date with Dave. She knew it would happen. Yes, vixen was brilliant. Everything would work as planned. First, a leisurely dinner – perhaps at Bocelli’s. Then a ride to his apartment. Or even hers. Amy’s roommate was traveling this week. Then, after a glass of wine and some intimate touching, she'd show him more than her sexy legs. She’d give him a night to remember.

        She glanced at her watch – 12:00 – her lunch break. When she returned, she’d find his note on her desk. She’d act surprised. Things were playing out perfectly.

*    *

        Dave hesitated, then knocked.

        “Come in.” A rumbling voice penetrated the office door. As he stepped inside, Washburn motioned him toward a high-backed, wooden chair positioned in front of his desk. A balding, squarely built man in his fifties peered intently at a computer monitor. His squinty eyes, sunken into his fleshy face, gave him a forbidding, but slightly comical appearance.

        Dave sat with his hands in his lap and waited. The office was sparsely furnished – only the desk, chairs, a gray metal file cabinet in the corner, and a picture hanging on the wall behind the desk. The picture seemed odd – small, wooden boats beached on a secluded shore with a calm sea and blue sky. But no people.

        “Gotcha!” Washburn bellowed at his monitor.

        Dave flinched.

        Apparently finished, the boss turned to Dave. “Young man, how are you today?”

        “I’m fine, sir. You mentioned a problem? Is there something wrong in the call center?”

        “Oh, no, no.” The team here's doin’ great. But there’s a problem with the company call center in Albuquerque. It seems their manager just up and quit. Said he wanted to do something meaningful with his life. Joined the Peace Corps. Can you imagine that?”

        “How does that relate to me, sir?” Dave deflected his question.

        “Well, I’ve been watchin’ you, young man. I know you’ve only been workin' here a while. But in the whole time, I’ve never got one single complaint. If a customer’s got questions, you answer ‘em. If the customer’s got issues, you make ‘em go away. You show leadership, young man. That’s why I’m recommendin’ you for the manager’s position in Albuquerque.” Washburn leaned back in his over-sized office chair and pinned Dave with his stare. “Now, what do ya say about that?”

        Although shocked, Dave kept his composure. “This comes as a surprise, sir. Why didn't you ask Greely, since he’s second in command here?”

        “Greely?” snickered the big man. “Greely’s a good sergeant. He keeps the troops in line. But that don’t mean he’s fit for a leadership post. In the Macy's army, only a few are meant to lead. And you’re one of ‘em.” He pounded his fist on his desk for emphasis.

        Dave relaxed and smiled. “I’ve got a couple of questions.”

        “Go ahead. Ask away,” Washburn shot back.

        “The money, sir. How much?”

        The boss nodded. “Practical question. Double what you’re makin’.”

        Dave’s eyes widened. “How soon do you need my answer?” He’d already decided to accept the position, but didn’t want to appear too eager.

        “This case is special. I need to know by the end of the day. In fact, take the rest of the day off to think it over. You know there’s more to this job than money. It’s a step up the corporate ladder.” Then he leaned forward and beamed a conspiratorial look. “Just between you and me, this job’s easy. After you’ve whipped your crew into shape, there really ain’t much more to do. When you walked into my office, I pretended I was busy – just for show.” Washburn turned his monitor around, displaying a game of Battleship and hooted with glee. “I’ll hear from you before five.”

        Dave shook his hand and paused. “Just one more question, sir. That picture behind your desk.”

        “Yes, what about it?”

        “Well, it’s pretty. But there’s no people in it.”

        “Yeah, that’s the way I ordered it. I don't like people clutterin' my scenery.”

        Dave scanned Washburn’s desk, seeing no photo of his wife or kids. “I’ll call you before five.” Then, he strolled out of the office. He heard that New Mexico was beautiful – the air clean and dry, unlike dirty, humid Houston. But, thinking of Amy, he would miss the view from his desk.

        Ambling back to his work space, he saw her empty cubicle. Probably at lunch. He stuffed a few personal items into his backpack -- photos of his mom, little brother, and his cat, Charlie. Still, no Amy. He composed a carefully worded note. He sighed, dropped it on her desk, and walked to the exit.

        For a moment he took in the room filled with white, separated spaces. He thought, This room is like Washburn’s desk – sterile – and kind of like the picture in his room. It’s not about people. There’s going to be some changes in MY call center.

*    *

        The blush of anticipation put a spring in her step as Amy returned from lunch. She expected a note. Although Dave’s space was empty, a white slip of paper lying on her desk hooked her attention. Fingers excited, she opened the note and read:

            Hi, Amy,

            Just wanted to tell you I loved looking at you. I’m going to New
            Mexico to manage a call center. I wish we could have gotten together.
            Good luck.

            Dave

        The corners of Amy's mouth turned down. All that time wasted. Good thing I have a plan B. She rearranged her cubicle, placing her desk against the opposite partition. Now she faced Sean's work space. Pulling up her skirt, she began sensuously rocking back and forth in her chair, occasionally tossing Sean a pouty smile .


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