MODERN TIMES - PART I

         Sixteen years she had stared at the words ROBERTS & SPRAGUE on the frosted pane of the inner door to the office. From her side of the glass the letters were backwards, but she knew them by heart. Trish Malloy formed the first line of defense for the partners. She sat in the outer office in front of the double doors that led to the inner sanctum.

         John Sprague was the quiet partner. Trish had been there a week before he said as much as a ‘hello’ to her. He always seemed to have his head in books, or be writing on yellow legal pads and handing reams of sheets to Trish for her to type. He was not bossy, but he had a habit of returning when she was least ready for him and asking if the work was done. After her first year of watching the partners interact, Trish realized that Elaine Roberts was the rainmaker, the person bringing in the business. John Sprague was the man in the background getting the work done.

         Now in another twenty-five minutes one of her most dreaded moments of the year would strike again, but before it could, the phone rang. She answered it and immediately dropped her voice.

         “I told you not to call me here Stacy. He doesn’t like it, but tell me what is happening.

         “You’re fighting with Eddie and don’t want me to come? You want to come and stay with me and bring the kids? Yea, that’s fine. You coming tonight or in the morning?

         “What are you going to do about their gifts and where is Eddie?

         “Well, then you better get out of there. No telling in what shape he’ll come home. Bring the gifts, they can open them at my apartment.

         “Some Christmas, huh? I’ll see you later, Sweetie. Drive careful.”

         Trish shook her head and sighed. What a way to start Christmas, sleeping on the couch while Stacy, Brendan and Ceila somehow shared the bed in her bedroom. She picked up her handbag and stood up. She glanced back at Mr. Sprague. He was mired in thought.

         ‘Four-thirty and it’s almost dark! How many calls have I had like that last from one of my so-called friends? “What are you doing for Christmas?”. ‘Why do I have to have plans for Christmas? Just another twenty-four hours to pass in some way that does not get me killed. Next time someone says something I think I’ll tell them I’m going to commit an ax murder.

         'I’m sure that was a personal phone call she just had. Now she's getting ready to get ready to go home. In a few minutes she’ll come in here. She’ll hem and haw and remind me that tomorrow is Christmas and she has the day off. I don’t know why she does it; sixteen years here and I’ve never refused her yet. What the hell, I don’t have to pay her for the day and ever since I got rid of that Debbie, her so-called assistant, she’s had to work her butt off to keep up. You’d think she’d take advantage of the quiet of Christmas to come in and catch up.’

         He saw the tall woman rise from her desk in the outer office. She was glancing through the double doors at him. “Should I put more wood in the stove for you, Mr. Sprague? Are you going to work late?”

         “It’s warm enough in here as it is, Trish.”

         “I’m chilly, Mr. Sprague, but I’ll be leaving soon. I’m going to be in the bathroom for a few minutes. Just to warn you if the phone rings.”

         She disappeared from his vision, going through an open doorway on the right. The portal led to a room with a copier, a worktable, file cabinets and another door to the one bathroom in the office. He resumed his study of a spiral bound reference book that he had begun before the telephone call offering cheers and goodwill for the season.

         Trish Malloy flipped the switch on the bathroom light, closed the door behind her and sat down on the toilet. Hitting the lever and regaining her feet again, she looked at herself in the mirror. She began to apply a little blush to her face. She ran a comb through her brown hair, which had reddish tinges and did not reach her shoulders. She looked at the comb when she had finished and found more of her own hair in it. ‘I’d better get some of that stuff that grows hair. I don’t want to be the bald grandmother when I’m sixty, and it’s only five more years.’

         She opened the medicine chest and took out the toothbrush she kept there along with the toothpaste and gave her teeth a fast cleaning. Even though she would be driving home in her own car, she liked the taste and feel of a fresh mouth. Putting the brush and toothpaste back, she closed the chest door and gave herself one last look in the mirror. ‘Steel yourself girl! Here comes the worst five minutes of the year. You know he’s not going to say ‘No’, but he will lay a guilt trip on you just the same. Since Debbie left there’s been so much more work to do. For all his faults, and God knows he has so many, this was a fairly nice place to work until he decided I didn’t need assistance. Now he’s going to bitch that I’m not getting the work done. Screw him! Tomorrow is my day off. Let him get someone else. Hush your mouth, Trish Malloy. Where are you going to find another job at fifty-five?’

         She walked back to her desk and sat down. Mr. Sprague was still paging though his reference work, making notes as he went. Fifteen more minutes, she thought. ‘I’m going to wait until five of five to mention tomorrow to him.’ Her radio was playing Christmas music softly. Trish began to hum along. She couldn’t remember if the song were “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” or “It Came Upon A Midnight Clear”, but it did not matter. The music only accentuated that she would soon be off for one whole day, unpaid, but off.

         Next week she would have a second unpaid Holiday. Thank god neither Christmas nor New Year’s fell on a Saturday or Sunday this year. After that she would have to wait until late May for Memorial Day, to be followed by the Fourth of July and Labor Day. Bless it be that two of the three always fell on Monday. There was always the danger that the Fourth would fall on a weekend, but not this coming year. Mr. Sprague did not believe in three-day weekends unless the holiday fell on Friday or Monday.

         Life had its small victories. After her fifteenth year he had actually given her five more paid vacation days, bringing her to a total of fifteen, albeit pay was calculated for those days at three-quarters of her normal rate. He had also increased her partially paid sick days to three at the same time.

         She wondered if anything would have been different if Elaine Roberts had lived. It was seven years ago this month that she had fallen down the steps coming from the second floor to open the office. In her mind, Trish did the math. Elaine would have been sixty-six now. She had been the senior partner. Truth to tell, she was a first class witch.

         Elaine had hired her when few others were willing to take the chance on a thirty-nine year old woman who had not worked in almost twenty years. Brendan brought in enough from his job and a hell of a lot from working under the table. He spent it pretty good, but with Stacy just out of high school and not interested in college, and Junior getting ready to follow Daddy into the trade, Trish knew she needed a job. She also was aware, even if he wasn’t, that Brendan’s heart could not carry him much longer. Three to four packs a day would do in the strongest of men, and Brendan wasn’t that strong. Nine months after Trish began work, Brendan dropped dead.

         Elaine was the office ball buster. She hired Trish to have two women to boss. Trish’s predecessor had quit in disgust. There was always an assistant like Debbie, but most lasted less than six months under the reign of Elaine. Trish swallowed hard and took every bit of Elaine’s crap the remaining eight years that she was on this earth. Elaine was one half perfectionist. The other half of her was composed of part dictator and part strict housemother. Debbie had just joined the firm when Elaine died and had stayed until Mr. Sprague decided that she was not needed.

         It was on the Eighteenth seven years ago when Trish found the door locked at eight in the morning. This was unusual because Elaine ate her breakfast at her desk at seven-thirty every day. Elaine lived above the practice and had never given keys out to any of the employees.

         Now it was raining and Trish was locked outside. Debbie’s boyfriend dropped her off. She did not have an umbrella. The two stood under Trish’s until Mr. Sprague arrived. At five-foot eight, Trish towered over five foot Debbie. Since Brendan’s death Trish had ballooned to almost two-hundred and fifty pounds and though the umbrella did not cover both of them, she made sure Debbie stayed dry.

         Mr. Sprague had a key and let them in. At that time the inner office held two desks. The partners shared the space, facing each other across the room so that neither looked out the double doors that led to Trish’s space. He picked up his telephone and called Elaine’s number. Trish could hear the phone ringing through the ceiling. She heard no footsteps attempting to answer it. Sprague went outside again and rang the bell and when that produced no results, he went to her desk, checked her appointment book and then found a spare key for the apartment upstairs.

         “Ms. Roberts had no appointments marked in her book this morning. Are either of you aware of any place she might have gone?”

         “No sir” both replied.

         “Mrs. Malloy, I am going to use these spare keys to open the street and apartment door. Would you accompany me please in case I need a woman’s help?”

         “Yes sir.”

         She held her umbrella over both of their heads as he unlocked the door. It opened all the way. The staircase was fifteen feet from the doorway. At the bottom of it was Elaine Roberts, on her back, with no apparent bleeding. She did not appear to be breathing. Trish ran back to the office and called for help. The ambulance came fast. Trish did not see the rest. Mr. Sprague did not go to the hospital with the emergency squad, nor did he follow in his own car. An hour later, Trish passed a call from a doctor through to Mr. Sprague. He came out of his office in a few minutes and announced in a flat, quiet voice that Ms. Roberts had died. Apparently death came from falling down the stairs, though there were suggestions she had suffered a stroke just before the tumble.

         “You will refer her calls to me, please, Mrs. Malloy.”

         Brendan had been dead eight years, but it was still “Mrs. Malloy” to Mr. Sprague and it continued to be until one day when she asked him to call her “Trish.” He surprised her by agreeing.

         Mr. Sprague agreed to throw out the metal desk she sat at and replace it with Elaine Roberts’ desk. By default she also began to talk to some of Elaine’s clients on the phone and found that she knew more than a little about the business of estates, wills and trusts. Mr. Sprague began to depend on her more, and did give her several small raises, more than Elaine had ever done while she was alive.

         She began to like working there more, mainly because Mr. Sprague was not on her back every minute as Elaine was. Sometimes she thought back on some of the things Elaine had ordered her to do and could barely contain her tears. With the tension of work gone, she became more adjusted to her widowhood and began to lose weight. Debbie had given her a small gift the day after she announced to her that her weight had fallen below two hundred pounds. This was just before Mr. Sprague dismissed her from service.

         Mr. Sprague continued to be a cold fish, the term she called him whenever she talked about him with Stacy. He had no idea of how to evaluate her contributions in terms of money. She was sure he thought he was being generous. His car was ten years old, his clothes came from discount stores and he brought his lunch with him. She knew nothing of his personal life except that he was a little older than she was, not married, but did not seem to date. No pictures adorned his office. The phone on his desk was still a dial phone. Computers and the woodstove, which he had hauled down from Elaine’s apartment and connected to the chimney, were the only new things that had been added to the office.

         Her reverie took less time than she thought. There were still ten minutes to go.
She stood up and began a perfunctory straightening of the magazines on the table in the waiting area. She kept glancing up at the clock. Just as she thought the time had come, she heard noises at the front door. Two loud voices filled the small foyer. The inner door opened a crack at first and a bald head and then the rest of the body of a short wiry man edged inside, followed by a much larger man who was also losing his hair. Both wore suits and top coats but neither had on a hat.

         Frick and Frack she always called them. In real life they were Frank Nicola and Randy Pitts, two lawyers and the closest thing to friends that John Sprague had. Nicola did all the talking.

         “Jackie boy, let’s get a drink and celebrate this fine holiday some more. The bar is open at Frankie’s. We’ll toast Christmas. Then we will go to Randy’s house where Midge has a fine spread ready for us, and some really righteous Scotch.”

         They slid to the open double door to his office, blocking Trish’s way into the room. She knew they had spent the afternoon at their own office party and were feeling pretty merry. They had sent a written invitation to Mr. Sprague but he simply ignored it.

         In his quiet voice, Sprague threw cold water on their plan. “You know I don’t drink and there is little to celebrate. I have a pile of work here and tomorrow I don’t even have any help.”

         “You’re not working tomorrow, Jackie, don’t give me that.”

         “Of course I am. We’ll never catch up. I have to finish that Cuneo estate you gave me, and thank you for doing so.”

         “Screw Cuneo, it’s Christmas.”

         Sprague wearily looked at the ceiling before replying, “And next week it will be New Year’s with another day lost. Thank you but no.”

         “Well, I said to Randy, let’s ask him anyway. And of course, you are invited to stop at my house tomorrow for some non-alcoholic mince pie and coffee.”

         “Thank you, but no thanks. Now I think Trish wants to say good night to me, so please leave and allow her to do so.”

         As they moved to the door, Nicola shouted, “Well if you change your mind, we’ll be at Frankie’s until seven at least.” He opened the door and stepped into the foyer. As Randy Pitts entered the foyer and began to close the door, he bellowed in a amazingly deep voice, “MERRY CHRISTMAS, JACK SPRAGUE AND TO ALL WHO SAIL IN YOU.” The door slammed and then the outer door closed.

         Trish stepped into Mr. Sprague’s office. He was shaking his head. “Lock the door when you leave, Trish. I don’t want anymore idiots piling in her tonight.”

         “Mr. Sprague, I won’t be in tomorrow. It’s Christmas, you know, my unpaid Holiday. I will be back on Wednesday at eight and get caught up then.”

         “You are a little behind, Trish. I know it’s your big day tomorrow and I am not going to say anything.”

         “Yes, my daughter and grandchildren will be here. I thought I was going to their house but now they are coming here, so I can have my son and his wife and kids come over too. It will be so nice.”

         “I’m sure’, he said in an almost embarrassed fashion. Then he continued gruffly, “You be in here early on Wednesday and get some of this stuff out of here.”

         “Yes sir. And Mr. Sprague, may I wish you Merry Christmas.”

         He sighed deeply, shook his head and nodded before saying, ‘Please don’t, but you have the best day you can.”

         “Good night then, sir, don’t work too late. We’re supposed to have freezing rain later tonight.”

         “Thank you, Trish.”

         The door shut behind her and he heard the outer door lock. He doused the lights in the outer office, took his phone off the hook and found his spot in the loose-leaf notebook.

TO: "MODERN TIMES - PART II"