Inge de Bruin popped round to see me the other day. She was having some time off between finishing one high-powered job and starting another. We sat outside in the sun and idled the afternoon away. I made her french toast and served it up to her with a little bowl of maple syrup. She was so impressed. It's a good thing her divorce went through in January, otherwise I may have been responsible for the break-up of a happy home. And what with me and the cats already taking up precious mattress space, I don't think Grumpy would have tolerated more competition for sleeping room.
Anyway.
So Inge was telling me that she's just found out that one of the staff at her new job is a woman she had some problems with a while back at her old job. The woman caused Inge some major grief then left, never to be seen again. Now she's popped up as one of the underlings in Inge's new empire.
"Does she know it's you who's going to be her boss again?" I asked.
"I'm pretty sure," she said. "My name's gone round on a staff bulletin. I just hope that she realises I want a fresh start for both of us. I hope she doesn't think that I'm going to arrive and be out to get her."
At this point she paused. And it's such a shame that for that moment she wasn't a smoker. It was a pause that called for her to take a long, cool drag on some kind of sexy, white, menthylated fag, lean back and slowly blow smoke into the air before she said what she said:
"But a couple of weeks of sleepless nights won't kill her."
No comments:
Post a Comment