Chapter 24 #2
I was focused on her surprise appearance and the bags she was carrying in our very minimal time together the night before.
I didn’t miss her fabulous winter white sweater dress and bronze pumps this time.
“You rock a sweater dress,” I told her.
“I own seventeen of them,” Shirleen told me. “Guaranteed to get me a little somethin’-somethin’ when Moses sees my ass in a sweater dress.”
I started to smile but stopped when Marjorie declared, “Nightingale Investigations and Security Employee Handbook section three, paragraph two, subheading one, inappropriate topics of office discourse are to be reported directly to the office manager and dealt with in an efficient manner. First instance, a warning. Second, a written warning. Third, possible termination. Also, same section, subheading three, use of foul language in the office is prohibited. No report needed this time. I’m sitting right here. ”
Whoa.
She totally did have the handbook memorized.
“You aren’t the boss of me,” Shirleen said.
“I’m the boss of this office,” Marjorie retorted.
“But you aren’t the boss of me,” Shirleen repeated.
“You’re in this office, I manage this office, ergo…” Marjorie let that trail off.
This could go on all day, so I cut in to ask, “Um…Marjorie, you know who you work for, right?”
“I do,” she snipped.
“And who works for them, yes?” I went on.
“There is no ‘boys will be boys’ allowed in this organization,” Marjorie replied.
“I hear you. That’s gross. Do the guys talk about sex a lot?” I tacked on that last one out of sheer curiosity.
“Never. Only Shirleen does,” Marjorie answered.
Interesting.
“But they have very foul mouths,” Marjorie added.
“I don’t want to push your buttons, honestly,” I said. “But, I mean, how bad is it really to curse?”
“The allowance of it is the end to a civilized civilization,” Marjorie declared.
I was skewing towards Shirleen’s side on this.
“I heard there was a study that said that people who curse, primarily using the F-word, have higher intelligence and verbal fluency,” I noted cautiously.
“I would need to see this study, and peruse who conducted it, assessing if they have valid credentials to research such a topic, because I don’t believe a single word of that,” Marjorie retorted.
I couldn’t share this information, because I didn’t bother to memorize this information when I was reading about it due to the fact I didn’t think I’d ever be called to cite my sources. But if memory served, it was an authoritative organization.
As I couldn’t do that, and Marjorie would accept nothing less, my only shot for a response was, “I think we might have to agree to disagree on this topic.”
“I don’t work with you. You can talk however you want,” Marjorie said.
I smiled. “Well, thanks.”
At this juncture, the door to the command deck opened and Knox strolled through.
“Hey, honey,” I greeted.
“Babe,” he replied, coming to me and giving me a quick peck.
Man, I loved watching him walk, his voice, his overall hotness and his quick pecks.
“I’m sure you’ve noted he stopped using his sling some days ago,” Marjorie bitched.
Shirleen rolled her eyes.
“Hit my head against that wall, sister,” I told Marjorie, and that was the truth.
She assembled some papers that were in front of her, tapped their edges smartly against the desk, put them back down, shot a look to Shirleen, a slightly less severe one to me and Knox, then bent over the papers.
“You see what I’m dealing with,” Shirleen said not-so-sotto voce.
I didn’t respond to that.
I said, “Those shoes were amazing. And the hat is perfect. Thanks for finding them for me.”
“Gotta say, buying a cowboy hat is a first, but I bested the challenge.”
“You totally did.”
“Nightingale Investigations and Security Employee Handbook, section one, paragraph four, subheading four, employees whose duties are confined to the office have two fifteen-minute breaks, one morning, one afternoon, and one lunch break, one hour, to be taken between eleven and one. This does not cover leaving early to go shopping,” Marjorie looked up from her papers to declare.
Shirleen watched her say this then turned to me. “The minute those handbooks were delivered from the printer, my life became a living hell.”
Marjorie opened her mouth, but Knox nabbed my hand and started dragging me toward the door.
He did this fast.
“We’re gone,” he announced.
Shirleen immediately turned and walked to the door to the inner sanctum, saying, “Good luck.”
“I want a verbal report,” Marjorie called after us. “From Luna!” she finished loudly and urgently as we made it through the door.
“I’ll call!” I yelled from the hall at the closing door.
After I did this, I wondered if shouting in the office and/or office building was permitted, and if so, Marjorie herself just committed a no-no.
Knox pulled me to the elevators.
“That isn’t as fun as I thought it would be,” I told him as we waited for the elevator to come.
“It could be funny, before the handbook. Now it’s just a pain in the ass.”
“Does she quote it to all of you?”
“Rarely. But she lays it out for Shirleen on the regular.”
The elevator came.
We got in.
The doors were closing when I noted, “Maybe Mace should have a word.”
“She’s been with Mace for ages. He’s immune.
I get it. She runs a tight ship. It’s the kind of thing where she puts the coffee in his hand before he even knows he wants it and his and Stella’s dry cleaning is delivered before he knows she sent someone to pick it up.
We want a Post-it notepad, they’re there to be had.
Tasers always charged. Plenty of ammo in the gun closet. ”
Yikes.
“But…yeah,” he went on. “She’s used to free-reign tyranny in running the ship, whereas Shirleen ran hers like she was a cruise director, but she was on vacation on that cruise.
This clash in management style, unless one of them caves, and Shirleen is never gonna cave, Marjorie probably isn’t either, is only going to get worse. ”
The doors opened and we walked out.
We were still holding hands.
And I was digging that.
“Is there some way to make it so they can both be who they are and it’s copasetic?” I inquired.
“I’m not a manager. I hope to fuck I never become a manager. I take lead on cases, I take lead on teams, and I’m good at that, I like doing it. Management, fuck no. So I have no clue.”
We got in my car. I started her up and realized I didn’t get validation.
“Shit, I didn’t get my ticket validated.”
He leaned forward and pulled out his wallet.
“Just press this to the reader,” he said, handing me a blank, white, credit-card-sized, well…card.
I took it.
It worked.
I handed it back, and we headed on our way.
“We need to get you women those,” he muttered.
They did, so no need to confirm.
“Tito and Tex are opposites. And they work,” I pointed out.
“Tito would wash a leper’s feet and listen to a serial killer’s confession before he was executed. Tito makes room, he doesn’t take room. Marjorie nor Shirleen are that.”
I loved that description of Tito, because it was apt.
“Either Shirleen is going to have to buckle to Marjorie’s rules, or Marjorie is going to have to start taking valium. My guess, neither are going to happen,” Knox continued.
“I don’t like that for either of them,” I complained.
“I mean, yeah, I get there needs to be rules. Though someone quoting them verbatim to me all the time would suck. And yeah, I think a workplace should have at least a hint of a relaxed atmosphere, flexibility and camaraderie, even if the work done is serious. I just don’t know how you have two managers at opposite extremes working in the same office. ”
“Tell me about it.”
I might need to chat with Tito about this. He might have ideas.
“Do you want to be a manager?” Knox asked, and he sounded more than mildly curious.
I glanced at him. “Sorry?”
“You do you. You know I love you. I don’t give a fuck what you do to make money. Just asking.”
Ah.
“I will never, ever have a job where there’s any significant level of responsibility,” I declared.
“Every job I work, when it’s done, I’ll be able to leave it there, go home and live my life.
Do I like stuff? Yes. Am I up to work for it?
Yes? Do I want a yacht? No. No shade on Raye, who digs that shit, and definitely no shade on those Tom Ford shoes you bought me, which are the shit, but I can take or leave designer stuff.
I want my dog to be fed. Me to be fed. A roof over our heads.
A car that runs. And cute clothes to wear.
The occasional treat yo’self day works, and if there’s a biggie in there money-wise, I’d like to travel more. Other than that…I’m good.”
He didn’t say anything.
I got worried.
Therefore, I shot him another glance and asked, “Does that turn you off?”
“It’s the same for me, in a way. In other words, you wanna do what you like doing. You don’t wanna put up with shit you don’t wanna put up with. I love my job. I’m fortunate it pays well so I’m gonna be able to take my woman on trips to places she wants to go. Other than that, I’m good.”
I smiled huge at the windshield. “We are so good together.”
He took my hand, kissed it, rested it on his thigh and replied, “We so are.”
So that was that.
And now I had to ask.
“Anything about your mom?”
“Byron’s at it. Brody’s back at it. And Byron has confirmed that it is very rare, and suspicious, that running his preliminary programs didn’t produce anything on a woman who used to be a stay-at-home mom.”
Dang.
“How are you with that?”
“At first, tweaked. Since then, no reason to be anything, until we learn more.”
That was a healthy attitude.
I gave his hand a squeeze. “You guys will figure it out.”
He squeezed back. “You know it.”
I so did.
FYI: Knox’s doctors were surprised at how well he was doing. They cleared him for light work and to drive. Though, they did give him some stick for not using his sling for the whole two weeks.