The Right Royal Boot
prompt: ‘end’ Sep 11 2020
“She’s going into his office now,” Maria mutters out of the side of her mouth and tips her head backwards, in a quick nod over her shoulder. I look past her and see the long legs and perky little bottom of young Joanie disappearing through the boss’s door. Even at a moment like this, she can’t help teetering along in the highest heels in her usual flirty fashion, hips swaying every which way.
Maria and I exchange glances with a few other interested parties in the expanse of the general office. Joanie’s summons has not gone unnoticed, as demonstrated by several raised eyebrows and more than one questioning appraisal of the situation. A quick glance around most of the other occupants of our large open space reveals a sly grin or two and several tightly pursed mouths. No-one is in doubt that our newest and most brazen little office dolly-bird is getting her marching orders this day.
Who could forget the last straw at the beginning of this week when she failed to turn up at all on Monday morning? No phone call to explain her absence… many expected the worst (even though this was way before any pandemics prevailed. Not Winter, with its fair share of colds and flus; nor Spring with all its sniffles, snuffles, and ahh-choos! But on Tuesday, there she was… fresh as a daisy, impeccably on time.
Blithely she explained her absence; delivered with a flick of the long fringe covering half of her face, and in her most indignant little voice, “Of course I couldn’t come in yesterday. I was tired. I had a big weekend. Hardly slept at all… “ The boss found himself in the same predicament as the rest of us. Speechless! But even without outward sound, none of us were in doubt of the rumbling beginning deep inside his being. Volcanoes preparing to erupt act in similar fashion.
It had been amusing, even titillating to some, the way she bent over from the waist to get any files from the lower shelves. Nothing even tinily sexy about that cute little bottom encased in knickers that had a bulls-eye pattern of lace, exactly like babies’ waterproof pilchers. Couldn’t seem to resist a smile and a head-shake.
But within the next days — not only once, but several times despite kindly advice, followed by increasingly serious warnings — our little Joanie messed with telephonist duties also, on brief relieving occasions. When an individual was requested, Joanie could be counted on to shout loudly (without covering the mouthpiece), “Fred! Are you in? Joe Bloggs wants you.”
No tears as she learned her long-awaited work opportunity was at an end; she’d been ‘sacked’. Nonchalantly, swinging her narrow hips, she left the Main Man’s office and began packing her few possessions.
“Oh well,” she said, with her most innocent, unassuming smile.”Needed a rest.”
Well-ll yes! It had been two weeks on the job, after all.