Delegation of Authority
By Bea
I think I enjoyed my very first feelings of masculinity after Edna my wife was killed in the accident. Please don’t misunderstand. I was devoted to her and grieved terribly. But, after my attorney discovered a loophole in the prenuptial agreement that she’d had me sign, I stood up to Doris, my mother in law for the first time – and though I trembled with fear the whole time, walked away leaving a woman petrified with amazement and took charge of my own affairs for the very first time in my life having been under the influence of women since day one. First my mother, then Edna – but when Doris stepped in, with the obvious intention of taking me over, I guess I rebelled – with no one more surprised at my success than me.
You see Edna had steadfastly refused to hire men. “Can’t stand the hairy beasts! They’re so damned aggressive and bossy. That’s why I married him,” she’d say – and jerk her thumb at me. Everyone would either laugh out loud or grin sympathetically at me. Now? Women who had once seen me humbled that way (often more than once) were in the position of having to defer to me if they wanted to stay employed. I enjoyed this in my own quiet way, but think that this may have rankled.
My first thought, naturally, was to hire some men. But after I considered this at length, I decided it wouldn’t do. I mean, after all, women are the kinder sex. More nurturing, whereas my experience with the male sex had not inclined me towards liking them very much myself. I mean, remembering my schooldays? How would a male working for me feel, when one of the employees described how my wife had subjugated me? How would they react? And honestly? I preferred the company of women and though I pretended to constantly be considering the hiring of males into the office, it was the furthest thing from my mind. I liked being surrounded by females – the pretty clothes, the scents, the quiet, alluring, voices.
Looking back? I realize just how ineffectual I was as the President of the company. Yes, I had a fine office and all the perquisites of the top executive – my private bathroom, my special parking spot – the ability of having my meals prepared by the Managerial Restaurant staff – and sent to my private office – or into the Management Dining Room (The Golden Trough the lower paid employees called it – as my managers were fed culinary delights each day at no cost) where I would rule over everyone there like a benevolent despot – although I often sensed that the women there barely suffered me and my opinions.
Margaret had been Edna’s secretary and, naturally, I took her on in the same capacity. A tall, austere, woman she had been with the company for almost thirty years when I took over. She was never anything but distant to me. Well mannered to a fault, she nevertheless always gave me the feeling that she looked down on me and my power grab (as I heard her describe it to a co-worker ) of the company with complete loathing. I can’t say that I was surprised when she handed in her notice that she was retiring just about the time I’d been there about six months. I made it immediately clear that I did NOT want anyone in the company as her replacement, for reasons that should be obvious. She ‘suggested’ that she place the advertisements for the position for me and that she do the original screening, with me only interviewing the applicants she deemed suitable. Naturally, I agreed to this, how could I possibly know what was a secretary’s functional capabilities? I did check the ads that were placed (though didn’t let Margaret know I was doing so) and there was nothing I could see amiss in them – but the women who applied for the position were, on the whole, old frumps. I wanted someone attractive. After a while, Margaret began to show signs of impatience as I rejected one after the other. Started to drop hints that she wasn’t going to hang around too much longer. Finally told me that my next interview was with a Sylvia Thompson.
But let me interject a comment or two here. I was well aware that if not actively disliked by the people who worked for me, most of them looked on me with disdain. They didn’t respect me, I guess. Didn’t take into account the fact that I always tried to defer to them – I’m not mentally equipped to be mean to ladies – nor talk down to them even. I’ll admit that I may have become a little pompous with my sudden takeover of rank within the company – but that isn’t a punishable offense, is it? Another thing: Edna had been older than me – even looked more mature, while I was cursed with little or no facial hair and a complexion that I’d heard described as ‘peaches and cream’ as I grew up. She’d even laughingly referred to me as her ‘child bride’ on more than one occasion. So? I think it’s fairly understandable that I wanted my secretary to look younger than me, is it not?
Anyway, to describe Sylvia as a breath of fresh air would be misleading, to say the least. Yes, she may have been younger than myself. Yes, she was attractive in a self-centered, sophisticated way. But she was impeccable! I mean she wasn’t dressed like a secretary. I mean I don’t know much about designer clothes or accessories, but this young lady was stylish to the nth degree. She wore a skirt suit in a black and white hounds tooth tweed, a scarlet silk blouse with handbag and shoes to match. Her hair was very dark and cut short, but styled in such a way that attention was immediately pulled towards her dark – almost obsidian – eyes. Scarlet mouth – maybe her worst feature as it had a severe turn to it, but perfectly molded, full lips. Matched her impeccable fingertips in color. Not much jewelry: A wide gold bracelet and square gold earrings on beautifully shaped ears.
Her catlike stride oozed self confidence as Margaret led her into my office and introduced us. I was surprised to find that she had a strong grip as we shook hands. She seemed to enjoy imprisoning my hand in hers for longer than was absolutely necessary as she stared down into my eyes – she was taller than me in her heels. Yes, I was intimidated immediately and as Margaret left the office, I mumbled the usual inanities that you use when meeting someone for the first time, then suggested that she sit in the chair across the desk from my own.
She smiled but, still holding my hand, said “Why don’t we sit on your couch? Don’t you think it would be more comfy there? You could maybe have Margaret bring in a pot of tea? I’d kill for a nice cup of tea! I hope you don’t mind?” she cooed – and gave me a gentle tug towards the couch and coffee table. I didn’t know what to do! This girl was now leading me around my own office – and, my hand held firmly in hers, I was following her like a little lamb!
Dazed, I heard her ask if I’d designed my office myself. “No. It was my wife.” I replied. Then, puzzled by the expression that had been on Sylvia’s face I asked “Why do you ask? You seem a little puzzled?”
Her lips and teeth smiled, but her eyes didn’t. “Silly me! The décor just didn’t seem to be you – just little masculine is all.” Then, as we were now at the couch, she added. “Now, isn’t this much better?” and pulled me down to sit beside her. Then, finally, she let go my hand, reached forward and pressed the Com line satellite on the coffee table. Margaret answered immediately “Yes?”
“Margaret? Be a dear and send in a pot of tea. Green tea if you have it?” Sylvia asked with aplomb.
“Be in there in a few seconds,” Margaret answered, no surprise in her voice at being spoken to like that by an applicant.
Sylvia smiled at me. “While I’m waiting, you don’t mind?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I answered.
“Silly me!” she giggled softly. “I just wanted to make sure that I look all right for our interview.”
I blinked. “You look damn good to me, young lady.”
Her face froze a little. “I don’t care for profanity, sir. Would appreciate it if you’d desist.”
Abashed, I blushed. “I’m very sorry miss. No offense meant.”
She gave me a cold smile. “Thank you. Now, if I may?” Without waiting for my approval, she opened up her handbag and pulled out a compact, opened it and took the powder applicator out using the tips of her fingers and examined her face intently in the mirror. I watched her, fascinated by this purely feminine of all tasks. Suddenly, her eyes slid round in my direction and caught my interest. Then she turned her face a little, raised her eyebrows in a questioning way and made a peculiar little motion with the powder puff – almost as if she was offering it to me!
Astonished, I actually shook my head. Her lips pouted as if she were disappointed, but she gently dabbed her nose a little, then rested the applicator onto the compact, closed down the lid and put it back into her handbag. Smiled at me again as she snapped the handbag shut.
She then stretched her arms upwards, sighed happily, then relaxed back into the couch. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself Alan?” she said, after bringing her arms down – then laying a warm hand on my thigh!
I froze. What the hell was she doing? Wanted to pull away, but was trapped. What does a man do when an attractive young woman lays her hand on his thigh – and starts to stroke it? Pull away? Scream?
And what does he do when her hand pauses in its peregrinations as she feels the lacy, elasticized, legging of his bloomer style panties under his pants? Does he lick his lips like I did as she slowly slides a long fingernail eases in between the elastic and his thigh (through his pant material of course) pulls it way from his flesh, then let it snap back with a soft, but audible, pht noise?
Why had I worn my panties that particular day, my mind questioned. Okay, wearing panties hadn’t started out an everyday occurrence – and it still wasn’t, though I had to admit it was becoming a more regular habit since Edna died – maybe four times a week – well truthfully, maybe five or six by now?
You see, Edna used to spank me as a precursor to sex. She didn’t hurt me of course – well maybe just once or twice – but when she discovered that she got a major kick out of it, she elevated her enjoyment by dressing me in very feminine panties before putting me over her knees – usually a heavy gauge satin, with scads of lace – and sometimes even the roomy bloomers, of the type I was wearing the day of my interview with Sylvia. Then she’d usually spank me on my panties cooing at me and calling me her little sissy as she did so. After she died, I found myself missing her so much – and then the consolation of remembering our pleasant interludes was heightened by first of all by my touching of the panty material, followed by the thrill of wearing them at home – then under my normal clothes all day at work.
Another Pht! got my attention again. “Where did you go to school?” she was asking, her face showing a slight enjoyment and her eyes fixed hypnotically on mine, her immaculate, scarlet fingernails now daintily taking a hold of the panty lace edging, pulling it up and away from my thigh, then pht!
I answered her question. It was all I could think to do.
Then, motivated by consistent phts, I told her about my upbringing – by my mother. Our friendship with Edna and her mother. (Pht!) Our marriage. (A number of phts!). What I was looking for in a secretary – she assured me that I wouldn’t have any trouble with her. Then, with an air of finality, she made one more pht on my thigh then openly stretched her arm across me, found the lace border on my other leg, and negligently pulled my elastic there to at least a couple of inches – then smiled softly as I yelped when it snapped back into place.
She reached forward to the Com button, but before she pressed it, looked at me out of vaguely amused eyes. “May I?” she asked.
I had absolutely no idea what she was asking, but felt forced to respond. “Yes – of course!” She gave me a maternal smile, and pressed it. When Margaret responded, Sylvia simply said. “I have accepted Alan’s offer. You can cancel the search now.”
A few weeks later, I was Sylvia’s creature. Margaret had left and Sylvia now inhabited my outer office. She deferred to me in front of other people, but it had become obvious to me that she enjoyed toying with me in my private office. Her domination over me was started by the use of her compact – something she always seemed to have around her person.
One morning as we sat and chatted over our first coffee of the day, she took her compact out and started powdering her nose, responding to me, but barely paying attention to what I was saying. Then her eyes found mine again as, per usual, I couldn’t keep my eyes from what she was doing. “Yes?” she asked softly.
“Eh _ Er - I don’t know. I’ve forgotten,” I said lamely.
“You always seem SO fascinated when I powder my nose. Would you like to powder yours?” This time, she held the compact out towards me invitingly.
I pushed myself back into my chair. “No! Of course not!”
“Why not?” she asked, putting a perplexed look on her face and getting up from her chair and advancing towards me.
Her intentions were obvious. “Please don’t?” I asked softly but showed my capitulation as I turned my nose up towards her..
“Silly! Now just hold still for a second. Your nose IS a little shiny – and we can’t have that, can we?” she cooed – and gently patted my nose with the applicator, the scent of the powder filling my nostrils.
“Now? What do you say?” she asked in a chiding manner when I kept quiet.
“Thank you?”
“Yes. That’s better. Now that wasn’t too bad, was it?” she said. “And don’t you think you look nicer?”
“I don’t know,” I said meekly.
“Well, why don’t you have a look. Go on!” she said bossily, handing me the compact..
“Oh Sylvia. I can’t tell,” I said looking in the little mirror.
“Probably because I didn’t put enough on you. Why don’t you add a little? Come along now! Don’t be silly! Powder your nose!”
And, blushing with shame in surrender, I stood there, peering into the compact mirror in front of my secretary and daintily powdered my nose.
For the next week or so any time I caught any sign of her reaching for her compact, I made myself scarce or if I couldn’t escape, quickly picked up my telephone and placed a call. She caught me a few times when I wasn’t paying attention though – I’d turn around, and there she’d be holding the compact out towards me. I demurred once, saying that I didn’t see any sense in it, but the icy glare she gave me scared me so much that my hand was actually trembling when I powdered my nose a few minutes later.
She explained her fixation on makeup a week or so later when she gave me my very own compact, a rather pretty one with a container attached that held a lipstick tube, the compact covered by a plush velvet case in pink.
“I’ve been thinking,” she started. “You and the other ladies don’t seem to have much communication between you and, in my opinion, it’s probably because of gender. They don’t like men you see and with you being the only one here, you’re simply the target for all the bad feelings they have about them.”
“But how would powdering my nose here in my office help?”
“Not just here, silly! Out in the main office too!”
“They’d laugh. Think I was gay!”
“Laugh? I don’t think so. And if they did? It would just be a little bit. They’d maybe stop seeing you as the all and mighty powerful male then.”
I had to laugh. “They see ME as an all powerful male figure? Somehow, I don’t think so!”
She nodded. “Maybe not. But I think it might improve relationships all around if you tried to meet the other girls half way. Don’t you agree?”
Her constant use of phrasing that suggested that I was on a par with the other girls disturbed me, but I couldn’t think of a way to point out why, without diminishing myself, so simply replied. “But I don’t see how pretending to be feminine will help me do that. Doesn’t make sense.”
“But you ARE feminine, are you not, Alan? Otherwise, why would you have been wearing such nice panties that day I interviewed you? As a matter of fact, you seem to have stopped wearing them, and I’ve been wondering why.”
I gulped. Thought of denying the charge, but knew it was useless. “I was embarrassed that you found out that I was wearing them.” I admitted.
She looked at me, disbelief all over her face. “But WHY for goodness sake? I felt immediately that you had at least some willingness to relate to the women here – and I was very impressed! Not very many men would go to that length. So now? Why do you quibble at putting on a little face powder? Seems silly to me!”
“Well? It seems kinda feminine to me,” I muttered defensively.
She stared at me and shook her head and misinterpreted what I’d said. “Well some might look on it that way. I considered it a master stroke on your part. An attempt to bridge a gap between you and your employees. If not that, then perhaps an attempt by you to walk a mile in another man’s shoes – that sort of thing. Is that NOT what it was?”
My mind rejoiced! She had read something entirely different into my little cross dressing adventure. Could not believe my luck. I pretended to consider my answer for a few seconds. Nodded my head. “Well Sylvia? I can’t honestly say that either one of these observations is exactly correct, but you really have caught the essence of what I was trying to do. Yes.”
“Then why did you stop?”
I gulped and shrugged. “Embarrassment, knowing you’d found out what I was wearing – accidentally of course – and might have taken the wrong impression.”
“How nonsensical! What a masculine reaction! I simply assumed that you borrowed a pair of your wife’s from her lingerie drawer?”
“Yes,” I answered shyly, looking down at the floor.
“So it doesn’t mean to say that you were wearing your own panties, does it?”
“No, I guess not,” I replied. (Although technically, they had been mine. Edna hadn’t liked the type extremely feminine panties she’d bought for me, but she made the pretense that they were for her, even kept them in her own lingerie drawer) So I really wasn’t telling a lie.
“And there were more there?” Sylvia continued.
“Yes.”
She came and put a strong arm around my shoulders. I was surprised at her strength as she pulled me into her side. “You can be such a little silly!” she purred. “Give up on a wonderful idea at the first obstacle. Now starting tomorrow? I want you to start wearing panties again, every day. Nice pretty ones, like the ones you wore that day. Where the panty lines will show under your trousers.”
“Oh Sylvia! I can’t do something like that!” I protested.
“Yes you CAN! Of course you can! You did it that day, didn’t you? If you don’t? I’ll tell all the girls what you wore that day – and explain why, of course. I’ll just bet that they’ll understand – and appreciate what you’re trying to do! Then, once you see how accepting they are, you can start wearing them regularly.”
For some reason, this sounded more like a threat than an inducement. “Well, okay,” I said grudgingly. “But only for a few days.”
“No. A month,” she said.
We negotiated and finally agreed to a trial period of three weeks. As she went back to her office, she smiled and said. “Looks like I’ll have to take care of your program to become successful in your personal relationships with your employees.”
Little did I know how ominous these words were.
The following day, I did something stupid. Put panties on all right, but not the bloomer type I’d worn before. When Sylvia brought my coffee into my office she found me sitting down. As she laid my cup on my desk, she smiled. “Good morning sir. Did you put your panties on today?”
I blushed. “Yes.”
“Would you mind standing up – sir?”
“What for?”
“Well sir, you didn’t see me when you passed by, but I saw you - didn’t see a nice panty line. I just wanted to check and make sure you weren’t being naughty.”
“Well, I’m not!” I said with some asperity. “I put panties on, just like you suggested.”
The smile left her face and she started to come around to my side of the desk. “Am I not asking nicely enough – sir?” she said, but coldly.
“Oh – oh Y . Y .Yes,” I stammered.
“Then please do as I tell you?” She moved a step forward.
“Oh very well then! If it means that much to you,” I said, but with not a whole lot of bravado – and stood up, facing away from her.
“Stand still now, “ she said, coming and standing close to me. Then, with one hand cupping each buttock, she actually caressed me! “Mmmm!” she whispered softly. “How nice! You are wearing your panties after all! I’m SO sorry for not believing you sir. What color did you choose?”
“Pale yellow.”
“What material?”
“Satin.”
“How nice! Nice frills around the hems and waistline?”
“Yes.”
“Feel nice on?”
“I guess so, I don’t know.”
“Oh sir! Here, let me feel,” she said – and reaching around me from the back she had unzipped my pants and slipped a hand into the opening – then quickly had pushed my shirt aside and was stroking my erection softly on the outside of my panties, stopping every so often to fondle the lace at the hems and snap the elastic there. “Feels very nice to me, sir,” she said. “Are you sure it doesn’t feel the same to you?”
“Please Sylvia – don’t?” I whispered.
“Okay – but only if you promise to wear pretty pink panties tomorrow – just for me – sir?”
“I don’t think there are any pink ones there,” I said honestly.
“Well, you little silly? There’s LOTS of nice stores where you could buy some, aren’t there?”
“I guess so,” I closed my eyes and leant backwards into to her strength.
“So you’ll wear nice frilly pink panties for me tomorrow, Ellen?”
“My name’s Alan,” I said weakly.
“Of course it is! What do you think I called you?”
I blushed. “Oh nothing, I probably made a mistake.”
Her hand left my penis and she snapped the elastic on my panty leg quite hard. “Ellen? What do you think I called you. Tell me!”
“Ellen,” I said.
“No I didn’t!” she laughed, whispering in my ear. “Ellen’s a girls name!” Then she paused for a second. “Though maybe, touching your nice undies and feeling you all soft and weak in my arms? Maybe I’m psychologically thinking of you as being a girl? You think that might be it – Ellen?”
“I don’t know,” I said helplessly. Locked in her arm and becoming more and more incapable of extricating myself by the minute.
“Or maybe? Maybe you’re starting to think of yourself as Ellen – wearing panties, powdering your nose and all? Could that be it?” She pulled me back into her even harder and I could feel the warmth of her groin against my backside. I wasn’t entirely sure – but it felt as if she started to gently hump against me. Then after a few beats, she giggled. “Oh my! You little flirt! Stop it!” With that, she withdrew her hand and zipped up my pants, then let me go. When I turned around, she was sitting in my chair, behind my desk. She smiled possessively at me. “Time we had a little chat about delegation of authority, Ellen. Why don’t you sit and we can have a discussion over our coffee?”
She started off by stating the obvious – how the company would go through a great deal of difficulty if anything serious were to happen to me. I was flattered of course and, naturally, tried to downplay my importance. She gave me a maternal smile and said. “But if you want to really try to establish a better rapport with the other ladies – and you do, don’t you?”
“Oh yes!” I assured her, still bridling a little bit about the ‘other ladies’ stuff..
“Well then! That’s going to take up some of your time, will it not? And you don’t want to be getting disturbed and interrupted by signing papers and stuff like that, do you? Not for tiny, unimportant things, right?”
“Makes sense,” I said, wondering why – I mean, I really had no intentions of actively trying to establish any kind of rapport with my employees.
“Good!” she said, sliding a piece of paper and a pen across my desk. “I didn’t think you’d have any problems with it, so I just typed up a little Delegation of Authority memo for distribution.
“Mmm,” I said and went to pick it up so that I could read it.
“Ellen?” she said. “Why don’t you just sign it?”
“I was just going to read it, Sylvia,” I said
“ELLEN!”
I signed it, then tried to save face by laughing and saying “I’m delegating to you, of course?”
“Who else?” she sniffed, taking the paper back. Now why don’t you call in the top tier managers?”
“Me?”
“Ellen? It’s time that you got to know them better, don’t you agree? Just call them, would you?”
I felt that I should point out that it was her job as secretary to do this, but she was staring at me in such an intimidating way, and her voice had shown evident traces of impatience so that I though it best not to raise the point.
“Want me to call them from your desk?’ I asked meekly.
She looked at her watch pointedly. “Yeah. Have them come in a half hour from now. But then come back in here as soon as you’ve finished. Something I want to show you.”
I suppose I was indignant a little too much, and probably showed it. “Ellen?” she called after me just as I reached the door.
“Yes?” I replied haughtily.
“You really flounce very well!” she said straight faced, but I heard her giggle as I turned again and left the office.
After I’d called the four managers, I went back into my (her?) office. She pointed to a chair and I sat. She then came over and stood in front of me then perched on my desk, her well shod foot swinging negligently.
“You’ve been powdering your nose for a little while now, right Ellen?”
I nodded. “A week, maybe ten days.”
“Think the girls have noticed anything?”
“Don’t know. Hard to say. I don’t think so.”
She shrugged. “Oh, I think they probably have. I mean, it’s hard to see face powder at times but women have a much better sense of smell than men – and when I stand close to you, I can smell your powder. They probably can too.”
I blanched. “You think so?”
“Of course. But tell me this, have they laughed at you or teased you?”
“No. Can’t say that they have,” I replied.
“See? Didn’t I tell you?” she said. “Now, it’s time for the next step in your program.”
“Next step?” I asked, a tingle of fearful excitement running through me.
“Yes. Give me your compact and roll your chair closer to me.”
I took my compact out of my pocket, rolled my chair over a few feet and gave it to her. “Turn your face up to me Ellen,” she said.
When I did, she took my chin in one hand, moistened the forefinger on the other with her tongue, then smoothed out my eyebrows in arcs. “You know Ellen? It’s not fair! Curly dark eyelashes, lovely complexion, nice full, kissable lips! Things that LOTS of girls would die for!” She paused for a second or two, then added. “Aren’t you going to thank me?”
“I’m sorry. Thank you,” I said, blushing.
“But nothing that can’t use a little enhancement,” she said, opening up the compact and taking the lipstick out. “Now pout those lips for me, and we’ll make them even prettier. Come ON now Ellen!”
“Please Sylvia? Please don’t!” I mumbled.
“Behave!” she commanded. “Put your lips together – now, please?”
Slowly and patiently, she applied the cosmetic to my lips. There, she said happily and leant back smiling at her handiwork. Kept the lipstick tube still opened in one hand and handed me the open compact with the other. What I was supposed to do was obvious. I examined my scarlet lips. “It’s awfully red, is it not, Sylvia?”
“Just the way it should be. Don’t want anybody missing it. Now there’s something else,” she said standing. “Here, take your lipstick and pretend to touch up your lips. I don’t want you to mess them up – but I DO want you to take out your compact and do that during the meeting. Then powder your nose while you’re at it.”
“In front of everybody?” I complained.
“No. Not everybody, Just me and the four managers. And like I was saying? There’s something else I want you to do.” With that she handed me a small leather rectangular box..
“What’s this?” I asked suspiciously.
“A nail kit. Time you started taking better care of your nails. I want you to be filing them while the meeting is taking place.”
“Isn’t that considered awfully rude?” I asked, desperately searching for a way out.
She shook her head. “Nothing wrong with showing some personal hygiene. Anyway? You’re the boss, Can do anything you want. Oh – and here.” She handed me a small sized silver lame purse.
“What’s this for?” I asked, taking it from her gingerly.
“What do you think? It’s a cosmetics bag for your makeup and nail kit. Now just make sure you carry it with you at all times..”
“At all times?”
“Exactly! Now put your compact and nail kit in there.”
I was about to complain, but a knock on the door told me that the ladies had arrived. Hastily, I stuffed the compact and kit into the bag, as Sylvia called “Come in ladies!”
The four ladies filed in, smiling at first, then looking surprised at the reversal of normal seating arrangement between Sylvia and I. All various shades of blonde. All in smartly designed skirt suits, high heels, and fashionably smart. All youthful, well coiffed with confident predatory eyes. I’d always been a bit scared of them to tell the truth. Ashley came in first, followed by Lynn, Karen, and Anne. “Hi Alan,” Lynn said. “You wanted to meet with us?”
“In answer to your question Lynn?” Sylvia spoke up before I could answer. “Ellen has made a decision on delegating authority and has asked me to make the announcement.”
“Ellen? Karen giggled. “You mean . .?” As her eyes caught my lipstick and the cosmetic bag, she looked a little perplexed. “Oh! I see.” The others looked where she was looking and their eyes widened for a second. Ashley looked at Karen, a small smile on her lips. “Yes Karen – it’s Ellen. What else would you call him?” And they took chairs on either side of me.
I made the mistake of looking at Sylvia while the others were doing this. She took an exquisitely manicured finger tip and delicately moved it over her lips without touching them, while staring directly into my eyes – the meaning of her gesture very obvious. I didn’t react quickly enough as a stern look came onto her face, and she looked as if she was going to say something.
The sound of the zipper as I opened up the cosmetic bag drew the eyes of the other ladies in my direction and, though I couldn’t see their faces because I was avoiding them, I heard a small titter coming from one and the sound of surprised inhalations as I pulled out my compact, opened it up and stared into the mirror. Their wasn’t a sound as I then opened the lipstick and advanced the scarlet tip then using the compact mirror pretended to touch my lips up. But if there had been silence when I did this, the quiet as I powdered my nose, for real, was deafening.
“Finished dear?” Sylvia asked solicitously.
I looked up. The women around me were looking at me with smiles ranging from the incredulous to the supercilious, but even these expressions changed when Sylvia pointed to her nails and smile approvingly as I took out my nail kit and started to file my nails.
“Very well done, Ellen!” Sylvia said loudly.
Then she explained that, in an effort to make myself more ‘reachable’ I was delegating all my signature authority to each individual manager – with me available for any decisions pertaining to overall company policy. I brightened up at this. I wasn’t being stripped of ALL authority by the sound of it, Then she added “Well, he’ll be available unless he’s too busy.”
“ Too busy doing what, exactly? His nails?” Lynn laughed, followed by the others.
“That’s not very nice!” Sylvia chuckled. “He’s thinking that if he makes himself available to you ladies for various tasks, he’ll gradually learn the processes within the company from the ground up – and get to know the other girls more quickly.”
“Working for us? But doing what?”
Sylvia shrugged. “Whatever you tell him to do, would be my guess. Is that correct, Ellen?”
“Well, I was thinking . .” I started.
“Ellen! Why don’t you work on your nails?” Sylvia said sternly.
As I blushed and looked down at my nail file, there was a pause. Then Ashley said. “I get him first!”
“But Ashley? You know that Tiffany, my office girl has that big copying assignment to do – that’s why I had to borrow the office girls from you, Lynn, and Karen, this morning.” Anne finally spoke up. I’m sure that Ellen would be very valuable helping them out.”
She was sitting closest to me and gave me what had a faint resemblance to a sympathetic smile and patted me on the thigh. Yes Ellen, why don’t you go and join the other girls? Tell Tiffany that I asked you to report to her. Okay? And tell her you’re to have the empty desk right beside her.”
“Yes, off you go. No sense in sitting around here while us ladies are working!” Sylvia said. “Don’t forget your makeup bag!”
I got up from my chair as quietly as I could and started to leave the room. Just as I reached the door, I heard Karen say. “Very interesting! I’m sure that Ellen is going to be worthwhile addition to our staff!”
“Yeah!” Ashley replied. “I’m sure she will!” and they all laughed as I closed the door behind me.