A Steve McQueen Lookalike

It most likely goes without saying that keeping help at Schuyler Manor is not an easy thing to do. After her housekeeper won the lottery and promptly quit, Mavis Schuyler has been burning through maids with the speed of an Indy race car driver. As she has told herself repeatedly, good help is truly hard to find--especially at eight bucks an hour.

Carrie Remington waited for the sound of the front door slamming before doing what she always did whenever Mavis Schuyler left the house. She waved good-bye with one finger before getting to work. Everyone had warned Carrie that working for Mrs. Schuyler was like working for a combination of the Grinch, the Wicked Witch of the West and Imelda Marcos but had Carrie listened? Nooooo. She had not. She was too desperate for a regular--albeit tiny--paycheck. Besides, she was in her thirties, a grown woman. Surely she could handle someone like Mavis Schuyler.

Hauling out the steam cleaner, Carrie cursed under her breath as she pulled it toward the family room. She hated the steam cleaner. It had so many hoses and attachments that she was constantly bumping into things and leaving marks on the baseboards that Mavis inevitably spotted the moment she returned from her massage or facial or latest shopping spree. Carrie pretty much despised Mavis.

She was halfway through steaming the couch in the family room when the front doorbell rang. Pushing a strand of strawberry blonde hair out of her eyes, Carrie went to answer it. Opening it, she immediately wished that she was wearing something more attractive than the grey uniform with the white apron that Mavis insisted upon. Standing on the front steps was a medium height, well built man who just happened to be a dead ringer for Steve McQueen, Carrie's all time favorite movie star. Licking her lips, she said, "May I help you?"

The Steve McQueen lookalike gave her an amazingly effective smile. "I certainly hope so. Is this the Schuyler residence?"

"Yes, it is."

"I'm looking for Claudine Markham."

"She isn't here right now. I believe she's at work."

The man leaned against the door frame. "Would it be all right if I waited?"

While it would be totally all right with Carrie if this man not only waited, but if he came in and shared a cup of coffee with her before they started planning their future together but her saner self prevailed. After all, even gorgeous men could turn out to be psychopaths. "Well...who are you?"

He smiled again and Carrie could almost swear that his teeth glinted like diamonds. Why was this guy in Schuyler Square? He should be off riding a motorcycle to Hollywood to star in the next blockbuster. "I'm sorry. I should have introduced myself. I'm Larry Markham."

"Claudine's brother?"

"No. Her husband."

"Her husband?" This was going to be news to Brad Schuyler since he had just asked Claudine to marry him. Carrie stepped to one side to let Larry into the foyer. "I didn't know Claudine was married."

Larry flashed his brilliant smile once again. "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure if Claudine knows about it either."

Irate Employees Are Poor Employees

Fritz sat in his lab fuming. How dare that pig Bernard Morton speak to him the way he did! He treated Fritz like he was someone who came in to change the filtered water bottles once a week instead of a brilliant, highly respected scientist. If only there was some way Fritz could quit working for Kutrate Kemicals and take Fat Off along with him. He was so close to changing the smell of the weight loss spray from it's current dead skunk scent to something that was more like a meadow full of wildflowers. Once Fat Off smelled good, Fritz would be able to put his final seal of approval on it. There was still that small problem of pollution but Fritz was fairly certain that they'd be able to fudge the statistics so that no one would ever know that the process of making Fat Off was close to what had caused the Love Canal to turn into a toxic wasteland.

And then what?

Good question. Then Fat Off would hit the shelves and Kutrate Kemicals would start making money hand over fists. Everyone knew that the entire world wanted to lose weight without doing anything drastic like sweating or cutting out Doritos. Fat Off was going to be a huge hit. And where would that leave Fritz? Getting a tiny share of the profits while that creep Bernard Morton drove to the bank in his Maserati and shoveled dollar bills into his already bloated account?

Fritz felt his lips thin. This wasn't right. This wasn't fair. This wasn't going to happen. Shrugging off his lab coat, he got to his feet. Time to pay Bernard Morton back for some of the pain that he'd created.

"Hi, Fritz." Mindy Cooper came into the lab. "Are you leaving?"

"Yes. I have an appointment."

"Oh? With who?"

"With destiny, that's who."

Mindy's brow wrinkled. "Destiny who? Does she work here?"

For an attractive woman, Mindy could be quite thick. Small wonder Bernard found her so attractive. Fritz stared at her through squinty eyes. If the truth was told, he found her attractive too. Maybe he could use her as an ally in his still forming plan to get even with their boss.

"Actually, my date with destiny can wait. I'd much rather take a lovely young woman like you out instead. We can talk about our mutual friend."

"And who would that be?"

"Why, the boss."

"I don't know that I'd call Mr. Morton a friend," Mindy replied.

"That, my dear, is what is known as sarcasm. Of course Bernard is our enemy. And what does one do when confronted with the enemy?"

"What?" Mindy asked.

"Why, one annihilates him. And we're going to help each other do just that."

Mindy's eyes widened. "Let's go," she said.

Planning the Office Christmas Party Should Be Easier Than This

“Let’s see. Food—appetizers, entrée, dessert…what about the bar? This sucks!” Mindy Cooper threw her pen down on her desk as frustration overtook her. She simply wasn’t any good at planning parties and she whole-heartedly resented how Bernard had tossed the company’s Christmas party in her lap. “He didn’t even ask,” Mindy fumed. “Instead he ordered.”

Well, so what? There was no way she was ever going to pull together a decent party unless the employees of Kutrate Kemicals wanted to dine on frozen pizzas cut into tiny squares and Kool Aid in paper cups. She was going to call a caterer. Yes, it would cost her cheapskate boss a lot more than if she did all the legwork but that was just too bad. It was painful enough to contemplate an evening as Bernard’s date without having to worry about details like making sure the bar was set up to her annoying bosses’ exacting expectations.

Mindy pulled out the Schuyler Square telephone book and found caterers. She called the first number on the list and put in her order with directions to spare no expense and to send the bill directly to Bernard Morton.  He’d have a fit for sure but hopefully she would be able to quit in the very near future and she wouldn’t have to listen to him scream at her over how much she had cost Kutrate Kemical for more than a week or two.

All right, that was taken care of. Now she needed to figure out what to wear to this gala event. Mindy had the feeling that the Christmas party at Kutrate Kemical would be an even less joyous event than the one held at the newspaper—a dismal yearly affair that included passing around a box of cheap white wine and reminiscing about the most gruesome news stories covered. Of course, the newspaper staff was so sparse that Mindy usually ended up with most of the wine herself, not a bad thing. This party promised to be altogether a different kind of evening. Mindy wanted to find something to wear that would be attractive and a little bit sexy but not so attractive and sexy that she would have to fight Bernard off all night long.

It was almost quitting time so she decided to leave a minute or two early and head down to Barden’s Boutique. It was out of her price range but maybe she’d find something on the clearance rack. Poking her head into Bernard’s office, Mindy said, “I’m taking off now, Bernard.”

“You have two minutes left before your official quitting time,” Bernard responded, a quizzical look in his eyes.

“I came in two minutes early this morning,” Mindy pointed out. How she was beginning to loathe this man!

Bernard seemed to be weighing her remark. “Did you start working right away?”

“I always do,” Mindy replied.

“I guess that’s all right,” Bernard said slowly, “but I’d prefer it if you stuck to your schedule. I don’t like it when things aren’t by the book.”

No kidding. Bernard had probably been toilet trained at the exact moment his mother’s copy of Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care manual has said he should. “See you tomorrow.”

“How are things going with the Christmas party planning?” Bernard inquired.

“Splendidly,” Mindy assured him. “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.” Furious, yes but not disappointed.

“Good girl,” Bernard told her, looking pleased. “I knew you were a winner, Mindy Cooper.”

Mindy gritted her teeth. Somehow she doubted very much that Bernard was going to think she was such a good girl once he realized what her real reason was for working at his chemical company. “See you tomorrow,” she muttered.

“I can hardly wait,” Bernard assured her with a sly smile.

Schuyler Square Day 68 Mary Austin

2002

Mary Louise Austin was not having a good day. Not at all. It made her sick to her stomach that someone of her caliber with her educational background had been reduced to working for an insurance company. Worse, she wasn’t even a claims officer. She sat at a beat up desk in a beat up office being bossed around by a beat up old harpie who wouldn’t know a talented employee if one fell into her lap and bit her nose off. Mary loathed her boss, her co-workers and her salary. If it wasn’t for her relationship with Ron Schuyler she would have blown this pop stand of a town a long time ago.

Letting herself into her house and pouring a coffee cup full of Captain Morgan’s, Mary sat down in her recliner and brooded. She had known Ron for four months, had been sleeping with him for three and had been growing more and more irritated with him for the past six weeks. Ron kept promising that they’d sneak away for an illicit weekend in the Wisconsin Dells but he also kept on putting her off. ‘Too busy.’ ‘Annual report coming up.’ ‘I think I might have a head cold.’ Did he think she was stupid? Apparently he did and he just might be right about that one.

The problem was that Ron was getting something for nothing. The old why-buy-a-cow-when-the-milk-was-free syndrome and she was Elsie. Mary’s mother had warned her about men like Ron Schuyler but from the very first moment he’d walked into A-One Insurance to discuss a claim all of her mother’s warnings had flown out of her head like she'd stuck one of those mega vacuums at the do it yourself car wash next to her ear and let the sucker rip. That first day Mary had gotten Ron coffee, looked into his gorgeous blue eyes and fallen in love. One, two, three, just like that. Only he was married to someone else, a problem that seemed to be getting more and more insurmountable with every passing day.

“But what am I supposed to do?” Mary said out loud. She was in too deep just to break things off.  He was letting her live in a house owned by his company for free. He loaned her one of his cars, a very nice Hyundai with less than 200,000. And every other Thursday night he let her borrow his platinum card so she could get her nails done at Totally Toes and Fingers for half-price and he could get a few more points toward some free airline miles. Let’s face it: the man owned her.

Only Mary had the feeling that their little secret affair wasn’t quite so secret any longer. There was that weird message she’d gotten on her answering machine—the one where a breathy voice said, “I know about you, you tramp, and you’d better watch your back!” For the life of her Mary couldn’t tell if it was a man's or a woman’s voice but it scared her. Then there were the odd items that had been left on her front porch; a doll with its head broken off, an ash tray full of smoked cigarettes, old copies of the National Enquirer with articles on Burt Reynolds and Loni Anderson’s marriage circled in red and Loni's head cut off. What the hell was up with all that?

It was like someone was trying to send her a message but for the life of her Mary had no clue what they were trying to say. Maybe if she talked it over with a friend. Finishing her cup of Captain Morgan, Mary reached for the telephone and began to dial. She stopped almost immediately when she remembered that her list of friends in Schuyler Square was pretty short as in blank. Maybe that dingbat next door would listen. Chelsea What'-s-her-name. Mary thought for a moment and then refilled her coffee cup. She'd go chat with Chelsea after one more pick me up...