The Secretary


"Yeah, you like my Chinese secretary. Sure, I'll bring her along. She knows those good Oriental restaurants like the back of her hand." That was my boss on the phone.

I walked into his office and placed some forms on his desk, with Post-Its showing where he needed to sign. He hung up a moment later. "We've got the O'Malley contract?" I asked.

"If all goes well tomorrow, we do. O'Malley likes you, you know."

"So I heard." I was a bit embarrassed. "Just sign these and I'll FedEx them—"

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Look, make a lunch reservation for five at Lu's—"

"The one on Commercial?"

"Yeah, where else?"

"They've opened a new one out in Wicksborough—"

"What would I wanna go all the way out there for?"

"Well, there's a new golf course. I think that's why they're going out there, too."

Mr. Philips frowned. "Nah, we'll go to the one on Commercial. Fred can take me out to Wicksborough some time!" Fred Stevens was the company president. Mr. Philips was the executive vice president. Whenever Mr. Philips landed a big contract, Mr. Stevens would take him (and me) out to lunch. We usually had about two free lunches a month.

"Day and time?" I asked.

"Tomorrow, 12:30."

I called and made the reservation. A few minutes later, I said to Mr. Philips, "I couldn't get us in till 12:45. But doesn't O'Malley usually run a little late?"

"No, O'Malley's on time, but I haven't given him a time yet. I'll call 'im up in a little while." He picked up the forms I'd left him. "Check these over and see if I missed a spot."

I looked them over. "You have to initial here . . . and here." He scribbled a smudge with his pen. I gave the papers one last glance and put them in the envelope. "Done."

"I like your skirt," he said. "Sexy, but not vulgar. You Chinese women seem to know how to do that. The American and Mexican gals here don't have a clue."

You don't have a clue, either, I thought, but only said, "Thank you, Mr. Philips." I was not Chinese, but rather Japanese-American. My father was from Chicago, and he had an Irish surname. My mother's family had immigrated from Japan long before she was born. I had never even been out of the country. My name, Lee Murphy, didn't reveal my Asian ancestry at all. It was useful for another reason, of course . . .

At the end of the day, I left work, getting into my car in the parking garage at 5:10. My car was probably not the safest thing to be in if I had an accident, but it had several features that made me feel safe driving it. Perhaps the most important was that it was a two-seater. I could never be surprised by someone hiding in the back seat. It also had a keyless entry system, so I was never fumbling in my purse for my keys with a rapist or mugger lying in ambush. I put the gear shift in neutral and pushed the start button. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail so that I would look more like a man. Sometimes I wore a baseball cap to further "masculinize" my appearance, but I had forgotten the thing today.

Forty minutes later, I was home. Traffic hadn't been too bad. I had cheated and gotten into the carpool lane about a quarter of a mile too soon after seeing the cop helping a stranded motorist. I didn't think there would be another on that freeway. In fact, there was, but well past the end of the carpool lane.

When I got home, I took off my shoes and put them on their rack next to the door. Being Asian, I always went barefoot in my apartment. I checked the answering machine; nothing important. I turned on the teapot to boil the water for a cup of tea. I took off my blouse and bra and put on a T-shirt. After warming up some leftovers in the microwave, I settled back and watched TV for a couple of hours. I couldn't believe what I had been able to pull off for nearly a year.

I didn't like my Chinese dress. It had a slit up the left side that I found too revealing. Still, I had on a full slip that would keep me modest that I could wear with the dress, so I put it on and got ready for work. I came into the office at 8:55, a full ten minutes before Mr. Philips arrived.

"Do you want me to clear all your afternoon appointments in case lunch goes long?" I asked.

"No," he said. "I have some business to take care of at 3:00. If everything's done, though, you can leave after I do."

I couldn't believe it. I might be able to go home and get out of this dress early. I printed out the contracts that O'Malley would have to sign. If Mr. Philips were lucky, he'd also be prepared.

A few minutes later, he came into my office. He looked at my dress. "Don't they call that a jong-sam?"

"Uh, yes," I said. I didn't care for his pronunciation of the word, but I guess it was close enough.

"You should wear it more often," he said.

"Well, a lot of women only wear it for special occasions."

"Then I guess you picked the right day to wear it," he said.

"Thank you," I said.

The lunch went well, but Mr. O'Malley wanted to discuss some things with Mr. Philips back at the office before signing anything, so they came back and sat and gabbed in the office for about an hour before Mr. O'Malley left and Mr. Philips told me to file the contracts. I faxed a copy of the contracts over to our lawyers, and Mr. Philips kissed me on the cheek as he left for the day. "I won't be in at all tomorrow," he said, "so unless you have something specific to do, you can come and go as you please."

By 3:30 I was out of the office, but headed for the beach rather than home. I put on a beach pullover over my dress and drove out to Castle Island, with its famous Endless Beach that went all the way around. Aside from the pullover, however, I didn't have a change of clothes, and so I couldn't go swimming, though it was kind of fun to take off my shoes and walk around in the sand in my nylons.

The next day, I came into work at about 10:00 dressed rather casually in a T-shirt and jean skirt. I was surprised to find Mr. Philips hard at work at his desk. "Good morning, Mr. Philips. I thought you weren't coming in today."

"Nothing major," he said. "The lawyers don't like this clause exempting us from civil liability in case of a flood or earthquake."

"Whose lawyers--theirs or ours?"

"Theirs, of course. Haven't our lawyers approved of it?"

"They wrote it," I said, "into the standard contract, didn't they?"

"Look at this," he said, and I went and stood beside him as he pointed out the fine print to him.

I squatted down so that my butt was almost touching his knee. "I think it's the law that this has to be in the contract."

I felt his knee push up against my rear end. "It sure as hell is!" he said.

I sat on his knee. "Look, if there's a problem, have our lawyers talk to O'Malley's lawyers and see what they have to say."

"I'll talk to him myself," said Mr. Philips, with one hand now holding my bottom. I made the call from his phone. "Floyd, look, my secretary tells me that our lawyers had that clause put in there for a reason. . . I know, but it's CYA in this state. People sue you over stuff that nobody anywhere else has even thought--yes . . . well, the same to you, but the law is the law. None of our competitors will let that slide, either."

He then whispered to me, "I hope."

He returned to the conversation on his phone. "No, Floyd, the exemption was thrown out by the state supreme court years ago. . . That was in Ohio or someplace, not here . . . the state constitution."

A minute or two later, Mr. Philips put down the phone in anger. I was still sitting on one of his knees. "Did he understand?"

"Yeah, he understands. He just wants me to think he's an idiot. He'll sign the paperwork as I told him to.

I stood up and filed a few more forms and notices, mailed a couple of letters, asked Mr. Philips if he needed anything, and left. I went to a different beach this time, called Jeremiah Cove. On the way, I tucked my hair up into my baseball cap, took off my bra, and, if anyone had looked at me closely, probably would have been taken for a man wearing a skirt—which was what I was.

Home