A knock on the door.
“Yeah?” Debra Benz opens up, pops her head in.
“You wanted to see me Mr. McGovern.”
“I did, come in. Close the door.” She obeys, steps inside a sits down.
“You go right ahead and make yourself comfortable.”
“Oh, sorry. Am I alright?”
“Yeah, it’s fine; just ask in future, manners cost nothing. Cigarette?”
“We’re indoors.”
“It’s my office. I’ll do what I want.”
“No thanks.” He takes one.
“Let’s get down to brass tacks Deb, the recent recession, which you might have heard about, has been real hard on Mirus Tabernus. What we’re doing this week is lining up all our staff, all our resources, establishing the deadweight and cutting it loose. Perfect example, I’m doing Jade Cheung’s job right now.” Deb lets out a little laugh.
“I say something funny?”
“Oh, no. Sorry, go on.” Her jaw is disproportionate to the rest of her head, never stops smiling, even when she’s unhappy, even when she’s crying; she gets bullied a lot. She has long, feline fingernails, wee wart on the index finger of her right hand. He sees her in the canteen every now and then, eats a lot of junk food, eats alone, seems to bypass her gut straight to her legs. He looks at her long and hard (ha-ha-ha) until she fondles the crease of her pants and fakes an interest in his office.
“So,” he says, “you work is accounting?”
“Yes sir.”
“What is it you do in accounting?”
“I record fanatical data onto Tyrone.” Tyrone is the database software wherein Mirus Tabernus store their information. He chuckles.
“What did you say?”
“I record the hotel’s fanatical data. Something wrong sir?”
“No, never mind. So, guy comes to stay a night, hands over his card, one of the girls swipes it, take me from that to you keying his details in.”
“Well, that information’ll be linked straight to accounting where I’ll log it into the database.”
“Why?”
“It let’s us know where we stand in the market.”
“Okay. Tell me, what do you do that someone with a typing certificate can’t waltz in and take over.” She mulls this over for a minute; someone else in her position might grimace.
“I can do the job.”
“I’m not saying otherwise. How many do you work with?”
“Three, well, four including Lee.”
“The four folks in accounting. Y’know I had coffee in the lounge this afternoon, had a few, was there for almost an hour. In that time, a family checked into their room and someone asked about eating hours. One payment. I’m not running Disneyland Florida here Deb, why am I paying four full salaries when I could be paying two, part time. I think that’d more than suffice for the moment. Don’t you?”
“So, who’d you keep?”
“What?”
“Who’d you keep on Mr. McGovern?”
“Lee…I need a word with. Clarissa…is a very talented young lady. Andrea…is not quite as good as Lee or Clarissa but she brings a nice ambiance to the place y’know, brightens things up, mellows everybody out. Plus, she’s young, who knows, a little seasoning, she could be running that place.”
“I need this job Mr. McGovern.”
“You got a husband? House? Kids?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t need this job. You’ll find something else, I promise.”
“I…I really…no…I really, seriously need this job…sir.”
“I know and I really, seriously need this hotel, something’s got to give, wish it wasn’t the case but…” Debra stands, dewy eyed, a tear rolls down her left cheek. He smiles, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it-smile, as if to say, nice knowing you. He’s expecting her to storm out, instead she starts unbuttoning her blouse, not slow and sexy, like she’s late for work. Pink bra.
“I’m married.” He holds his ring finger in the lamp light.
“She’d never know, you can do anything to me, anywhere, anytime, she’ll never know.”
“I know Deb, I…I was being polite.” He takes a package from the third draw of his desk and hands it to her, she’s really sobbing now.
“Button up, finish today’s work, treat yourself to a fancy meal, you’ll be fine.”

He arrives home at eight.