I followed her directions and returned within half an hour. Ruth glanced up from her monitor.
“That was quick. Hang those on the hook behind his office door.”
She turned back to her computer, sending the message that even if I wasn’t busy, she had plenty of things to do. I left her alone for the rest of the day while I looked up everything I could find on bonsai trees. By the time I went home, I had a throbbing headache from the constantly blinking ceiling light.
The next morning, I was bent over, plugging in my desk lamp, when I heard my boss shout.
“Dammit to hell. Raw-lee, get in here,” Mr. Schmitt shouted.
I grabbed a note pad and pen and dashed next door. “Yes, sir?”
He was snatching papers away from a puddle of coffee spreading across his desk. “Don’t just stand there. Do something.”
I yanked open the credenza door and grabbed a hand towel to soak up the spill, then hung the stained towel in the bathroom. The whole time Frank expounded on details of the new contract he’d finalized with a Staunton craft brewery.
“So let’s see what your salary is buying me. Come up with a couple of ideas by tomorrow. Slogans, brochures, special events.” He glared at me and snarled, “Well, what are you waiting for? Go. Time is money.”
I returned to my office, excited about brainstorming an entire marketing campaign. My mind raced, and I filled pages with notes and sketches. At last I could put my creativity to good use.
The next morning I was ready to unveil three promotions, certain any one of them would be acceptable.
After the first presentation, he said, “That’s atrocious. Next.”
I had mentally tried to prepare for rejection, but it still stung. I forced myself to shake it off and dove into the second proposal.
“Absolutely not,” he said. No explanation, no suggestions, nothing.
By then my linen sheath was limp with perspiration. I blew a puff of air up towards a droopy curl. My third presentation was far less enthusiastic, and I dreaded hearing his verdict.
He frowned. “What else have you got?”
“Nothing else, sir.”
“All those years of college and that’s the best you can do? I should fire you, but I’ll give you another shot. Come up with something better by tomorrow. Now get all this crap out of here.”
I juggled my posters, flip chart, and note cards through the doorway but dropped half in the hall when I bumped into someone.
“Here, let me help you with those,” he said.
I stumbled into my office and deposited my “crap” on the desk. The man followed and added the rest to the pile.
“I’m Mike Garrett.” His mouth curved up into a crooked grin. “Having fun yet?”
“Raleigh Myers. I’m not sure fun’s the right word.”
He laughed. “You’ll get used to it. Or not. Can’t believe I’ve lasted almost a year. I just stopped by to update my account files, and then I’m out of here. Good luck.” That was the last time I saw him. Mike failed to mention he was resigning.
I struggled for new ideas for the brewery promotion and had only one more done by end of day. I carried my materials home that evening and had a major breakthrough. I fleshed out an alternate campaign by midnight and slept well, believing I’d come up with winners for tomorrow’s presentation.
Mr. Schmitt didn’t agree. He quickly shot down both proposals. “I’m very disappointed. Thought a fancy college graduate would be full of ideas to promote a brewery.”
My shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, sir. But I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Grow up, Raw-lee. This is the real world. Did making excuses get your professors to raise your grades? I seriously doubt it.” He laughed. “Thank God I wasn’t relying on you for this new account. This was just a test. I’ve already come up with the perfect theme and have an outside designer fleshing it out. Sit in on our meeting next week. Might learn something.”
I was speechless. I’d worked my butt off on my own time for nothing. And that moment was when I decided Schmitt must become a victim in my next novel. Someone who deserved to die, but not by any ordinary means. My short time in his presence confirmed his worthiness of only the most unusual departure for the great beyond.
Perusing the Internet over the weekend, I discovered African poison darts. An online dealer offered a hand-carved blowgun and pointy-tipped projectiles. Might take some practice with the thoughtfully provided dummy darts before my killer got the hang of it, but a well-placed shot would dispatch the victim before he ever knew what hit him.
Monday began badly and went downhill. Ruth was right about Penny, who emailed in her resignation. Frank was furious over the “lack of loyalty” from Penny and Mike and took it out on everyone who crossed his path. The contract designer on the brewery campaign walked out in the middle of his presentation after Frank questioned his intelligence. I silently applauded his audacity, then slipped back to my office, hoping to lie low for the rest of the day.
“Raw-lee, get in here.”
I dragged myself to face him.
“Here, I got these for you.” He handed me small silvery clippers. “Specially designed for bonsai trees. Let me know when you’re ready to try them out.”
I examined the curved blades, wondering if they could “accidentally” whack off a man’s fingertips and whether he’d bleed to death before the EMT’s arrived. Or maybe he would contract an incurable exotic disease from the bonsai sap. This would require more research.
Mr. Schmitt interrupted my thoughts, stirring one hand in a circle. “Turn around.”
I did a slow pirouette, proud of the tailored designer shirtdress picked up in a consignment shop.
He frowned. “Wear something more professional tomorrow. We’ll be calling on local clients. Ruth will give you the list. Familiarize yourself with their current campaigns.”
I tried my best, took copious notes but didn’t understand much of what I read. That night I pressed my navy suit and white blouse, praying they’d be professional enough for Mr. Schmitt.
He groaned when he saw me. “You look like a funeral director. Undo a few buttons on that blouse and loosen up a little.”
I accompanied him around town where I was introduced as Penny’s temporary replacement. Mr. Schmitt did all the talking while I played wallflower, embarrassed to be excluded from conversations as if this was Take Your Daughter to Work Day.
On the way back to the office, he chewed me out. “If you’re gonna be in sales, you gotta learn to speak up.”
But I didn’t want to be in sales. I imagined unleashing poisonous Australian funnel-web spiders and watching them crawl up inside his pants legs. Or maybe a small venomous coral snake, native to Virginia but seldom seen. Either would do the trick if I could manage not to get bitten too.
Near day’s end I passed Bill’s office, glanced in, and did a double take. The room was tidy, a single sheet of paper on his desk. I tiptoed in to read it: “I hereby tender my resignation effective immediately. William Mercer.”
I eased out and went home for the day, leaving that particular bombshell to be discovered by someone else.
Violent nightmares riddled my sleep, visions of a body strapped to a light table while swinging sheets of crisp paper sliced neatly into flesh. I awoke with premonitions of personal distress.
Ruth confirmed my suspicions as soon as I arrived. “Frank’s on the warpath. Bill left without giving notice.”
Almost immediately I heard, “Raw-lee, is that you?”
“Yes, Mr. Schmitt, coming.”
“Thank God you’ve got more scruples than the others. Good riddance, I say. Now I’ve got a plan to give us a shot in the arm. Gonna send a mail blast to the entire client list. Want you to write a letter that will grab ’em by the balls. Get them excited about all the new income we’ll help generate. Come up with something to have our phone ringing off the hook, and do it before lunch.”
Okay, this was righ
t up my alley. I’d aced all my writing classes and could surely create the perfect letter. I giggled as my fingers danced across the keyboard.