Nine thousand, two hundred and seventy-three dollars and sixty-eight cents, times point zero eight percent is, hmm, seven point four —

“Do you know what that ass did this time?”

Mr. Nims looked up to see Gloria, the secretary. “One eight nine four four?”

Gloria looked annoyed.  “What?”

“Sorry, Gloria!  Thinking out loud.  You’re an ass, you say?”

She flopped down in a wooden chair.  “No, Nims, it’s that awful Gus.”

“From the mail room?”

“All I did was try to hang the wreath.”

Mr. Nims tapped the edge of his visor.  “I don’t see the correlation between a wreath and Gus being—”

“He wouldn’t let me!  Took the hammer from me!”

“Too loud?”

Gloria looked annoyed again. 

Mr. Nims gestured as though he were striking with a hammer.  “You made too much noise?”

“No!  Said he was going to ‘help’ me.  As if I’m incapable, just because I’m a woman!  Do you believe in equality, Mr. Nims?”

“I—”

“Well, if Gus thinks he can just push me around because I’m a secretary, he’s—I—ooh!”  Gloria clenched her fists.  “Well?”

Nims blinked.  What on earth did she want him to say?  “Er…”

“Do you think I can handle hanging a wreath?”

“Certainly,” Nims replied, “your forearms seem sufficiently sturdy.”

Gloria stamped her heel on the floor.  “Exactly.”

Not knowing what to add, Nims merely nodded.  Sagely, he hoped.

Without warning, Gloria planted a kiss on his cheek.  “Thanks, Mr. Nims.  I knew I could count on you.”

Mr. Nims couldn’t for the life of him think of what Gloria had counted on him for, but fortunately, she had already departed the Accounting office. 

“Well.  Right.  Now, where were we?  Ah, yes.  The state deduction.  Point zero eight percent.”  He notated his ledger accordingly and studied the result.  Pushing the intercom button, he said, “Gloria?  Could you look up for me the new state adjustment rate for Wisconsin?”

No answer.  Gloria must be away from her desk.  Nims put his pencil down and started down the hall to Gloria’s desk.

The hammer was on the floor.  The wreath leaned up against the wall.  Perhaps Gloria had decided not to hang the wreath, after all.  Well.  Only a week till Christmas.  It certainly must be done.  He picked up the hammer and took a nail from the box on her desk.  With a few quick blows, the nail was in and Nims was adjusting the wreath on the wall.  There.  Very festive. 

Turning, he looked into the mail room.  “I hung the wreath.”

They separated abruptly.  Gloria fussed with her hair.  Gus cleared his throat and picked up a stack of envelopes.  Mr. Nims looked up at the ceiling. 

“Thanks, Mr. Nims.” Gloria’s voice was huskier than usual.

“Most welcome.”

Nims got the new rate and went back to Accounting, shaking his head.

Perhaps Gloria hadn’t realized there wasn’t any mistletoe. 

Copyright 2004 Amy Frushour Kelly