06.08.2008 / EP. 16
Two Jobs Keep a Girl Busy
Milly was assistant to Arthur Vincent, the finicky head of the Governor’s legal department. Arthur kept Governor Brull’s legislative program on track and ensured the Governor was current on legal issues from around the country. But it was Milly who kept Arthur on track. Milly followed up, spotted the issues Albert Brull should know about and prepared the memos that the Governor received. She did the work, but Arthur got the credit. Which was OK with Milly. Arthur was in the firing line if anything went wrong.
Milly had a difficult job. Or so she and others perceived it. It was challenging and had important consequences. People depended on her to get things done and get things right. But it wasn’t rocket science. Despite the application of intellect it seemed to require, a lot amounted to tireless sifting of figures and inspired guesswork. Milly saw it as pigeonholing paper. There was nothing creative about it. Perhaps it was rocket science in the worst connotation of the term. It was engineering, the application of known formulas, not a reconfiguration or reformulation, not a discovery of new patterns. Milly could retire in 25 or 30 years and feel she’d helped file paper. Nothing more. At least not through her formal employment.
In fairness, the job was safe. And Milly could do it while thinking of other things.
She drove a Porsche Carrera GT, but didn’t want anyone to know it. So she replaced the Porsche insignia with Ford logos. She loved the speed and control, but detested attention. After work, she slipped into the Porsche and drove at the speed limit almost all the way home. She angled into a supermarket and around to the reserved stalls at the back. If someone had been following her for the first time, it would have appeared that she suddenly recalled needing milk. She parked in the slot for Evans Gems. Someone who knew her habits would say she was taking any parking space that was free. To the jewellers, she was the boss’s wife. Nobody questioned her. She looked exotic and drove a fancy car, as would any boss’s wife. Pretentious, thought the employees of Evans Gems, which was exactly the impression she strove to create. The employees didn’t try to become friends.
Milly slipped inside a door marked ’storeroom’. The property manager thought it was rented to Evans Gems, though Evans had no idea it existed. Milly paid the rent through an agent. The room was peculiarly high tech for mere storage. Lights were bright, desk surfaces clear. And most peculiar for a storeroom, there wasn’t a mote of dust. Computer equipment was evident, though labels on programs and data were encoded. Milly’s posture straightened and her eyes gleamed as she took her habitual seat. This was her territory. She patched herself into a program that tracked shipments of diamonds. These included certified Kimberley and second hand and manufactured items. If questions were asked, everything looked appropriate. The sequences for entry to a second level in the program, however, were more complex. Nor were they written anywhere. Milly had divided the codes into unrelated fragments in several web locations, administrated under different aliases. The web contexts had nothing to do with diamonds or gems.
Milly made her way alphabetically through a list of distributors, conducting virtual meetings with each. She gave orders in Arthur’s name, thanked on his behalf for exceptional service, and – in short – gave the impression of a perfect assistant. No names or numbers were recorded. They weren’t necessary. Milly’s memory was capacious. She spoke quickly and decisively. Using two screens, she verified deposits and transferred money as she spoke. The perfect assistant, she thought.
Where someone hadn’t made a deposit on time, if she sensed any imperfection in sales or reporting, if the distributor’s mood wasn’t exactly right, Milly asked why. The answer was vitally important. In some cases, Milly gave the man a break. One chance. That was all. But where she could extend the favour, she did. Milly refused to tolerate lateness a second time. There was no room for defective delivery. As for prevarication, evasiveness – they were impossible. She had no patience for games. In the last week, she’d imagined her army of dolls tracking a man to his home. He and his family died in a knife attack, a ‘home invasion’ the newspapers called it. The second burned to death in a fire at a restaurant. Milly enjoyed picturing her dolls at work. She knew, with certain parts of her mind, that the killers were fully human. But the back, the old brain near the spinal column, delighted in images of dolls committing slaughter. It was the combination of innocence and guilt, the never-having-lived with the deepest sin of all.
Milly paid well for these services. All in Arthur’s name, of course. She was the assistant, delivering messages, making no decisions. She did what he told her. Went where he said. Moved her arms and legs as he instructed. No one knew who she was. She was a mask, Arthur’s emissary, a voice with no name, face in permanent shadow. And she insisted her special employees be the same. No one except Milly knew who they were. They obeyed her slightest whim. Like the dolls, they had no will of their own, stood constantly on call, permanently alert. But did nothing their owner didn’t command. The result was a smoothly run organization. But where Milly was a real assistant in Dennis Quall, her secondary role here was sheer façade. Here she bowed to no man. Arthur was nominal head of her drug distribution network and Milly did everything to perpetuate the myth. In fact, Milly reigned supreme. She tolerated nothing less.
Did she rule with an iron fist? Nobody asked, and when the thought occurred to her, she rejected it. She was a businesswoman. Job sites need discipline. Simple as that. This wasn’t a tea party. Moreover, the instruments of her control were mere dolls and imaginary ones at that. Dolls harm no one. Sure, her kingdom was wracked by a gray, emotionless army, which camped in sterile surroundings, triumphed in bloodshed, and silently returned to their perfect world after inflicting chaos outside. But this was fantasy. Milly never recalled details of the discipline she imposed. The dolls did it. How could Milly remember what they did?
Two men were signalled for termination as a result of the video conferences Milly conducted on her way home. She shut down the computer system and prepared to leave the storeroom.
The merchandise that Milly handled was a drug from the east. Where exactly, she wasn’t sure. She followed orders given by a voice over the telephone. The system was crazy, but it worked. The name of the drug was Young Again. Like others on the market, it extended normal healthy life from about 80 to 200. Or it was supposed to. On the other hand, it wasn’t supposed to be addictive, but it was. Did it work? Was it addictive? Milly didn’t care. There was a terrific market for it. That’s all Milly knew. Young Again was merchandise, like gems. She imported product and exported cash. Or rather the dolls did. They did it all. Secretly. Milly told no one what the dolls did. She simply lost sleep, then went to work for the Governor during the day. A loyal servant to her boss, as the dolls served her.
There were legal counterparts to Young Again. Names such as Resurrection and Rejuvenation came to mind. And there were black market offerings such as Immortality and White Gold. But none ruled the streets like Young Again. Perhaps the others didn’t pack the high or the rush, the blinding colours, or the driving, consuming urge for more that Milly’s Young Again aroused. Whatever the reason, Young Again brought her brilliant success without an ounce of personal publicity. No one knew she was involved. As Milly locked the storeroom and prepared to continue her drive home, she relished the austere simplicity of the storeroom. She allowed herself a moment’s pride. From behind a curtain, in absolute secrecy and at night, she controlled more destinies than the man she worked openly and every day to elect as President.
June 18th, 2008 at 10:22 pm
Do 2 jobs keep a girl so busy that she can’t release the next episode? Suspense and expectation prevail! Does Ebay market Young Again? So many questions, but foremost when is the next episode coming out?
An Addicted Reader