There goes my authority. She stood in front of the mirror and tried to cram her hair securely into the cap one more time. It was no use. One look at me in this outfit and they’ll all be in stitches. She tugged the edges of the neckline to make sure they covered her bra straps. Who on God’s green earth decided that dressing up managers for training would be a good idea?
Having brought a pink flush to her cheeks, she flounced out and went to the office.
Charlotte looked up from her work as Vanessa came in. Her gaze traveled all the way down to the hemline of the dress, then back up until she reached the frilly cap. “Oh, wow,” she said. She attempted to rally. “You look … ”
“Don’t say it,” Vanessa said.
“No, really—”
“Like an off-brand Martha Washington?” Vanessa finished.
Charlotte laughed. “Like you work here. I mean, I know you work here, but now you look like a crew member. You could pass.”
“Then I’ll fit right in. Where’s Thomas?” Vanessa adjusted her cap again.
“He should be here soon.”
“What about Dirk?” asked Vanessa.
“He went to handle something upstairs,” said Charlotte.
“And what are you up to today?”
Charlotte rifled through the papers on her desk. “I got some scheduling, some shift changes, a few reports to send to the head office. The usual. Why? You need something?”
Vanessa tried to scratch an impossible-to-reach spot on her shoulder blade. What do they make this fabric out of? Asbestos? “Yes, I wanted to follow up on the questions everyone was asking at the meeting, but it’ll have to wait till later.” By contorting herself she managed to reach the spot and set about scratching it industriously.
The office door opened. Thomas, wearing a colonial gentleman’s costume, took in her attire at a glance. “My lady! Are you ready?”
“I was born ready,” said Vanessa, recovering her dignity and shaking out her skirt. “Let’s go.”
“Have you seen the show before?” Thomas asked as they went through a turnstile surrounded by a polished brass enclosure.
“Years ago, when I was a kid. I don’t really remember it.”
They entered the circular lobby of the American Dream theater. Red, white, and blue bunting draped every lintel and column. Sculptures symbolizing the achievements of industrialists and explorers sat under spotlights. A crowd milled around, waiting for the next show and ignoring the copies of presidential portraits hung next to oversized display cases filled with the dresses of former First Ladies.
Thomas showed her the lobby microphone hidden inside a wall-mounted box. He opened a side door and let her peek into a break room just off the lobby.
One of the crew members on break dug into a container of yogurt while another sported a large set of headphones over her white cap.
Vanessa waved, then retreated into the lobby.
Thomas made the showtime announcement over the lobby microphone, then showed Vanessa how to push the button to open the automatic doors. The crowd poured into the theater and Thomas stationed himself at the theater control box, which contained a microphone and the button that started the show. Vanessa took up a position next to him.
“Please move all the way to the center of the row and fill in all available spaces. Thank you,” he said.
He has a nice voice.
Thomas finished off the introduction spiel and hung up the microphone.
Vanessa pushed the button to start the show. They sat down next to each other in the rapidly dimming theater.
Thomas
Thomas glanced at Vanessa out of the corner of his eye. Her hair was falling out of the cap again. He resisted an inexplicable urge to tuck it back in.
She has pretty hair.
He turned his attention to the show, which he had watched a thousand times. He could have recited the whole thing aloud, and had done so, on occasion, as a party trick. He wondered if it would amuse his new boss. She appeared to be watching the show with interest as it presented a condensed version of selected events in American history.
As the triumphant closing theme blared, Thomas beckoned to Vanessa. They resumed their positions next to the control box. Thomas delivered the parting words and opened the exit doors with a touch of a button.
The crowd ambled into the glare of the morning light.
When the last visitor had left, Thomas indicated the door controls to Vanessa, who closed the doors and dusted her hands with satisfaction.
“What’s next?” she said.
“This time, you do the talking,” Thomas replied. “I’ll get you a copy of the spiel.”
“Please move all the way to the center of the row?” she said.
“That’s the spirit,” Thomas said.
They walked back to the lobby. Script in hand, Vanessa handled all the microphone and button duties for the next show with aplomb. By the time the show had finished for the second time, it was almost lunchtime.
“Are you ready for lunch?” asked Thomas.
Vanessa patted her stomach. “I could be. You?”
“Most definitely. Did you know the summer crew festival is today? They’re giving out free ice cream and watermelon in the manager parking lot.”
“So that’s why I had trouble finding a parking spot this morning. Free ice cream for everyone? That’s pretty nice.”
“Almost as nice as a wage that actually pays the bills,” Thomas said, and immediately regretted it.
I shouldn’t have said that. I am an idiot.
Had he made her uncomfortable? He could have kicked himself. No matter how friendly his boss was, it didn’t excuse letting down his guard in her presence. “I’m sorry. It’s all any of the crew are talking about these days. It rubs off on you.”
“Man cannot live by ice cream alone,” she said.
Thomas couldn’t help laughing. “Maybe if it was rocky road?”
They made their way to the manager parking lot and approached the temporary white tent erected off to the side.
“I should have asked—did you want to start with a sandwich or something?” said Thomas.
“No,” said Vanessa. “We’re adults—we can give ourselves permission to have ice cream for lunch.” She ordered double scoops of strawberry and vanilla.
“I knew I liked you,” said Thomas. He ordered scoops of chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry in a bowl.