"Debbie, you have a package out here for Crystal."
"OK, thanks, I'll get it as soon as I can."
"Not 'as soon as you can.' Try and pick it up right away, OK?"
Half an hour later, an enormous pink bouquet with a large purple balloon floating high above it, was carried into the office.
"Oooooh," Debbie breathed. Did we send it? And then, "Oh, I forgot! The receptionist said there was a package but she didn't say flowers."
She had not even thought to make the call herself. And she ran past the office manager, who stood at the filing cabinets, into Crystal's office to examine the roses. Pale pink buds poked the plastic wrap. She helped Crystal unveil the delicate bouquet to reveal explosive white mums, like quiet fireworks, white and purple spotted lilies; pink carnations sprinkled throughout; and fluted white and purple flowers whose name she did not know. A heavenly scent wafted up from The Bouquet. Debbie was subconsciously reminded of the smell of pink soap.
"How feminine," she said. Crystal agreed.
"Purple!" Debbie exclaimed.
"We wanted to get you something to smell up the office because you haven't been here for a few days," Mary joked.
"You want to forget it's your birthday but you can't," Debbie teased.
And Mary adjusted the beautiful bouquet on Crystal's coffee table. So she had made the call to save Debbie the trouble, in the midst of travel arrangements gone awry.
"Debbie, see if you can take lunch at one. We're taking Crystal out for her birthday," Mary whispered.
"Oh. Thanks for telling me," Debbie said, remembering.
"Elyse, I want to go to lunch at one. It's Crystal's birthday," she said, walking into the VP's office where Elyse stood.
"Tell the temp. I have lunch at one."
"All right, I'm walking over there now," Debbie said quickly and left before anyone could say anything.
"Hi," she said to the temporary secretary, working hard at Cecily's desk. She did not like to think of anyone as "the temp," but she could not remember her name.
"How are you today? Um, I'm going to lunch with my boss for her birthday. Elyse sent me here to ask you to take the twelve lunch. You would then watch my phones, OK? Thanks a lot."
She hurried back to her desk. What a nice, sweet girl, the temporary secretary Betty, who was old enough to be her mother, was probably thinking. She knew it. Parents always liked her, were easily charmed by her polite manners and demure ways.
She ran to the Credit Union in the downstairs lobby. No one actually walked down the stairs of the fifty story building, but never the less said they were going "downstairs."
She ran down the sidewalk to Houlihan's Bar & Grill. She stood at the entrance at the top of the stairs but she could not see them. She did not have her contacts in. She looked nervously at a tall girl who she thought to be the hostess and the girl returned her nervous gaze. Finally, she asked the real hostess and was pointed to a table by the window.
"Does that look like them?"
"Yes," she said uncertainly. She thought she could detect the familiar forms of her staff, as she called them. She sat between Mike and Rob. She opened the menu, although no one else appeared to be in a hurry. She thought of ordering fish or chicken, but had a feeling Mary was covering the dinner on her expense account, so she chose instead an old-fashioned cheeseburger. It arrived on a small silver pan with steak fries, the best she had ever had.
"I'm starving," she said.
"You can't be starving. Isn't that a little extreme?" Mike asked her.
"No. I am extreme." She said slyly. She turned away and had the feeling he was giving the guys one of his devilish knowing looks. Because, after all, he did know.
"What's everybody drinking?" she asked.
"Coke," Rob said.
"That's what I'll have."
"Virgin Mary. That's what they call the Bloody Mary's without the horseradish," Mike stated.
"Oh, is that what they call it?" Debbie asked him.
"Yeah, that's what they call it," Mike answered, averting her eyes with his cool gaze. "Can I have horseradish?"
She smiled and shook her head. She looked at him quickly, then looked down at her plate, or rather, frying pan.
"The card, Debbie, the card," Mike was urging her.
"What? Oh," she said. She had forgotten that she put the birthday card in her purse.
"Should I open it now?" Crystal asked discreetly.
"Yes," Debbie said.
"Go ahead, you're not getting any younger!" Mike joked.
"Does anyone want dessert?" Mary asked stoicly.
"No," Debbie said. She had to get back to the office.
"Look at this. Apple Strudel. Mississippi Mud Pie. Georgia Pecan Pie." and Mary began to read off the descriptions of scrumptious desserts. Mike surveyed the menu with big eyes. Rob started to groan.
"I'll hit the gym tonight," he promised himself. He had been on vacation in Maine all last week and returned with reports of fresh lobster and all the trappings Kennebunkport had to offer.
"What an awful-sounding place. Kennebunkport." Mike said.
"I like it. Kenney-bunk-port." Debbie said.
"Did you miss me?" Rob asked.
"No," Mike said.
"You're so quiet, anyway," Debbie teased.
"Yeah, you gained weight. We noticed," Mike chuckled.
"You look healthy. Your face is full," Debbie said.
"Nobody missed me," Rob sniffed.
"Well, I did. Just a little," Debbie consoled him.
And then the waiters came. Marching to the table in single file, they sang.
"Happy birthday, Dear Crystal...", they sang in barbershop unison and Mike joined them, in harmony.
Crystal looked at the rich hot fudge sundae they brought to her, adorned with a big strawberry and a glowing candle and her face grew red as tears welled suddenly in her eyes. She looked down at her thirtieth birthday present, incongruous to the dignity of her age and diet and put the whole strawberry in her mouth, like a small child obediently eating her dinner.
"Oh! A huge strawberry! I didn't know they were doing that," Debbie exclaimed, attempting to fight back the responding tears herself.
Mike cleared his throat and excused himself from the table.
"I have to relieve Amanda from the phones," Debbie looked at Mary.
"I've got it, Debbie," she said.
"Thanks." She looked at Mary appreciatively.
"Debbie! What's the matter?"
She looked up to see the exotic face of Sylvie, her hairdresser. She had been walking with her head down, as her father so often told her.
"Nothing." She blinked back tears and she kept walking down the sidewalk.
0765D/ Sept. 89/ DH
