The Women's League of Tide Water Corp

“Mrs. Alabaster,” the secretary called as she pushed herself away from the typewriter, “you can’t go in there Ms. Swarthly is busy editing the proof today.”

Mrs. Alabaster neither flicked a smile nor an eyelash in the secretary’s direction. Her heels clicked passed in a quick staccato, hell-bent on the door separating her from Ms. Swarthly’s inner sanctum. Thrusting it open with a quick twist of her wrist, she disappeared over the threshold without a backward glance. Seated at an industrial-sized desk with two ceramic vases bursting with bouquets of pink Sweet Willams, a woman with a severe chignon looked up. The scent of the delicate buds filled the room with a dark, heady aroma.

“Mrs. Alabaster,” the woman set aside a heavily dog-eared tumble of pages, each leaf seemed to be smeared with red ink, and pushed a pair of reading glasses up onto her head, “it’s been a while, this past Christmas party if I’m not mistaken. You wore that red taffeta dress with, “she made a gesture in front of her chest, “the bow.”

“Why did my husband come home with his hair greased flat against his scalp like a company grease monkey?”

“As you know, Lily, may I call you Lily...”

“I’d rather...”

“Good, as you know, Lily, we have a stern policy here at Tide Water Corp where men are to present themselves as modern and snappy. Herold’s hair just wasn’t on par with the Tide Water image, so I gave him a few pointers.”

“And this?” Mrs. Alabaster threw down a skinny 2-inch tie in black silk on the table at the same time she snapped her purse closed. “I found this in his suit pocket.”

“It’s a black tie, my dear, what do you want me to say about it, besides that, it is quite fashionable. I approve.”

“Of course, you’d approve, you gave it to him.”

“If you don’t approve of the dress code here at Tide Water, may I suggest you take it up with HR.”

“I don’t approve of you styling my husband as if he were your own personal boy toy.”

“Mrs. Alabaster,” shoving herself away from the desk, Ms. Swarthly stood to all of her five feet ten inches, “I don’t like what you’re insinuating, I think you should leave. Now.”

“My husband has naturally curly hair that needs to breathe, not be glued to his head with a shellack that smells like what you’d clean a latrine with and,” taking a breath, Mrs. Alabaster rushed on, “It’s not your place to ‘fix’ my husband’s hair. I keep it nice and tidy and within dress code policy.”

“Really!”

“Also,” pointing at the tie where it lay like a snake ready to strike with one manicured nail, “you can keep this. I’ve notified the Women’s League of the Tide Water Corp of this outrageously expensive gift, and they agree that it was in poor taste and an overstep of bounds.”

“I am unaware of such a group in my company.”

“You wouldn’t be, it’s only for the wives of the men who work here.” Turning on her heel she walked toward the door, but before she closed it after herself, she stopped and added, “We do have a new member, though, your husband.”