NUT WEEVIL SCREW
by Jeffra Hays
Copyright 2011 Jeffra Hays
Smashwords Edition
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
NUT WEEVIL SCREW
“Nellie, sweetie, I’m so proud of you.” Wendy stood close behind Nellie and held her cheek to Nellie’s ear. “You said no, and see? You’re doing better. Even better than you did on Friday.” She pressed her thumbs into Nellie’s solid shoulders and gave her an unsolicited massage. “You should be proud of yourself. Let me see you smile.” Nellie swiveled around and obeyed. Her grin exposed a chipped front tooth, but hid part of the delicate scar that ran from her right eyebrow to her jaw. She grabbed Wendy’s smooth hand in both of hers and presented her with a wet, creamy pink lipstick kiss on the knuckles. Wendy yanked her hand away, reached across the desk for a tissue, and faked a cough.
“You got a cold, Wendy? You sick?”
“No, sweetie, it’s my throat. It’s nothing.” She wiped her hand behind her back. “So now you can put the paper in straight, all by yourself. Use four fingers instead of two, the way I told you. Tomorrow I’ll show you the new ribbon I found for you. It’s black and red. And how to move the carriage back and forth. Soon you’ll be an assistant, just like me.” She threw the dirty tissue into the wastebasket under the desk. “I’ll have turkey for a change. I’m sick of tuna and egg salad.”
“I like egg salad a lot. And pickles.”
“How many times have I offered you lunch? A million? You like that typewriter better than egg salad or pickles or me.”
“I got to do my letters. I got to do my letters here on my typewriter. I eat after.”
Wendy adjusted her shoulder bag, tugged the collar of her new suit, and squeezed Nellie’s chin. “Whatever you want, sweetie. Write lots of letters. Like my new suit?”
“I like it a lot. Now you look real skinny.”
“Thanks. That’s the idea. Well, my office is all yours. Enjoy your typewriter lunch. I’ll catch you later.”
“Bye, Wendy. Bye-bye.” Nellie, alone, reverted to two comfortable fingers and her secret, self-taught technique. Striking the “n,” she watched the thin metal prong smack the ribbon and paper; she listened to the clicks of the key. With each click she rocked toward the typewriter, whispering “Nellie, Nellie, Nellie.” She guessed when she had reached thirty-one, her next birthday, and rolled the paper down to begin her letter.
Wendy Laeg, Assistant Director of Human Resources at Office Office Everything, Ltd. for two years, had initiated a project, urging her boss to participate in a new, state-sponsored program to hire the disabled. She had clipped articles for him from newspapers, trade journals, and newsletters, researched opinions from websites and email from colleagues in Human Resources, dropped shrewd hints whenever she caught him for a moment at his desk or in the hallway until, after eight months, he relented. She was young, but her intuition proved right. Nellie Mieht had worked as Sanitation Associate for seven months. A social worker maintained contact with Wendy; the state provided funds for Nellie’s daily transportation, healthcare, and subsidized housing. Office Office Everything offered Nellie an entry-level salary, dignity, and friendship.
Nellie’s letter-writing career had started soon after she came to work at Office Office. Wendy had noticed that Nellie, when she came into her office to remove the trash or vacuum the carpet and windowsills, would stop work and press the keys of the old typewriter with two index fingers. She would watch the carriage travel to the left and shriek with satisfaction when the margin bell rang, on cue, every time. Wendy had invited her back for a lesson, and found an avid student.
Nellie delighted Wendy. Nearly four years as a psychology major at Siede County College provided Wendy with the solid background needed for tracking Nellie’s progress. On Friday afternoons, she reviewed the week’s observations and recorded them in a confidential computer file: improved motor skills, speech patterns; increased interaction with staff; increased reliability; perfect punctuality; no violent behavior. Nellie’s personal file listed a number of violent incidents at other jobs. She had broken a window when, in her clumsiness, she tripped over a wastebasket and fell forward with the vacuum cleaner in her fist. It shattered the glass, and Nellie was hurt. She had thrown a telephone across the room at a bookkeeper who, co-workers agreed, called Nellie fat moron on several occasions. She had threatened a sales manager with a pair of scissors when she caught him looking through her purse. Wendy had added a personal note to the file: she doubted that Nellie could be blamed for any of it.
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Dear mister Busdriver thank you you help with my bus pass and I like your big arms a lot on the bus I look and look at you I like your hair a lot Thank You I like to give you the letter again then give me a letter From Nellie.
She folded the letter, took an envelope from the box on Wendy’s desk and tried to fit the letter inside. The envelope tore. She took a second envelope, folded the letter’s corners toward the center, squeezed the letter inside, licked the flap, pressed and pounded. Crouching down to the bottom drawer of Wendy’s filing cabinet, she hid the sealed envelope at the back of the drawer, supported herself with both hands on the drawer’s edges and pushed it closed. At the typewriter again, she inserted a new page.
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Dear mister busdriver thank you you help on the bus with my pass I like to look at your big arms on the bus you are nice and nice hair I like it a lot a letter for you and you give me a letter From Nellie.
She folded the letter in half, tucked in the corners, pushed it into an envelope, sealed it, and hid it in her purse.
Nellie crumpled the torn envelope, dropped it in her purse, then removed it and threw it into the wastebasket. She unwrapped two cinnamon donuts from her purse and ate, standing, at Wendy’s desk. Crumbs fell onto the tray of paper clips and rubber bands, the telephone, a stack of files and Wendy’s textbook. She brushed the files and book with the donut wrapper, blew on the telephone, dumped the tray onto the desk and made a chain of the paper clips. Using Wendy’s letter opener to gather the rubber bands and crumbs into a pile, she picked out the rubber bands and scraped the pile of crumbs over the edge of the desk into the wastebasket. She dusted everything with a tissue, nodded her head, pushed the wastebasket back under the desk, and wiped her mouth with the tissue. Taking a lipstick and a hand mirror from her purse, whispering “Nellie, Nellie,” she smeared fresh pink around her mouth. With the lipstick, mirror, and dirty tissue safely in her purse, she walked down the hallway to the elevator.
Her afternoon assignment was to clean the basement rest rooms and vacuum the long, carpeted corridor that led to the warehouse. A supply closet, unlocked during working hours, housed detergents, pails, polishes, brushes, and the vacuum cleaner. She buried her purse inside a twenty-gallon garbage can in which new sponges were stored, took one sponge, and replaced the metal cover. Holding the sponge in her teeth, she banged on the metal cover with two fists and rolled the can into the corner, behind the mop.
Nellie scrubbed the rest room quickly; she polished its mirror slowly, following the reflection of the sponge and her hand as she removed faint streaks, smiling at her image as she whispered her name. When she was satisfied that her mirror was perfect, she returned to the closet and exchanged the rest room equipment for the vacuum cleaner. She walked, it rolled, to the elevator; she cleaned her way down the carpet toward the entrance to the warehouse. It was close to quitting time when she noticed two stock clerks arranging a shipment of printing paper, maneuvering the cartons and stacking them in rows. She pushed the vacuum back and forth, glancing down at the carpet and up again as they lifted the heavy boxes together. One of them removed his tee shirt and wiped his face, chest, and underarms. He drew his wet shirt through his belt and sat on a carton. The other, fanning himself with his cap, was talking. Nellie turned off the vacuum.
“I’ve had it for today. Hey Scott, let’s grab a beer.”
“I could use a couple. Give me a minute to clean up.”
“I stink bad too. Let’s go.”
They passed her in the hallway. Scott, his shirt rolled in his hand, waved it at her as he pushed the men’s room door with his behind. “Hey, Nellie.” She waited until both were in the rest room, tugged on the vacuum and stared at the door.
She whispered, “Hey Scott.” Nellie returned the vacuum cleaner to the closet, retrieved her purse from the garbage can, and ran to the corner to catch her bus home.
As she boarded the bus that evening, Nellie opened her purse and showed the driver her pass. He nodded and smiled. Sitting in the first available seat, five rows behind the driver, she rode with one hand inside her purse. Her stop next, Nellie walked to the front of the bus and pulled out her letter for the driver. As the bus stopped she dropped it in his lap, turned, and followed two passengers out the back door.
“I’m sorry, sweetie, but I can’t stay today. Big meeting with the big boss man. I’ll leave the new ribbon in the tray. We’ll put it in tomorrow. You type your letter, OK? You know I’d rather be here with you.”
“That’s OK. I got letters. You eat?”
“I’ll get a sandwich at the meeting. Meanwhile, think about eating with me one day.”
“I got…”
“I know, letters. I’ll have to think of something to bribe you with. Ice cream? Brownies?”
“I like ice cream a lot. And cupcakes. I like the paper a lot.”
“Well don’t eat the paper. We’ll talk about lunch tomorrow. I’ve been so busy, between work and finishing school. Still struggling with that final paper. You write, I write. One of these days you’ll have to show me those letters of yours.” Wendy pressed a finger to her own lips and brought the kiss down to the tip of Nellie’s nose. “Be a good girl. Love you.”
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Dear donut man I eat them I like them a lot thank You I see you when I go off the bus I got fat like you I give you a letter you give me a letter Ok From Nellie.
She sealed it in an envelope, hid it in the filing cabinet, typed a similar letter, sealed it, wrote O in pencil in the center of the envelope, and hid it in her purse.
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Dear big man boss you got nice hair I like it a lot I like work a lot you eat I got to do letters I give you again you give me a letter from Nellie.
She sealed it in an envelope, hid it in the filing cabinet, typed a similar letter, sealed it, wrote BIG in pencil in the corner of the envelope, and hid it in her purse.
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Dear skot I see your big arms and I like you a lot and nice hair I see you work I give you a letter and again you give me a nice letter From Nellie.
She followed her ritual and wrote SKOT in the corner.
Nellie left Wendy’s office with three letters in her purse and delivered them to their respective addressees, but received only one reply.
Scott caught Nellie after work the next evening as she rushed to the bus stop. He grabbed her elbow and held it.
“Hey, Nellie. I found your letter today. Just lucky I spotted it. Walked right over it all morning. Finally noticed. Cute. Here’s one for you.” He took a folded powder blue envelope from his back pocket while Nellie stared. “See? I wrote your name in the corner. Like you wrote mine.”
“Hey Scott.”
“Go on, open it.” She tore the flap and pulled out a card. The cover sketch of a ripe, buxom, long-lashed bombshell in a skimpy maid’s uniform greeted Nellie.
She giggled, opened the card and read, “ ‘At your’.”
“ ‘Service’.” Scott leaned over and pointed to the words. “ ‘At your service day and night’. So? You like it?”
“I like it a lot. You like my letter?”
“Sure I liked your letter. How about we get a beer? Nice place I go after work.” She shook her head. “No? I thought you liked me.”
“I like you a lot.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I like soda. Orange soda. You like beer a lot?”
“So that’s it. I’ll get a beer, you get a soda. Orange. No problem. How’s that?”
“I like it a lot.”
“So let’s go.” Scott squeezed Nellie’s shoulder and guided her to his vintage pick-up truck in the parking lot. He unlocked the passenger door first. It creaked as he opened it. Nellie giggled. She opened her purse, buried Scott’s card deep inside, tossed her purse onto the seat, and put her left foot on the runner. With her right hand braced against the door, she tried twice to jump onto the seat.
“Wait. I’ll give you a hand. One, two, up you go.” Scott gripped Nellie’s hefty waist and hoisted her up onto the seat. With his left hand on her back, he slipped his right hand over her breasts and under her left arm. He reached inside her blouse and snapped the strap of her bra. “OK, Nellie, ready to go?”
She smiled down at him and giggled. “OK. Ready.”
“Watch. Press this key and it types red. Press over here, it’s back to black. Now you try.” Nellie pressed, typed seven red n’s, pressed the black key and typed ten black s’s. “Not bad, sweetie. Want to try it again?” Nellie shook her head. “I heard you came to work a little late this morning. You do look tired. Are you feeling OK?”
“I’m OK. You too?”
“Sure I am. Maybe you’re coming down with something.” Wendy felt Nellie’s forehead. “Did you have breakfast?”
“I got donuts. I eat after.”
“After you do your letters?”
“I got a letter to do. Then I eat.”
“Maybe today’s a good day for us to have lunch together. Egg salad and pickles. Ice cream for dessert. Or cupcakes. You’ll feel better.” Nellie stared at the typewriter, silent. “Fine, I won’t pressure you, but I admit I’m a bit concerned. Would you like a drink? I could bring you a soda, or a bottle of juice.”
“No drink. I got to do my letter.”
“I’ll look for you later. Type your letter.” She kissed Nellie’s cheek. “If you need anything, you know where I am.”
“Bye, Wendy. Bye-bye.”
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnssssssssssssssssssss
Dear Skot I like you a lot you say you like me and I got nice hair and nice arms like you and I like your letter a lot thank you and give me letters and I give you a lot from Nellie.
“Another meeting today, and I really wanted to see how you’re doing with the new ribbon and show you the carriage but we’ll have to put it off until tomorrow. Everything has to wait. He wants to start converting the files to databases, he says ‘Clean up, clean up, get rid of all that paper.’ Maybe we should both go look for another job. But that’s another subject, right? We should have a nice, leisurely lunch together. I’d get to read your letters. But I’m already almost late. Have fun, sweetie.”
“Bye Wendy.” Nellie stared at the typewriter, pressed the N key for one line, hit the S key once, took her purse and left Wendy’s office. She wondered if Scott liked donuts.
She found him at the entrance to the warehouse. The gate was raised; he sat on a carton, with a newspaper in his lap and a can of beer balanced between his knees. He was staring out at the parking lot as Nellie waited and watched.
“Hey, Scott. You like donuts? I got donuts.”
“Sure I do.”
She unwrapped them, he took one, and they ate.
“How’s work going?”
“I like it a lot. I like you a lot.”
“Sure you do. And you’re OK too. One of these days we’ll go out. Maybe a movie, or the beach. Lie in the sun after work. How does that sound?”
She nodded and swallowed. “You like newspapers?”
He held up the paper and shrugged. “Just something to do. Big story today about the fire in the warehouse across town. I bet the boss started it. How’s your boss? What’s her name?”
“Wendy.”
“That’s it. The guys say you can’t get near her. She treat you ok?”
“She’s OK. I like the beach.”
“So we’ll drive down, get a soda and a few beers.”
“And donuts.”
He laughed. “And donuts.” He held her knee. “We’ll take off our shoes and walk in the water.” He walked, with two fingers, up along her thigh and pressed his fist into her soft lap. She giggled. “How about swimming?”
“I can’t.”
“Well I can show you.” The lunch bell rang, and Nellie stood up.
“I got to go.”
“Sure. Back to work.” He kissed her mouth. “See you later.”
She tossed the wrappers and beer can into the trash, and freshened her lipstick. They waited for the elevator. As its doors opened, she snatched his hand and kissed it. She was still laughing as the doors closed.
Nellie spent another lunch hour with Scott in the corner of the warehouse. On the afternoon of the second day, Wendy telephoned the Sanitation Engineer to inquire about Nellie. Yes, she was working. Yes, she looked tired, but nothing more. No, she had not come late on either day. This afternoon? Second floor rest rooms, vacuum hallway and windowsills.
Wendy stepped out of the elevator, heard the whining of the vacuum cleaner and followed it around the corner. As she approached Nellie, she saw a pair of light blue bedroom slippers on a windowsill. Nellie’s back was wet. Standing on the carpet, one bare foot on the other, she shoved the vacuum around in half circles. “Nellie, Nellie.” Wendy tapped her on the shoulder. Nellie, startled, dropped the vacuum on her bare foot. Wendy turned it off. “Nellie, where have you been? I missed you yesterday, and again today. What happened? And why did you take off your shoes?”
“Too hot.”
“Poor thing. It’s hot in the hall, I know. I see your blouse is all wet. And your face. What’s that on your neck?” Nellie covered the mark with her hand. “And your arms, sweetie. Did something happen to you?”
“No.”
“But what are those marks from? They look like bruises. Tell me, sweetie, did you fall?” Nellie bowed her head. “You know I’m your friend, Nellie. What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Where have you been?”
“Nowhere.”
Wendy lifted Nellie’s bulky arm; she circled a swelling with her fingertips and ran her thumb gently along two short, rough scratches between her wrist and elbow. “Nothing? Nowhere?” She dug into four years of preparatory studies to ask the right questions, to render the correct diagnosis, to find the best solution. Her months with Nellie, affection for her, her final exams and paper, graduation, pride and ambition buzzed and collided as she patted Nellie’s head. “Go home early today. It’s almost time anyway. I’ll talk to your supervisor. Take a bath. Get some sleep. Maybe you’ll feel better in the morning. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Lunchtime, in my office, OK? Sweetie?”
Wendy walked back to the windowsill and fetched the slippers. Nellie pushed her hands inside the softness, rubbed the plastic soles together, and dropped them between her feet. Forcing her thick toes below the fuzzy blue band, Nellie bent down to pick up the attachment of the vacuum cleaner. She yanked its hose. It rolled toward her, then she looked up at Wendy.
“I got work to do. I got a lot of work. I can go home after.” Nellie turned on the vacuum. Her dirty heels dragging over the edge of the slippers, she walked to the window and pulled the vacuum behind her. Wendy followed.
“I’ll see you lunchtime tomorrow. It’s a date, same as usual, in my office. See you then, sweetie.”
“Bye-bye, Wendy. Bye.” Nellie stared down at the windowsill, watching the brush in her hand. She turned as Wendy disappeared. Whispering “Nellie, Nellie, Scott, Nellie,” she vacuumed all the windowsills in the hallway, rang for the elevator and pressed “B.” Scott helped her return the vacuum to the closet. She took his arm as they walked to the parking lot.
Wendy was in her office before seven o’clock the next morning. In compliance with her boss’s demands, she sorted through her papers, discarding outdated memos and articles, preparing closed files for storage, entering locations into her file index. She had worked at home until well after midnight. With final exams only three weeks away and her paper barely outlined, Wendy had little time for sleep. The files from the top and most of the middle drawers of her cabinet had already been processed. She wanted to accomplish as much as she could before lunch; she expected Nellie. A few minutes before nine, Wendy took the elevator down to buy a cup of coffee and enjoy the morning before the day’s intense heat. She sipped her coffee in the closest bit of shade she could find, under two sorry oaks near the parking lot. Sweating from the heat and the coffee, she walked toward a trashcan to throw away the cup.
She saw Nellie, her hand in Scott’s. Wendy hesitated, decided to approach them, and stopped. Nellie nodded her head as he spoke; he jumped in front of her, grabbed her by the ears, and kissed her forehead and mouth. They walked with his hand on her shoulder, vanished behind a truck, and reappeared as he pushed the warehouse door.
By eleven o’clock, Wendy had cleared all of the files from the middle drawer. She intended to begin her review of the last set of files, in the bottom drawer, after lunch. Her plan was to work late if necessary, and apply whatever energy was left to her paper. Instead of spending her lunch hour writing, working, or napping, she would order lunch for them both. She was anxious to talk to Nellie; she had prepared her remarks carefully. With just forty minutes until lunch, she thought of straightening her desk, arranging things a bit for Nellie, when she walked in.
“Nellie, sweetie.” Wendy stood at her desk, spread her hands over the files and leaned forward. “I’m so happy you’re back. Feeling better? Sit down. Talk to me. If you like you can type a letter. I’ll show you the carriage. Somehow we never got around to that.” Wendy rolled her office chair over to the typewriter. “Come on, sweetie. Letter first, or talk?”
“No letter. I got to get your trash. They said you got a lot of trash today, so I got to get it.” She bent down and reached under Wendy’s desk. “They said a lot.” It was filled with paper and heavy. Nellie nudged it toward the door with her foot.
“So you’re here now for the trash.” Wendy moved between the wastebasket and Nellie. “You’ll be back in a few minutes anyway. We can talk. You can do a letter.”
“No. No letter. I got a meeting.” She maneuvered around Wendy and shoved the trash into the hallway.
“You have a meeting? Yes, I think I understand.” Wendy rested her hand on Nellie’s shoulder. “Won’t you have time for me today? No time for your letters?”
“No, I got a meeting. I got work to do.”
“All right, sweetie. Go to your meeting. Do your work. Maybe I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, Wendy. Bye.”
“The boss said be in your office four o’clock so here I am, four o’clock.” Scott stood at Wendy’s desk. She sat without offering him a seat. “So what is it? A raise? More vacation? Need some special stuff taken care of?”
“I know what’s going on and I want it to stop. Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s disgusting. And you’re hitting her.”
Scott approached Wendy. He pushed a stack of files onto the floor and sat on her desk. She stood up as he leaned toward her.
“Nothing disgusting except you. Did she tell you I hit her?” Wendy was silent. “No. Then you don’t really know. And nothing you can do about it.”
“You’re wrong. I’m giving you a chance to leave quietly, on your own. I have plenty of influence here and I can make you miserable. It’s your call.”
“Downstairs we call you horny bones.” He stood on her files. “Tell me I give a shit about this job or your big mouth. She’s good, a good sweet lay. Better than you and your wise ass know. Take your job and shove it. I can get it anyplace.”
“Agreed. I’ve already arranged for you to pick up your check tonight. I’m even throwing in your money for the rest of the week. Glad you made it so easy.” Wendy turned and looked out the window at the parking lot. “Now drive away like a good boy and don’t cause me any more trouble.”
Scott kicked her chair across the carpet toward the typewriter. “She likes me, and she likes it. A lot. Deal with that, dyke.”
Wendy nodded as Scott slammed the door. “I should have had him pick up the files.”
Crouching down, Wendy removed a bulk of files and memos from the last drawer. As she separated the old personnel papers from the articles and newsletters she had stored months ago, she thought of her victory. She was surprised and pleased that it was over, that she had regained control. Steadily, efficiently, she sorted, piled and discarded. By six o’clock, columns of neatly bundled papers were lined up on the floor of her office. She cleared the center of her desk, opened her notebook and stared at the raw outline of her final paper.
Nothing happened. No ideas, no thoughts, no words. Frustrated, exhausted, Wendy wandered around the room. She counted fourteen stacks of old files; she had filled the wastebasket again. Unable to write, she rearranged the bundles in one corner, and inspected the filing cabinet once more. She found Nellie’s letters, piled them on her notebook, and reached for her letter opener.
Nellie waited in the parking lot, reading and re-reading her greeting card. She opened her purse, checked her lipstick in the mirror, rubbed the plush slippers over her arms. When she counted only two cars in the lot, she walked around to the main entrance and took the elevator upstairs. The light was on in Wendy’s office.
“Nellie, sweetie, what a surprise! What are you doing here at this hour?” Wendy walked toward Nellie with open arms and hugged her. “You look tired, sweetie. I’m tired myself.”
“I got to do a letter. I got to do a letter now.” She moved toward the typewriter, leaned, and dropped her purse next to it.
“But it’s so late. You’re tired, working in this heat all day. We’ll work together tomorrow.”
“Not tomorrow. I got to do a letter now. You got paper?” Nellie looked past Wendy. The stack of paper was gone. “I got to get paper. You got paper, Wendy?” She walked around Wendy’s desk, found the box of envelopes, and stared at her own letters.
Wendy stood behind Nellie and rested her hands on her shoulders. “I’m your friend. You know that I’m your friend and I care about you.” She brushed her cheek against Nellie’s. “I’ll bet that tomorrow we can have a nice lunch together. What would you like, as you say, a lot?”
Nellie looked down at the pile of letters and torn envelopes. “You got my letters.”
“Yes, sweetie. I was cleaning the files out when I found them in the bottom drawer. I didn’t know what they were, so I opened them. Take them if you want them.” Wendy stepped to the side, stood next to Nellie, and reached over to hand her the letters.
“You got my letters!” She grabbed the letter opener, stretched her arm above her head and stabbed the letters. Wendy jumped back. Nellie plunged the opener into the pile again and again, cutting and shredding the words into paper crumbs. She threw the letter opener at the typewriter, walked over for her purse, and opened the door.
“I’m sorry about your letters, but you can write some new letters whenever you like. No one ever read those letters anyway.”
“You read them. And Scott.”
“He hit you. Didn’t he.”
Nellie bowed her head, silent.
“He hit you. I know it.”
“No.”
“He hit you! Nellie, I’m your friend.”
“No.”
“I’m your friend, sweetie.”
“No!”
“Nellie!”
“No! No!” She put one hand inside her purse and left the office.
Wendy studied the mess on her desk. Opening a new file, she placed the shredded letters and torn envelopes carefully inside, and propped it against the telephone. The point of the opener had penetrated through several pages of the notebook; her outline was destroyed. She turned the notebook over and opened it to the clean back page. Choosing a new pen, she wrote, Nellie: A Case Study, then wrote fluidly and constantly until midnight. Her draft complete, she could come to the office early and type her final paper in the morning.
###
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