A Perfect Ending

Back in the late seventies, I was working various jobs through a temporary agency in Manhattan. Most of my assignments were receptionist or telephone operator positions in midtown and downtown law firms, publishing companies and stock brokerages.

One day the agent called me to see if I could take on a position as executive secretary at a posh ad agency. I laughed. “I don’t know how to be an executive secretary,” I told the woman. She assured me that not only could I handle the job, but that the man I would be working for was easy going and rarely ever in town. It was a one month assignment so I decided I’d give it my best shot.

I was nervous as hell. I’d be working for the president of the agency and I had no clue what kinds of duties would be assigned to me. But this was a high paying gig and I had to feed my hunger for stylish shoes back then… so off I went. All the way up Broadway, as I walked from the ferry, I worked hard convincing myself that I could pull this off.

The job turned out to be incredible. I guess the higher up you go, the less you actually have to do. No, seriously.

My desk was situated just inside of wide, double glass doors … the carpeting was so thick you had to really watch that your heels didn’t catch on the nap. It was a large organization that spanned three floors of a typical Manhattan skyscraper. When I first saw all of this, the whole place screamed at me "Carol? You're in over your head, babe." And yet, I wasn't.

The man I worked for turned out to be the nicest and most accommodating boss I’ve ever had. He was rolling in money and was very well respected in the world of advertising; neither of which ever got in the way of his down-to-earth humor and wit. A typical assignment for me during a day’s work was to book reservations for him to fly off to England or France to hold seminars or host great ‘business’ parties. My very first task was to phone his daughter’s school in Switzerland (yes, Switzerland) to check in on her progress. I believe she was twelve. I was impressed.

There was one other desk in the open area of the executive floor, and that one belonged to Amy. Amy was secretary to the vice-president. She was a riot a minute with her spiked heels and pink hair. She helped to “break me in” – giving me all the dirt on everyone there.
She made no bones about letting me know who to like and who to avoid amongst what she referred to as “the underlings.”

The thing is, this punked-out beauty was brilliant – though you’d never suspect it from her multi-pierced ears and nose, and tattoo-legged appearance. It wasn’t unusual to find Amy filing her nails while reading Nietzsche (propped up on her typing stand). We two had a blast together … I knew I was in good company the first time her boss popped his head out of the office asking, “Amy, coffee?” to which she slowly pointed to the pot-full on the étagère.

One day I was mortified when my boss caught me typing up my singing repertoire. Even though my work was caught up, ethics told me this was just plain wrong. Instead of blasting me, he leaned over, took a look at the list and started singing verse after verse of “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore.”

From that day forward, we bonded like glue. He loved jazz and we talked about “the old songs” almost daily. He even hired me on permanently when the month was over, paying a hefty price to the temp agency and offering me a handsome salary.

I’ll never forget the first time he asked me to come into his office to take a letter. I sat there with my pad in hand, twitching a bit from nerves as I listened intently to every word he said. Around the middle of the letter, he looked over the top of his reading glasses, paused and said to me “So I take it you don’t know shorthand?” “Nope,” was my answer … “but I can write really really fast.” We laughed it off and he continued – a little slower than before.

I didn’t stay at this job more than a year; typical for me. I’ve always hated the whole 9 to 5, Monday through Friday thing. It just felt “off” for the night-owl that I was back then. It interfered too much with all the things I really wanted to be doing. So, as much as I loved working for this wonderful man in such a cushy job, I resigned. But not before having one last blast.

Below is my actual letter of resignation that I handed to my boss. The italicized words are all song titles from the Big Band/30s and 40s era. I took them from my repertoire sheet that Michael had caught me typing. I found it the other day amid my treasure of “old stuff.”

Dear Michael,

I just wanted you to know that no matter Where or When I work, There Will Never Be Another You. I’ve given this matter a great deal of thought, and I have No Regrets about my decision to leave Albert Frank Guenther Law, however, I will miss The Nearness of You.

I thought Night and Day of ways to Try a Little Tenderness when breaking the news to you, but there’s no sense trying to Pretend. Although I may have some Twisted reasons, I can’t just wait around and Watch What Happens here – I feel that to satisfy All of Me, I have to reach for it, no matter How High the Moon. But don’t worry Michael, in my mind, we’ll always be Inseperable.

So some lovely evening in the Summertime, when you look out over the Harbor Lights and think Tenderly of me, just know that I’ll be out there somewhere, with The Man I Love, perhaps on a Sentimental Journey or enjoying the Moonlight in Vermont; maybe traveling along Route 66. But wherever I may be – rest assured that I Ain’t Misbehavin.

Boy, Am I Blue now – I hate to say goodbye this way. I get Misty just thinking about Embraceable You … but since It’s a Sin To Tell a Lie, and for the Second Time Around, I’ll just say, it’s been Unforgettable working for you.

That’s All.

Affectionately,
Your blonde bombshell* secretary,
C


*a name assigned to me by Amy that swiftly became the joke of many staff members