photos.”
“Shut up!” Danessa said. Josie didn’t know if she was speaking to her or to the pale PR creature.
“You’re a jealous little nothing from Maplewood. Maplewood!” Danessa spat out the word. “I wouldn’t let someone like you work for me, much less shop at my stores. You couldn’t buy one of my purses without taking out a loan, but this thing”—she waved a talon at Harry—“allowed you to tell lies about me.
“And here’s the worst lie: You said there was a rude saleswoman named Marina at my Plaza Venetia store.”
“There was,” Josie said.
“Liar! There is no Marina on my sales staff. I’ve never, ever employed anyone by that name. No one.”
Danessa slammed her hand down on Harry’s desk. A pork chop jumped into the air. Harry sat there, a speechless lump of meat. Did he think he was watching a reality TV show?
“That’s the name the sales associate gave me,” Josie said. “The woman wasn’t wearing a name tag, but she was a tall blond Amazon who had what sounded like a Russian accent. This Marina was about six feet two inches tall and her straight blond hair was down past her shoulders. She wore black leather.”
“No one by that description works at any of my stores.”
Stephanie the PR person presented a printout as thick as a phone book to Danessa. Danessa threw it at Josie. She meant it to fall on the floor and fan out all over. Josie caught it in midfling.
“Here’s the staff list,” Danessa said. “Find her on there. Do you see any Russian names?”
Josie scanned the list, holding the printout with both hands to control the shaking. I’d like to walk out that door, she thought. But I have a daughter. I have to keep calm and keep this job for Amelia’s sake.
“Well, there’s Olga,” Josie said. That name was as Russian as roulette.
“Olga is five feet two, weighs a hundred pounds and has black hair. No one in her right mind would call her an Amazon.”
Right. Olga like the composer.
The PR person produced a yellowed Plaza Venetia Times , open to an ad. It featured a photo of the shop’s sales staff.
“That’s me at our grand opening,” Danessa said. “And that’s Olga.” She pointed to a pixielike brunette who barely came to Danessa’s elbow. “See any blond Amazons in that store?”
“So you hired Marina later,” Josie said. She checked the paper’s date. “You’ve been at that location seven years. Retail staff comes and goes. The woman who told me her name was Marina lied. She’s on that list. She’s called something else.”
Josie shrugged her shoulders and sent the tube top rolling downhill toward the fake tattoo. “The tall blonde I talked to had good reason to lie. She was rude to me. She probably thought I wanted her name so I could call your office with a complaint. So she gave me a false name.”
Stephanie pulled out a packet of photos. “These are the pictures that we have with every employee application. We have not hired any sales associates over five ten.”
“No one answering that description works at any of my stores,” Danessa thundered, and the ceiling light fixtures swayed.
“I saw her. I talked with her,” Josie shouted back. She was not afraid of anyone who had a trapped dead insect as a fashion accessory. Danessa had wasted good money to wear a prehistoric Roach Motel.
Danessa snapped her fingers. The PR person pulled out a copy of Josie’s report to the Creshan Corporation. “This report says you were in my Plaza Venetia store between one thirty and two thirty in the afternoon, Josie Marcus. Here’s the staff schedule for that date. You read it and tell me who worked that afternoon.”
Danessa threw the schedule down on Harry’s desk. Josie’s boss backed away, as if it might bite him. Josie picked it up. It seemed authentic, right down to the thumbtack holes in the corners.
Josie read the neat boxes marking each day: “Olga: 10 to 5 PM Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Noon to 10 PM.
“Shut up!” Danessa said. Josie didn’t know if she was speaking to her or to the pale PR creature.
“You’re a jealous little nothing from Maplewood. Maplewood!” Danessa spat out the word. “I wouldn’t let someone like you work for me, much less shop at my stores. You couldn’t buy one of my purses without taking out a loan, but this thing”—she waved a talon at Harry—“allowed you to tell lies about me.
“And here’s the worst lie: You said there was a rude saleswoman named Marina at my Plaza Venetia store.”
“There was,” Josie said.
“Liar! There is no Marina on my sales staff. I’ve never, ever employed anyone by that name. No one.”
Danessa slammed her hand down on Harry’s desk. A pork chop jumped into the air. Harry sat there, a speechless lump of meat. Did he think he was watching a reality TV show?
“That’s the name the sales associate gave me,” Josie said. “The woman wasn’t wearing a name tag, but she was a tall blond Amazon who had what sounded like a Russian accent. This Marina was about six feet two inches tall and her straight blond hair was down past her shoulders. She wore black leather.”
“No one by that description works at any of my stores.”
Stephanie the PR person presented a printout as thick as a phone book to Danessa. Danessa threw it at Josie. She meant it to fall on the floor and fan out all over. Josie caught it in midfling.
“Here’s the staff list,” Danessa said. “Find her on there. Do you see any Russian names?”
Josie scanned the list, holding the printout with both hands to control the shaking. I’d like to walk out that door, she thought. But I have a daughter. I have to keep calm and keep this job for Amelia’s sake.
“Well, there’s Olga,” Josie said. That name was as Russian as roulette.
“Olga is five feet two, weighs a hundred pounds and has black hair. No one in her right mind would call her an Amazon.”
Right. Olga like the composer.
The PR person produced a yellowed Plaza Venetia Times , open to an ad. It featured a photo of the shop’s sales staff.
“That’s me at our grand opening,” Danessa said. “And that’s Olga.” She pointed to a pixielike brunette who barely came to Danessa’s elbow. “See any blond Amazons in that store?”
“So you hired Marina later,” Josie said. She checked the paper’s date. “You’ve been at that location seven years. Retail staff comes and goes. The woman who told me her name was Marina lied. She’s on that list. She’s called something else.”
Josie shrugged her shoulders and sent the tube top rolling downhill toward the fake tattoo. “The tall blonde I talked to had good reason to lie. She was rude to me. She probably thought I wanted her name so I could call your office with a complaint. So she gave me a false name.”
Stephanie pulled out a packet of photos. “These are the pictures that we have with every employee application. We have not hired any sales associates over five ten.”
“No one answering that description works at any of my stores,” Danessa thundered, and the ceiling light fixtures swayed.
“I saw her. I talked with her,” Josie shouted back. She was not afraid of anyone who had a trapped dead insect as a fashion accessory. Danessa had wasted good money to wear a prehistoric Roach Motel.
Danessa snapped her fingers. The PR person pulled out a copy of Josie’s report to the Creshan Corporation. “This report says you were in my Plaza Venetia store between one thirty and two thirty in the afternoon, Josie Marcus. Here’s the staff schedule for that date. You read it and tell me who worked that afternoon.”
Danessa threw the schedule down on Harry’s desk. Josie’s boss backed away, as if it might bite him. Josie picked it up. It seemed authentic, right down to the thumbtack holes in the corners.
Josie read the neat boxes marking each day: “Olga: 10 to 5 PM Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Noon to 10 PM.
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