retort available while Cliff opened a door at the side of the house and disappeared from sight.
Garner shoved his hands in his pockets. So. Everyone thought he was mourning his dead marriage and his dead corporate law career. Maybe it was time he did something about that misconception.
But not with Mindy Adams.
The young blond in the diner across the street passed fleetingly through his mind. Garner took wistful note of the faint desire to get to know her better. It was too bad she was so young. By the time she was old enough for Garner to ask out, she’d have lost that attractive zest for life.
Garner entered the small front room that served as a reception area, refusing to glance toward the unoccupied secretary’s desk that held central position. He went into his own office, tossed the résumé down on the desk in the single bare spot he maintained for actual work, and studied it once more.
He dialed the number, conscious of a curious feeling of impending … something. He couldn’t call it disaster. It was more like fate, or destiny, or some other approaching event that would change his life forever.
He ignored the craven impulse to hang up the phone. He had to have a secretary, at least for long enough to clean up some of the paperwork inundating him.
While he waited, he surveyed his surroundings. If he wanted impending disaster, he need look no further than his own office. Papers, legal tomes, and thick file folders representing current and settled cases were stacked everywhere. The wastebasket brimmed over with his aborted attempts at typing his own documents.
Also, the floor could use a good sweeping, and every surface needed dusting. Garner shrugged. If he managed to get a secretary, he’d be able to rehire his old cleaning service. The service had quit a month ago because of the impossibility of cleaning around the stacks of books lining the floor of his office.
Garner had only been practicing law in his hometown of Smackover, Arkansas, for two years, but a visitor to the office would have thought it far longer. Never a neatness fanatic, Garner preferred to stack things where he could lay his hands on them. The problem was, many of the surrounding stacks contained folders and papers he no longer needed to lay his hands on.
Garner studied the résumé once more as he counted the third ring. It was amazing how three months without a secretary could back things up, even in a small office like his.
And now he’d received this résumé with its promise of succor. Garner held his breath while the other phone shrilled a fourth time.
You’d have thought secretaries were available for hire, even in a small place like Smackover, Garner thought resentfully. But that wasn’t the way things were. People who claimed to be secretaries these days couldn’t type, couldn’t spell if they could type, and as for asking them to file a folder away in alphabetical order, forget it. In the past weeks, he’d given up on finding someone with computer skills or the ability to use a dictating machine. He was now willing to settle for a person who could use the old typewriter he kept for addressing envelopes.
The phone rang another ten times before Garner gave up at last and picked up the file of a case he needed to work on. After twenty futile minutes spent on that, when he realized the amount of typing that was going to be required before he could file the necessary motions, he tried the number once more.
On the third ring, a woman answered the phone in crisp, businesslike tones. “Miss Angelina Brownwood speaking.”
In spite of himself, Garner’s hopes rose. At least the woman knew how to answer the telephone, and she didn’t mind having everyone know she was a “Miss” rather than a “Ms.”
“I’m calling about the résumé you sent out,” he said. “I’m a lawyer in need of a legal secretary who knows how to use a computer.”
He sounded too eager. He should have beat around the bush a little and tried
Garner shoved his hands in his pockets. So. Everyone thought he was mourning his dead marriage and his dead corporate law career. Maybe it was time he did something about that misconception.
But not with Mindy Adams.
The young blond in the diner across the street passed fleetingly through his mind. Garner took wistful note of the faint desire to get to know her better. It was too bad she was so young. By the time she was old enough for Garner to ask out, she’d have lost that attractive zest for life.
Garner entered the small front room that served as a reception area, refusing to glance toward the unoccupied secretary’s desk that held central position. He went into his own office, tossed the résumé down on the desk in the single bare spot he maintained for actual work, and studied it once more.
He dialed the number, conscious of a curious feeling of impending … something. He couldn’t call it disaster. It was more like fate, or destiny, or some other approaching event that would change his life forever.
He ignored the craven impulse to hang up the phone. He had to have a secretary, at least for long enough to clean up some of the paperwork inundating him.
While he waited, he surveyed his surroundings. If he wanted impending disaster, he need look no further than his own office. Papers, legal tomes, and thick file folders representing current and settled cases were stacked everywhere. The wastebasket brimmed over with his aborted attempts at typing his own documents.
Also, the floor could use a good sweeping, and every surface needed dusting. Garner shrugged. If he managed to get a secretary, he’d be able to rehire his old cleaning service. The service had quit a month ago because of the impossibility of cleaning around the stacks of books lining the floor of his office.
Garner had only been practicing law in his hometown of Smackover, Arkansas, for two years, but a visitor to the office would have thought it far longer. Never a neatness fanatic, Garner preferred to stack things where he could lay his hands on them. The problem was, many of the surrounding stacks contained folders and papers he no longer needed to lay his hands on.
Garner studied the résumé once more as he counted the third ring. It was amazing how three months without a secretary could back things up, even in a small office like his.
And now he’d received this résumé with its promise of succor. Garner held his breath while the other phone shrilled a fourth time.
You’d have thought secretaries were available for hire, even in a small place like Smackover, Garner thought resentfully. But that wasn’t the way things were. People who claimed to be secretaries these days couldn’t type, couldn’t spell if they could type, and as for asking them to file a folder away in alphabetical order, forget it. In the past weeks, he’d given up on finding someone with computer skills or the ability to use a dictating machine. He was now willing to settle for a person who could use the old typewriter he kept for addressing envelopes.
The phone rang another ten times before Garner gave up at last and picked up the file of a case he needed to work on. After twenty futile minutes spent on that, when he realized the amount of typing that was going to be required before he could file the necessary motions, he tried the number once more.
On the third ring, a woman answered the phone in crisp, businesslike tones. “Miss Angelina Brownwood speaking.”
In spite of himself, Garner’s hopes rose. At least the woman knew how to answer the telephone, and she didn’t mind having everyone know she was a “Miss” rather than a “Ms.”
“I’m calling about the résumé you sent out,” he said. “I’m a lawyer in need of a legal secretary who knows how to use a computer.”
He sounded too eager. He should have beat around the bush a little and tried
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