Death of the Office Witch Read Free

veins like a drug.
    She also didn’t want to lose this job because she loved it.
    The Polo Lounge was a cushioned, padded, draped, and sedate place in a relentless pink and green motif. Outside were pink and green umbrellas with “Polo Patio” and “Polo Lounge” interspersed on the scalloped hang-downs where “Cinzano” would have been emblazoned in eateries catering to Charlie’s personal price range. White wrought-iron tables with glass tops, white wrought-iron chairs with pink cushions, little pink vases with little pink roses. It was all too-too for the meeting at hand, and Keegan Monroe’s expression admitted as much as Charlie slipped into the chair beside him. There were at least ten places that would have suited better, but Charlie figured the Polo was meant to impress Mary Ann Leffler.
    One look at the author of Shadowscapes told Charlie that Richard could have saved his pennies. The Montana novelist had been hired by Goliath to write the screenplay on her book. Keegan, who was Charlie’s client, was on the payroll to whip the script into usable form both because he was an experienced screenwriter and because he could get along with almost anyone.
    He was not getting along with Mary Ann Leffler.
    â€œAdverbs,” Mary Ann said the minute Keegan introduced them.
    â€œExcuse me?” Charlie motioned to the waiter. “Would anyone like a drink before ordering?” Maybe she could lubricate away some of the tension here. Then she glanced at the table. “I mean another one?”
    Charlie ordered a glass of red zinfandel, Keegan another beer, and Mary Ann Leffler another vodka martini straight up and dry.
    â€œAdverbs suck,” the woman said and lit a cigarette off the stub in the ashtray. She wore brown hair cut very short in back, gradually lengthening on the sides until it just curled under the chin in front, all traces of gray dyed to sandy highlights. Her hands were long, strong, and bony—nails trimmed no-nonsense short. The sun had deepened squint lines around eyes that invited no bullshit.
    Charlie took a slug of wine and tried anyway. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Ms. Leffler, I—”
    â€œMrs.”
    â€œMrs. Leffler. I’m sorry I missed the meeting this morning. I got caught in traffic, and then there was this mess at the office and—”
    â€œYou didn’t miss anything—all talk, little food. Now let’s go ahead and order lunch before I get drunk and let you have it. This whole town drives me nuts.”
    â€œIt’s a far cry from Montana,” Charlie agreed and glanced at Keegan for help.
    He just snorted and held up a packet of Sweet’n Low. The patio was canopied by the sprawling branches of a pepper tree, and a jay flew down, grabbed the packet, then headed up to the slanted roof.
    â€œOnly in Hollywood,” Mary Ann said and leveled a look at Keegan.
    â€œThey seem to prefer it to sugar.” Keegan leveled a glance back. “Maybe they get a buzz off it.”
    The author finished off her Polo Club Sandwich, all the while continuing to regale them with her low opinion of Hollywood. Charlie decided to concentrate on her own sweet moist hunks of lobster meat and slices of hard-boiled egg on lettuce and crushed ice, lemon-butter dill sauce, and hot flaky rolls. She figured it was best to let the woman get most of her resentments off her chest before broaching the subject of adverbs. Adverbs. Here was a megadeal, with megabucks involved. So what was the problem with “ly” words?
    Meanwhile, all the “frigging” superstars were buying up miles of Montana to get away from Hollywood, having already trashed Aspen and Santa Fe. The film industry was being run by fat old-money boys and kids. “There’s nobody in-between,” Mary Ann Leffler informed them in all seriousness. “No wonder it’s going to hell. Half of them are too old to remember and the