PART I
“Well, Mr. Biggerman, I suppose you know why I’m here,” Carlotta said. She set her briefcase beside the chair.
The tall man behind the desk nodded. “Unfortunately yes, Ms Exquisito. Your office called less than an hour ago. Am I being sued personally, or just the store?”
She handed him a sealed envelope. “The suit names Biggerman’s Department Store, of course, as well as yourself as owner and manager. The seven employees bringing suit were all dismissed in October and November of this year. They are claiming wrongful dismissal and failure to negotiate a proper settlement.” Carlotta kept her tone cool and professional. She was contemptuous of this man, as she was of most men in positions of power.
Biggerman, however, seemed more concerned than intimidated. He was a dark-haired, lanky man in a well-cut blue suit. He was young—too young in Carlotta’s opinion to be running a tradition-rich clothing store like Biggerman’s. He had inherited the store when his father, Henry Biggerman senior, passed away. He needed a haircut.
He spread his hands. “I had to let some people go,” he explained. “Including some good people. We have been going through a major restructuring at Biggerman’s. I have tried to assemble staff that are a good fit to the new store image.”
“Yes, I had noticed,” Carlotta said dryly.
It was impossible not to notice the changes at Biggerman’s since Henry junior took over. The store had always been an upscale fashion outlet. It catered to women who appreciated the cachet of designer labels and Italian shoes. Biggerman’s offices were on the floor above the store. Walking to the elevators to deliver the notice of suit, Carlotta had been struck by how much her favourite store had changed.
Stylish, conservative suits like the one she was wearing had become difficult to find. In their place was a variety of flashy, feminine finery clearly designed for pleasure, not business. There were fashions on the racks that violated city ordinances. Hemlines ranged from high to very high to panty-flashing. Even though it was snowing, the shoe section was still featuring a variety of high-heeled, platform sandals, along with an array of sexy boots.
For the Christmas season, the store had set up an open-air lounge along one wall. Husbands and boyfriends could relax there while their partners shopped. A red-suited Santa Claus held court in one corner. He was accompanied by no less than six attractive young helpers. Santa made jokes and gave away little gifts. The eye-popping elves served drinks and snacks and smiles. They distracted the men from thinking about how much money their wives were spending. The girls were all dressed in scanty versions of traditional Christmas attire. The scene would be better named the Temptation of St. Nicholas, Carlotta decided scornfully.
Despite Carlotta’s disapproval, there was no denying the store was busy. The Christmas shopping season was in full swing. There were customers everywhere, looking at dresses, arguing about jewellery, discussing make-up, trying on shoes. Cash registers were singing.
The ladies were being assisted by a cohort of young, pretty sales assistants. These had largely replaced the serious, educated “wardrobe advisors” that had long been a fixture at Biggerman’s. Evidently the same turnover had occurred in the upstairs offices. It was this exchange of exuberance for experience that led to the lawsuit Carlotta was pursuing.
She had jabbed the button for the elevator and waited impatiently. The store was playing mood music, mostly syrupy instrumental versions of traditional Christmas songs. In the old days, Biggerman’s would never have stooped to muzak.
Carlotta’s irritation was making her demeanour even colder than usual. She didn’t want this case, especially not this close to Christmas. The senior partner had been persuasive. He had pointed out that the dismissals were flagrant sexual discrimination, another instance of men casting women in a purely sexual role. That argument always worked with Carlotta. It was like waving a red flag before a bull.
Biggerman had lived up to her preconceptions. When she entered the office he had looked her over with a brazenness that she seldom saw and never tolerated. Carlotta was aware that her youth and beauty were not what many people expected in a lawyer. Perhaps she would have to remind this smarmy bloke that she graduated fifth in her class.
Biggerman was still trying to explain his way out of the situation. “You must understand,” he said patiently, “these employees were let go for reasons of. . .. business planning. It had nothing to do with their qualifications. I am steering a new course with this store. I have to be sure my staff are all part of a unifying team.”
“Unfortunately, my clients do not see the situation that way,” Carlotta rejoined. “They believe they were dismissed because of their age or their appearance or their unwillingness to tolerate pervasive sexism. They believe that, given their evident qualifications for their positions, that these grounds constitute wrongful dismissal. Speaking as their lawyer, I am inclined to agree.”
Biggerman’s brow furled. “Did you come here today merely to annoy me with this lawsuit? Or do you have some further business?”
“Yes, I do. I would like to see the employment files and performance reviews for each of my clients.”
“Do you expect me to voluntarily provide you with that information?”
She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Of course I do. Under the law you are obliged to keep such records and make them available for inspection by an employee or his or her agent during their employment and for a period of not less than six months afterwards.”
Her adversary was momentarily taken aback. “Well, Ms Exquisito, you certainly know the law. I’m very impressed.” He thought for a moment. “You know, we could use a sharp young lawyer on our staff here. You have the background in corporate law, and you go the distance for your clients. I like that. If this suit were not between us, I could offer you an excellent position right away.”
Carlotta drew herself up straight, throwing back her long black curls. “Are you trying to buy me off?” she demanded.
“No, no, of course not, nothing like that.” He waved a hand in denial. “We can settle this little matter first. Then maybe we can talk about your future. I think I can offer compensation, well, at least twice what you are earning now.”
The shapely lawyer got to her feet. “Mr. Biggerman,” she said icily, “you may abandon your flimsy attempts to influence me. I assure you I am not interested in working for you, now or in the future, in any capacity. Now, will you show me the employment records, or do I need to return with a court order?”
Biggerman backed off at once. “Whoa, there’s no need to be combative. I meant no offense. Of course, of course you can see the records. You can count on my full co-operation. I’ll have my assistant show you where to find what you need.”
He punched a button on the phone. “Trina baby, would you step in here a moment?”
Without waiting for a reply he turned back to Carlotta. “All our records are kept only as computer files. I had to do something with my computer science degree. You will have to read the records on screen and take down whatever notes you like.”
The office door opened and Biggerman’s assistant stepped in. Trina was an attractive, top-heavy blonde who looked to be in her mid-twenties. She was wearing a red, tailored jacket over a black jersey that made no secret of her generous endowments. The black vinyl mini below it was far shorter than what Carlotta considered appropriate, never mind the red polka-dots on her tights and the red slings. She made Carlotta’s tan pantsuit look like a nun’s habit. Like the rest of the staff in Biggerman’s office, Trina was wearing a red velvet cap trimmed with white fur.
“Yes Henry?” she said brightly. There was a big Santa Claus pin on her jacket, over the right breast. That ought to keep Santa jolly, Carlotta reflected sourly.
Biggerman said: “Trina, this is Ms Exquisito, a lawyer representing some of our recently released staff. Please show her how to access the personnel files for those employees. Use the computer we set up in the extra room.”
“Delighted to meet you,” Trina said, advancing to shake hands. There were rings on most of her fingers. “Please come with me, I’ll get you set up.”
Carlotta shook hands. She turned back to Biggerman for a moment. “This shouldn’t take very long. When I have what I need I’ll be in touch concerning the details of the claim. I hope we can work this matter out satisfactorily.” She didn’t bother hiding her condescension this time.
“Oh I’m sure we can, Ms Exquisito,” Biggerman replied, grinning broadly, “I’m sure we can.”
Carlotta hid her puzzlement over that remark. Picking up her briefcase, she turned to follow Trina’s swaying derriere out of the office.
They passed through the outer offices. A cohort of young women was buzzing about a warren of cubicles like bright-coloured bees around a honeycomb, carrying out the tasks needed to run a major department store. The air of the office seemed lively and upbeat. Carlotta had expected a sombre mood, given the recent shake-up in the staff.
At length Trina and her lawyer companion arrived at a nondescript door, which Trina opened with a passcard. “This room is mostly used for storage,” she apologized, “but you should find everything you need.”
Indeed the room looked quite serviceable. Stored furniture and files had been pushed to the back, creating an open space in which a computer sat on a portable stand. A tall window allowed in such natural light as was forthcoming in December. An executive chair waited for her in front of the computer. There was even a leather sofa along one wall.
“I’ll sign in for you,” Trina said, “so you can access the files under my name.” She bent over to type on the terminal, a dangerously revealing stance, given the length of her skirt. “There you go,” she said, straightening. “The files are in alphabetical order. Is there anything else you need?”
Carlotta surveyed the room. “What is all that for?” she asked, indicating the small table laden with spirits, chocolates and candies.
“Oh, that. Mr. Biggerman asked me to put out some Christmas cheer for you. Help yourself! There’s some cold things in the fridge over there.”
“Biggerman is trying to butter me up. Thank you Trina, this will be fine. I expect to be finished in a few hours.”
“Come find me if you need anything,” the busty blonde replied. Her red-dotted nylons shimmered as she sauntered out the door.
Carlotta watched her go, shaking her head. Obviously Biggerman liked his eye candy light and bubbly. Was it any wonder this chap was being sued? She sat down in the big leather chair in front of the computer. She pulled her laptop out of her briefcase, set it up in her lap, and began the tedious process of transcribing information from the files.
The work didn’t go as quickly as she expected. There were a lot of records to sift through, most of them irrelevant. The mood music was playing in here too, seemingly even louder than outside. It was persistently distracting. Carlotta found her attention drifting to the banal tunes pouring out of the ceiling. She had to concentrate on tuning them out.
The black-haired beauty flipped to another page on the computer. She yawned hugely. Sighing, she leaned back in the chair and looked at the ceiling. Was there no way to turn that music off? She looked back at the computer again, waiting for the urge to return to work. The monitor seemed soft and far away.
Hang it, this is making me sleepy, she thought, her eyes drooping. The chair was soft and inviting. I’d better get back to work, she told herself, before I fall completely asleep. Before I fall asleep...
Fall . . . asleep.
Sleep. . .
Carlotta’s head lolled forward as slumber overtook her. Her chest rose and fell with each gentle breath. The cursor on her computer blinked patiently. The piped-in Christmas music played on and on.
“. . .coming along in here?”
“Whu? Huh?” Carlotta’s head snapped up. She looked around, blinking. Trina was smiling in the half-open doorway.
“Oh, I, I’m doing fine,” Carlotta improvised quickly. Had she fallen asleep? “I must have. . . I think this is going to take a little longer than I—what time is it?”
“It’s a little after four. You’re welcome to stay until closing time if you like.”
Carlotta looked down at her laptop. The screen was black. It had automatically turned itself off. She would have to reboot to get started again. Something about that felt odd.
Black screen. Reboot
“No, no thank you,” the young lawyer decided, some of her usual sharpness returning. “I think that is enough for today. I can come black, er back tomorrow to reboot—to uh, finish.”
“Not a problem. You know where my desk is. Come find me and I’ll let you in.” She waited, still smiling, while Carlotta gathered her things and left the room.
Carlotta was still puzzled as she took the elevator down to street level. Her route through the store took her past the shoe department. She stopped in front of a pair of black slouch boots with tall vamp heels.
Black
These must be the style this year, she reflected. The exaggerated heels looked wobbly. Not stable on ice. She already had a functional pair of
Black
She reached out and stroked the soft material. These certainly weren’t practical. She really needed to get back to the
Black Boots
She looked around for a sales assistant.
Standing on the snowy street, searching for a cab to take her back to the office, Carlotta wondered why she felt so good. She was enjoying that satisfied, nearly smug feeling a woman gets when she knows she has shopped well. Yet she had done nothing of the kind; instead she had impulsively spent too much money on a pair of glamour-girl boots that didn’t suit her and she didn’t need.
The loose-fitting boots were constantly sliding down her legs. They ruined the line of her pantlegs. The thin heels had proved as tricky to negotiate as she had foreseen.
The moment she put the boots on, she simply had to own them. She asked the cheerful sales assistant to clip off the labels so she could wear them home. Her shoes were in a bag under her arm. She raised her hand to flag down a taxicab.
Carlotta was wearing her new boots when she arrived back at Biggerman’s the following afternoon. She was secretly glad for the snowy weather; it gave her an excuse to wear boots to the office. The lithesome lawyer had matched the boots with a sedate charcoal business suit. They looked a sight better with a skirt than under slacks.
She pushed through the revolving doors at Biggerman’s. The store was crowded with Christmas shoppers. Smiling clerks in elf costumes were helping well-heeled women choose the right dress, shoes, and eye shadow. Gold jewellery and platinum charge cards caught the sparkling Christmas lights.
Although it was early afternoon, Santa’s lounge was already occupied. Several men were enjoying a pint while their partners shopped. An equal number of women, burdened with bright-coloured shopping bags, were taking a break. Leggy helpers in their scanty Christmas outfits were keeping the booze flowing.
Carlotta passed by the dress section. A mature woman with the look of an executive about her was trying to decide between two leather skirts, both of which looked quite short for the office. “Gosh, I can’t decide,” she murmured to the salesgirl, “I guess I’ll take both of them.”
At length Carlotta arrived at the elevators. She closed the doors with some relief, happy to be away from the bustle of the store. Unfortunately, the elevator provided no relief from the pervasive Christmas music. Carlotta used the brief elevator ride to pull up her new boots.
The office at Biggerman’s was as lively as ever. Carlotta found Trina and asked to be let into the back room again. The bright-eyed secretary was wearing boots too, tight white ones that looked good with her white sweater and filmy dark nylons. In between she wore a metallic black miniskirt that demanded absolute confidence in the perfection of her thighs. She opened the door to the back room and signed in on the computer.
“There you go,” she said, as Carlotta took her place in front of the computer. “Are you sure you don’t want a holiday snack? It’s a pity to let all that go to waste.” She gestured toward the untouched treats on the coffee table.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Carlotta said formally. “I expect to be finished here quickly. Yesterday I. . . uh, something came up. Is there no way to turn that music off?” She pointed with her eyes toward the ceiling, where saccharine Christmas tunes were pouring out of the speaker.
“Sorry,” Trina returned, “the music is piped into the whole office. I rather like it!”
Carlotta sat down. She opened her briefcase and pulled out her laptop. “All right, I suppose I can put up with it for a few hours.” She smiled briefly. The music wasn’t Trina’s fault. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”
“Cheerio,” chimed Trina, as she left the room.
Carlotta turned on her laptop computer. While she waited for it to boot up she looked over at the table of confections. There were two boxes of expensive chocolates. She chose a piece and slipped it into her mouth. Unexpectedly, the centre was liqueur. It was delicious.
She picked out another, then rolled her chair back in front of the computer. She admired her new boots for a moment. Despite the flimsy high heels she liked them a lot. The loose fit gave her an excuse to fuss with them all the time. Well, best get at it. Tuning out the Christmas music as best she could, she began transcribing employment records from the computer.
Drowsiness seized her within minutes. She stifled a yawn. She shook her head, trying to wake up. The work was so boring. She yawned again. The computer screen was going all blurry. I’d better not fall asleep again, Carlotta decided.
Better not sleep. . .
Not . . . again.
That was her last complete thought before her head slumped forward on her chest, eyes closed.
Carlotta slept placidly. Her dark curls shifted a little with the rise and fall of her chest. Outside the window, a few white snowflakes drifted downward onto the street. The room was silent, but for the velvety tones playing endlessly from the overhead speakers.
Some time later she lifted her head, blinking. She looked about her. The computer was still showing the last employment record she had been reading. Her laptop had shut itself down again. It was growing dark outside.
She had fallen asleep again. It looked like she had missed a good two hours. How had that happened? She hadn’t read more than a few pages before she dozed off.
The last thought lingered in her mind. She hadn’t read. . .
Red
Carlotta paused for a moment. Well, she wasn’t going to get any more done today. She closed her laptop and picked up her black briefcase.
Black
She paused again. She spent a moment pulling up her new boots. They came right up to the knee. The high heels put her weight forward onto the narrow toes. She headed off to tell Trina she would be back again tomorrow.
Riding down in the elevator, Carlotta still felt odd. Imagine falling asleep at her desk two days in a row. She needed to get more sleep.
Red
Yes, that was it, she needed more red.
The elevator door opened. Now that the workday was ending the store was busier than ever. Everyone from secretaries to directors was pouring in to do their Christmas shopping. Carlotta made her way down the aisles impatiently. This fiasco with the computer had cut into her workday.
She really needed to dash right back to the office.
Black
She really needed to flash red and black in the office.
Lost in thought, she continued toward the door, slower now. Something caught her eye. Hanging on a mirrored wall, among the hundreds of other dresses and suits and things, was a red dress. It was a sexy, Christmas-party kind of dress with a criss-cross top. Carlotta wandered toward it.
Red
She stopped in front of the dress. She set down her briefcase. She ran one edge of the dress along her fingers. It felt soft, like velour, but stretchy. Maybe some new synthetic fabric. She would never wear a dress like this. It was too flashy. She was too much of a feminist to parade around in something that announced the suitability of her body for—
Red
To a party maybe. Once. But not on the street. Certainly never to the office. It was too tight. She looked at the hemline again: and too short.
“Hi! May I help you?”
Carlotta looked up to find a salesgirl smiling at her. The girl couldn’t be more than twenty years old. She wore green tights and red booties below a short, green-and-red tunic. She looked like a horny pin-up artist’s vision of what Santa’s elves should look like.
“Uh, no, uh, no, I, I don’t think so, thank you,” Carlotta stammered. She was still holding the edge of the dress in one hand. The girl’s cap was a pleasing colour. “I was only looking. I don’t need—”
Red
“Do you have this in a size six?”
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