The final applicant appeared before the interview board at 2.22. Eight minutes later it appeared all over for the opened-faced 32-year-old Durham Durham; he was 'shown the door'.
The other twenty-three applicants sweated on average thirteen minutes and nine seconds during which time they were questioned and challenged by the five serious-faced senior executives charged with appointing a special adviser on marketing to the President of Business America Jet Aircraft Corporation.
An hour later the chairman of the interview board presented a prΓ©cis of interview results together with recommendations to President Delaney Springer. Thirty minutes later she announced she wanted to interview the top three candidates plus the bottom one; that person, deemed being the most unsuitable would be used as a reference point to expose the top candidate on a comparative basis.
Interview board chairman Harold Collins wasn't sure what that meant but Delaney appeared convinced she knew what she was talking about.
"She'll pick that coot Durham Durham," he joked to his wife, then realized he shouldn't interfere with fate β but it was too late, he'd said it.
The top contender received a tracheotomy on the sidewalk after being felled by a mugger wielding a baseball bat; the second opened the mail to learn she had contacted a STD requiring urgent hospitalization and the third mixed up the final interview date, thinking it was tomorrow, so went fishing.
Delaney and Harold had lunch with Durham who at times had them in fits of laughter and they frequently listened to him in awe. Obviously Durham was one of those guys who don't do well in formal interviews. Delaney looked at Harold; he nodded so Durham was offered the job. He accepted and didn't appear surprised he'd won through.
Next day the manager of HR drafting Durham Durham's contract called Harold: "We must get this new guy to change his name."
"Let him be," Harold laughed. "He told us his dad hated being called by his surname so made sure it wouldn't happen to his son."
Late afternoon on his first day at the corporate office in Chicago, Durhan flew with Delaney and her entourage to Washington; Delaney was due to appear next morning before a Congressional committee inquiring into aeronautic excessiveness.
Executives on the company jet took one last look at the corporation's submissions. The show of hands on which one of two strongest points to focus on tied at 4-4 so Delaney, aware Durham had been listening to the pow-wow though not included, asked for his opinion.
"Both contentions miss the mark a bit; go for the king hit and argue the corporation's philosophy is to think small and concentrare on fuel consumption efficiency."
"I be dammed β I think he's got it," Sam Usher, head of strategic planning, said while rubbing his misshapen nose.
That was settled. When Delaney congratulated Durham for his input she quietly invited him to have dinner with her that evening at an Italian family restaurant she sometimes visited. She gave him the address.
Delaney arrived half an hour late and the 38-year-old almost knocked Durham off his bar stool although she was still a good twenty yards away. The grey business suit and French roll and sensible shoes had gone β she was in cream silk, her auburn hair rippled down her back and she balanced herself confidently on 6-inch heels. He hadn't really noticed the small waist previously, now emphasizing what was above and below it and the heels forced him to notice the legs; he almost had to adjust himself because of sudden pressure behind his zip. Durbam fixed that by jumping from his stool early to welcome the approaching woman who looked worth a ravaging.
She cheek kissed him, smelling divine. He hoped he was okay having splashed on something called 'The Woodsman'.
"Hi, you look a dream."
"Dry dream I would hope," she said playfully, making Durham blink.
"Are you a Miss or a Mrs β I tend to focus on the big picture?"
She smiled and said she'd been Miss and then Mrs and then Miss and once more Mrs but was back to being Miss again. "And you?"
"Mr β I've always missed out."
They laughed and he said truthfully he was still looking; the ones he liked were already taken.
"That's life," she said wisely.
Their conversation continued mostly along that light vein under fairly robust drinking until at the end she said with sluttish unexpectedness, "Take me to bed."
He made sure she saw him lick his lips, "Are you sure you've gotten the right guy?"
"I'm sure. It will mean booking into another hotel but that's fine; I like to escape at times. I just need to call and advise I'm safe and going off air."
Durham removed the dress carefully. She indicated appreciation then grabbed him and buried her lips into his neck while he stroked her body, making brief hand visits to strategic parts. He pulled the long lacy chemise away and said, breathlessly, "You're wearing stockings!" He'd found some women liked being told that in a surprised voice and the way she was squirming against him indicated she was one of those women.