Oliver Stone looked up from his desk as his new secretary walked across the room and put something in his in tray. He wasn't a happy man. He had never had a personal secretary before and his expectations had been high. What he had wanted was someone young, smart and efficient to reflect his own image. What he had been given was a 43 year old lady who dressed too conservatively, in clothes that were obviously well out of date with modern fashion. He looked up and sighed at her spectacles and severe hairstyle. She just wouldn't do, she wouldn't do at all.
He had recently been appointed to a top position with Barber and Black, an old established accountancy firm in the City.
They wanted him for his marketing skills and ability to attract new business. He had contacts all over the place and was confident he could make things happen. He knew the directors would be looking at his performance carefully and were expecting good results. After all, he was being paid a good salary. So far, he had done quite well even though he had shaken up a few people at the firm with his direct methods and bombastic approach. In his opinion, the place needed a few cobwebs blowing away and people woken up to the realities of the cut throat competition of the business world.
Above all, he needed good support and Mrs Birch had been a bit of a disappointment. Her appointment had coincided with the retirement of the Chief Accountant, Mr Reed, who had been with the firm for 35 years. Because of promotions from within, Mrs Birch, who had been Reed's secretary, was available and had been transferred to Mr. Stone.
Monica Birch was, in fact, in a bit of a nervous state. She was only too aware of what was happening in the office. She had accidentally overheard John Rush, the Personnel Officer, talking to someone in the corridor while she was in the storeroom for some office supplies. It had been a shock to hear that her new boss wanted rid of her. According to what she heard, Mr Rush, had advised him to "give it a few weeks and monitor her performance." After that, Rush had promised him that "he would see what he could do about replacing her."
She couldn't for the life think of what she had done wrong to merit such treatment. Her former boss, Mr. Reed, had always spoken highly of her and been extremely satisfied with her work. Mr. Stone, her new boss, was a lot younger than her, he was only 26 and she knew he had lots of energy and new ideas. Then, the other day she had seen Lisa Meadows, one of the other secretaries ,talking to him in reception and had watched his reaction when she walked away. The pretty young blonde always drew men's attention when she walked around in her short skirt. Also, she was bright and chatty, just the sort of assistant Mr. Stone would like, no doubt, instead of her.
The trouble was that she desperately needed to keep her job. If she was laid off, she would find it very difficult to find anything that paid as well as her current job. She had a sick mother to worry about at home and there were a lot of expenses and household bills. The two of them lived in a modest terraced house down near the river and there was an outstanding mortgage to pay on it.
She resolved to try her utmost to be smart and efficient and impress her new boss. The trouble was that because she was so nervous and worried, she was more likely to make silly mistakes. Every day she seemed to do something wrong and displease him. It was not like her, usually she was efficient, capable and firmly in control. But, Mr Stone, was a formidable boss and very strict. Sometimes he made her feel like a silly little teenager even though she was considerably older than he was.
When he called her in and complained about something, some error she had made, she blushed with embarrassment and didn't know where to put herself. His cold blue eyes seemed to look right through her and make her go weak at the knees. She also knew he was keeping a note of every little mistake. Unfortunately, they were mounting up.
A half an hour later, her intercom buzzed. It was Mr. Stone. "Mrs Birch, have you finished those letters yet? They need to go out tonight, first class post."
"Right away Mr Stone, I'll bring them in for you to sign, she responded.
It was always the same. Everything was always urgent. Everything had to be done immediately. He just kept piling things onto her.
She stood nervously, with her hands behind her back and trying not to fidget, as he read through them with pen in hand ready to sign. "Almost there," she thought as his hand poised above the last one and about to sign it.
"No, no," he shouted. "It should be £1,500 not £15,000..."
Monica quickly consulted her notebook and felt the blood rise to her cheeks. He was right. He had said £1,500.
"Oh no ...I've done it again." She was mortified at her own carelessness.
"I'm surprised at you Mrs Birch...these mistakes you are making: An experienced secretary like you. It's not good enough."
"No Sir, she agreed. "I don't know why..."
"It can't go on like this. I think we both know that, don't we?"
"Yes Sir"
"That could have been a real embarrassment for me and the firm if it had gone out like that"
"Yes Sir, I'm sorry sir."
Sorry isn't good enough I'm afraid. There needs to be some kind of atonement or punishment when this happens, to make you concentrate harder."
"Yes Sir," she said meekly. She had no idea what he meant, but, she would agree to anything to keep her job.
"I'll try and think of something," he said hoarsely, "something that won't involve those idiots in Personnel."
Still flushed with embarrassment, she took the letters and made her way back to her own small room. When she had made the correction, he signed it with a flourish and disappeared off home.
Monica sat down and had a little cry at her desk. Somehow or other she had to snap out of it and do better.
Sighing, she put on her coat, flicked off the lights and made her way down the deserted corridor.
Later on that evening, she decided to have a bath and try to relax. She undid her dressing gown and appraised herself in the full length mirror. She still had a good figure, she knew that. She had been a part-time model in her younger days and had always watched what she ate and taken regular exercise. She took out the clip in her hair and let auburn curls fall down around her shoulders. She gave it a good brushing as she always did, even though these days she rarely went out or dressed up. Stepping into the bath, she allowed the hot water to luxuriate her body. Fortunately, she had the weekend to recover and gather herself for the next busy week ahead.
The following morning, Saturday, she was surprised to hear her doorbell ring. It was her best friends, Sheila and Chloe standing on the doorstep with huge grins on their faces. Monica was overjoyed to see them. She had been so preoccupied with her problems at work that she hadn't been in touch with them lately. She invited them in and they all sat round and talked over cups of coffee. Her Mum was still in her bedroom, asleep.
"What's wrong, Monica? They asked. "We know you are having problems. We have spies everywhere."
At this, Monica broke down and sobbed her heart out. She told them the full story and all about her concerns and worries for the future.
"But, you're good at your job," protested Sheila. "You're a great secretary."
"Well I used to think so," commented Monica, "but, lately, my confidence has started to wane somewhat. And I'm getting older" she added miserably, "these younger girls are starting to outshine me."
"Nonsense," wailed Sheila. "You are a better than anyone else in that firm by a mile. I should know, I used to work there."
"And you have qualities that they haven't got" interjected Chloe. "You are still a beautiful woman."
Monica shook her head sadly. "I wish that were true."
Sheila jumped up from her seat. "Right," she said firmly. "What you need is a makeover. And, we are just the girls to give you one. Chloe knows all about hair and cosmetics and I am the expert on style and clothes. Let's raid our funds and go down town. We'll soon have you sparkling like new. We just need to get you out of your rut."
And, true to her word, Sheila whisked her down to the high street in her car. The next 3 hours they went from shop to shop and bought lots of things. Fortunately, a lot of the stuff that was obtained was either cut price bargain, or items from charity shops. By the time they returned home for lunch, they were laden down with purchases.
Monica nearly burst into tears when she saw that the table was laid out for lunch. Her Mum was dressed and sitting comfortably, as Chloe bustled about putting out the plates of food.
"It's my turn with you this afternoon" she told Monica. "We'll see to your hair, make-up and other matters..."
Later after all the work was done, a revitalised Monica tried on combinations of clothes. She was a happy woman again.
"You have both been quite wonderful she sobbed. I don't know what I would do without you."
"That's what friends are for" they chorused. "Now come on try on something else..."
Suffice to say she ended up with a new wardrobe and one which hadn't cost too much. When Monday came, she donned a white blouse and smart navy blue business suit with the shortest skirt worn for some time. Both Sheila and Chloe had been adamant that she show off her long, shapely legs which they both agreed were her best feature. With her hair down and new make-up on, she strode confidently into work in her new high heel shoes. Monica was pleased with her outfit, which looked almost new. Several heads turned to watch her as she made her way into the office. She was also wearing contact lenses instead of her spectacles. She was determined to get used to wearing them at work.
Oliver Stone was already there, and, although Monica was at least half an hour early herself, she felt guilty. When she eventually came through to his desk with the days appointments, he looked up in surprise. He had to look twice. Was this really Mrs Birch his secretary? She looked so different and more feminine. She was prettier, smarter... and those legs...where had they come from. He gulped and tried not to stare. When she walked back to her office, he leaned forward to look at the undulating sway of her retreating figure. "Wow," he murmured softly. "Our Mrs Birch had hidden talents. Perhaps, I should reconsider getting rid of her so quickly."
It was a busy day and there was a lot to get through. Throughout the day he kept glancing up as she walked in the room. Unknowingly, she got his full attention when she bent down at the filing cabinet. Her skirt rode up at the back and was tight against her bottom. He licked his lips as he watched her. "Man, what a sexy arse," he murmured to himself. By close of play he was convinced. He would keep her. She wasn't a bad secretary given the amount of work she had to do for him and also she was a treat to look at now that she had smartened herself up. Before she went home he went into her ante-room, a rare event for him.
"I like your new look, Monica," he blurted out. "You look very smart."
Monica could hardly believe her ears. It was the first complement he had ever paid her. It seemed her little weekend make-over had been a success.
She went home in a happy state of mind. It had been a good day. She had felt smart and her confidence had soared. If only she could get on top of things at work and cut out those silly little mistakes, she would be home and dry.
But despite her best efforts she still made one or two silly blunders that week. Finally, on the Friday he called her into his office. "Have a seat, Monica," he said and she sat down in the one adjacent to his desk. Her short skirt rode up her thigh and she tried unsuccessfully to tug it back down.
"Look at this," he said and held up a file for her to look at. "You've filed this letter in the wrong file. If I hadn't come across it just now, we may never have found it."
Monica frowned as she looked at the file. For the life of her she couldn't think how that had happened. She was most careful with the filing.
In fact, Oliver had placed it on the wrong file himself not 5 minutes ago. He just wanted an excuse to broach a subject that had been on his mind all week.
"We've talked about this before, Monica. If you want to continue to be my secretary we have to come to some understanding as to how I deal with your...little indiscretions."
"I don't know what to say...sir...Of course, I'll go along with whatever..."
She crossed her legs anxiously and Oliver gulped as he took in just the merest glimpse of bare thigh. God, she was wearing stockings. He loved stockings.
