It was a sunny Tuesday in May, and Amy Brown had just arrived at work. Amy strode into the office with her head held high, as was her habit. "Hello Amy, how's it going?" Amy strode passed Bob Gallagher with nary a glance. She refused to exchange half-hearted pleasantries with her office mates. She never saw the purpose of the ritual before, and now that her co-workers' true feelings toward her had been exposed she certainly saw no reason to do so now. But as she walked through the hallway to her office she observed every detail of her co-workers' behavior keenly, filing information away. As she stepped into her office a smirk drew across her face. Today would be the day she exacted her revenge.
It had been a month since Amy's humiliation on her first day in court. A month since Amy's dreams of a flawless legal career had been dashed. A month since Amy had exposed herself to her fellow employees, to the Tax Court Bar, and the world. And, on a more personal note, a month since Amy's favorite pair of lucky underpants had been ruined. The aftermath of the incident had been better than anyone could reasonably have hoped. Anyone, that is, except Amy. Amy was possessed of a supreme confidence in her ability to extricate herself from any situation, and this one was no exception.
Following her fall, Amy had awoken in a security backroom. The Marshall had hauled her back there and covered her in a long, black trenchcoat. There she calmly gave an affidavit explaining the days events, how a combination of misfortune and outright villainy had led her to enter the courtroom late and with her clothes in a sufficiently precarious state that they could not withstand a relatively ordinary shock to her system (Amy's delicate euphemism for the gate to the bar's smacking her in the ass). A brief phone conversation with Jess the paralegal and a video tape of her security screening confirmed key details of her story. Amy had been released without further incident.
In the month since her ordeal, Amy had written a reply to the Court's order to show cause why she should not be disciplined that Amy had it on good authority had moved the Judge to tears. She had also contacted the Treasury Inspector General for Tax Administration and convinced them to commence an investigation into the conduct of the security officer who had detained her at the Federal building entrance. With luck, the pervert would soon be unemployed. And she had commenced law suits against the City of New York, the city's construction contractor for the Fulton Street sewer project, and both construction workers individually who were involved in her embarrassing fall into a trench and subsequent... posterior trauma. Just thinking about the incident caused Amy's hand to subconsciously move to her rear end; only now was the pain in her ass subsiding. Amy had even convinced the Times to bury the story of her embarrassment. No photos were published and the only evidence of her humiliation was a cryptic line in the society page, "IRS Attorney Makes Flashy Debut; Government's Assets Laid Bare; Courtroom Stunned by Rebuttal." All it had taken was a few phone calls and some veiled threats about audits, as well as a dark warning that any embarrassing photographs might constitute a threat to national security. All a bluff, of course, but Amy had, per usual, executed it flawlessly.
All-in-all, Amy had tidily wrapped up all the loose ends from the incident, and after this slight, embarrassing detour her life could now resume its glorious march from triumph to triumph. Well, all the loose ends but one. Among her many talents, Amy possessed a practically eidetic memory. As she replayed the events of that day in her mind, something peculiar stood out. When she entered the courtroom, everyone there looked shocked at her appearance. Everyone but one. And when she had fallen to the floor, stripped to her underwear, everyone laughed at her. Everyone but one. That one was Elizabeth "Liz" Duncan.
Amy didn't know Liz that well, but she knew enough. Liz was a hayseed who had evidently fallen off a turnip truck in front of the IRS. She came from Squalor Hollow, Arkansas, or some similar backwater. Amy had first met Liz a few months earlier, when Liz joined the Office of Chief Counsel. Amy was leaving the office for lunch when she spotted an unfamiliar blonde head carrying a box of picture frames.
"Ah, you must be the new paralegal. Good. Hopefully you'll prove more capable than Jess."
"Um, actually I'm an attorney. My name's Elizabeth Duncan, but folks just call me Liz. Pleased ta meetcha!" Liz awkwardly shifted her box into her left hand so that she could extend her right hand to Amy. Amy just regarded the outstretched hand quizzically.
"I'd rather not, if you don't mind. I'm fresh out of hand sanitizer. Are you certain you're an attorney and not a paralegal? I'm not sure what things are like where you're from, but here you need a law degree to be an attorney."
"Well, I have a law degree! From the University of Nebraska!"
"Really? I don't see a diploma in your box. Have you already hung it up on your wall?"
"Nah," Liz grinned, "I just keep it in a file cabinet at home. Hanging degrees on the wall just seems kinda pretentious, ya know? I mean, it doesn't matter where you came from, we're all the same here, right?"
Amy had looked at Liz like she had just sprouted rabbit ears and a tail. That statement, "we're all the same here," made so little sense to Amy that she still wasn't sure it was English. After an awkward pause, Liz gave up on the possibility of getting a handshake from Amy and readjusted her box.
"Anyhoo, I've just got a lot of pictures, my parents, my big brother, my grammy and grampap, my dog..."
"That's fascinating, but I actually have an important appointment that I'm already late for, thanks to this conversation. I suppose I'll be seeing you around."
"Oh, well, I don't want to take up your time. Great meeting you!"
Amy and Liz had barely talked since then, but Amy felt sure that something wasn't right with the little blonde hick. Now the pieces had fallen into place: Liz was responsible for Amy's humiliation on her first day in court. Amy had never been more certain of anything in her life. Exhibit A: Nothing ever went wrong for Amy, yet everything had gone wrong that day. There was no plausible explanation other than that some outside intelligence had set forces into motion that had come together to destroy Amy. Exhibit B: Liz hadn't been surprised to see Amy's state of undress, because Liz knew exactly what had been happening to Amy. Exhibit C: Liz hadn't laughed along with everyone else at Amy's embarrassment, a clear sign of a guilty conscience. And the most damning of all, Exhibit D: Liz had carefully arranged to be at the scene of Amy's ultimate humiliation, but was conspicuously absent from all the events leading up to that humiliation, as though Liz had carefully planned her movements to throw suspicion off of her. The more Amy thought about it, the more it made sense. Liz must have enlisted Jess, the paralegal, Linda, the file clerk, the two construction workers and the security guard into her conspiracy! Even Amy's shoe must have been sabotaged in advance by Liz. How Liz had gained access to Amy's shoe closet she hadn't determined yet, but the contours of the conspiracy were as clear to Amy as reading a book.
But now, today, Amy would have her revenge. Just as she had been stripped bare and humiliated before the whole office, so would Liz be stripped bare today!
Step one was to get Liz out of the clothes she had worn to work. Amy knew that Liz kept a spare suit in her office, just in case of emergencies. Knowing that, Amy had stayed late at the office a few nights before, broke into Liz's office, and sabotaged the suit. Now Amy just needed to give Liz a reason to put the suit on.
Amy took an uncharacteristic stroll to the break room, where she found Liz chatting with Gene, one of the legal secretaries. Liz was wearing a powder-blue skirt suit that didn't quite fit her with a white blouse and tan flats. No makeup, her dusty blonde hair in a loose pony tail. Her outfit contrasted with Amy's designer black pantsuit, custom tailored, metallic silver blouse, horn-rimmed glasses and black pumps. On seeing Amy, Gene quickly excused himself. He knew Amy had a fondness for reporting lollygagging secretaries to the managers.
"Well, hi there! I haven't talked to you in forever!" said Liz.
Amy put on a smile. If this plan was to work, she needed Liz to believe that Amy thought of her as a friend. "Well, I have been busy the last few months, and with that whole incident last month..." Amy watched Liz closely to see if she betrayed her guilty conscience at the mention of the incident.
Liz looked sympathetic. "Gosh, I couldn't believe when that happened! I felt so bad for you! That must have been just about the worst thing that could happen to a person!"
"Yes, it was pretty terrible, wasn't it? But it's all in the past! I've forgotten about it and am moving on with my life. Say," a sly grin spread across Amy's face, "Why don't we chat about your time here over a copy of coffee? Do we have any around here?"
"Well, sure! Here, I'll get the instant out of the fridge for ya!" Amy never drank coffee, she exclusively drank imported whole-leaf Darjeeling tea from single estates, and only the best grade, Finest Tippy Golden Flowery Orange Pekoe (FTGFOP, or Far Too Good For Ordinary People, as she liked to call it). Still, she had a general sense that, if she did drink coffee, she would turn her nose up at instant. But this presented an opportunity and she had to take it.
"That sounds lovely." Liz rose from her seat and moved to the refrigerator. While Liz busied herself pulling out the coffee, Amy removed a handful of thumb tacks from her jacket pocket and arrayed them on Liz's chair. With luck, these would tear a hole in Liz's skirt large enough that Liz would put on her emergency skirt.
Liz closed the fridge and turned around, can of instant coffee in one hand, hot cup of coffee in the other. "Here, you can have my coffee, I'll just make myself another cup."
"Nonsense! I'll just make my own, it's no trouble." Amy was already planning her next few moves. She would make the coffee using the microwave, distracting Liz from sitting for the moment. Once the coffee was done, she would have Liz sit down, all the while drawing Liz's attention away from the thumb tacks on the seat. Liz would sit down, then jump up in pain. Amy, feigning surprise at Liz's sudden movement, would take the opportunity to "accidentally" spill coffee all over her. Liz would change out of her wet clothes, and Phase 1 of the plan would be complete.
Amy put the cold coffee-water mixture in the microwave and programmed it for three minutes, which she assumed would get it hot enough for her purposes. She then turned around to engage Liz in conversation, leaning back with her hands and hindquarters resting on the edge of the counter by the microwave.
"So, how are you liking your time here with Chief Counsel?"
"Well, gosh, it's been great! Everyone's so friendly and it's just been a real pleasu-"
ZZZTT! Liz was interrupted when the fluorescent lights began to flicker. Both attorneys looked up, quizzically. Then Liz got a look of horror on her face.
"Oh no! I have a bagel in the toaster! We can't run the toaster and the microwave at the same time or-"
ZZAAAP! A jolt of electricity arced out of the microwave in search of the nearest electrical conductor it could find, which in this case was Amy's ass.
