She was halfway out the door when Kesselring said, “Wait a minute, he didn’t call. I didn’t hear the phone ring.”
“That’s right, he didn’t. Yesterday. He asked me yesterday to be on the lookout for it. I called him.” Running to the front of the mail room she yelled, “I’ll be right back,” and dove through the closing doors of the elevator, exhilarated.
George Porge, Kesselring, Hope Brady, and quite a few other people worked for the Universal Broadcasting System. It was a vainglorious title.
Despite the money and the location, just uptown of Rockefeller Center, and an entire midtown office building, albeit only a fifteen-story one, U.B.S. was just another cable company.
But it owned the finest modern communications equipment and was home to the wheelingest and dealingest management ever to come down the pike.
GEORGE Porge and Personnel were on the tenth floor. Hope rode up to twelve to visit her friend Jessica Selby, who worked the reception desk in the combined Talent and Billing Department. Jessica had shiny ultra-black hair that just covered her ears. It was dead straight and cut Dutch-boy style with a precise part. Hope shook her head in despair. If only she had hair like that. “Hi, Jess,” she said, inspecting the faces of the people waiting to go in on appointments. “Any stars today?”
Jess’s practiced smile never left her face. “Christ, Hope, do you have to be such a dweeb all the time? In this place there are no stars. Only a lot of people who wish they were.”
A tall man wearing a charcoal jacket and a camel turtleneck that matched his hair strode by the reception desk and toward the inner offices. Jess sat straighter in her chair. “Good morning, Mr. Lancaster.”
“Morning, sweets. Are they in there?”
“Yes, sir. They’re waiting for you.”
“Good. Give ’ em character. See you, sweets.”
Hope gazed after him. “That was Vic Lancaster. He’s a star. He called you sweets.”
“He calls everybody that. It’s an act. And he’s not a star; he’s a used-to-be. Worse, an almost-was.”
“He’s thirty-six, an Aquarius, and an avid sailor. I read that in People.”
“Give me a break. You better leave before you get me in trouble. Hey, you want to go to a Halloween party tonight?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got all those boxes to unpack. What time?”
“Seven thirty.”
Hope scrunched up her face and chewed on her lower lip. “Okay. Why don’t you come see my new apartment?”
“Doesn’t make any sense. The party’s on the Upper West Side, not five blocks from me. Why should I go downtown and uptown again on that lousy subway when I can just walk to the party? I’ll see your digs another time. Come home with me, and we’ll go together.”
“I’ve still got some stuff in the old place I have to get.”
“All right, how about this? Do you have a lot to move?”
“No, it shouldn’t take me long.”
“Good.” The phone on the reception desk rang. Jess answered it and told two women waiting that they could go in. “Mr. Wilson’s office is the third door on the right.” Her practiced smile shone brightly. When the women were gone, she said to Hope, “You do what you have to do, then come to my place.”
“What should I wear?”
Jess raised her right eyebrow, another practiced accomplishment. “The gold lame you wore to Madonna’s birthday. Whatever you want to wear. It’s not a costume party. Be comfortable. Don’t wear jeans; your butt is too big.”
“Oh, Jess.” Hope tugged at her jeans and her bulky yellow sweater and wished she could be more like her friend, who looked great even in her plain white shirt, black pants, and vest.
“Don’t oh-Jess me. Out of here before we both get fired. I’ll see you later.”
Hope delivered George Porge’s letter to the tenth floor.
“Hey, Kathy, guess who I saw on twelve? Vic Lancaster.”
“So?” George Porge’s pretty Chinese assistant sneered. “He was here twenty minutes ago. Screaming and yelling for all he was worth. I thought Georgie Porgie was going to go ballistic. Vic Lancaster just fired most of his staff, and here it is Friday, and he wants Georgie Porgie to set up a bunch of appointments by Monday. I don’t see why they put up with his crap around here. It’s just a lousy local cable show, and it sucks. Poor Georgie is tearing his hair out. And I don’t blame him. Where’s he going to find people to work for that maniac? I wouldn’t for anything.”
Hope envisioned the blond god she’d seen upstairs. The thought made her sweat. “I would,” she said, more to herself than to Kathy.
WHEN Hope reached her new apartment, she dropped her stuff and collapsed in a purple armchair that had been left by the previous tenant.
She fell into a deep sleep and dreamed of a black wolf and a three-headed silver dog.
In the midst of sleep Hope said, “What a strange dream,” as if it were a TV show and not a dream. She awoke with a big smile and a great feeling of contentment.
“Party time,” she yelled. But when she saw the daylight outside and stared at her watch, she realized that she had slept the night through.
Thoroughly panicked, she rushed out without changing her outfit or washing her face or using the john.
First she had to stop at Pandora’s Jar and thank Aster again. No. She didn’t have time. She would see Aster later when she came home.
Except Aster was out on the street in front of her store and calling to her. “Good morning, Hope. I’m so glad you dropped by. I have a present for you.”
“I can’t now…” The Greek woman was strange but sweet. In spite of her leathery skin, thick lips, and jowls, it was obvious that Aster had once been a beauty. She also had the oddest eyes-one green, the other black-they seemed to reflect dark light.
“Come inside. It’s a charm against any evil spirits that may be following you.”
What were a few more minutes? Hope walked into Pandora’s Jar. Her forehead wrinkled when Aster said something she didn’t quite get.
“I’m so sorry,” the old woman apologized in her guttural voice. “Sometimes I forget and speak Greek.” She pursed her thick lips, nodding wisely. “I’ll just have to teach you, that’s all.”
Aster walked Hope to a cheval glass mirror on an oak stand. “Sit.” The old woman stood behind Hope and slipped the chain over the girl’s head. “This is the Goddess Hecate. Keep her with you day and night, and you will always be protected.”
Hope gazed into the mirror at the charm, which was a small carving of a face. The face was deep green and flecked with red spots like drops of blood. It was enchanting.
Aster smiled and tilted the mirror so Hope’s face was the main focus. “Have a good look.”
More mesmerizing than the carving was Hope’s reflection. Not only had most of her pimples cleared up, but her port-wine stain seemed to have faded.
She touched her face in awe, grinned at her mirror image, and told herself that her imagination was working overtime.
Her hair was so lustrous. She was prettier. And thinner.
Utterly confused, she turned to Aster, who said, “You look very nice, my dear.”
“I know.” Laughing, Hope ran outside, caught a passing cab to the U.B.S. building, danced like a madwoman as the express elevator took her up, up, up, and barged into Vic’s office.
She was changed. More than her appearance. Her transformation had been as abrupt as an incantation and a puff of smoke. There had been no puff of smoke. Just a black wolf and a three-headed silver dog.
Marching up to Vic’s desk, Hope suggested that he put on a show based on people’s sexual revelations.
“Pretty sure of yourself, are you?”
“You’re damn right.”
“Okay. You’re the producer. Produce it.”
Sexploits was born.
II
As she arrived home after work, she spotted him walking toward her. It was the day following the party she’d missed.