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“Good,” said Abby.
“I’d say something to Clark, but he doesn’t have time for you’s girls’ problems.”
“I know. I wouldn’t want you to say anything to him.”
Randall flagged down their waitress and the conversation was over.
Still, Abby wasn’t used to such poor treatment.
One of the many advantages to being married to Randall (Obviously there were advantages; they just didn’t outweigh the disadvantages.) was that Randall commanded a huge amount of respect, and by association, so did Abby. She often sensed that she was not well-received, particularly by other wives, but Randall’s circle of friends’ slight hostility toward her was easy enough to ignore. Danielle, however, was arctically cold to Abby. In particular when it was just the two of them.
During Abby’s third week at work, Clark Lorbmeer came in to say hello, and Danielle made a point of sticking her head in Abby’s office and saying, “Abby! Good mor
ning! Coffee for you, Hun? Oh, hi there Mr. Lorbmeer! I didn’t realize you were back in town!”
Abby fell for Danielle’s act and was friendly back to her later in the day, thinking maybe she and Danielle could become friends. She’d already worked up a scenario in her mind of the two of them shopping and going out for lunch. Maybe Papa Rottzy would be okay with it. It was a possibility.
But without Clark Lorbmeer around to impress, Danielle snapped back to her true, bitchy self.
“I have a doctor’s appointment and I need you to stay later today,” Danielle came in to tell Abby one day after Abby had been working there about a month.
“Today? I don’t know.”
“You can’t help me out?”
“I’m only supposed to work eight hours a week,” Abby said. She was unsure whether she might mess up whatever insurance savings Randall was finagling if she worked more than that.
“Do you have somewhere else you have to be?” Danielle asked her.
“Well, not exactly. But I think I need to call my husband and run it by him first.”
“It’s one hour.”
“Just… I need to ask him.”
Danielle glared. Her disgust was palpable. “Go ahead,” she said, staying put, watching.
“Fine. I’ll call him right now.”
Danielle made herself comfortable on a spare chair in Abby’s office, crossing her arms, waiting.
Abby picked up her office phone, looking at the keypad. She realized she wasn’t sure how to place an outgoing call.
“My. God,” said Danielle, instantly recognizing the problem. She leaned forward and pressed a button. “Now dial the number. If you can handle that.”
“I was about to press that button,” said Abby, punching in the number for Randall’s office. “Hello, Krissa. Could I please speak to Randall? …Could you ask him to step out for a minute to speak with me? …Fine. Then, I have a question for you. Oh, sure, I can hold for a second.” She could feel her face growing hotter and hotter.
“Is your hubby too busy to help you with your question?” asked Danielle in a patronizing tone.
“Shouldn’t someone be watching the front desk?” said Abby.
“I’ll hear if someone comes in,” Danielle said.
“I’m back. Sorry about that,” said Krissa.
“So,” said Abby, “would it affect anything if I worked more than eight hours a week? Do you know?”
“How much more?”
