At least, I was private and unnoticed in my newness until the flowers began to flow. That Monday a lovely purple orchid came to sit on my desk. A flock of ladies managed to peek inside to get a glimpse of it, but still no one commented. On Tuesday, that plant gained a sister, an even larger white orchid in a large pot that took up more space than my desk allowed.
After admiring it for several minutes, I placed it on a low filing cabinet, a place where I could still appreciate it fully, but could continue to manage my desk full of paperwork, along with the accepted and rejected wooden boxes that took up the whole left side of my desk. (The right side contained my fancy computer, and in the center, in the prime spot, sat the purple orchid, the dendrobium blue of happiness. (Yes, I looked up the type of orchid.)
No cards accompanied either orchid, so there was no way that the curiosity of the workers around me had been satisfied. When the Vanda Viboon Sunset Spotted Tangerine Orchid appeared the third day of the work week, the tension around me broke. Three of the ladies came marching into my office, their arms crossed, their faces sternly staring at me, and their posture informing me that they had no intention of leaving until I told them everything.
“What’s his name?” Carla demanded.
I knew what they meant, but there had been two and half days of their silence. I guess I was more bothered by that than I’d imagined. I teased. “The orchid? I haven’t given it a name yet. How does one tell if an orchid is male or female?”
Carla practically slammed her dainty red leather pump down on the floor. The shoes looked costly. I hoped she hadn’t broken her slender pointed heel.
“Listen,” Carla said, with her fancy two inch nails of deep ruby at the end of slender hands suddenly perched on her hips in frustration. “Mr. Sanders said you were going through a difficult time and that we should give you some space. We did, but that’s over. Tell us what’s going on! Who is it that’s sending the orchids?”