After that, I hunkered down and got back to work. I completely forgot about the hair appointment until I was munching away on a tuna fish sandwich with barbecued potato chips, and Mrs. Sanders, I mean, Judy called to give me the appointment time.
“I’ve already talked to Ed, dear. He’s given you the rest of the day off. Your appointment’s in thirty minutes, so you need to drop everything and get over there.”
“Mrs., I mean, Judy, I can’t . . .”
I was just about to give her a good reason why I couldn’t desert my work, when Mr. Sanders knocked, opened the door, and pointed to his watch. It was obvious that he, too, was part of this conspiracy.
I motioned to my stack of files, each needing my appraisal, but he’d already ducked out, and Judy was talking my ear off about someone named Timothy Caldwell.
“All right,” I finally broke in, stuffing the last of the chips into my mouth so I could toss the empty bag into the trash. I quickly repackaged the rest of my sandwich in plastic wrap, determined to take that with me.
Then I hung up the phone, grabbed my can of cola, the uneaten portion of my sandwich, and high-tailed it out of the office. I felt guilty as I walked by Cassandra’s desk, but she gave me a high-five and a smile, then picked up the phone that had just rung.
“Legal Aide Department,” she said with evident good cheer. Perhaps she was already thinking about Mrs. Sander’s party that evening. Hadn’t her name been mentioned? I wasn’t sure enough to bring it up, and besides, she was busy listening to the caller.
As I continued on, my eyes took a moment to admire the deep red of the poinsettia on the corner of her desk. Mr. Sanders had given me one, too, but mine was the white kind with petals of cream.
The Christmas tree in the corner of the waiting room looked like it needed water. I started to grab up a coffee cup of water to add to its pot, but then I remembered that I had that dreadful appointment, and it was clear across town.