A Gambling Man by David Baldacci (best short books to read txt) 📗

her eyebrows, as dark as the hair, acted like antennae, sniffing out everything before it became an issue. She was dressed all in black except for a high white collar and slips of white around the ends of her long dress sleeves. Her hair was thick and wavy and graced her head like a tiara. She had stacks of files on both sides of her desk, a phone in the middle next to an open ledger book, and no typewriter in sight, which told Archer that in addition to her heightened position behind the half-dozen ladies, she was the boss of this little dynasty. And unlike the frenetic activity going on around her, this lady exhibited an aura of languid calm, like the eye of a hurricane.

She suddenly harrumphed, and one of the platinums obediently rose like a pet on voice command and came over to greet Archer. She was dressed in a tailored brown pants suit with dark heels, a white blouse, a yellow carnation in her buttonhole, and a splash of yellow in her breast pocket. An earthy-colored cravat was around her throat. She looked like she was just about to step onto a magazine cover for smartly dressed professional women who wanted to take over the world by 1950.

“Mr. Archer?” she said.

“The one and only.”

The efficient face sparked for a moment and the lips looked like they might uplift to a smile, but then the moment was gone and the mask went back on. “Miss Darling will see you now.”

“But I didn’t ask to see Miss Darling.”

“Yes, please step this way.”

Archer stepped that way and was led up onto the dais and deposited next to the brunette aka Miss Darling, as the platinum returned to her glorified niche and commenced to attack her typewriter once more.

Darling looked him up and down, perhaps gaining insights into him that Archer lacked himself. He twirled his hat and said, “I’m here to see either Kemper or Sheen.”

“Yes, I heard. Take a seat, it might be a while for either Mr. Kemper or Mr. Sheen.”

“I only need to see them for a minute.”

“That’s what they all say. You see that chair over there? Take it and we’ll see what happens.”

“And if you just buzz them?”

“You’re currently twelfth on the ‘buzz’ list.”

“And where are the other eleven?” asked Archer.

“They gave up. Let’s see how much stamina you have.”

“Can you put in a good word for me?”

“Do you have a reason why I should?” she said.

“I’ll go smoke a cigarette like a good boy and think of one.”

This line seemed to please her even as she deftly waved him off.

He sat in the prescribed chair, a leather monster of a baseball mitt that looked like it might reach around and hug him to death, but ended up minding its own business. He slid a chrome ashtray stand over, lit up a Lucky, and tapped ash into it as he gave the place the once-over, once more. He came away even more impressed with its organization and blazing efficiency. The platinums worked away like ants on a hill, occasionally venturing to Darling for some reason or another, showing a piece of paper, whispering something, or in one instance writing something down for her while casting worried glances at Archer. Darling took everything in, her eyebrows flicking and clicking like knitting needles. She made firm decisions and sent the girls on their productive way.

He finally stood and wandered over to a large map of the area that sat on a wooden stand and had red stick pins inserted all over. By reading the accompanying information section he was able to discern that these were ongoing Kemper projects, and there were an enviable number. He caught the platinums eyeing him from time to time, and Darling once. Each time he smiled, which sent them scurrying back, goggle-eyed, to their work, all except for Darling. She nodded and leisurely returned to what she was doing.

Finally, the door opened and there was Wilson Sheen, dressed just as frumpily as before, with the front part of his shirt coming dangerously close to pulling free of the pants. Compared to the sea of efficient femininity spread out before him, he looked as out of place as a eunuch in a brothel. He eyed Darling, who nodded in Archer’s direction. By Archer’s timepiece, two hours had passed, and it was getting close to dinnertime, but none of the ladies had reached for their purses or hats. They continued to work like obedient bees before the queen.

“This way, Archer,” said Sheen brusquely.

Archer got up, stubbed out his smoke, and headed up to the dais, where Darling said, “So you couldn’t find a good enough reason, I take it.”

“You’re just very intimidating, Miss Darling. It set me off my mark.”

This line seemed to please her more than the first one. She actually smiled so he could see even white teeth that he thought were as real as the rubber plants outside.

The next room Archer stepped into was not much of a letdown from the previous. It was large and comfortably furnished, and its enormous windows had drapes, which were now all the way open to let in the dwindling light.

“How’d your guardian grizzly bear signal that I was here?” asked Archer. “She never left her desk or lifted the phone.”

“She and I can read minds.”

“If that’s so, I might be in real trouble with her.”

“Something makes me think you’re always in trouble, Archer.”

“Quite the operation you have out there,” noted Archer. “Those ladies seem to move at the speed of light.”

“That’s what we pay them to do,” said Sheen, glancing at a file on his desk, a Victorian-era piece that would have looked at home in Buckingham Palace.

“You might want to issue them sunglasses. It’s pretty tough on the eyes out there.”

“Well, at least they won’t be catching a nap. And enhanced sunlight is good for productivity.”

“Unless you go blind in the process. And I don’t think you need the sun, so long