Whew, I put the rush on this one. I ate dinner somewhere in there. I think.
I’m still on a delay waiting for people to call in on the hotline (+1 484 237 4202) to give me a couple of endorsements for Lemonsol, the fictional product in the story. There’s another post around here that talks about what to do. Very simple. Please help!
And with that, I present the script for Chapter 8, fresh off the press.
I put in a call to the contact number on the Lemonsol account, and got an
appointment to see Tony Chung before the end of the day.
The meeting was across town, and maybe I should have thought it through a bit
more, but I decided to take Tonya with me.
We were in the taxi across town when I noticed Tonya looking a little concerned,
and straightening out her micro skirt.
“Is there something wrong?” I aksed.
Suddenly Tonya burst into tears.
“I’m sorry Mr Collins, I don’t usually get so emotional on the job, but while I
was getting ready to go some of the ladies at the office cornered me and gave
me an ultimatum about my clothes and how I shouldn’t be wearing something so
revealing to the office and how if I came in like this tomorrow they were going
to say something to Mr. Roberts about it, but I just wanted to look nice for
my first day of work and I thought I did my best and it turns out I was all
wrong, just all wrong.”
She sobbed and suddenly buried her head in my shoulder.
I sat still, kind of dumbfounded. Sure, this girl was a little off, but not
quite as badly off as she could have been. And she certainly didn’t deserve
to be ganged up on.
The cabbie looked back at us in the rear view and made some strange gesture
for me to comfort her.
I hesitantly put my hand on her shoulder and relunctantly told her that she, um,
looked fine, but maybe not so much for work.
She sat up and heeded my words. It was very unusual for someone to be this
readily submissive to my authority.
Look, just get a few nice suit skirt things, maybe something that covers a
little more.
She looked like she was taking mental notes. Like, actually writing something
down in her head.
She took a tissue from a purse that I didn’t see her hiding, and cleaned herself
up a little.
“I just think those girls at the office are jealous of your youth,” I told her,
uncharacteristically trying to cheer her up.
She smiled. I just hoped she didn’t have a tape recorder.
By the time we arrived at Chungs office complex and I had paid the cabbie, Tonya
was her usual bubbly self again.
Hmm. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so pleasant.
