The Secret Lives of Dresses Read Online Free PDF Page A

journals from his desk to the top of the radiator. With a last flourish, he produced a pen.
    “Sign here,” he said.
    Dora sat, accepted the pen, and filled out the forms. Her name, her Social Security number, her complete lack of any felony convictions. It didn’t take very long. Gary hovered.
    She pushed the papers back to him, and stood up.
    “When do you need me to start?”
    “How about now?”
    Dora shrugged. “Fine by me.”
    Gary talked the whole way over to the coffee shop. He was from Detroit, well, the Detroit suburbs. His folks were retired. He’d been at Lymond five years, with two to go. “Except two years ago I also had two years to go.” Running the coffee shop was new for him; the previous manager had actually, finally, really finished her dissertation and left. Dora listened, amused.
    Gary was fumbling with the keys to the coffee shop. Dora watched. “It’s probably the biggest,” she offered. “That’s a Medeco key, most of the university facilities use those locks. The others are probably storeroom keys.”
    Gary looked at her. “You are quite possibly the best hire I have ever made.”
    Unaccountably, Dora blushed. “I’m the only hire you ever made, aren’t I?”
    “Unless you count getting my embezzling stepbrother to help at my lemonade stand, yes.”
    Finally he had the door open and they were inside. Gary flipped on the lights.
    “Where do we start?”
    Gary looked so confused by this that Dora had to laugh. “You don’t know, do you?” He looked indignant for a moment, and then laughed himself. “No. No, I don’t. They left me a manual, but it’s for the cash register.”
    “First of all, we’re not going to get anything done in here today. We need cleaning supplies, furniture catalogues, paint, probably some new shelving, information about distributors. . . .” Dora stopped, realizing that Gary was staring at her.
    “So we need all that, do we? You are now officially the brains of this operation. I am reduced to mere clerical support. Hold those thoughts while I get pen and paper.”
    Gary went to rummage around behind the counter, emerging with a coffee-stained legal pad and a capless ballpoint. He looked at his watch.
    “Hey, it’s getting late. . . . Do you have any plans right now?”
    Dora realized that she should probably say yes, start off firmly on the right foot, not let herself be imposed upon, but what she said was “Not really . . .”
    “Good!” Gary beamed at her. He really was cute, Dora thought. She tried to avoid thinking about exactly how cute he was. He was now her boss, after all. “How about we head over to the Skell? We can work over dinner. Coffee shop’s buying,” he added quickly.
    Dora felt, unreasonably, as if the coffee shop had just asked her out on a date.
    The Rathskeller was empty; the visibly bored hostess waved them to a booth in the front. “I can’t believe we got a booth without begging and pleading,” Dora said.
    “Summer at Lymond.” Gary shrugged. “Nobody here, and the people who are here don’t want to be. If it weren’t for this coffee shop I’d be bumming from music festival to music festival. That’s what I did the last couple of summers. If you know the right people you can work at them and get in for free.” Gary polished his fork and spoon with his paper napkin. “What would you be doing?”
    “Nothing much, I guess. Working a research grunt job.” Dora folded her menu and set it on the table’s edge to serve as a flare for their server. Gary didn’t note her diffidence, or, if he did, he didn’t seem inclined to pursue it. He shoved his menu aside, putting down the legal pad. He rummaged in his pockets. The pen had disappeared.
    “I have a pen,” Dora said, and took one from her bag.
    “Thanks.” Gary smiled at her again. “What would I do without you?”
    “Write with the place-mat crayons.”
    “Yes, a list in purple crayon just screams ‘efficiency.’” Gary hesitated, the