Chapter One.

Chapter One

THE INTRODUCTION

It was dark in my office. And cold.
The in-basket overflowed with neglected invoices, past-due notices, and statements of privileges revoked.
I was just beginning to comprehend why my phone had lost it's dial tone, when SHE entered my life. Actually, "She" just stood in the doorway and blocked the light, but I welcomed the distraction.

"I'm looking for a G. Muller." an uncertain voice announced.

I couldn't see the face, but the profile more than made up for it.
"You're getting warm, Shweethart" I said. "Just keep at it , your eyes'll soon adjust."

She decided to slink in and did so with the grace of an Anaconda -
that is, until she tripped over the dog who had decided to slink out - and did so with the grace of a Pug.
She landed somewhere to my right breaking, with a crash, something to her left.
I hoped it was the lamp, it had mocked me long enough.
Listening to her wrestle it into submission I felt safe behind my desk and didn't get up.

"Why is it so dark in here?" her voice eventually gasped.
"I'll ask the questions around here." I snapped. "Now! Who sent you?"
"My boss; Arnold Ziffel. From Green Acres Developments." she replied. "He's a pig."
"That's between you and him, Gorgeous." I said. "As long as he pays his bills on time, I don't make judgments."
"Perhaps I'd better give you his card."
"It'd better be in Braille, Sister"

I felt something thrust into my hand, her fingers lightly brushing mine.
They were cool, wet - and sticky. I'd felt that sensation before and knew what it meant. Acting quickly, I reached over and tore a hem off the drapes.
She shrieked her surprise. "My new dress!"
"It's either that or bleed to death" I growled.
I wiped the blood from my knuckles and dropped the rag under the desk.
"Right. What's this card say?"
"It says: Arnold Ziffel, Sit-com Star & Pop culture Icon; - Weddings / Banquets / Truffle Sniffing."
She sobbed.
"He's being run out of town by the "Salt Pork Association of Maryland".

I'd heard enough.
This case of the Ham with a S.P.A.M. chaser had a rotten smell to it.
"Forget it, Toots!" I growled , and kicked her out.

It took her a while to find the door again; but eventually the sound of her sobbing, limping, and tripping over the dog at the top of the stairs, soon gave way to the noise of other people's business.

My office is still dark, it's still cold, but I've still got my pride, and my dog'll come back eventually.

Scram!