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possibilities.” I know how to suck up like the rest of the people here. “Possibilities” is another compliment that’s not really a compliment at MultiCorp.
    “I didn’t think that I needed a backup plan, Shari dear. Brilliance is not always perfection. You know that. I’ve been telling you that for years.”
    And you’ve been wrong for years. “The principal mark of genius,” so the saying goes, “is not perfection, but originality. ” I doubt Corrine has ever had an original thought that I didn’t give to her.
    “So there I was, stunned, staggered, and bewildered, as you might imagine,” she says. “ Me, and with how many active, thriving accounts?”
    Us ... with fifteen accounts. “Fifteen so far, Miss Ross.” But no more if I don’t help you anymore, wench.
    “I was aghast, I was flabbergasted, and I was appalled.”
    And wearing Jason Wu, too. How wounded you must have felt.
    She leans in. “Have any of the upty-ups called?”
    I shake my head. Not yet. “No, Miss Ross.”
    “Mr. Dunn hasn’t called today?”
    Yesterday, yes. Today, no. “No, Miss Ross.” I’ll spring Mr. Dunn’s earlier call on her in a minute. I just want to prove to her that I listen to everything she says.
    She leans in closer, and I smell her perfume. It’s something almost musky. “Well, if Mr. Dunn calls, I’m not here.”
    She talks to her boss less than the president talks to Congress. “Yes, Miss Ross. And if anyone else calls, I’ll handle them.”
    She sits back, throwing one part of her mane to the side.
    I see spots, lots of little white spots.
    “He was a beastly, horrid, revolting, hairy man,” she says. “And you know what?”
    I know nothing. I just do most of the work here, and right now I can’t see. Wave your hair somewhere else.
    “He was wearing an Armani sports jacket with Lee jeans and one of those ... those ...” She points to her shoulders.
    I see a blur of motion through the spots. “Wife-beaters?”
    “Yes. A common T-shirt. And he was barefoot. He had these little wooly worms squirming out from under his frayed jeans.”
    I have to meet this guy. He’s just the kind of fashion misfit the world needs.
    She hands me an envelope. “Here are my receipts. Do your magic as you always do.”
    It’s too thick for only three days of normal travel. I’ll have to do a lot of magic.
    “Did Tom Terrific call while I was away?” she asks.
    This means that Tom, her alleged boyfriend, didn’t call her for three whole days. But why would Tom call here this morning if he knew Corrine was in LA? “No, Miss Ross.”
    She shakes her mane, I mean, her head, little streaks shooting off her like lights beaming off a disco ball. I’m sure Ted and Tia are blind by now, too.
    “We’ve, um, we’ve been missing each other lately, Tom and I,” Corrine says. “He’s such a workaholic that it’s often so hard for us to keep in touch.”
    In touch? You’re out of touch, wench. It’s most likely Tom is sending you a message by not sending you any messages. The man obviously doesn’t want to talk to you. He’d rather talk to me.
    “I think he’s supposed to be in Detroit this week or next,” she says. “Can you imagine? Detroit, and this time of year. It must be awful for him.”
    Tom’s a survivor. He’ll be fine. I mean, Detroit is kind of like Brooklyn only farther west and hopefully with smarter tourists.
    “Any other calls?” she asks.
    I nod.
    She looks around her spotless desk. “Where is the memo then?”
    “I didn’t write it down, Miss Ross.” Mainly because of who the caller is. “Um, Mr. Dunn called yesterday and said to send you to his office as soon as you returned.”
    Corrine blinks her false eyelashes. They have to be false. She looks like one of the Marvelettes. “Shari, I distinctly asked you if Mr. Dunn called.”
    “Today. You asked if Mr. Dunn called today, and I said no, Miss Ross.” I love messing with her like that.
    She breathes heavily. “Well, when did