By Sarah Smith
Today, I actually did something. I helped clean some guest rooms at the much-talked-about-but-never-seen Xayyachack mansion. We’re getting it ready for whomever Ms. Talbot’s been recruiting. Cass washed windows in her suit and high heels. Cass! Oh man. I’ll never say it out loud; typing it alone makes me laugh so hard that I need a box of tissues. I’m afraid if I said it out loud I might pass out or something. But yeah. She actually took off her suit jacket. I was shocked.
Anyway, I cleaned. I guess that’s what assistants do. At least I felt like an assistant. There’s nothing exciting about that. Let’s move on to Cass. Oh, hang on. I’m crying again.
Sorry. So, another lady, Katrina, stopped by the mansion today to talk with Ms. Talbot and Dr. Xay while we were cleaning. I’ve seen her before. She’s met with Ms. Talbot twice this week in the office, and I hope her meetings with my boss are done for the week. She kinda freaks me out. She’s not friendly, she doesn’t smile, she’s got massive attitude, and she’s got this really long, really black hair. Nothing against black hair, or long hair even; it just highlights her personality. Actually, if she had come into the office wearing black lipstick and spikes around her neck, I wouldn’t have fallen off my chair the way I did when I heard Dr. Xay call Ms. Talbot Cass. Although, I have to say, I might have hidden behind the new fern on her desk. Come to think of it, I might do that anyway next time she comes in. In any case, Katrina talked to them for a while, and then it was back to washing windows with the boss.Ms. Talbot is an interesting person. She doesn’t talk. I mean, she talks. You have to talk to be professional, obviously. She’s friendly, definitely, and (dare I say it) even a very sweet and considerate person. She listens very intently. But she doesn’t say anything about her life. I had been talking for ten minutes about my friend’s wedding fiasco (well, it was a fiasco for her bridesmaids, anyway) before I noticed that she hadn’t said a word about herself. So, feeling rather sheepish, I paused and said, “So, are you married?” She didn’t say a word. I’m not sure she heard me, actually, because she just kept washing a window. A few seconds later, she told me we needed to change the water. I didn’t want to ask again, just in case she actually did hear me and simply didn’t want to answer, so I followed her with the squeegee and made a point to study her hands when she rinsed her rag. No left hand ring. But there is definitely one that could be a wedding band on her right hand. Don’t some religious traditions put wedding rings on the right hand? Maybe she’s married and doesn’t have a wedding ring at all. I don’t know.
It shall be my quest to find out, because it’s the closest thing to exciting while I’m within a 100-mile radius of the Lem Institute.