Public Service Week

I’ve never been a fan of scheduled recognition. I prefer to be recognized for my professional efforts as they happen, i.e., more often than during one week per year. However, I appreciate the gesture put forth by the employer to celebrate all public servants during a few days in June. We civil servants continue with daily operations, of course, but sprinkled among budget meetings and Sharepoint headaches are “fun” events like casual Friday and the branch Chili Cookoff.

Though I accept the sentiment behind such events, I don’t usually attend them. Big groups intimidate me even if I know everyone in them. Heck, even if I’m related to everyone in a group larger than six, I’m inclined to decline. So on the day of the Public Service Week potluck some years ago, I stayed at my desk while everyone else went down to the second floor boardroom.

In due course, one of my colleagues returned. “Ruthie, you missed the presentation!”

I thought nothing of it; just shrugged and replied that someone has to mind the phones.

Colleague #2 appeared after a few minutes. “Where were you? You missed the presentation!”

This happened a couple more times. Finally, I asked, “What presentation?” and someone answered, “The years-of-service awards. Your name was called, but you weren’t there.”

Blanch. “I don’t even know how many years of service I have!”

Just then the division Director rounded the corner. “There you are! You’d better get downstairs. The ADM is waiting for you.”

Great; just great. The Assistant Deputy Minister, who always happened upon me at the precise moment when I was either saying or doing something utterly moronic, had been stood up because of my aversion to office gatherings.

So, I hustled down to the second floor, where our volunteer staff photographer heralded my arrival with, “Ruthie! You missed the presentation!”

Yeah, yeah yeah, I’m here now, let’s get this over with. Aloud, I apologized to the ADM, who then presented me with my ten-plus-five years of service pins and a letter of gratitude/congratulation. “Fifteen years,” he observed as he handed me the letter. “You started at the same time I did.”

“Really?” I asked, panicked into making small talk with a man who doubtless considered me a bit of a goof. “You mean if I’d tried harder, I could have been you?”

Career-limiting comment, right? Nah. That was two ADMs ago ... and I’m still here!

“Diva XV”

Watching Dane sleep made the truth impossible to ignore any longer:

He reminded her of Alfred.

Ellie had never slept with Alfred, of course. He had been too gentlemanly to go that far, even after the engagement and plans for the wedding night that had been destroyed with Pearl Harbor. Dane hardly resembled Alfred, either; aside from having blond hair and grey eyes, there wasn’t much similarity to recommend him.

And yet, he reminded her so poignantly of her lost love that he woke to find tears in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, immediately.

She shook her head with a smile that felt only slightly strained. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

He had pushed onto an elbow to put himself at eye level, so Ellie was able to see his face relax without fear of shedding those tears. Still, something in his look warned of disbelief. He would let it go for now, but she might have to explain herself later.

He wasn’t like Alfred at all, she thought afterward. Only he was, especially when she wasn’t looking. Sometimes his voice took on Alfred’s east coast lilt. At other times, his hand on her arm or at the small of her back recalled those sweet Saturday nights between dances, when they had walked and talked and dreamed of their future. Ellie had talked with Alfred. It was startling to discover that she hadn’t really talked with any man since ... except Dane.

Not that she bubbled and gushed as she’d done in her teens. She kept her cards close as an adult, not exactly mistrusting but reluctant to reveal too much. Vee would blame such reticence on a deliberately cultivated poor taste in men, and Ellie might agree with her—trusting any man had grown increasingly more difficult with experience, and working in Hollywood hadn’t helped.

“Are you worried about Tony?” Dane asked over cocktails. Ellie’s most recent castoff had been telling tales to the press; Vera was doing her utmost to defuse the worst of it, but scandal and slander sold more papers than the truth. Besides, some of what had been printed was the truth.

Ellie inhaled the perfume of her Scotch and made a derisive noise deep in her throat. “He’s a bit player making the most of a walk-on,” she replied. It bothered her, though, that Dane’s reputation had suffered some, being so clearly besotted with the most duplicitous woman since Jezebel. His acting couldn’t be faulted, so the rags were questioning his romantic judgment after dumping the unsullied Julia Miles for the infamously fickle Eleanor Bond.

Dane was unconcerned. “I didn’t love Julia. I love you.”

“Tony’s point,” Ellie retorted, dryly. She leaned over to feel in his pocket and they both smiled when she extracted a cigarette.

Dane lit it for her. Alfred would have refused. He and every other man in town had smoked, but ladies didn’t exhibit such behaviour. Ellie took a deep drag and released the smoke through her nose. Dane watched with furrowed brows, then his face brightened in the way that always coaxed a smile. “Let’s go to Europe,” he said.

Ellie choked. “What?”

“Let’s go to Europe,” he repeated. “We’re between films, and you could use a change of scene. What do you say?”

She had no idea what to say, so she said, “I’ve never been to Europe.”

“I have,” he said, once more the confident man in charge. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

She smiled to humour him. “I’m sure I will.” And the more she thought about it, the more she realized he was right. It would be good to get out of town and clear her head, maybe to fall in love with Paris or London or Madrid.

Dane handled the arrangements, leaving Ellie with nothing to fret over but her wardrobe. They’d be gone for three months and travel the Continent by train. The closer their departure drew, the more excited she became—and Dane was positively manic. She began to laugh out loud at his enthusiasm, and during the hectic days before they left Hollywood, hope bloomed that, in Europe, she would finally be able to say the words he deserved to hear.