Something was wrong. Ever since Greg had left with Mr. Hartford, Amanda Goldsmith had been having a difficult time concentrating on her work. Sure, she was busy. Phones didn't answer themselves, after all, but she had been making mistakes. Calls transferred to the wrong extensions. Calls accidentally disconnected. Forgetting to ask screen for solicitors. Her normal perky attitude was fading, her easy giggle, her sultry winks. She didn't even feel like showing off for the men anymore.
It was hard to describe, something like an itch, but an itch in her memories. At first it felt like a daydream, like a flight of fancy, but then it grew more and more intense. Each time it itched, Amanda became more distracted, causing her to make more mistakes.
Closing her eyes, Amanda allowed herself to ignore the phones for a moment and drift into this strange space, this itch of a daydream. She saw herself. Only she wasn't herself. It was hard to explain, even harder to understand, but the Amanda Goldsmith that she saw in her memory wasn't a beautiful, alluring secretary in her mid-forties, a loving wife, a mother of three, and the mistress of at least five men at the office. No, this strange, hardly believable Amanda Goldsmith was an twenty-seven year-old MBA graduate, career minded, and single. As Amanda floated in the pool of her imagination, she saw this image, this farce of a woman making her way through life. The younger woman was a ball-buster, foregoing the affections of men, focusing instead on moving ahead in her career goals. She played soccer. She read philosophy books. She attended protest marches.
Amanda's eyes blinked open. Shaking the thoughts from her head, the feeling of her blonde locks tickling her cleavage, she tuned into the din of the office. Reaching forward the pressed the button on a ringing phone line and lifted the receiver. "Yothers and, um, Mawnk. How may I answer, I mean direct your call?" she clumsily stated to the caller.
Quickly hitting transfer, not caring whether it went to the right place or not, Amanda stood up.
"I need to freshen up," she told Jennifer, her best work friend, taking a moment to admire the deeply cut top Jennifer was wearing, wondering if she should meet Jennifer in the janitor's closet for a little fun during their afternoon coffee break to relieve some tension. Jennifer was always up for a romp when things were tense, and Amanda felt like she could enjoy Jennifer's famous tongue, just as she had since the first day they had met.
Only that wasn't right. Or was it?
As Amanda opened the door to the ladies room, she stared at herself in the mirror and allowed herself to drift away again. An image of Jennifer entered her mind. A strange fantasy of a older, worn out woman, hair speckled grey, clothes baggy and tired, dark bags under her eyes, thick-lensed glasses covering them. They were sitting next to each other in a waiting room, this washed out Jennifer and the younger Amanda, wondering which of them would be called next for a job interview at a company neither had heard of before that week. Then a door opened, and a man stepped out, one that looked like a slightly younger version of Mr. Hartford...
"Stop it!" Amanda yelled at her reflection, her beautiful, immaculately put together reflection. She didn't know where these perversions were coming from, but she wanted them gone! Was she going crazy? Were these some sort of psychosis? All Amanda wanted was her normal, mundane life! She wanted to answer phones, file some paperwork, suck some cock, make some dinner, kiss her children, and sleep with her husband! Was that too much to ask? Now, for some reason, she was having strange fantasies about being a young, gross, thing that didn't want anything normal in life!
She had to talk to someone. Amanda gathered her thoughts and headed straight to HR. She needed to speak to the Head of Personnel.
