Chapter 7: Damn You, Louis Prima!

The fact that it was Saturday did not necessarily mean that I didn’t have to go to work. The Library and reference desk are open on Saturdays as well. The events that unfolded that morning made me feel as if that day should have been declared a national holiday, but, alas, it was not to be. I had to drag myself away from two beautiful women and get ready for work.

In the shower it hit me. My wife had, heretofore, maintained that she would not allow me to touch another woman. In fact I believe that a threat had been made involving a date between the offending organ and a runcible spoon. I didn’t think it prudent to investigate whether that particular threat had any teeth, so to speak.

Now, she had not only allowed me full access to another woman. This particular woman was obviously under age, a girl really, and apparently pregnant. My mind, pleasantly sedated by post-orgasmic endorphins, twaddled merrily around my brain pan as it considered the ramifications of these facts. It was not in any condition to do any mental heavy lifting. I was pretty sure that I didn’t have the necessary facts to properly consider it anyway.

I worked through the morning in a bit of a fog. That is not generally a problem on Saturdays as we usually spent the day babysitting the internet computers and users.

At lunch, when I entered the break room, my day took an unexpected turn.

The director was there. She never comes in on Saturdays. Something was up. I didn’t think it would be good.

I was invited to follow her to the conference room. It was one of those invitations that was not meant to be optional.

Our conference room was set up with several sets of lights. The lights over the table were turned on, but the edges of the room were nearly obscured with darkness. I could see that there were three other people in the room, but I could not identify them.

I was seated in the pool of light at the table with the director.

“We have been watching your activities in the staff room recently” the director stated.

Any remaining endorphins fled my brain like rats fleeing a sinking ship. They were replaced my marauding bands of adrenaline. They indicated two choices. I could stand and fight my director and anybody else in the room that chose to join, or I could run away. She continued before I could decide.