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Babette Cray, the newlywed widow, is beautiful in the shortest, lowest-cut black number I’ve ever seen at a funeral, and is weeping copiously (but prettily) into her handkerchief. As her blonde hair falls over her bowed face, the handsome man by her side puts his arm around her shoulder to hold her up. She can barely stand, poor thing, she is so overwhelmed by grief.

It’s so sad. To lose one’s husband on one’s honeymoon must be such a devastating blow. To have found true love, even if it is with an octogenarian nearly sixty years your senior, and then to have it snatched away,
poof,
just like that, before the ink is dry on the marriage certificate.

I wonder what it’s like, having sex with a man old enough to be your grandfather? I imagine both my dearly departed grandfathers and can’t help but shudder at the thought of either of them having sex with a woman younger than me. But still, poor Babette
is
visibly crushed.

There must have been more to Johnny that met the eye, because he was certainly no oil painting.

I am quite overcome by emotion and feel my eyes fill with tears. And then Adam pushes a crisp linen handkerchief into my hand.

“Thank you,” I whisper. Then add, “It’s just so sad. Mrs. Cray is so beautiful. So brave. So alone.”

“And
so
rich,” Adam whispers back, which I think is a little callous of him. “Emmeline Beaufort Taylor, you are
so
sentimental. The grieving widow has a luxury apartment overlooking Central Park, plus five million dollars. That’s enough to ease anyone’s pain, don’t you think?”

Oh. That’s a lot of money. I can’t even imagine what five million dollars
looks
like, never mind actually
having
it. The cynical part of me thinks (only briefly, because having bitchy thoughts in the House of God is also not good) that Babette got a very good deal, after being a wife for only a day.

But, I remind myself, I like Babette Cray very much and refuse to have horrible, gold-digger thoughts about her. On the few occasions we met when she and Johnny were dating, she was very nice to me—not at all snooty or condescending to the hired help. And she also took great care of Johnny—several times she came to the office to bring his heart medication when he’d left it at home. What a shame he forgot to take it before his wedding night.

“Good old Johnny might have been a little off the wall,” Adam says, “but he was no fool. She’s more likely weeping because the prenuptial agreement is so watertight her lawyer can’t find any cracks. You see the slick guy with her? That’s her lawyer.”

“No. Really?”

“Thank God he didn’t leave her any shares in the company. That would have been a disaster.”

I wonder, briefly, at Adam’s display of cynicism, but remember that he recently had his heart broken. That’s why he’s bitter. But I will help him overcome…

After the service, Babette is the first to exit the church. Despite the cruel January wind, she stands by the open door to personally thank everyone for coming. I think she really did love Johnny, no matter what anyone else thinks.

“Mrs. Cray,” I say, when it is my turn to speak to her. “I’m so sorry for your loss. If there’s anything I can do…”

“Thank you,” Babette says, fresh tears springing to her eyes. She takes hold of my hands, which surprises me, because I don’t know her that well. And then she shocks me even more when she hugs me like a long-lost friend.

“Johnny was very fond of you,” she tells me between sobs. “He said you were the best secretary he ever had.”

This is stunning news. I didn’t think that Johnny even knew my name. Oh, how
sweet.
What a
lovely
man. I’m so overcome by warm thoughts of Johnny that fresh tears course down my cheeks, ruining my makeup.

“Would—would you like me to pack his personal effects at the office?” I ask her. It’s the least I can do to save the poor woman even more pain.

“Oh, I should never have married him,” she wails. “If only we’d stayed just friends, this would never have happened. He’d still be alive…”

I am dying (forgive the pun) to ask more, but don’t feel that this is my business.

“I thought he was just old-fashioned, wanting to wait until
our wedding night to consummate our love. If only he’d told me that his doctor had warned him against having sex…And now he’s dead and it’s
all
my fault…”

Oh. This is more information than I wanted, but I pat her back in a comforting way.

“You mustn’t blame yourself,” I tell her. “Johnny obviously loved you and wanted to have…” Have what? I grope for the right words. “He wanted to have a special night with you because he loved you so much.”

“Yes. Yes he did love me. At least I have that to hold on to,” she tells me, straightening and wiping away her tears.

“We’ll all miss him,” I say, as Adam guides me firmly away.

“Bit pointless, Emmeline,” Adam tells me as he steers me down the church steps. “You know, Babette can’t help your career.”

How cynical of him. He obviously needs
me
to restore his faith in womankind.

“I like her,” I tell him. “I just feel so sorry for her. She really did love him, you know.”

“You really are a tender-hearted little thing, aren’t you?” Adam says, smiling rather condescendingly down at me. “I know exactly what you need to make you feel better.”

Adam takes me for a very long lunch, during which he plies me with delicious delicacies and very good wine. To get to know me, and, of course, to forge a bond between us to establish our working relationship. And to help me cope with my grief for losing Johnny.

We don’t make it back to work that afternoon.

As I’m about to get into the cab he’s hailed for me, he leans forward and kisses me full on the mouth.

No tongues are involved.

Damn.

On the first day of our life together (in the office, of course) Adam calls a staff meeting. And as he is telling his account
managers about his expectations, I cannot help think about my own expectations as his foot accidentally finds my leg and he rubs my ankle with it.

Ooh…This is really nice, but I mustn’t read too much into it. Just in case he’s a serial-flirter-with-secretaries, rather than a man interested in me, personally. He is my boss, after all. I dreamily allow myself to replay the moment he kissed me last night…

And when he is instructing his team that he wants fresh, new ideas for the possible new Perfect Pantyhose account (only if they like our fresh, new ideas), just as I am hoping for another kiss from Adam in the not-too-distant future (but with tongues this time),
I
have a fresh, new idea. I have an epiphany. It comes to me in a blinding flash.

I have a plan for the Perfect Pantyhose account.

Now, I’ve had lots of great ideas for other accounts we’ve dealt with, but Johnny wasn’t interested in his secretary having ideas about anything other than typing his letters and making his coffee. Obviously the butt patting figured in there, too.

But I don’t know how receptive Adam will be to a Secretary with Ideas. Before I ask him, I decide that it would be better if I show him rather than tell him, and I begin to plan my campaign.

For the next two days, I work like a demon, in between flirting with Adam and working late with Adam. Although mentally undressing me with his eyes, he doesn’t try to put his lustful thoughts into action. Neither does he attempt to kiss me. I think he’s waiting for the right moment, once we’ve got to know each other a little better. So while all this flirty, pre-seduction game is in progress, and me actually doing any secretarial work, I work on my portfolio.

But first I need some photos. I find a great on-line photo library. I search for the types of photos I have in mind. When you use a photo from a photo library, the price you pay for it varies accordingly to the photographer, whether it is for
television, or billboards, or magazines, and is also dictated by the number of copies in the print run. So, with costs in mind, I am careful to try and find midprice photos. This will show that not only will I make a great account manager, but that I am also thrifty and thinking about the company’s money.

On the third day, just as everyone is leaving for the day, I present my portfolio to Adam. This is what I have come up with.

1. Image of hippopotamus with ass to camera, head turned around to look at camera, mouth wide revealing large teeth and almost-smile. Have (obviously on computer) added pantyhose, plus caption: “Do you think these pantyhose make my ass look firmer?”
   
2. Image of two ducks (obviously one male, one female), fondly nuzzling each other. One is wearing pantyhose, thereby creating new, hourglass female duck figure. Caption from other duck’s point of view reads: “I’m Quackers Over You.”
   
3. Image of Vietnamese potbellied pig, duplicated. On one picture, potbellied pig is featured minus potbelly because of fabulous control-panel pantyhose. Caption beneath both pictures reads: “Before and After.”
   
4. Image of mother hen with sweet little brood of chicks. Caption beneath reads: “On your feet all day running after your brood? Get some support with Perfect Pantyhose.”
   

I’m so anxious as Adam looks through my portfolio that I nearly forget to breathe. What if he doesn’t like it? What if he hates it? What if he thinks I’m a complete idiot?

“Emmeline, I love it! You’re a genius!” He smiles sexily at me, and I remember to breathe again.

And before I know it, he’s asking me all sorts of questions
about my portfolio, and then he’s
all over me like a rash.
This time, with tongues, and hands, and everything.

Before we go too far, Adam locks his office door.

Hmmm. Heavenly.

I am very glad that Johnny’s desk has been replaced. It would have been very strange (and somehow morbid) to have sex on a dead man’s desk.

Over the next few weeks, Adam and I become very close, but not to the point where we tell anyone about “us.” I mean, I do see his point about us working together as boss and secretary. It would be okay, though, if we were working in the same company but not actually
together,
as it were.

One night, as we’re lying in his bed in his lovely loft apartment, Adam tells me about the cruel Sabrina Sheffield. His ex. And he is obviously in so much pain that I alternately want to whack her for having toyed with his tender heart, or to thank her for leaving me a clear playing field.

Apparently, her family and his have been friends going way back and it was always expected that the two of them would marry. To keep all that lovely WASP blood (and money) in the family, I suppose. I wonder if I should tell Adam that Sheffield is a city in the north of England, and used to be famous for its steel and coal. I have a vision of the perfect Sabrina’s great-great-grandfather coming off his shift, covered in coal dust. And then reality bites.

Her family probably
owned
the coal mine. And the steel factories.
Bastard plutocrats,
making their nouveau riche fortunes by the sweat and toil of near-slave labor by the working classes. I realize this might be a little over the top, so I keep it to myself and resent her privately.

And as the days turn into weeks, I decide that Adam really is becoming my proper boyfriend, rather than just an affair, and I think that it’s time for him to meet my friends. I take him to Chez Nous for dinner.

I don’t think Rachel likes him much, but then she’s hard to please.

“So what do you think of him?” I ask her.

“I hope he’s great in bed,” she says.

Typical Rachel. She’ll warm to him in time.

But Tish thinks he’s a nice guy, because I ask her, repeatedly, if she thinks he’s a nice guy.

“Will you stop obsessing?” she says. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of him—you’re the one who loves him, and that’s all that’s important.”

Adam does seem a little threatened by Sylvester and David. But I think that’s because he’s not used to gay men and will relax once he knows them better. Plus, David flirting with him does not help. But Katy and Tom really enjoyed discussing opposing politics with him, so that’s encouraging, isn’t it?

Actually, I didn’t realize until now that Adam is a Republican, but I don’t hold it against him. We’re all entitled to our own views, even if they
are
misguided.

So, really, the only tiny fly in the ointment is this: Adam gets a little upset that I have to work on my business degree. I need to study for my finals, so I can’t spend every night at his apartment working on client accounts, followed by lovely, lovely sex with him. And he doesn’t want to stay at my apartment, because I share with Tish. Plus, his apartment is much more convenient for the office.

But I don’t want the love of my life to feel neglected, so while I am stressing about how to reassure him, I come up with a great idea for another client. For Kitty Krunch.

This is what I propose:

Several supermodels (I was thinking maybe Kate, Naomi, Chandra, and a few of their friends) all dressed in sexy Catwoman-style outfits, complete with spiky black heels. I picture them crawling on the floor, in the manner of sex kittens (which, of course, they are), until they are distracted by the call of Kitty Krunch. Famous male model type such as
Fabio will pour Kitty Krunch into gold (-plated, not solid) bowls. And as the supermodel kitties purr and munch happily on Kitty Krunch, Fabio will stroke their lovely hair as they eat.
Ta-da.

Adam
loves
this proposal too. He loves it so much, he buys me a lovely gray suit from Bloomingdale’s, because it caught his eye and he thought of me. How great is that? It’s a very nice suit, but the color is a little drab for me and the skirt is too long. But I wear it to work anyway, to show Adam that I appreciate his kind gesture.

And I’m really glad that I did. That evening, as we are having dinner at Adam’s favorite restaurant, La Trattoria, he tells me that he has a proposal of his own.

He’s going to ask me to marry him!