Mrs Peroxide knew her limits - didn't we all? She knew it was attributes other than secretarial prowess to which she owed her currently exalted position.
Thus it was, presumably, that the next time I ventured into Tarantino's reflection emporium she appeared to be standing on the coffee table doing something or other. It reminded me of a film I'd seen in the junior doctors' mess starring Demi Moore. . . Anyway, a sharp 'hello' from the outer office announced the arrival of Carla Citrus, our fragrant chair.
Peroxide was off the table in a flash and out the door to intercept. Did she wish to see the Transylvanian? No, she didn't. Where was her office? Oh, easy one, giggled Peroxide. Up the corridor and turn left.
Was there something different about Citrus? After a while I worked it out: Chanel No 5. Gone was the patchouli oil and the flowing silk Dior. She was rather severely dressed in a businesslike trouser suit, and I began to wonder if Tarantino appreciated just what a viper he'd clasped to his breast.
Once in the office she ordered coffee, the post file and an appointment with Tarantino. Mrs Peroxide, bless her, had no trouble with the first; after all, service was her forte. But the remainder? Well, one thing at a time. Then Citrus's phone rang.
The change in her demeanour was marked.
Gone was the snappy, decisive persona. 'Oh, hi Clay.' She actually smiled. Last night had been a blast. What was that? New office? Why of course, he had to have a new office. The obvious move was on that awful old misogynist Professor Crusty, or whatever his name was.
Of course she would help, she'd do anything for him. Could she sell it to Tarantino? 'No problem, Superman. It's a done deal. See you soon.'
As she put the telephone down a briefly quizzical expression crossed her face, but for a mere second. Where was that damn coffee?
She picked up the phone, looked for a nonexistent directory then slammed the receiver back down. I could see this was going to be more difficult than she realised.
I buzzed off to Miss Twix's office in search of croissant crumbs. There I found Twix regaling Rosie Broomstick with a verbatim account of the conversation I had just overheard - in a wonderful Ardent voice.
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