Face Value
"LAS VEGAS! I HATE LAS VEGAS. It’s vulgar and crass — the airport doesn’t even have a book store!" I lowered my eyes and took a breath. No need to lose control. After all, as a newly minted Executive intern, I occupied the lowest caste in the Federal system. Hazing rituals were routine, just part of the drill. Patience and humility were essential. If I kept my head down, I’d survive even the IRS part of my training.
My boss beamed. Her smile was beatific, her voice sugar sweet. I’d learned to fear those smiles. Something was very wrong. When Mary Hagan went all Southern, bad things happened to me.
"Really," she said. "Las Vegas is America’s playground, second only to Walt Disney World. Sin City — you know the drill, Grace. Besides, the Convention organizers specifically asked for you."
"They’re Actuaries, Mary, their idea of fun is watching reruns of "Night of the Living Dead." They make CPAs look exciting."
Mary Hagan arched one impeccably shaped brow. That was actually a pretty good trick. Too late I remembered that she was a CPA herself.
"Not that accountants aren’t good company, in fact some of my best friends…"
"Save it, Grace. Apparently, you really wowed them last year. I’ve seen the tapes. They looked positively mesmerized."
"They weren’t mesmerized, they were catatonic. They sat there calculating my life expectancy, which won’t be long if I have to spend another week with those geeks. Besides, last year didn’t count. I was forced to go."
Mary shook her exquisitely coiffed head, and frowned. As she bent over, I caught a whiff of her signature fragrance.
"What is that?" I asked. "It smells heavenly."
She gave me her poor peasant smile. "It’s called Fleurissimo," she said.
"Who makes it? I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything like it."
"I don’t doubt it. It’s not exactly government issue." Mary looked inordinately proud of herself. "It’s just something I picked up in Europe. Creed makes it."
Big surprise. Mary was totally Euro-centric — her clothes, décor and reading habits reflected that. She bragged that the only television she watched was BBC America.
"The needs of the organization come first," Mary said. "Remember Grace, you’re an Executive Intern. Intern. That means you follow orders—my orders. I’ll familiarize you with the IRS and try to teach you nuance. You see everything so starkly." She shook that platinum bob. "Not the way the world works, especially this world. Afterwards you can rotate to one of those easy places like the Defense Department." She stabbed the air with a perfectly manicured finger. "For the next six months, you’re mine. I guess I could ask Jacobs to take this gig, but he’s not the public speaker you are, Grace. Of course, some people consider Las Vegas a perk…"
"I promise to cover all Jacobs’s assignments while he’s away. You know me, Boss, I’m a team player." I sensed a shift in my favor. Toadies of the world unite!
There was that smile again. Mary tapped her pen on the desk and sighed. "You know, this may actually work out. Jacobs was scheduled to cover CPE for CPAs next week. Kind of catchy, don’t you think? It’ll be the perfect fit for you. I’m so glad you volunteered."
Mary’s smile was sweeter than honey. Evil can easily be hidden in a pretty face.
The trap was sprung and I’d walked right into it. She handed me a purple folder with that catchy title right on the front.
"It’s here in D.C., over at the Shoreham — so how convenient is that."
I was a beaten woman, outmaneuvered by one of my own sex. Babysitting a bunch of accountants made Vegas look inviting. Cruel and unusual punishment—even the IRS had to follow the Constitution. Right?
"But I’m not an accountant. I couldn’t do the assignment justice."
Mary grabbed her briefcase and headed toward the door. She paused for one parting shot. "Oh Grace, you underestimate yourself. After all, you have to adapt to each agency you’re sent to. It’s part of your training plan. You worked in NASA, and you’re certainly no astronaut." She picked up a beautifully detailed brochure from the corner of her credenza. "I almost forgot to tell you. I know how you love antiques. Guess what?"
I couldn’t even begin to guess. Maybe they had an ossified pocket protector on display.
"The hotel is hosting the unveiling of the Golden Abacus. It’s solid gold — fifteen hundred years old and priceless. What a coup for D.C! The Abacus hasn’t left China for 200 years."
I was out of options and full of frustration. No wonder everyone hates the IRS! I gave her a plucky, can-do grin and watched as she strode confidently out the door. That woman knew how to fill her Manolos.
