Cecil Caperna and The Strawberry

“Why do you want this job, Cecil Caperna?”

The rain was seeping through the drain, running all the way to toska. The woman had rubbed the eraser off her pencil while waiting for her interview, and the metal scratched her thumb. The analog clock was the judge holding three silent minutes remaining. The only sense of color in the room was the bowl of strawberries placed on the manager’s desk. He bit into one while waiting for her answer.

Squish. Squish. Squish.

It was just the sound of her heartbeat.

The woman blinked, “I’ve been interviewed over 50 times, and no one has ever said my name like that.”

Pieces of strawberry fell out of the man’s mouth. He patted it with his blue handkerchief, “Erm. What do they call you?”

“Mrs. Caperna.” The manager became aware of her hidden silhouette. Her shirt was buttoned to the top, and she smoothed out her skirt, tugging it below her knees.

“Mrs,” For a moment, the manager forgot he was hiring anyone. Cecil’s almond eyes glistened at the analog clock that read 3:28. She blinked once, then twice, and the glint was gone.

“Should I call you something else?” The manager asked and, without any manner of consequential awareness, added, “Your maiden name?”

The woman stood and looked down on him, lips pressed together, eyebrows furrowed. “You might as well call me no one then.” She straightened her skirt again, took a strawberry, and stuffed it stem and all in her mouth.

“Cecil,” his voice was soft. The violin of her voice played on his ribcage, vibrating.

She was already through his office door, and he heard her say to the secretary, “Thank you for watching him…yes, mommy’s done here. Let’s go to the park you like so much.”

“Cecil!” The manager called out louder this time, following her. “Well, don’t let her go! Bring her back!”

The secretary clicked her tongue, drew a breath, and sat down, avoiding his eyes.

He tapped on her desk, “Marie, yes you. Are you not my secretary?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then go get her. The interview is not over.”

“Who will answer the phone, sir?”

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Disinterested, oblique, tired shell of a woman his secretary was.

He tapped again, “How long have you been working for me, Marie?”

“Ten years, sir.”

“Ten years? God! Where has the time gone?”

“To her thighs,” laughed the younger secretary.

Tap.

The manager laughed with her, “You are terrible, Lisa! By the way, thank you for the strawberries.”

“Of course.”

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap…Tap.

“Are you still interested in the candidate, sir?”

“Yes!” He banged the desk. “Marie! Off to it!”

“I quit.”

“Mrs. Wallace, you can’t!”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Marie Wallace turned off her computer and walked out.

The manager stood there, hands on his hips, ignoring his other secretary, lost in a trance.

Ding.

Cecil Capurna walked into the office again, son in tow.

“I forgot my purse,” she said.

“Cecil Capurna.”

“No.”

“Cecil?”

“No,” she slung her purse over her shoulder.

“Please, if I could just talk to you a bit longer,” he motioned toward the empty secretary chair. “We need the help.”

Cecil Caperna’s son poked his head out from behind her.

“Well, hello there, son!” The manager knelt down and made conversation in an attempt to keep the woman there. “What is your name?”

“Ha!” A shrill laugh came from Lisa.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. 3:32.

The manager gulped and loosened his tie, “It feels hot in here. Lisa, did you turn up the thermostat?”

“It’s at 67 degrees, as you requested.”

“Strange,” he coughed. “The air feels a bit thin.”

“Maybe I need to open a window,” Tap. Tap. Tap.

Cecil furrowed her brows again, “You don’t look so good. There are red bumps on your neck.”

“Are there?” All he could get out was a mumble, then pulled out his blue handkerchief to cough again. There was blood on the fabric.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The manager looked at Cecil Capurna and then to Lisa, his bright-eyed, vibrant secretary.

“Ms. Sims?”

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Lisa?” He whimpered and fell to the floor, blood trickling from his mouth.

Lisa stopped typing and turned to Cecil, smiling, “What’s your name?”

The woman’s eyes glistened once more. She let out a shuddered sigh and said, “I’ve always liked the name Margaret.”

Cecil Caperna fell to the floor, blood trickling from her mouth.