It was a different era, so many years ago. I’d just arrived in Seattle and was still getting used to the place after spending a year each, first in Chicago, then in Sacramento. The climate was refreshingly cool, the more northerly light was easier on my eyes and I found I could think better. I hired on at a commercial woodworking outfit across the street from what used to be the King Dome. At the nearby container terminal of the Port of Seattle on an occasional basis ships from the Soviet Union called. One of them was called “Privolye” which in Russian means open space. The Asian presence here was new to me and I quickly found it to be part of the social fabric. The boss’s wife and her brother the chief finisher were half Chinese. The company shared a building with three other small businesses, one of which, owned by an ethnic Chinese woman made clay pots for indoor plants and trees, another some sort of exercise pads owned by a Swedish couple, and the third sold nuts and bolts. Stanley, the owner of the latter firm, also owned the building.
My employer Paul’s company took up only about one and a half floors. We built office furniture, including desks, work stations, conference tables, reception desks, and the like. Stanley’s company occupied about two and a half floors for his business of wholesaling nuts, bolts, screws and washers and sold to local wood and metal shops and manufacturers that needed what he stocked. I don’t remember whether or not he was married, but apparently he didn’t spend that much time there at work, so his secretary probably took care of the books and pretty much ran the place on a day to day basis. When I think of it, there is some stereotype about secretaries in small businesses who have a way of running them. It wouldn’t surprise me if there are a lot of them.
His secretary Cathy was a minor but significant part of the environment, and the crew referred to her as Stanley’s bitch. That we did not work for the same company was merely a detail, as it was nothing unusual to encounter each other out back at the building loading dock. I had nothing against her, having dealt with her on a number of occasions. She was always proper and reasonable with me, well within the context of her job. I found her basically attractive, though just a bit heavy for a swimsuit. Her eyes and medium length hair were dark brown, and she was perhaps in her early 30s. The word was that she was sleeping with her boss, but it didn’t make much of an impression on me. At most I was amused, but not about to moralize. On the basis of her manner and smile, I was not above the thought of tangling with her in the sack.
I first met Cathy when I found we needed more screws to finish a job. As it was common knowledge that we bought them downstairs, I figured that I could just take care of it on my own. In the real world, however complications have a way of showing up, and right off she caught me up short. She rightly figured that I had no authority to buy them, so I found that I had to get back to Paul. No problem, she made a valid point. She was polite enough, though wary, as I was an unknown man alone with her in the office.
Over time, listening to the guys, I found that a lot of them really didn’t like her. I figured it was because of her disposition, which frequently wasn’t the most friendly, and sometimes arguably sleazy. The gossip about her sleeping with her boss merely added to the sentiment. I found it curious, as most of our crew was considerably less than refined when dealing with sex. It was common knowledge that our employer, Paul, had absolutely no respect for marital loyalty, and was responsible for a number of divorces. From him on down, porno of the crudest sort was part and parcel of the corporate culture, and generally formed the focus of the humor. Now and then delivery coordinates were referenced to local porno theaters. Christmas parties were apt to include a couple of strippers. Later on when I brought in copies of “The Stranger” with Savage Love, it was an instant hilarious hit. After so many years there I learned to laugh about the subject with no regrets.
Late one afternoon after an installation, a bunch of us arrived out back and the building was locked, so we needed one of the large outer doors opened to get to the elevator. Stanley appeared, with a shit-eating grin on his face, and pulled the chain to get it moving.
We all had a bit of entertainment there, possibly because of the double standard: that it was OK for him to do his secretary, but a lot people disrespected her for letting him. If one were to think about the situation from the feminine view it would not necessarily clear things up. Plenty of women would have a comparable double standard: that it is OK for her to do him, but unethical for him to do her. It is a classic example of what these days is referred to as sexual harassment. Others, male or female, would react on the basis of her manner, which would be a matter of opinion. That, in turn, points to the controversial nature of feminine sexuality. Still another influence was that Paul and Stanley had clashing egos and had a way of trying to one-up each other whenever the opportunity arose.
Word was that he even bought her a car, which was frequently parked out back. Once, someone stuffed a dead rat into the tail pipe, which did not go over well. We got the word to avoid doing such a thing, as the result could be dangerous. I never understood what the guys had against her, as she was not exactly a disagreeable person. As long as people were more or less polite to her, she responded accordingly. Me, I can think of a lot of women considerably worse, especially when around men.
Anyway, that was years ago, and Stanley’s business shrank and shrank, and finally went belly up, as that whole market changed radically. The production moved offshore to China, and mega stores like Home Depot and Lowes appeared and took over the market. I’ve no idea what happened with the two of them, whether or not they actually paired up after Stanley went out of business. Times change, and people move on.