A Woman in Control - My good organizer I

My good organizer I
   
I have not been relating this story chronologically, instead aligning my thoughts with the clever joke.

So I need to step back with regard to the importance of a ‘good organizer, neat, attentive about the household, cooking and cleaning with cheer’. I have one.

Jack Dumond I met on one of my first days at Olivier Flavors and Fragrances. A young chemical engineer, not much older than me, he came ‘sniffing’ about the executive suite one day, all males are basically hounds, having heard that a new ‘girl’ had been hired, and I suppose hearing word that she (being me) was somewhat alluring.

With my training in psychology, Jack being clueless as to my background... other then that I could type and make coffee... he was not aware that I was evaluating him more than he me. And of course a male of Jack’s ilk exudes certain... let’s say clues.

“Good morning, Miss Montrove. I am Jack Dumond, from analysis.”

Okay, that prompts my assessment. He uses ‘Miss’. Maybe he knows not my first name, but it’s unlikely he learned my surname without the ‘Desiree’ proceeding it. Such are usually listed together. Perhaps in Jack’s mind, being assistant to the CEO demands a degree of formality. But he’s been with the company for over a year and I have just begun. It’s a good time for him to be assertive in beginning a relationship, while the newcomer is feeling his/her way around. Yet he chooses not to assert... it’s ‘Miss Montrove’.

So I pause in my filing to visually partake. Yes the ‘Miss Montrove’ makes an impression... one of meekness. Is that his intent?

Jack is handsome, but not in a brawny manner, as I am to later demand with the sales team. I look into the eyes. Soft, those of a puppy dog. Jack is shorter than me. Not diminutive, I am 5 foot 8. Still the two inches are meaningful in male female relations. And then there is the physique. As stated, regular workouts have brought a certain feminine vitality. I am not a brute, but certainly not ‘Olive Oil’. Jack is lithe. If there is muscle structure it is well cloaked. His dress shirt is loose and there is no bulge in the slacks where a woman is known to furtively glance for appraisal.

So, years of psychological study in hand, I step into the breech, the opening left by Jack’s truckling introduction of himself. 

“Can you hold these?” handing him a stack of files.

I refrain from adding ‘like a good boy’, not desiring to go ‘over the top’ in asserting myself. Instead I insouciantly return to the file drawer and feign resuming my chore, forcing him to do my bidding. Cruel, but boys like Jack not only expect it... in a way they ask for it.

“Just thought I’d introduce myself. Know a little about the flavor side of the business... so if you have any questions...”

Well, he’s trying. But it’s important for me that he feel a level of futility, plus that he learn I am new but not a pushover.

“Do you have business in the executive suite... Jack did you say?”

“Yes, Jack Dumond. Perhaps coffee some time. You appear busy.”

“And you’re not busy in the analysis department?” my tone stern, assuming the role of the CEO’s plenipotentiary.

‘Idle time in the Analysis Department! We’ll need more restructuring’, the operative word for layoffs. I am fully aware of the perceived consequences of my observation and I know this will imbue a degree of panic.

“Well, I do have to get back,” a sheepish fawning Jack Dumond quickly counters. “These files?”

“On my desk,” I point then follow with the coup de grace, “like a good boy.”

He turns and lugubriously saunters, placing the files on my desk like the puppy he is.

I have him. I wonder if he knows it.