HER MAN FRIDAY
Copyright Elizabeth Bevarly
All rights reserved
Oh, man. A bunch of wrinkled old white guys wearing two-thousand-dollar suits. So it was going to be one of those jobs again, was it?
As he tunneled fingers through his medium brown hair, Leo Friday shifted his weight from one foot to the other, arced his gaze around the U-shaped table that surrounded him, and eyed each of his new employers one by one. But even the fact that he was standing and they were sitting did nothing to relieve his tension. First in line was Dolce & Gabbana Man, dressed to the nines in a black pinstripe number that put Leo’s faded blue jeans, white T-shirt, and black blazer to shame. Beside Dolce & Gabbana Man was Cohiba Man, puffing with much relish on the stump of a fat cigar. Beyond him was—oh, great—Grecian Formula Man. Did old guys really think they were kidding anybody when they used that stuff? And after that came…ew, Acqua Di Gio Man, way too close for comfort. Leo did his best to breathe shallowly.