Free Smoke and Mirrors by KATHY

stayed till 2 a.m. arguing politics with Fran. She would like to have believed he had lingered in the hope that Fran would go tactfully to bed and leave them alone, but she had already learned enough about Nick to recognize the hope was delusory. Nick would rather argue than eat, or sleep, or ... anything else.
    She could cheerfully have murdered Fran, who had committed the unforgivable sin of being bright-eyed, alert, and witty while she sat like a lump of suet. She couldn't have gotten a word in even if she had had anything intelligent to contribute; Fran and Nick were a perfect match in loquacity and detailed knowledge of political issues. They agreed on practically everything, including the dazzling wonderfulness of Rosemary Marshall. And after Nick had left—remarking calmly that he still had a story to write—Fran had raved on and on about him. "Talk about your fringe benefits! Of course, if you're really crazy about the guy I wouldn't dream of horning in, but after all, you just met him. ..."
    The unspoken assumption being that if Fran wanted him, she could get him.
    Erin pushed the stack of mail aside and stood up, avoiding the eagle eye of Mrs. Patterson, the office manager. Patterson was a soured virgin of ninety-seven (Nick's description) who clearly believed Erin was badly hung over after a night of sinful dissipation. To hell with Patterson; she needed coffee.
    The coffee urn and accompanying amenities—which included a soft-drink machine and an unpredictable selection of doughnuts and pastries—were concealed behind a screen at the back of the room. Erin filled a cup and stood by the table as she sipped; she was in no hurry to return to her desk where she would be overlooked by Mrs. Patterson's critical eye. All at once she heard her own name, uttered in tones that rose distinctly over the usual background noises.
    "Erin! Where the hell has she gotten to?"
    Erin made haste to present herself. There was no mistaking Joe's bass roar.
    "I was just getting a cup of coffee," she began.
    Joe slung his coat jacket over one shoulder and wrenched at his tie. His face looked as if he had shaved in the dark or a thick fog; patches of unattended bristles marked his jutting chin. "Bring it to my office, I want to talk to you. Get me a cup too. Cream and sugar." Without waiting for an answer he swung on his heel and stamped toward his office.
    Erin's hands were unsteady as she filled the cup according to his specifications. The milk looked a little peculiar; she hoped it hadn't gone sour, Joe was obviously in a foul mood already. Had she done something to anger him, or committed some ghastly blunder with the mail? In spite of Joe's kindness to her she was a little afraid of him; she had seen him reduce one of the typists to tears for committing a minor error.
    The office door stood open. Joe was speaking on the phone, and Jeff stood by the desk. Joe gestured to Erin to close the door; while she was trying to work out the logistics of obeying his order while holding a Styrofoam cup in either hand, Jeff came to her assistance. She thanked him, and murmured an apology. "I didn't know you were here. Would you like some coffee?"
    "No, thanks. Haven't you heard that fetching coffee for the boss is a feminist issue?"
    The edge in his voice surprised Erin and increased her nervousness. She racked her brain trying to remember whether she had said something to Nick that might have sounded critical of Rosemary, the issues, the world in general. . . .
    Joe slammed the telephone into the cradle. "We're transferring you to home base," he said. "Kay managed to mash her hand last night—the right hand, of course—she can't type, or tie Rosie's hair ribbons, or whatever the hell else she does. Better get out there as fast as you can; Kay's in one of her states. "
    Erin felt as if the hinges on her jaw had given way. "I don't understand," she gasped.
    "What don't you understand? English?"
    "You mean . . . Do you want me to go to