Free Vivian In Red by Kristina Riggle Page B

de parfum until a new girl can start. In fact, I couldn’t care less if I were selling tin cans of beans, which is probably why they’re firing me.”
    The elevator door slammed open, and the dark-haired Miss Adair preceded him inside. “I might as well see you all the way to your destination, wouldn’t you say?” She turned to the elevator man. “Ladies’ coats, please.”
    “Please, don’t do this on my account,” Milo replied, loosening his collar and swallowing hard.
    “No, no, I’m getting canned on my own account entirely, I assure you.”
    At the appropriate floor—Milo didn’t even notice the number, he was too busy feeling ashamed of helping this pretty girl get sacked—Miss Adair preceded him out onto the floor. “Mr. Short? Are you coming?”
    He hurried along beside her. Her low heels clicked along the shiny floor. “You see, I used to have a job I enjoyed very much. Only I had a few bad days and a boss who was none too indulgent, and so I was out on my keister and ended up a salesgirl.”
    “What job was that?”
    “I was a secretary at Jerome Remick. Now that was a job. Seeing the performers come in and out, listening to the pianos all day, of course I did take more than my share of aspirin, between the typewriters and the pianos—”
    “We’ve met before!” exclaimed Milo, gently touching her elbow to get her attention. She stopped indeed, looking pointedly from his hand on her arm up to his face. Milo released her arm and flushed. “I apologize. I just—I remember you. A few months ago, you were kind enough to explain to this naïve young man exactly what a song plugger was.”
    She squinted at his face and Milo felt a warming flush creep up his jaw. This close, he could see she was just about the same height as him. “Oh yes. I should have remembered: Mr. Short. What an interesting name.”
    “Used to be Schwartz.” Milo did not elaborate on the circumstances of the change.
    “I see, Mr. Used to Be Schwartz. You didn’t get the job, alas.”
    “No, but I got another one down the block. I’m plugging for TB Harms.”
    “Well. Good for you. Now, the girls up here can help you find the perfect coat, and I’m off to resume getting fired.”
    “Thank you, Miss Adair. I hope you don’t get fired.”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t waste your hope on that. Because I don’t think I mind at all.” She’d begun to walk backward, though this meant the shoppers had to scatter out of her way as she went. “And you may call me Vivian, just in case we happen to see each other again someday.”

    Back at TB Harms, Milo presented the sandwich to Mrs. Smith with a flourish and a bow, then slammed his office door shut and about knocked Allen right off his seat with the shock of it.
    “Watch it, would you? A fella can’t even think.”
    “Sorry. Guess I decided to be extra energetic today.” Milo propped the coat box in a corner, his mind replaying that backwards walk of Vivian the perfume girl, the dame sauntering away with the faintest smile playing over her lips.
    “The hour that I first knew you were mine…” Allen mumbled.
    “Gee, Allen, I didn’t know you cared.”
    “Shut up. Trying to rhyme it.”
    Milo tilted back in his wheeled office chair and chanted the line to himself a few times. Then he sat up and blurted: “Softly came a melody divine.”
    “Heh. Not bad.” Allen leaned forward to scribble.
    “What are you up to, anyhow?” Milo stood up from his chair to come look over his friend’s shoulder. From this vantage, he could see the pink of Allen’s scalp through his wispy blond hair. In front of him on the desk was some manuscript paper, and a melody scrawled in smeared ink.
    Allen looked around; though they were alone in their office, it had glass walls starting halfway up, and the blinds were open. “Don’t tell the boss, eh? But in between plugging I’ve been working on something of my own. Only, I’m rotten with the words.”
    “You gonna cut me in on the credit