"Pope? The mail guy?" Della listened to Tony's story about how he heard, straight from Harold, that he was fixated on Della and had been following her.

"I joked with him the other day when I saw him watching you and then later on the elevator he told me he really had the hots for you, so much so he was following you around."

"I never saw him anywhere."

"He was careful, obviously. I told him you were way above his pay grade." He gave her a conspiratorial smile.

"And you think he took that picture and left it on my desk?"

"If I had to guess. And for the record, I didn't mean to snoop. You just looked so vulnerable, Della, I felt I had to see if I could help."

"I haven't been myself since I found it. I never dreamed--"

Tony risked an arm about her shoulder and was encouraged when she didn't object. "Listen, if there's anything, anything at all I can do, I'm here for you. Just let me know, Della." He squeezed her closer, gently.

"Do you think he sent one to Peter too?"

"Gee, I doubt it but you never know with these crackpots." He hesitated and covered it by clearing his throat. "So he hasn't said anything?"

"No, but then he might be wondering the same as me. I should ask him. Get it out in the open."

"Oh, I'd be careful there. Peter may think it will be used to threaten him."

"What! Why would I threaten Peter? You mean tell Shir- his wife?"

"Not you, no, of course not, but Pope might if he lets his jealousy get the best of him."

"You think he would?"

He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, staying silent.

She eased out of his arm and stared at her cubicle wall, one knuckle against her lips.

"Why don't you let me take you to dinner. You can relax away from here and get your mind free, think of things in a calmer atmosphere?"

Della looked up and studied Tony's face a moment, catching the blink of eagerness that had quickly come and gone. I'm beginning to sense your play here Mr. Renesto.

"That might be nice, Tony. You're right. I need to think about all this in a different light."

"Atta girl. I'll swing by and pick you up at quitting time." He patted her shoulder and strutted away down to his office.

Della watched him the entire distance, a small smile playing about her mouth.

********

Peter slipped quietly back into his office and sat back down at his desk, fiddling with his stapler. The image of Tony Renesto with his arm about Della's shoulder felt like it had been branded on his mind. What a complete fool he had been thinking she was only interested in him.

He banged the stapler sever times, strewing its ammunition across the desk. His phone rang and he snatched it up angrily.

"Hello."

"Peter? You okay? Something wrong?"

"Uh- oh, Shirl . . . no, sorry. Just work stuff. What's up, why are you calling?"

"We received an invitation to a cocktail party from a Hiram Yoshie at Betts Fashions. Do you know this person?"

"Hiram, yes - they just placed a huge order with us for the coming season. What does it say?"

"It's for this Friday, seven o'clock at their company offices."

"I- we have to attend, Shirl, it's business . . . big business."

"That's fine, I just wanted to make sure you knew who it was."

"I do, and thanks, hon. Find something nice to wear this Friday, okay?"

"Does that mean from my closet or . . .?" Her voice sounded happily sly.

"Whatever you need. I have to go. See you tonight."

He scribbled the time and date on a post it note and stuck it to the edge of his desk. Hiram Yoshie had contacts all over the fashion industry . . . all over the world for that matter. Kirkland could do very well sucking up to this particular customer.

Peter leaned back and frowned at the thought that Betts was Tony Renesto's account. He would most certainly get an invite as well. It would be interesting to see if he brought anyone - anyone particular.

********

Syd Dowdy shook his head and looked at the post card addressed to Harold. Nobody sends that many postcards no matter how good a time they're having. He glanced at the message - it was a postcard after all, not sealed, but couldn't quite understand what it said.

"Is that for me?" Harold asked, coming up behind him.

"Jesus in jeans, boy! Don't creep up on an old man like that. Yeah, another card from your friend. Where the devil is he anyway?"

"I'd appreciate your not reading my mail, Syd."

"Didn't intend to, son, just a nosy old man is all." He handed Harold the card and shuffled away.

There was nothing Syd could have seen that he worried about but all the same . . . Harold stuffed it in his pocket and started loading the mail cart.

"What are all these envelopes from Betts fashions?" Harold held up one toward Syd.

"Invitations to a cocktail party. We made a big sale to their company recently."

"Did you get one? Harold asked, surprised.

"Little folk don't get invited to the big folk's dos."

"So how do you know what they are?"

"Wagner in accounting had one. We was jawin' in the elevator and he showed me. Special folks had theirs mailed to their homes."

"So these are all the B team invites. That means we aren't even the B team."

Syd peered over his glasses and grinned. Be satisfied, son. You get postcards all the time."

Harold closed his mouth and stared at the old man uncertainly.

********

The first elevator was filled with women from the secretaries pool and Harold just smiled at them all as the doors closed. The next car was less crowded and the passengers moved to let him on.

"Pope! Hey, hi." Bill Staines raised a hand from the corner of the car.

"Mr. Staines." Harold nodded politely.

"Anything for me today?"

"It's all sorted by department, I don't know who personally gets mail."

"Bet you know if some of the women do though."

There was a general chuckle from the others and Harold felt a boatload of eyes settle on his colouring neck. The doors opened and all but two women and Staines got out. Harold focused on the floor buttons, wishing he had never met the man.

The elevator stopped again and Staines paused in the opening. "Wanna grab that drink you promised, after work?"

Promised! "The question left him stuck for a moment as he glimpsed the women watching him. "Uh- yeah I guess I could make it today."

"Great! Catch you after work then." The doors closed.

Harold prayed, as he shoved the mail cart down the hall, that he'd get a post card for Staines one day. He dreaded the idea of spending time drinking with the man. Hands reached out as he passed and some were rewarded with his postal benevolence while others withdrew as if a death sentence hadn't been commuted.

Della stood when he arrived at her cubicle and he swallowed, dragging his eyes up to her face.

"It uh, looks like a lot of people are getting special mail today." He said handing her the regular bundle then adding the invitation separately.

She took both, dropping the big bundle on the desk and flapping the invitation against her cheek.

"Another special delivery?"

"Sorry?" Harold made a silly grin.

"This," she held it out. "Another specia-" Her eye caught the Betts logo on the envelope and she stopped abruptly.

"Something wrong. Miss Walker?"

"No! No, I was thinking of something else. Don't pay any attention. Thank you." She sat down, turning her back.

Harold hesitated, admiring the curve of her back through the blouse, wondering if he should offer help.

"Was there something else?" She asked turning back.

"Uhm, no. I guess not . . . well actually, yes." He thought to himself, what the hell. "I'm uh, going for a drink with one of the men from procurement after work and I wondered if maybe - you know - you might want to join us?"

The look made him feel like some dreadful slide specimen and he bit hard with his teeth.

"I don't think so."

"Well no harm in-"

"Is that all?"

"Yes, ma'am." He stepped back and pushed the cart away.

"And I am not ma'am!"

He nodded and made an apologetic wave, pushing even faster.

5153 Word Total (Microsoft word count)