In the office of Jewel Butterfly Novel Paradise, there was a rumor circulating that Mr. Halsey liked to lock himself in his private office on Wednesday mornings to practice his golf putting. Whether this rumor was true or not was unknown, but the old employees at the local “Guarantee Transactions and Faithful Surety Company,” known as Wefi, had developed a habit of either finishing important work on Tuesday or postponing it until Thursday.
Halsey’s secretary, Peggy Castle, unlike her predecessors, did not get to rest on Wednesdays. Halsey, having learned that Peggy had worked for a rural newspaper before coming to Wefi, coaxed her into starting a gossip column in the company’s internal magazine. Peggy had a keen interest in people, a photographic memory for names and faces, and a broad, whimsical sense of humor. Her column, which she called “Air Castle,” attracted wide attention, making Halsey very proud and encouraging her to continue. “This is exactly what we need,” he said. “We’ve spent too much money on that ghost of a newspaper. We made it too fancy and pretentious, but who likes such an internal magazine? We want it to be friendly, interesting, and well-loved by our employees. We also hope it attracts customers from outside. What you’re doing now is just that. Keep up the good work; soon, it will bear abundant fruit.”
Halsey always carried a wallet filled with clippings from Peggy’s column. He often selected some of the best clippings and would sneak off to the club to show them to his friends. “I’ve hired a girl in the office as my secretary, and she’s incredibly sharp,” he would say. “You should see what she’s done with the gossip column in our internal magazine. Look here, ‘Air Castle’.”
The pranksters in the bond issuance department didn’t know who was behind the pranks. Bill Filmore vowed that once he found out, he would strangle the prankster until his eyes bulged enough to inscribe Bill’s initials on them. Bill and Ernest’s romance seemed steadfast. Last Thursday at noon, Bill decided to clarify his intentions, and he was accepted. That afternoon, he was walking on air. However, it seemed Bill had previously hinted to some friends and shown them the ring he bought, saying he would put it on Ernest’s finger if she agreed.
After lunch, someone dirtied Bill’s trouser knees, but Bill had no idea how it happened; he was completely unaware of it. When Ernest announced the news and showed off her sparkling ring, observant people couldn’t help but notice the two distinct stains on Bill’s knees. Ernest found it amusing, but Bill—well, let’s talk about something else.
“How about this anecdote?” Halsey would say, patting his companion’s back. “Have you ever heard of anything so amusing? Imagine what impact this has on our internal magazine. Everyone reads it; such stories really bring it back to life. And Halsey? No, damn it! Although it wasn’t true, strangely, Bill Filmore didn’t know about it. He really thought the stains were already there, done by someone while he was wandering around chewing tobacco. Half the people present knew the secret, and the other half were looking for the prankster. This must be one of the funniest things you’ve ever seen. Such anecdotes really revive the internal magazine. Here’s more.”
With a little provocation, Halsey would produce more clippings. Usually, his friends would encourage this. These clippings were always good for a laugh, and many of Halsey’s friends faced similar issues with the internal magazine.
One Thursday afternoon, Peggy opened an anonymous letter and read it carefully. “Tonight, Don Kimberley will meet ‘Miss Cleavage’ at the Royal Pheasant Nightclub. How surprising! I’m not asking you to believe me, so I won’t sign. You might as well stay aside and see what happens.” The letter was signed “A Reader” in a distinctly feminine script. Normally, she would glance at it and toss it into the wastebasket, but Don Kimberley was a key player in the claims department, a rare talent for the company. He was young, clear-headed, with a law degree, black curly hair, deep blue-gray eyes that were intense and mysterious, bronzed skin, and an air of aloofness.
“Miss Cleavage,” whose real name was Stella Lynn, had won a beauty contest organized for a regional trade show before coming to work for Wefi. Clearly, the judges favored fully developed curves over slender silhouettes. Stella Lynn was proud of her voluptuous, well-proportioned figure and habitually wore low-cut clothes, the lowest in the company. Someone had nicknamed her “Miss Cleavage,” a fitting title as snug as her office attire and as sticky as chewing gum.
Peggy Castle read the anonymous letter again. Why would Don Kimberley meet Stella Lynn? On the whole, it seemed absurd, likely a prank by someone hoping she would publish it without verification, causing a small stir in the office. But what if it were true? That would certainly cause a major uproar. Peggy decided to investigate before considering whether it was a trick by the anonymous letter writer… The Royal Pheasant Nightclub catered to regular customers.
The quality of the entertainment series here varies, the food is delicious, and the music is passable. Compared to the handkerchief-sized dance floors in some more expensive nightclubs, the dance floor here is slightly larger. Paige showed her press card, bypassing the restrictions imposed on unaccompanied female guests, and quickly entered the Royal Partridge Nightclub. Dressed in her best semi-formal attire, she found a table and sat down, sipping a cocktail while waiting. Half an hour passed, and nothing happened. The maître d’ approached, “Another cocktail, Miss Castle?” Surprised to hear her name, she remembered showing her press card and smiled, shaking her head. “We want you to enjoy yourself,” the maître d’ continued, “We hope you’ll write something nice about us.” Paige felt a twinge of guilt. Perhaps the club management thought she worked for a magazine with a large circulation. “In fact,” he went on, “I read every column you write.” “Really?” she asked, astounded. “Mr. Halsey has mentioned your column to me,” the maître d’ continued, “He’s a frequent visitor here. He put me on your mailing list. Your column is excellent.” Paige felt a sense of relief: “Oh. I’m very pleased—very pleased you like it.” “The big shots from your company have brought us a lot of business,” he said, “We’re truly honored by your visit. So, naturally, you’re entitled to all our perks.” “All the perks?” she repeated. “Everything’s on the house,” he explained, “Another cocktail?” “No, thank you, not now.” “Tonight’s show is quite good, and we’re honored you’re here.” He walked away, taking with him Paige’s guilt, leaving her secretly pleased.
