On The Other Side of the Cubicle Wall

Read this, this and that before proceeding, please.

I walked into the “office” and was immediately assailed by the smells of garlic, basil and tomatoes. It could be worse. I’m Italian by heritage and so those smells are as ingrained in me as my hirsuteness. My last place of employment was over a dry cleaners and I’m fairly certain that I’ve inhaled enough chemical cleaner to do some damage, but that’s life. You have to keep going in this world or what’s the point.

I walk over to my cubicle and glance with pride at the new name plate: “Helen Heart” it reads. Hel for short. Hel Heart, P.I., pleased to make your acquaintance. I take a seat at my desk and as I do, I glance surreptitiously at the guy in the cubicle next to me. I’d say we were rivals, but that implies that I think he can hold a candle to my abilities as a P.I., and I don’t. He’s a damn fine bartender, but I think he really lacks the stuff to make a collar on his own. Sure, he’s solved a lot of cases and sure he’s often asked for by the clients, but most of that has been luck. Plain and simple. I don’t rely on luck. I rely on skill. Skill and feminine wiles. Both of which I have in abundance. I’m what you call Zaftig. I’ll save you the trouble of looking it up. It just means I can fill out a dress. And boy, can I. Don’t let them ever tell you that females are the weaker sex. That’s just a load of horse puckey dreamed up by the boys up top to keep a good woman down, or on her back, but it’s ridiculous. I’ve made men cower and beg at my feet. But enough about me, let’s get back to the case at hand.

As I glance over at Green, I can see he’s on a phone call. I sit down at my desk, pull out my headset, and carefully place it so that it looks like it’s covering my ears, but so I can hear everything he says. I listen. He’s not really saying much. I think he manages to squeak out an “ok” or a “yes, sir”, but for the most part he seems to be just sitting there. You see, that’s what I mean about Green, good listener, but not much of an action man. I put on my headphones. It’s obviously not worth my time to eavesdrop any more. I usually try to help him out with these things, but I’ve got my own business to attend to. I’m typing up a report on a case I solved just last week.

I hear the fax machine going in the cubicle next to me. Well, well, well, Green is multitasking. I hope he can read whatever comes off the fax and keep up his taxing end of the conversation. I pipe some cool jazz into my headphones as I begin typing up my report. I’m just getting into the grove when the music cuts out. My phone is ringing through. I tap the correct button on my headset and answer the phone.

“Acme Investigations & Italian, Hel Heart Speaking. Personal, professional, or take-out?”

The voice that answered back would change my life forever.