‘The Importance of Being Sally’

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"The true secret of happiness lies in taking a genuine interest in all the details of daily life. You know who said that, kid?” Asked Edwin Carothers. With slicked-back silver-rippled hair and a thin Clarke Gable mustache, he leered at the young dame.

Sally, the cornfed, blonde-haired, blue-eyed starlet-to-be, shook her head.

“Why William Morris himself, the head of this here fine talent agency. What do you think he meant by that?”

“That you hafta notice stuff ta be happy?”

“More or less. It means for a man to be successful, he needs to take notice of all relevant commercial details, not just a couple of his choosing.” A smug grin accompanied his raised cigar and sip of neat bourbon.

Twirling a curl pensively as if the thought alone was too much effort, Sally inquired. “That’s all well and good fer a man, but what about fer a woman like?”

“First, we must work on that dreadful diction of yours. It’s an embarrassment, I tell you. Sounds like a ravenous guttersnipe. But in answer to your question, you’ve made the right decision coming here to William Morris. Men like me take care of all your casting needs,” Edwin winked.

“I assure you, Sir, I’m not that kinda gal.” Puffing out her chest with her hands on her hips, Sally glared at Edwin. “Why, with hard work and gumption, my mama says I’ll go far.”

“If I had a nickel for every dang fool broad who said something like that, I’d own this here agency.”

“I’m sorry if I overstepped, Sir.” Tears prickled Sally’s eyes. A soft, perfect sniffle accompanied her doe-eyed look. “It’s just I want this so much.”

His ample belly extending over his trousers, Edwin pulled on his suspenders with both hands and let out a low whistle as he gave Sally the once-over. “You are a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

“Why, thank ya. Do ya think I have what it takes?”

“In spades,” he whistled again, patting his lap. “If only you knew how to work the industry.”

“Could ya say that a little louder? I couldn’t quite hear ya.”

“Let me put it simple-like for a woman’s tiny brain. If you do me certain favors, I’ll help advance your career—“

Sally turned to face the deep burgundy velvet curtains. “Will that do, Mrs. Carothers?”

“Nicely, Sally. Thanks ever so much. I’ll wire your payment.” She pivoted to stare a crimson-countenanced Edwin in his twitching eyes, handing him a stack of legal papers. “As for you, I believe you know why I’m serving you these?”

At the door, Sally paused, speaking in an English accent so crisp, it cleaved the very air. “You know it was William Morris, the noted British polymath that you quoted when we commenced speaking.”

“Yo-your accent? What happened?”

Closing the door, she enunciated, “I attended Oxford, you pathetic, chauvinistic buffoon.”

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WC: 484

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