 n the 20th floor of the dark as night Telecom skyscraper, was the prestigious International Exchange. Only the more elite staff worked here. The International Manager, supervisors and telephonists, aware they were the creme-de-la-creme, rarely mixed with the rabble of the lower floors.
Directly below, the 19th floor housed the lesser important National Truck Exchange. The telephone operators of the Trunk Exchange all aspired to ascend to a position with International on the 20th. They rarely ventured down to the exchanges below them. The Service Difficulties and Faults Exchange was located on the 18th floor. Being a complaints department, this was a most unpleasant place to work. Operators and Supervisors vied with each other for those sort-after vacancies on the 19th. Of course, they realised the 20th was simply out of their reach. Meanwhile, slumbering on the 17th floor, was the Reminder and Redirection Exchange. This exchange was referred to as ‘R and R’, not because of its official name, but because it was contemptuously known as Rest and Recreation - such was the industry of the bored, dispirited workers. However, the R and R operators were happy to avoid - and be avoided by - the staff of the ‘higher’ exchanges. They knew their place; it almost seemed preferable to the ghastly 18th. None of these floors had windows to the outside world. Demonstrating their impeccable sensitivity for their staff, Telecom had provided them with total privacy and security in the event of low-flying planes. However, the lack of natural lighting and a view onto anything green, resulted in a stuffy, claustrophobic environment where frayed nerves - and telephone wires – were often exposed. The only exchange to have leafy, indoor plants was, of course, International. The crowning glory of the otherwise gloomy looking Telecom building was the 21st floor. This was the location for the enormously popular staff cafeteria. On dark, velvety nights the neon lights gleamed, jewel-like, from the panoramic windows. The cafeteria was considered neutral territory where people from all floors gathered – but didn’t necessarily mix. Then one hot, stuffy night, the unthinkable happened. With little fanfare or reason, a senior International Supervisor was transferred down to the Reminder and Redirection Exchange. At five minutes before eleven p.m., he arrived and quietly took up his post at The Shift Leader’s Desk. This ancient, wooden monolith was situated in the middle of the shabby R and R exchange where he could see – and be seen by – the thirty telephonists and supervisors. The room buzzed with an energy as invisible, yet just as powerful, as the thousands of watts coursing through the wires and cables of the switchboards. Mr Peter Lawson was very good-looking in a blonde, pale and slightly effeminate way. He was also charming, intelligent and ambitious. What he was doing down in the bowels of Telecom, no one could fathom. Rumours and suggestions flew like night birds around the exchange. For the first time since Iris Mueller had fallen off her chair, R and R was awake! One of the telephonists, Jenny Williams, couldn't drag her bleary eyes, or her attention, from this rather aloof Adonis. She watched while he studied the reams of computer print-outs piled onto The Desk. Jenny was aware that many supervisors and telephonists had vied for his favour; but none had apparently succeeded. The consensus was that he was gay. But no one knew for sure. Jenny’s working world was a constant stream of impatient callers booking wake-up calls or demanding to know changed numbers. ‘Don’t these people ever sleep?’ she often wondered as red queue lights flashed on into the night. At precisely one minute past two, Mr Lawson departed The Desk, retiring to the pokey Supervisors’ Lunch Room for a cup of tea. Hazel Smith, who had been with R and R since The War, shakily poured steaming, pale tea from the battered tin teapot into Mr Lawson’s white and gold mug. It was unkindly said she had the sort of face that could haunt houses. However, Miss Smith’s eyesight could not be faulted. She had no problem identifying the fast-as-lightning figure dashing past the Lunch Room door. "Jenny Williams!" the aging lady muttered venomously. "One of us HAS to go." Mr Lawson looked up from his book with a mildly interested expression. "Pardon?" "You’ll have your hands full with that one, Mr Lawson. Most of we Supervisory Staff have given up." While reaching for his mug of tea, he raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Oh! She’s rude to Staff! Always late back from breaks! Runs through the corridor and the exchange! And -" Hazel Smith’s face quivered as she searched for the words that could convey this most dastardly of misdemeanours - "she roller skates on the 21st after the canteen has closed!" Mr Lawson half-choked on a sip of tea. After regaining his composure, he said, "I’m surprised they keep her on." "Oh, she’s a good operator," Miss Smith replied. When he returned to his shift, he glanced across at Jenny. Half-hidden behind a row of switchboards, she seemed to be working hard answering calls. Over the next few hours he noticed she rarely spoke to the operators sitting either side. He also noted the time she left for her thirty-minute meal break - and the time she returned. Seven minutes late. Mr Lawson beckoned her to approach The Desk. Jenny was painfully aware she was late. She had left her headset behind on the 21st, where she practised her skating routines, and then had to dash up four flights of stairs to retrieve it. While conscious that the eyes of the room were upon her, Jenny made her way towards The Desk. He smiled at her boyishly. ‘He’s a Peter Pan kind of person: elfish and ageless.’ she thought, deliriously happy despite her nervousness. "It’s Miss Williams, isn’t it?" he asked. Standing on the other side of The Desk, Jenny nodded and tried to appear composed. Mr Lawson leaned back in his chair. "Over the last few months, I’ve noticed more and more scuff marks on the polished floors of the 21st. A little birdie told me that you practise your figure skating up there." Jenny cleared her throat. She guessed what was coming. He hesitated waiting for her to reply. Although portrayed as the bad girl of the exchange, she seemed shy and was rather lovely. She certainly had a different manner to the other gum chewing, listless telephonists. What a paradox Miss Williams was. "I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to skate somewhere else," Mr Lawson said reasonably. "There have been complaints you know." Jenny nodded. He seemed to be staring into her innermost core. She was beyond embarrassment now – almost paralytic. Mr Lawson leaned towards The Desk and rifled through some papers before glancing up and saying, "The queue lights have come on again, Miss Williams. I’d better not keep you any longer." With those words of dismissal, Jenny gratefully returned to her seat. As she pressed the ‘accept call’ button, she wondered how he knew she practised figure skating on the 21st. Plenty of people had seen her disappearing into the stairwell with her skates, however, she had never mentioned figure skating was her hobby. She could have been free skating around the circumference of the room for all they knew. To her knowledge, no one had actually seen her skating on the 21st. While taking his last break of the night, Mr Lawson questioned the other supervisors in the Lunch Room about Miss Williams. They rolled their eyes and shook their heads. All were keen to discuss the subject of Miss Williams; but none had anything complimentary to say about her. "But if she’s a good operator...?" Mr Lawson persisted. "She has never fitted in here," Miss Smith quavered, adding, "Like a fish out of water." Mr Lawson placed his elegant mug into the small sink. "Is she married? Engaged?" There was more eye-rolling and shaking of heads. "A career girl, then," he joked. In the artificial world Telecom provided for its workers, the beginning of a new day was only signalled by the digital clocks around the walls. The night shift operators unplugged their headsets, wearily punched their clock cards and shuffled out to the Locker Room. For once, Jenny was not the first person out the exchange door. She fiddled with her headset while watching Mr Lawson from her eye's corner. Finally, she could delay her departure no further. She self-consciously walked past The Desk toward the wall-rack lined with clock cards. Jenny’s card was easy to spot: it sported the most red marks. "Miss Williams!" She turned, her heart thumping. He seemed to glow with a radiance undimmed by an arduous nightshift and harsh neon lighting. She blurted out, "Yes, Peter?" Unruffled by this over-familiar first name usage, he merely smiled and asked quietly, "Do you like it here…Jenny?" She was taken by surprise. The words: ‘Now I do,’ thundered through her mind, but this was an unsuitable reply. "Umm…" was all she could manage. "I have a proposal for you," Mr Lawson said. This time the word, ‘Marriage!’ echoed through her thoughts. She stifled a smile at such absurdity. Apparently undeterred by Jenny's lack of response, he whipped out a sheet of paper from the top stack of desk trays. Large, black words screamed across the top: APPLICATION FOR TRANSFER TO THE INTERNATIONAL EXCHANGE. "How'd you like to work somewhere a little more challenging?" he asked, handing her the application. "At International?" Jenny gasped. Even if he had handed her an application for transfer to the moon, she couldn’t have been more amazed. "There’s much more variety at International: Shore to Ship, Emergency, Radio Calls, Message Calls, and trying to communicate with Moscow International is a challenge for anyone. They’ll only speak French," he added, his eyes sparkling elfishly. "And because International operators have to cope with so many non-English speakers, you'll be paid extra allowances." Jenny wondered why he was doing this for her. "They don’t usually transfer operators from R and R to International, do they?" Mr Lawson slapped his leather brief case onto The Desk and flipped a few stapled sheets inside before glancing up. "You’d be surprised at what ‘they’ do. Fill out that application as soon as you can." He smiled warmly, then added, "See you tomorrow night, Jenny?" With a carefree motion, he swung his brief case off The Desk then headed for the clock cards. She watched him clock off and stride out the door. When she arrived at the old-fashioned wooden elevator, to her embarrassment and joy, Mr Lawson was still standing there. Had he been waiting, she wondered? They descended to the ground floor together, he talking animatedly of his plans for the day. When does he sleep?' she asked herself. But someone as magical as Peter Pan wouldn't need much sleep. Spellbound by his charm and the way his eyes twinkled magically when he looked at her, Jenny just watched and listened and nodded. Together they stepped outside the Telecom building into the soft morning light. Side-by-side they waited on the pavement – for what, Jenny wasn’t sure. A white MG sports car glided up and double-parked alongside the cars lining the road. "That’s my ride," Peter said, his attention now focused somewhere else. After a brief glance back to her and a fluttering of fingertips, he was gone. He eased into the passage seat beside the handsome young driver. "Ah, well," she sighed, watching the MG accelerate down the street, "Wendy didn’t get Peter Pan, either." Despite this blow, Jenny was filled with excitement and hope for the future. ‘This transfer will really rock Miss Smith’s socks. Can’t wait to see her expression when she finds out.’ She grinned at the image this conjured up. On a nearby bench she pulled out her skates and slipped them on. If she kept practising her routine on the 21st during shift breaks, she felt confident she had a chance of winning the next figure skating tournament. And once she had the State finals under her belt, she could turn professional. A summer breeze played through her hair as she whizzed along the pavement. She was really flying along. And she didn’t need Peter Pan to show her how.  |
This story and music, Translocation, were by your Enchantresses, Wendy Mareee.
Hope they wove their spell over you.
The photograph used for story illustration is available from WEBSHOTS.
Next Story: Two Roses
Experience the magic:
The Tail Of The Sea Witch