Two eyes peered out from behind holes raggedly cut in a brown paper bag. David Marcus recognized the mascara fringed blue eyes. From the shoulders down, his assistant appeared normal, for her: blue mini-dress, tights, and heels.

"Morning, Cindi," he said, deciding not to speculate what lurked beneath the sack, especially if it was something on the magnitude of her last failed hair experiment. He'd learned to overlook Cindi's bright magenta hair until it had grown out, and had lived through many physical makeovers and turbulent affairs of the heart in her two-year tenure with the firm. He was never sure what new personality he might find at the desk outside his office on any given morning. But he knew one thing. He wasn't ready for high drama today. He had a meeting in an hour, and he had been counting on Cindi to prepare an agenda and discussion notes, but his hopes were fading fast.

There had been no response to his greeting, only the unblinking stare of her brilliant aqua eyes, augmented by colored contact lenses. David was used to gauging Cindi's mood by her eye color each day, but the bag added a whole new dimension to the guessing game.

He decided to bite. "Anything wrong?"

A negative shake of the bag was the reply.

Maybe ignorance was bliss. If he could keep a straight face while giving direction to a paper sack, maybe he could get what he needed for his meeting.

He went into his office. The rustling noise behind him indicated that Cindi had followed. Finding his handwritten notes on top of the pile, he handed them to her without looking up.

"Meeting at ten," he said in a business-like tone. "I'll need this typed and six sets of copies by then."

She took the papers, but didn't move. Should he wait for her to exit stage left? Still nothing. He plopped down in his chair and allowed himself a sigh of resignation.

"O.K., Cindi, out with it. I'm a little dense on Mondays. You'll have to clue me in."

"I'm centering my psyche," she replied.

He should have known. Cindi was famous for taking up every fringe self-help fad that came along. Mishawaka, Indiana wasn't that metropolitan, but it had more than its share of drugstore psychics, roadside readers and pseudo-mentalists. At one time or another during the last two years, Cindi seemed to have discovered most of them. He decided to lighten the mood.

"Oh, good. I thought maybe you were the unknown secretary." His reference to the bag-clad comedian of some years ago fell flat. Still, she didn't leave. What was she waiting for?

"Madame Rey knew you'd make a joke of it," said Cindi.

"Madame Rey?"

"My spiritual guide. She warned me of a serious warp in the authority arena of my psyche."

David tired of the game. "Well, did she warn you of a serious lapse in your income if you didn't perform to the expectations of that authority figure? I need that work done by ten."

Cindi executed a sharp turn that barely shifted her sack and stalked out of the office.

He shook his head and sighed. He'd have fired Cindi long ago, especially after she dated the motorcycle cop who'd taken pleasure in giving parking tickets to all the senior lawyers in the firm, if it were not for one overwhelming fact. Cindi was the best clerical help he'd ever had. Her top-notch skills were his best kept secret. The others in the office, put off by her unusual appearance were glad that the most junior member of the firm was the one who had to work with the "wacko". Only David knew that whatever her personal rebellion, Cindi's abilities were a big reason why he was able to manage the great expectation of billable hours required on the rocky road of his career path to senior partner.

He'd just hope for the best today. He thumbed through his phone messages. Doctor, Lawyer, Accountant with a beef. All the aspects of his own life were in a serious warp as well, wedged between corporate stress and go-nowhere romances.Ruefully David rubbed his forehead and wished it were tomorrow. Even if Tuesday was a stupid day for the holiday, practically in the middle of the week, leaving half of it still looming when it was over, he was looking forward to popping a couple of cold ones and watching the fireworks. Good old Independence Day.

That's what he was all right. Mr. Independence personified. No unwanted ties for him. Still, he'd had to acknowledge that his own love life wasn't much more stable than Cindi's. Late hours and legal dedication had done little to promote his stock in the romance department. In the past year, there'd been Marcie, and Debbie, and Suzie. What a string of mistakes. Obviously he'd been thinking with the wrong part of his anatomy. Memories of unbridled lust were replaced by thoughts of the meeting that lay ahead, as he heard the door of his office open and the click-clack of high heels sounded on the wooden floor. At least she'd gone off to do his work.

Later, hearing the door reopen, he glanced at his watch to realize that barely an hour had passed since the "unknown secretary" had left his office. Yet, the stack of papers that were thrust under his nose were those he had requested. She was finished, already.

His gaze moved from the papers to the hand offering them to a soft peach-colored blouse all the way up to connect with the face that stood over him, smiling. For a moment he was confused, staring deep into a pair of azure eyes behind plain rimmed glasses. A short brown haircut skimmed an unadorned and unfamiliar face.

"Thanks," he stammered. "Where's Cindi?"

"Right here, David." The reply was in Cindi's voice.

"But you don't look anything like..."

"Well, I told you I was centering my psyche."

"Quite a trick. Was this you always under the other one?"

"Madame Rey said that you'd be surprised."

"Oh, I am. What else did Madam Rey say?"

"She said that you wouldn't be able to resist the new me. Was she right?"

David considered his answer carefully. He hadn't seemed to do very well in picking potential love mates; maybe Madame Rey had the inside track. At least with Cindi in his life, he wouldn't have to wait for once-a-year fireworks. Maybe Mr. Independence needed to let Miss Independent show him a thing or two about real freedom.

He smiled up at Cindi's new image. But one question nagged him.

"What did Madame Rey say about bosses dating their administrative assistants?" he asked, proud that he had used the politically correct terminology.

"Not to worry," Cindi replied. "She also told me that you won't want your wife to work."