Rituals
I’ve worked in politics for fifteen years and there’s one important thing I’ve learned that they- our bosses, the interns and all the politicos- will never understand. To them, assistants are simply glorified secretaries, there to play gatekeeper to their offices and to type notes. They don’t realize that we notice everything. We know who’s sleeping with whom, who’s name is about to be splashed across the papers, what up-and-comer is soon to be down-and-out.
And we know it all before they do.
Take two certain staffers in the White House - I swear they’re in love. My boss would never notice all the intricacies of their relationship, but I do.
I see the way his eyes snap to attention whenever her name is mentioned; how proud he is whenever someone credits her for work well done. I see the smile that hovers at the corners of his mouth when she walks into the room; the longing on his face as he watches her from a distance.
It’s the same way with her. I see how she fusses over him; the worry when he works too hard; the way she takes care of him when he’s tired or sick. I see how she teases him out of bad moods. I see the way she lights up when he compliments her; the hurt when he ignores her.
They respond to each other like flowers to sunlight – growing bigger, brighter and stronger as each minute passes in the other’s presence. And fading when the other is no longer there.
And they don’t even realize that they’re doing it.
It’s the little things that give them away. She orders vegetables to go with his well-done burgers. And he eats them, too, because it makes her happy. I ask you, how many bosses would do that for their assistant? I can barely get mine to eat half a grapefruit.
Sometimes I wonder if they’re already together. They have all the telltale rituals of a long established couple. She ties his ties; he brings her sweet gifts. She doesn’t bring him coffee; he shares his beer. She always has a seemingly irrelevant fact to share; he listens to her chatter. She calls him first thing in the morning; he frequently escorts her home. They take care of one another.
But then I’ll hear her sigh when he mention’s another woman’s name, or see his frown when she goes out with what he has affectionately termed a ‘gomer’. How many other bosses would even notice their assistant’s dates, much less nickname them?
And I realize that they are both oblivious to each other’s feelings.
Or maybe they’re not. Maybe they’re simply too aware of how it might appear to others, so they keep their distance. It’s hard to tell with them. Their professional and personal lines have blurred so much that it’s difficult to tell where one stops and the other begins.
It’s a shame, really. They shouldn’t have to hide. They should feel free to act on their feelings. It’s ever so much better when you do. I should know.
Oh, here he comes. He’s got something elaborate planned for tonight. We’re celebrating.
“Ready to go, Margaret?”
I nod my head and gather my things. As we approach the outer gates, he leans close and whispers in my ear. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
“Thank you, Leo.”
See? I told you I understood.
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