How does Ruby climb the corporate ladder? 

Nick Trikonis, President and Owner of Trikonis Tool & Die, visited his Accounting Department one morning and asked Moe Vine, its director, to hire his wife. The possibly unsettled Moe, a details man, for Ruby Trikonis had never studied accounting and would be a workplace distraction. “What’s wrong, Moe?” Nick said. “Tongue tied?”

“I’m not absolutely sure it’s a good fit, Nick. Has Ruby tried to find a job more suited to her, uh . . . background and experience?”

Nick’s face turned pink. “No luck, I think, because she’s Mrs. Trikonis, you know, it scares employers.”

Moe nodded. “That’s possible.”

“Righto, Moe. I’m sure you can find something for her to do. She wants a job bad. Feels useless, watching soaps all day, or with her friends, eating lunch in fancy restaurants, playing tennis, croquet, and whatnot. Poor kid’s bored outta her gourd.”

“What can she do, uh, accounting-wise?”

Nick shrugged. “Make carbon copies, fill envelopes, manage the mail cart. Who cares?” He leaned over Moe’s desk, staring at him, garlic breath.

“Tell her to call me, Nick.”

Nick thumped Moe’s desk with a gorilla fist and was out the door.

​

Moe poured an airline vodka down his throat. Closed his eyes and pictured Ruby. Tall, nice but not exactly beautiful face, amazing curves, stacked top, broad hips, long legs. That night he dreamt of her, Rubenesque Venus rising from a seashell.

Next morning, she called, voice like honey, South Carolina accent. They agreed to meet, his office at 10 a.m. She arrived on time in a black pants suit. Moe declared her a Junior Bookkeeper, handed her a personnel pamphlet, assigned her to Rhonda in the Bookeeping Branch. He called Rhonda to get her, walk her around Bookkeeping, orient her, and put her to work. What a relief to get her gone.

​

A few days later, Rhonda caught Moe alone in the break room. “That new girl you gave me, Moe. She knows nada.”

“You’re her supe, Rhonda. Train her.”

“She’s innumerate. How can you teach bookkeeping to someone who doesn’t get numbers or zero?”

“She’s Nick’s wife, Rhonda.”

“Oh, Moe . . .”

Rhonda made no more complaints, gave Ruby “Outstandings” on quarterly performance reports. Out of sight, out of mind Moe thought until Nick dropped by his office and asked how Ruby was doing.

“Really well, Nick,” Moe said. “Rhonda rates her outstanding for two consecutive quarters.”

“Fine, but, what do you say?”

“I trust Rhonda, Al. As far as I’m concerned . . . uh, need I say more?”

“Would you say exceptional?”

“Well, uh, exceptional’s off the charts, but two outstandings should add up to that.”

“That’s swell, Moe. I think the company should reward her. A pat on the back ain’t enough. What should Trikonis Tool and Die do for my petite sweetie?”

“Let me ponder that, Nick.”

“Call me when you finish pondering, Moe. Next hour or so.”

When Moe suggested treating Ruby with dinner at a good restaurant, Nick told him okay, and he deserved the same for training her.

“You’ll come along, won’t you?” Moe said.

“No way, Moe! You’re her boss.”

“Where should we go?”

“Rusty’s Rib House. Best damn prime rib in town, and they keep your cocktails topped off. You ever been there?”

“I dropped by one night. The menu looked great. Expensive. Too busy to get in.”

“Don’t worry cost, Moe. “Company’s paying. Take a $200 cash advance to cover expenses. If you go over, charge your card and the company will reimburse.”

​

Moe phoned Rusty’s to make a reservation. The manager got his credit card number. The earliest reservation she could give was in two weeks on a Saturday at seven p.m. She warned that latecomers would be treated as no-shows and charged the cost of two prime rib dinners and cocktails.

​

Next morning, Moe called Ruby to his office. “Have a seat, Ruby. You don’t have to stand there.” 

Ruby took the closest chair. “Is this about my work?”

“Your work’s been fine, Ruby. The company has a policy of rewarding exceptional performance. Since you’ve received two consecutive outstanding reviews, it’s awarding you a bonus of a free dinner at Rusty’s Rib House, with your department head.”

“Oh, I see. That’s very nice. What a relief.”

“I’ve made a reservation for us on Saturday the twelfth in the evening. Will that work for you?

“I’m sure it will, Moe.” She blushed, leaped from her chair, and rushed out of the office.

The sight of her hip-swinging exit remained in Moe’s head for the next hour. Had she been coming on to him? He had a sudden yen for her body, mind, body and mind, whatever. Something was rising. Not Venus from a shell.

On reservation Saturday, Moe called Ruby at home. “The reservation’s for seven o’clock, Ruby. How about if I pick you about six-forty-five?”

“Don’t bother with that,” Ruby said. “I’ll meet you there. Ask the man for Nick’s booth in back. We’re regulars there.” Moe’s hand shook as he hung up.

​

He wore his newest suit and tie, same style and color as his seven other gray pinstripes. Examined himself in his tall mirror, imagined himself as Sean Connery, silently mouthed, The name is Moe, Moe Vine. Fairly close.

Made himself a dry martini, econovodka over ice. Not quite a Bond, but close enough. Tossed it back, and then a second. Buzz time, nice. Enough of that.

​

From outside, Rusty’s resembled a big log cabin. People in line, waiting to enter. Moe checked his watch: ten minutes before seven. Where was Ruby? He waited. He called her cell. She said she was running late, would meet him inside. He entered darkness, cooking meat smell, air conditioning cool, red wallpaper, leather booths, candle-lit tables with white cloth napkins, waiters moving in all directions, as orderly as clockworks. Maître d’ greeted those ahead of Moe in line, dispatched them to a young woman in a red dress who led them to tables with little name tags. Moe gave the maître d’ his name and mentioned Nick’s booth, maître d’ nodded, told the red dress to show him to Nick’s booth in back.

A waiter appeared. Moe ordered a double martini with a pricey Russian vodka. The waiter delivered it in a glass a goldfish could live in. He sipped it, watching customers wolfing chunks of red meat. Checked his watch. Seven thirty-seven. Jesus! Where was Ruby? His ears were ringing and the voices in the room were deafening. Shut his eyes, mind wandering, sex with Ruby. She wanted him. He’d heard it in her voice, the hots for him.

The name is Moe, Moe Vine.

​

His cellphone vibrated. Her sexy voice, apologetically, “I’m running late, Moe. I’ll make it up to you, honey.”

Had she called him honey?

The waiter replaced his martini with a fresh one. He was famished, all that alcohol on empty gut. Something tasty needed. Onion rings? Bad breath, kissing murder; nope.

​

Ruby appeared at the entrance. Her black, low-cut dress could barely contain her treasures. She crossed the room, hips swinging, bust rising and falling, and the room went dumb with gawking men and glaring women until she parked her ship in Moe’s welcoming harbor. Silently, he admired her as the waiter took her order for a double Jack Daniel rock. She smiled, seductive red lips and shiny white teeth. “Thanks for the award, Moe. I owe you big time. I have no idea how to pay you back.”

“I’ll think of something,” Moe said.

She took his hand, squeezed, then pinched his cheek. “What’s on your mind, boss?”

“You are, Ruby.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes.”

She giggled. “Guess my ambition.”

“Tell me, honey.”

“I want to take over.”

“What?”

“You know, and I can’t wait forever.” Something across the room caught her attention.

Moe noticed a young man in white Stetson, blue jeans, leather jacket, and cowboy boots staring at them. Ruby waved.

“Who’s that?” Moe said.

“My cousin Roy. He must’ve flown in from Nebraska. What a coincidence.”

​

Cousin Roy crossed the room, looked down at Ruby, grinned, and held out his arms. Ruby stood, they embraced, he kissed her neck and lips, and sat beside her with his arm over her shoulder. When the waiter appeared, they all ordered jumbo prime rib dinners.

​

Ruby talked a torrent to Roy, a handsome, strong and silent cowboy type, as Moe sat in stupefied silence.  He assumed they shared events and memories of happy family gatherings and events of significance in Nebraska. Still, he was put off as the pair cozied up, holding hands and kissing. When the food came, he picked at his prime rib and tried to stay awake. Then dozed off.

​

When he awoke, his meal was still there, Roy and Ruby were gone, and the bill was on the table. Four-hundred and twenty-seven dollars plus tip. Three entrees plus countless drinks and a flaming dessert. He lacked the cash to cover it plus tip, so he paid with his card. That left him $304 in the hole.

​

He abandoned his leftovers and rejected his waiter’s offer to ask the maître d’ to call him a cab. “Enough, already,” Moe said, got to his feet, and looked across the dining room to check the lay of the land, undulating like a heavy sea. He aimed at the maître d’ and headed out, weaving left to right until he reached the podium and, from there, out into the night. Handed his parking chit to the attendant.

“Are you sure you can drive, sir?” the attendant asked.

Moe held up a $10 bill. “Want this?” 

​

Moe got into his car. He spent a while remembering how to start the car and drive. Goosed the gas, spun the rear tires, a horrible screeching sound and white, smoky cloud. Lunged instantly onto the boulevard, missing a bus.  Recalled from youth how to drive drunk—straight don’t weave, posted speed, at red lights stop. Reached his condo, parked in street, elevator up, level five, walk to door, bedroom, flop on bed. 

​

Sunday morning, a terrible hangover, incoherence. Leftover Oxycodones helped recover fragments from last night: red wallpaper, leather booths, fishbowl martini, Ruby’s swinging ass and bouncing tits, she pinching his cheek, asking, “What’s on your mind, boss?”

“You are, Ruby.”

Giggling. “Guess my ambition, boss.”

“Tell me, honey.”

“You know.”

​

He couldn’t remember what happened next. Curse the alcohol, a blackout. Did they have an affair?

On Monday morning, Nick dropped by Moe’s office. “How’d it go, Moe?”

“The meal was great, Nick. Ruby enjoyed herself.”

“Did she make a pass at you?”

“What? No! Of course not.”

“Just kidding. What else?”

“That’s the story, Nick. Nothing more to say.”

“How much change?”

“I went slightly over budget, Nick. That place is expensive. I’m sure you know, being a regular.”

“How much, over budget?”

“Including the tip, $304. I had to put the overage on my personal credit card.”

“How could the two of you spent that much? You could’ve ordered the best entrees and drunk yourself blind for your cash advance.”

“I don’t know what to say, Nick. If it bothers you that much, let’s split the difference. Have the company reimburse me $152 and call it even.”

“Shut up, Moe. I made the deal with you and that’s it. So, company owes you $304.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, you’re my corporate accountant, huh?” Nick shook his head.

“I always do my best, Nick. You always rate my performance outstanding.”

​

“Performance ratings don’t mean shit, Moe. We use them is because there’s a law. Let’s forget this awful mess you made and never talk about it again.” Nick slammed Moe’s door behind as he left, shattering the frosted glass with Moe’s name and job title. After that, he stopped visiting and sent memos instead, giving orders, and signed Nicholas Tasos Trikonis. A few months later, Nick circulated a memo promoting Ruby to Bookkeeping Branch Head, and demoting Rhonda to her Assistant.

​

One year later, a memo promoted Ruby to Accounting Department Director, and demoting Moe to Deputy Assistant to the Director for Office Maintenance. Nick’s secretary blocked Moe’s attempts to call or make an appointment with Nick. In frustration, Moe went to Nick’s mansion one evening and caught him alone in his backyard hot tub. He told Nick that Ruby was not qualified to replace him and refused to supervise office maintenance. “You always have a choice,” Nick said. Moe resigned.

​

Many months later, Rhonda sent Moe an email informing him that Nick had died in his hot tub of a heart attack, “a big surprise and totally strange.” Moe attended Nick’s funeral. He did not talk to Ruby but noticed her with a handsome young man in white Stetson hat, blue jeans, leather jacket, and cowboy boots. Rhonda said Ruby was now President of Trikonis Tool & Die and the cowboy was Royal Cherry, her Executive VP. She smiled and said, “unusual name.”

​

“Unforgettable for sure,” Moe agreed.