The Receptionist's Novel

Mad Men may be fun, but not nearly the fun the real thing was.

At a major Houston agency back about 1980. The offices were in a slick, modern building in the Galleria area, it was 19 stories of glass and stainless steel. The 14^th floor agency offices were just as modern, wanting to project an aura of slick expertise.

The elevator opened right into our reception lobby. Our receptionist, Lily, was evidently chosen for impression rather than efficiency. Though she was fine at the few things she was asked to do. She was a 21 year old out of small town Louisiana, with an accent thicker than gumbo. Her “FIE-nance”, whose wonders and virtues she bragged about to every other secretary/clerical in the shop, was named Finn—pronounced FEEE-un. She would be best described as a small town Cajun high school cheerleader.

There was an IBM Selectric at the reception desk, (the days before computers) but she was extremely deficient in spelling and typing. So, she was never assigned even overflow typing. That didn't mean she didn't type. She was constantly pounding on the keys. When asked what she was working on, she'd say, “Mah noVEL.” But she slipped the pages right into a hidden manila folder, and never let anyone see a word.

Management didn't mind. Phones got answered. Messages got taken. Guests got greeted. And Lily was always happy and smiling, and always looked great. Still, there was a lot of curiosity about this novel.

One day, a young hard-charging brand manager from Gulf Oil came in for a meeting. Clients were mostly conservative corporate types. While waiting at the front, he happened to pick up a couple of pages she had left on the desk. Something she never did. Mouth agape, he was reading them when the Account Executive he was meeting came out. He just shoved the pages at the AE with a strained, “look.”

There beneath layers of fractured grammar, and truly original spelling techniques, were two pages of a highly descriptive, highly colorful, and extremely athletic sounding porn novel.

The AE rushed the client to the conference room, and started the business at hand, afraid to even mention the now crumpled pages he had stuffed in his coat pocket. He sweated through the meeting. Neither man mentioning the pages.

The meeting ended just before lunch, so the AE and client rode down together on the elevator. The client was quiet until they got to the bottom. As the door opened, he asked, “Is she seeing anyone?”

The AE stammered out something about “engaged”, and went to get a bowl of Scotch for lunch.

Lily was asked not to work on her novel anymore. All she said was, “'K. Can I have my pages back?”

Then, only about three weeks later, as another AE was getting off the elevator with a banker client, they ran into Lily on the phone to her Mama in Louisiana, explaining that she had broken off with Finn.

Lot's of tears. And it sounded like Mama was trying to sell Finn to daughter.

“Mama.....Mama......No, Mama, I won't. No. Not ever. Mama.......Mama.......Mama..........because, Mama, Fee-un's a PRICK.” And slams the phone down.

Word flew through the office like news of a new client.

The Gulf AE, always the suck up—after all, that's what they're paid for—immediately called the young Gulf exec to tell him Lily was on the market.

Other crises, other days, other ads. Time went on.

A while later, waiting with his client for a downtown shuttle, the Gulf AE asked the client, “Say, did you ever go out with Lily?”

A terse, “Once.”

“Only once?”

“I'd never have survived a second date.”

For 30 years, I've wished I knew more.