Ms. Change

The bookish Ms. Markington looked for all the world as if her wit’s end had been passed for quite some time. Not only was her prim, wrapped hairdo of thirty years, now sans chignon bun, transformed to cascading, whimsical silvered locks which flounced about her neck and shoulders as she crossed the foyer. Her ubiquitous tortoise-shell glasses,also, were gone, quadrupling the size of what everyone remembered as tiny bulls-eyes. A simple white sheath dress served nicely for the warm May afternoon.

“Alice?” Mr. Meijer asked.

“Yes, Brandon, it is me,” Ms. Markington confirmed, calling her boss by his surname for the first time in her career.