Secret
by Marianne—Age 48—Redwood City, CA
I was once a researcher for the Philippine President’s Special Research Project. I had no idea what being a research assistant entailed. Since I was referred by an English teacher who frequently praised my writing, I thought I would get to write. My boss was RPP, a well-known graphic artist, whose prints were said to be hanging in the Uffizi gallery in Florence.
On my first day of work, RPP handed me a stack of books by the anthropologist Oscar Lewis. RPP then indicated that I was to go page by page through the books, writing on index cards all the activities of the characters, and then marking the number of times such activities were repeated. I made up my own categories: making love, 23 times; cursing: 50 times; cooking: 76 times, etc. For the first few weeks, that was all I did.
After a while, it dawned on me that the whole office was working on a mysterious book. As if by magic, manuscript pages were produced and carted off to Malacañang Palace, where the president, Ferdinand Marcos, resided.
At the end of every week, I handed my boss a stack of index cards with my notations. These he took with him into his private room, and I had no idea what he did with them.
I got to know the other secretaries pretty well. They all told ribald jokes. They frequently remarked on how good my ass looked in the tight jeans I wore. They weren’ ’t lesbians, since they were all married and had kids. They just sincerely liked complimenting me on my ass.
When RPP was out of the office, I would take long lunch breaks. There was a movie theatre directly across the street. Once, in a darkened and almost empty movie theatre, a man sat next to me and held a paper bag on his lap. I didn’t know what he was up to but I left without finishing the movie.
Eventually, I did something (I don’t even remember what) that angered RPP. He stopped speaking to me. This treatment shattered me. I wrote RPP a letter and said I was quitting to go to graduate school in the States. It was true; I had been accepted to Stanford, but I didn’t need to be there for another three months.
Eccentric bosses have always given me plenty of material for stories.
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