The day we got the news, everyone rejoiced. The "dragon lady," as everyone referred to Marianne, was leaving. Evangeline, our director, had been promoted to head another agency and was taking Marianne with her. We'd all been hoping, but knew that Evangeline didn't really care for her and assumed we'd be stuck. A couple of us had even stoked the rumor mill, putting it about that Linda was taking Marianne with her because Marianne was so good at minding everyone else's business it would be a quick way for Evangeline to get the lay of the new landscape. Or because Marianne was such so far up Evangeline's butt that Evangeline simply considered her another appendage.

Whether the rumors helped or not, it was going to happen, and that's all that mattered to us. We would finally be free of the phony friendliness, the nagging e-mails, the prissy attention to the most mind-numbing and irrelevant of details. But beyond the celebration, a doubt nagged at me, and I remembered a phrase I'd heard somewhere: "The beast you know is better than the beast you don't know."

Spirits were high in the office for the next few days, and everyone commented that whomever was chosen to take Marianne's place, it couldn't be worse. The doubt that had introduced itself to me earlier began to grow, becoming more ominous. "Don't say that," I warned them, but like drunks at a bacchanalia, they continued to revel in their freedom. Because no one stepped forward, my boss told me that it would be my responsibility to organize a going-away party for Marianne.

I called a few restaurants, and planned a luncheon at the least expensive one. I half-heartedly drafted an announcement and e-mailed it around. I put together a list of the people who signed up to attend the party &em; all five of them. I sent out twice the number of party reminders usually sent out, simply because no one had responded. People usually jumped at these parties if, for nothing else, an afternoon out of the office for which they didn't need to charge leave time.

Marianne had been there nearly seven years, and it seemed sad to me that only five people out of an agency of a hundred and fifty cared enough about her to wish her well. Personally, I never went to any of these parties. I was usually too busy, or had something else scheduled for the same time. But I'd have to go to this one, if for nothing other than paying the restauranteur. So at least six people would show up.

And on the afternoon of the party, that's all there were &em; six of us. It was awkward and we were all embarrassed for Marianne, but she got through the party with her dignity intact. At the end, when we turned over the card with the small gift certificate we'd gotten with the meager donations received, she accepted it gracefully and stood to make a toast. I had to admire her poise even if I was glad to see the back of her.

"I know it was difficult to live with me for all those years," Marianne said, looking around the table. "I've always been a perfectionist and I don't know how to be anything else. But it was my job to make sure things got done, no matter how hard I had to make your lives in the process." She raised her glass and looked around. "In praise of dragons," she said with a large smile, and lifted the glass to her lips. Everyone sat, momentarily stunned, as they realized that she'd always been aware how we regarded her. And had perpetuated her behavior despite it.

She came in the next morning to clear out her office and stopped by mine on the way out to thank me for the party. "I know we've had our differences," she said, "but think about how much we accomplished. Would you and your group have worked as hard if I hadn't been riding you all those years?"

I thought about it, but couldn't decide. "We'll never know," I replied. Marianne smiled, shook my hand and said goodbye. Her final question was still on my mind when my supervisor called.

"Marianne's replacement will be starting tomorrow," he told me, and he didn't sound happy about it.

"Oh? Who is it?"

"Some guy Ralph that the second floor is sending over. I heard he's a real prick."

"Wonderful!" I groaned and hung up the phone. Dragon or prick? Seemed like the proverbial rock and hard place. Maybe there was something to be said for dragons after all.

Props to the CHPercolator List for the prompt
March 10, 2001
778 words