Judy Christenberry - The Last Bachelor

“Ginger, I’m not complaining about the food. I’m complaining about how much you’re trying to do.”

It frustrated Joe that she didn’t seem to comprehend his concern.

It was Ginger who spoke next. “Mr. Small, if you will excuse me for five minutes, I need to talk to Joe, er, Mr. Turner, and then I will return to work.”

Joe hated her kowtowing to Harvey. “We’ll take as long as we need, Ginger. Harvey doesn’t mind, do you, Harvey?” He shot the club manager a determined look as he took Ginger’s arm and led her through the doors into the Men’s Grill.

“Joe, Mr. Small will be mad at me. He may dock my wages,” Ginger said with fear.

“I’ll bet he doesn’t,” Joe said grimly.

“But what’s wrong? I’m only doing what you said,” Ginger said, a plea in her voice.

“What are you talking about? I never said for you to work yourself into the ground. And walking to work from the condo? That’s ridiculous.”

“But I had to get to work.”

“That’s just it. You don’t have to come to work.”

She stared at him, panic in her eyes. “You said I could continue to work, to save my money if they send me back.”

“Honey, I said you could work, but not all the time. You’re taking nine hours a week at the community college and working every other minute here. You need more time to relax. I’m going to tell Harvey to cut you back to…to twenty hours a week. Okay?”

“No!” Ginger cried, tears in her eyes. “You promised.”

She had him there. He had promised, but he’d had no idea how many hours she put in. “How many do you usually work?”

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