CHAPTER FIVE
The wide frosted door was splashed with gilt paint reading: Doesin Literary Agency. Inside, three glamorous blonde girls who resembled chorus girls in Las Vegas rather than eighty-dollar-a-week typists sat before teak desks pounding their Olivetti typewriters in unison. Alan, leaning against a wall watched them then looked at Joyce who was slumped on a leather couch scanning a magazine.
"Mr. Graham?" A tall girl, as blonde as her coworkers came out of an office. She wore a tight-fitting black suit and three-inch stiletto heels.
Alan faced her, his heart pounding. "Yes?"
"Mr. Doesin will see you now."
He followed the woman down a corridor noting with a great deal of satisfaction that the severe skirt could not prevent her pneumatic buttocks from swiveling.
She opened a do
