arielle_san (arielle_san) wrote in secretaryfans,

So, ok, I know this community is almost dead but I thought I'd post this little silly fanfic that I forgot I wrote right after I saw the movie for the first time. It's not very long and certainly isn't very deep. Doesn't really delve into either one of the main characters' psyches, but I thought I'd share it anyway since I know a lot of yous guys were looking for some Secretary fanfiction (as lame as it may be).

Hope you like it!

Lee is looking at Mr. Grey. 

In front of a faded blue typewriter and ten bottles of whiteout Lee is sitting at her tiny desk and Lee is looking at Mr. Gray. With her foot not tapping and her busy tongue still and in place in her mouth, Lee is looking at Mr. Grey. Or perhaps it really would be better to say that Lee is not not looking at Mr. Grey. Because Lee is always looking at Mr. Grey and to report otherwise would be a much more interesting observation. 

Looking in general for Lee is not an all together uncommon exercise. It fits her really; some people talk or listen or observe. Lee looks. Lately she's been dabbling with ever so many different kinds of activities that fit under the spectrum of looking. More recently, in fact, she's tried her hand at gazing. Gazing, staring, gawking, she even experimented with ogling for a bit. Gazing, though, she has decided to herself when she mulls it over in her daily walks home seems to fit the situation best. 

Really, she shouldn't be gazing. She should be typing unless told otherwise. She eyes the bottles of whiteout that stand challengingly above her on top of the typewriter. She stares at her work in progress, a half typed letter to one Mrs. Tandy regarding  pantyhose, oatmeal cookies, and a sexual harassment suit. Or more specifically, Lee stares at the word 'presently' or the word that should be presently but that is instead 'presntly'. She eyes her fingers, the little devils who in all their furious dancing, have decided to omit an e. Her eyes flip up again to Mr. Grey, to the tantalizing group of red pens that lay organized neatly in a row on his mahogany desk,  back to the whiteout. She picks up the bottle and unscrews the lid slowly. Her eyes move once more to the missing e and the bad, bad, bad, mistake she has made

She thinks about the word 'sincerele' that should have been 'sincerely' and about Mr. Grey on the phone and the red pens tightly held in a wire pencil case and about her stinging disappointment.  

But Mr. Grey is not on the phone today.
And she's caught him looking at her.

She closes the bottle.
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