Jack Olsen is probably my VERY favorite true crime writer - he's about six million times better than Ann Rule, btw - but one of his first books was this anonymous confessional thingummybob about women office workers at an unnamed Fortune 500 company in NYC. (I believe "The Company" was later revealed to be Time-Life.) You can tell how old it is by (1) the fact that the paperback cost $1.50 new and (2) the presence of a rotary fone and an IBM typewriter on the cover. Silly, silly, SILLY book, reminds me of those ridiculous features in the Cosmopolitan magazines I used to tote around and gawp at when I wasn't fretting about not looking enuf like Paulina on the cover. The bad news is it's out of print; the good news is that ABE Books has about 55 used copies for way cheap.
Content-wise, it's like reading "Looking for Mr. Goodbar" translated to LiveYearnal format. All these wimmen spending their time getting sloshed, fending off lesbians and having go-nowhere destructive affairs with executives. Except for the ones who don't want to mix business with pleasure and therefore prefer to screw Greenwich Village bartenders instead. Apparently being a Greenwich Village Bartender, at some shining point in history, was about on par with being Bob Dylan. And you wonder why I dis New York City :P
Here's a choice excerpt:
A month or so later, right after lunch, one of the messenger girls came out of Jock's office looking absolutely ashen. "Stacy!" she whispered. "He's sitting there with his fly open! He's got it out! He's playing with it!"
"Oh my God!" I said. "No, you must be imagining things."
"I'm not imagining ANYTHING!" the girl said, and she ran out of the office.
Readers will no doubt be relieved to know that "Jock" gets committed to a mental institution by the end of the chapter, after his secretary has to have his chair cleaned numerous times. LOL