Christine browsed the back pages of On Screen magazine the next day. With a red marker, she circled an ad with borders and centered text:
PRIME TYPE
Manuscripts * Screenplays * Treatments
Résumés * Correspondences * Reports
A Professional Typing Service
(212) 555-4185
Janice Levine
Christine picked up her cell phone and dialed the number.
“Good afternoon,” a woman answered. “Prime Type, this is Janice. How may I help you?”
“Hi,” Christine said. “I have a series of handwritten diaries that I’d like transcribed. How fast do you type?”
“One hundred words per minute.”
“Far out! Are you serious? How much do you charge?”
“Five dollars per page for the first time a page is typed and three dollars per page each time a page is revised. When would you like to have them typed?”
“ASAP, no doubt. I want them done in a few weeks, if possible. I’m in a big, fat hurry.”
“I understand. It can be done if the text is not too illegible.”
“I can help with that. I would like to know if it can be done at my place.”
“Well, I have a word processor–”
“Actually, I have my reasons for wanting it to be done here. I’m not comfortable with the idea of having the diaries removed from the premises. They’re just too valuable, too precious. You’ll know what I mean when you see them.”
“Do you have a computer with a word processor then?”
“Yes. I recently bought one along with a printer, though I don’t know anything about typing or computers. The boxes are still sitting here unopened. Would you, by any chance, know how to set it up?”
“Oh, yes. It’s a breeze. Also, you won’t need the printer unless you want a hard copy of the script. Everything is done online nowadays. You can send your manuscript by e-mail or upload it to an online publishing company. You can even self-publish, if that’s your preference. Make sure you have backup though, like a flash drive.”
“I don’t even know what a flash drive is.”
“I can help you with that.”
“Oh, good. Well, I guess it’s a deal then. Oh, one more thing. I’m going to give you a typing test, just for the sake of validity. I want to be certain of what I’m getting into, you know.”
“I understand. It’s no problem.”
“Good. When can you start?”
“Immediately.”
“Perfect.”
Janice plugged the cord into the power surge protector under the computer desk.
“There,” she said. “Now, we’re all set.”
Janice stood and brushed lint from the front of her cream-colored slacks. She turned on the computer and the printer. Christine stood by with mild indifference.
“I want to thank you again for all the trouble you’ve gone through, Janice,” Christine said. “I appreciate it more than you know.”
“Naw,” Janice said. “It’s not every day that I get to do this sort of thing. It helps to deviate from the norm, you know. I’m enjoying it. The daily conundrum and isolation from typing at home can get to me after a while.”
“All righty then,” Christine said. She walked over to the table, scooped up an old paperback novel, then selected a page at random, and handed it to Janice.
“I’m going to time you for five minutes. Just type this. Afterwards, I’ll have you sign a confidentiality agreement because what I’m about to give you is considered very privileged information. I would like for you to be here eight hours a day. You’re more than welcome to do overtime, if you wish. You may come in at eight, nine, or ten in the morning, and you’re free to use the restroom, take your lunch break anytime, and as for breaks, there are no ten- or fifteen-minute breaks. Feel free to take all the breaks you want, provided you get back to typing. Also, there’s coffee and stuff here for you, and if you smoke, please smoke out on the balcony.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“Even better.”
“So, what’s the overall scheme of things concerning the diaries?”
“The plan is to write an exposé that would become an international, bestselling, nonfiction book and blow everything wide open about Rose Hutchins.”