HumpdayforHelen: The Acme Detective Agency

When the door to your friend’s business says Acme Detective Agency, even if the bulk of the business will be bookbinding, not detection—or is bookbinding a red herring?—you attend the grand opening dressed in a short skirt and trench coat. After all, you’ve already inquired as to his need for an assistant. You are in fact the fourth woman to ask about this, and he is willing to hire every one of you, noting, of course, his current lack of cash. He jokes about TV and Angels and how you are the only blonde, so you’d get top billing, of course. Funny. You didn’t realize you were blonde—how dark the other women must be. He talks about his cases—so far, people trying to find other people. Maybe he could pay you $30 for a little work. You wonder what you can offer beyond deeper Internet digging, a phone call or two. You dream instead of high-heeled reception, a bottle of whiskey in the file drawer, the heft of the black receiver plucked from the cradle of the insistently ringing rotary telephone: Acme Detective Agency, you say. How can we help you?