Word: receptionist
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...gave passersby the impression that he was a maintenance man. The elevator stops at the 27th floor; Whitman lugged his bizarre cargo up three flights of steps to the 30th floor. There, at a desk next to the glass-paneled door that opens onto the observation deck, he encountered Receptionist Edna Townsley, 47, a spirited divorcee and mother of two young sons. Whitman bashed her head in, probably with a rifle butt, with such force that part of her skull was torn away, also shot her in the head. Then he left her behind a sofa...
...carries with it some perquisites that a mere major general might envy. Occupying Pentagon office 3E673, a capacious suite just across the corridor from General Johnson's headquarters, Wooldridge sits in a high-backed leather chair behind a large desk with a six-button phone, has a WAC receptionist and a full-time clerical assistant. At nearby Fort Myer, an air-conditioned, eight-room house has been remodeled for Wooldridge, his wife Barbara and their five children...
...Actress Françhise Rosay rabbets in some surprises as a hardened crone who rents out high-powered burglary tools by the hour. Any doubt that the female is the deadlier of the species is dispelled by shapely Irina Demick, who shows up rather late as an art gallery receptionist all abustle with her own bright ideas about framing. A sweet and submissive mantrap, Irina ultimately makes away with an art collection, most of the petty cash, and the show...
...glass-framed award certificates, hung on the walls like diplomas. The silence is emphasized by the drone of voices from the massive color TV set, always on and tuned to WBZ-TV, and is broken occasionally by a buzz from the switchboard behind a high counter, followed by the receptionist's greeting, "WBZ, Group W." Instead of patients, middle-aged promotion men holding bundles of paper-jacketed 15's sit talking of the publicity job for an Al Hirt concert and about bringing the Four Seasons to Boston for the March of Dimes...
...Gothic house broods amid mist and smog. The traveler who reaches the lonely relic stands damply in a small reception hall presided over by a surly owl with satanically gleaming eyes. But there is no apparent way for the new arrival to get out of the room. Then the receptionist makes a quiet suggestion: a few words, perhaps "Open sesame!", to the owl? The visitor speaks, and, lo, the innocent-looking bookcase near the bird swings open, revealing a crowded bar. The visitor is in The Magic Castle, the U.S.'s only private supper club specially devoted to magicians...