I felt nauseated for the first time this morning. Not because of morning sickness, but because the newsroom received a visit from Opal Haynesworth. In a miniskirt.

Honestly, when AARP sends out welcome kits to people on their fiftieth birthdays, they really ought to include a sentence in the cover letter about how any members showing leg above the knee will be automatically excommunicated and their senior citizen’s discounts irreparably revoked. Tina Turner and Valerie Bertinelli excepted.

As her name suggests, Opal hails from the time period when it was vogue to name your daughter after a rare mineral. Ruby or Pearl, for example. And like many of the women I’ve known bearing those names, there’s a hardness about her. She doesn’t have time to dally with young whippersnappers like most of us staffing the newsroom and makes it clear in any and all contact, whether via telephone, e-mail, or in person. She’s like Descartes in a dark mood: “You exist, therefore I hate you.”

Opal’s father owned a newspaper, which not only means she automatically (and erroneously) assumes she can write, but also that she also grew up believing she could write whatever she wanted. So when any copy editor judiciously cuts her lengthy diatribes against Peachtree County residents whose only real crime is to have a greater net worth than she has, Opal invariably calls the newsroom and rails. I always know who’s on the line when the copy desk chief answers and holds the receiver a foot from his ear.

Jesse Miln, the Herald’s editor-in-chief, asks Beck to assign Opal a story on occasion simply, I think, to get her out of his hair. Or at least out of his office. Not liking the freelancer any more than the rest of us, Beck complies out of deference for Jesse and nothing more.

It was just such an assignment that brought the yippy little Chihuahua to the paper today.

“Ellie, I just loved your library story,” Opal oozed as she breezed past my desk on the way to speak with Beck. “It’s amazing the things you can learn about your own county when you read the paper.”

“Thanks,” I replied, not bothering to look up from my computer. “And hey, I really like that skirt. That’s a great look for you.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lisa, the graphics editor, nearly spew her Coke as she clamped her hand over her mouth and doubled over in her chair.

Opal stopped and turned. “Do you really think so? I wondered if this look might be a bit young for me.”

I’m not much of a poker face, but get me riled enough, and I can pull it off. “Opal, trust me. You keep wearing skirts like that, and I can assure you heads will turn.” To retch in the trash can, anyway, I fired off in an instant message to Lisa.

“Thanks.” Opal smiled, looking like she thought I might have good sense after all.

“Don’t mention it.”

Beck came and sat on the edge of my desk after Opal left. “Be careful, Ellie. She’s after your job, you know.”

I crossed my arms. “You’d actually fire me and hire her?”

“No. But my decision isn’t the final one, and she’s just waiting for you to slip up.”