Before Dean finished hanging up his coat, pouring a cup of over-brewed coffee and settling in his chair, Rita Angeltoni dropped a pile of telephone messages on his desk.
Not only was Rita the fastest typist in Parkside, she was the neatest.
"Three phone messages," Rita said, with no emotion.
He hoped he wouldn't put Rita to sleep transcribing it when he was finished.
Julie or Rita or Tamara hung up.
"Who are Rita and Tamara?" he asked, thereby identifying his mystery amour.
Rita Angeltoni, the token skirt, as she referred to herself, was usually there banging on her keyboard or answering the phone while keeping the quartet in line.
Rita had returned and Harrigan was knee-deep in paper work, smiling as usual, but looking as if his heart wasn't in it. ita Angeltoni was the sloppiest woman Dean had ever known.
None of this was meant to say Rita was absent redeeming qualities.
Rita never forgot anything important—or anything, period.
Hey, Rita, how come I'm supposed to call back Ida Wassermann?
Rita laughed, but neither looked up nor broke the rhythm of her flying fingers.
Rita began to clap in appreciation of his performance.
Rita would type up the taped transcript of the conversation with Mayer.
Rita wished him a nice flight the next day, pulled on a sweater with a hole through which her elbow protruded, reminded him it was after 5:00, and left the office.
"Hello, beautiful," Dean said to Rita who answered the phone.
While he should have turned the project over to Rita at headquarters, it had, after all, been Fred's idea, so he didn't complain about giving it a shot.
Rita Angeltoni banged away on her keyboard, complaining of a terminal case of morning sickness.
Looks like they're interested in your high school sweetheart, Rita answered without looking up.
He turned to Rita, "The real FBI?"
Rita typed the second expanded Byrne report, with only a mildly raised eyebrow after Dean explained more would be added later.
Just as Dean was about to follow Harrigan out the door, Rita turned from the phone to tell Dean he had a visitor downstairs.
Rita would convey the message to Jonathan Winston as well allowing Dean to temporarily duck having to explain to the FBI why he played cowboy and lost the tail instead of getting the plate number.
According to Rita Angeltoni, the seat of all wisdom, this part of the flight's on time.
Winston had more to say but held off as Rita came by, handing him a cup of coffee.
"Tell me about these loose ends," Winston said as Rita returned to her desk.
Dean said as the others returned to work, Rita shaking her head in disgust and Harrigan trying to talk on the phone by sticking a finger in one ear.
"Watch your language, asshole," Rita snarled, not missing a beat in her typing.
Sighing deeply, he told Rita he was finished for the day, jogged down the stairs to his car, and fought the late afternoon crosstown traffic to Ethel Rosewater's office.
There is a well-defined chain of mountains, of which the Pyreneos, Santa Rita and Santa Martha ranges form parts, but their elevation above the plateau is not great.
But the idea of Law was generalized in the figure of Rita (what is " fitted " or " fixed "; or the " course " or " path " which is traversed), whose Zend equivalent asha shows that the conception had been reached before the separation of the Eastern Aryans produced the migrations into India and Iran.'
In the Rig Veda the gods (even those of storm) are again and again described as "born from the Rita," or born in it, according to it, or of it.
In virtue of the mystic identity between the cosmic phenomena and sacrifice, Rita may be also viewed as the principle of the cultus; and from that sphere it passes into conduct and acquires the meaning of morality and is equated with what is " true."
Like Rita, it rises into an object of worship, and in its most exalted aspect (Asha vahista, the " best " Asha, most excellent righteousness) it is identified with Ahura himself, being fourth among his sacred names (Ormazd Yasht, § 7; S.B.E.
It was only 7:20 when Dean entered the squad room but Rita Angeltoni was already glued to her keyboard as if she'd spent the night.