by Monica Nolan
The two girls were almost exactly the same size and had the same coloring, although the bouffant framing Maxie’s heart-shaped face was a shade darker than Lois’s hair, and Lois’s complexion was a trifle more olive. But they were similar enough that even their friends sometimes confused them from a distance, especially as Maxie was in the habit of sharing her extensive wardrobe with Lois.
“But it’s so dangerous!” Lois cried. Maxie had never seen the upbeat office manager in such low spirits. “You know how reckless Netta can be when it comes to matters of principle!”
Netta Bean, Lois’s teacher girlfriend, had decided to spend her summer vacation in Mississippi registering voters. This meant that there would be an empty room on the fifth floor and an empty place in Lois’s heart.
“She’ll be fine.” Maxie tried to reassure the bereft girl. “She’s going with that Progressive School Alliance, isn’t she? And don’t forget, she’s been practicing jujitsu for almost five years now!”
“Jujitsu won’t be much use against the Klan!” retorted Lois. Tears filled her eyes anew. “It’s not just her safety. Look at this—” She waved the letter she was holding beneath Maxie’s nose. “She didn’t even stop by the office to say good-bye before catching her bus—just left this note on my bureau. Sometimes I think she wants to get away from me as much as she wants to work for the advancement of the Negro!” The revelation brought a fresh burst of tears. Maxie patted Lois’s heaving shoulders and came to a decision.
“We’re going to Francine’s and drown our sorrows with a couple of beers,” she said, taking Lois’s arm and guiding her down the street. “I’m in the same boat as you are—Pamela and I had a terrific blow-up, and I’m temporarily single too. Maybe for good!”
“Oh, Maxie, not again!” Lois was temporarily distracted from her heartache by Maxie’s news. She’d always been the biggest cheerleader for Maxie and Pamela’s on-again, off-again romance. “You two are meant for each other,” she’d told Maxie more than once.
Lois had looked up to Pamela ever since high school days, when Pamela had been the captain of the Walnut Grove High School Pep Squad, and Lois had been a freshman cheerleader. When Lois arrived in Bay City to work as a secretary, she’d discovered her high school idol was with Maxie, who dazzled the naïve teenager with her city sophistication. Perhaps it was natural that Lois idealized Maxie and Pam’s romance, even now that she was no longer naïve or a teenager. The talented business girl had just been made office manager at Sather and Stirling, a prestigious advertising agency.
“What was it this time?” Lois asked, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose.
“Well, there was this brunette in the powder room,” began Maxie as they turned the corner. She described the tempting Elaine in lascivious detail, while Lois wavered between titillation and loyalty to Pam. Loyalty won, of course.
“How can you play around on Pamela, just because some strange girl gives you the glad eye?” she scolded as they settled at a quiet table in Francine’s with their beers.
“She isn’t a stranger,” corrected Maxie. “She’s Sookie Carmichael’s cousin. Besides, I won’t have anyone telling me what I can or can’t do—not my mother, not Pamela! Even if I am down to my last two dollars and twenty-seven cents, I mean two dollars and twenty-eight cents.” Maxie looked down at the coins left after buying her and Lois’s beers, and amended, “One dollar and eighteen cents.”
Lois puzzled expression turned to perturbation as Maxie explained her financial embarrassment. “And I don’t know what I’ll tell Mrs. DeWitt,” she concluded.
“But, Maxie, this is worse than any brunette,” Lois cried. “And you just paid for our beers!”
“I’m economizing,” said Maxie proudly. “A beer is a lot cheaper than a cocktail!”
“I should be buying your drink.” Lois opened her pocketbook.
Maxie waved her hand dismissively. The chat with Lois and the beer in front of her had lifted her sagging spirits. “You can get the next round,” she said, looking at her half-empty glass.
Lois pushed a folded bill across the table. “Of course I’ll get the next round, but put this in your purse.”
“I couldn’t,” Maxie began, but Lois interrupted firmly, “Of course you can. Think of the millions of ways you’ve helped me over the past few years!”
“It’s swell of you, Lo.” Maxie gave in, tucking the bill into her pocketbook. “But I’ll need more than this to stay in Bay City.” Her buoyant spirits began to sink again. “I guess I’d better resign myself to moving back in with Mumsy.” She shuddered, and signaled the waitress: another round.
“You can’t move back to Mainwaring Manse!” Lois was adamant. “The Magdalena Arms wouldn’t be the same without you!” She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. “Have you considered looking for a full-time job?”
Maxie gave a bitter, “Ha!” continuing, “What would be the use? According to Pamela, I’m an empty-headed society girl with no qualifications or experience!”
“Who are we gossiping about?” queried a jovial voice, and Dolly Dingle pulled out a chair and sat down at their table.
Dorian “Dolly” Dingle, ex-child actress, currently eked out a living with radio commercials and modeling jobs for “art” photographers, while hoping for another shot at stardom. Now she waved at the waitress. “You girls have a head start on me. Where’s Pam, Maxie? Did you two have another fight?”
“And how! But what’s really worrying me—”
“Wait for Phyllis,” Dolly told Maxie. “Or you’ll have to tell your story twice.”
Earnest Phyllis Densher, her frizzy dishwater-blond hair caught back in a simple barrette, balanced a glass of beer as she squeezed herself in at their table.
“The waitress will come to take your order, you know,” Dolly told her.
“She’s so busy, I didn’t want to bother her,” Phyllis explained.
Do-gooding, self-effacing Phyllis worked in the statistical department of the Bay City Harbor Commission. She devoted herself in equal parts to public policy and pining after her former supervisor, Miss Ware, who’d transferred to another branch of city service. Maxie was fond of the well-meaning young bureaucrat, but could never resist teasing her.
“But, Phyllis,” she said now, “don’t you realize that when you get your own drink, you’re depriving Jill of her tips?”
Phyllis looked stricken. “I never thought of that.” She eyed her full glass of beer remorsefully. “The next one,” she resolved, lifting the glass and taking a long gulp.
“I’m sure Phyllis tipped Tobey at the bar,” said a new voice. “And Dolly will tip Jill at the table. Either way, someone gets tipped.”
The cool logic could belong to none other than—
“Janet!” chorused the girls. “We thought you were permanently buried in your books!”
Their old friend stood above them smiling down. Her smooth brown pageboy and tortoiseshell glasses were part of the brainy elegance that had always been Janet Kahn’s hallmark. Working in a law office by day and studying jurisprudence at Bay City College by night, Janet was the one all the girls looked up to. Only Pamela rivaled her work ethic, and Maxie knew that Pamela envied Janet her education, however much the merchandiser argued that experience was the best teacher.
“I just stopped by for a moment,” said Janet, slipping between Dolly and Lois. “I was hoping to see Netta before she left, but she’s—” Janet hesitated.
“Gone,” said Lois mournfully.
“Buck up, Lois,” said Dolly with a hearty pat.
“Think of all the good she’s doing,” urged Phyllis.
With an effort, Lois smiled. “I’m all right, really. I’m going to keep myself busy taking a course in the automated office at Bay City College and apartment hunting. Netta and I have decided to take the plunge and get a place of our own, when she comes back.”
There was a buzz of chatter and congratulations. But Dolly voiced Maxie’s own feeling: “Gosh, there’ll just
be three of us left on the fifth floor—Maxie, me, and Phyllis. The last three musketeers!”
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be there myself,” Maxie said gloomily, reminded of her predicament. “Mrs. DeWitt is pretty tolerant, but she’ll toss me out if I can’t pay the rent.”
The table of girls looked at Maxie in astonishment. This was monied Maxie talking, the open-handed heiress, who dabbled in journalism for fun, not profit.
“What’s the gag?” demanded Dolly.
“Maxie’s mother cut off her allowance,” explained Lois.
“It’s true.” Maxie confirmed the story, as the girls turned startled faces toward her. “I’ll have to crawl home to the Mainwaring Manse and live under Mumsy’s thumb unless I can find some way to pay the rent.”
Her friends broke into a babble of questions and exclamations and the whole story came out. “Good God,” Dolly exclaimed, when Elaine Ellman’s role was revealed, “That was one expensive kiss!”
“A slip of the lip sank this allowance ship, you might say,” quipped Maxie to cover her depression. She rose to her feet and lifted her glass. “Farewell, old gang! I guess I’d better go home and pack. Is this the end of Maxie?”
Half a dozen hands pushed her back into her seat. “Why, this isn’t the end, it’s the beginning!” Dolly declared. She signaled the waitress with a snap of her fingers. “A martini for the little lady here.” She jerked a thumb at Maxie. “It’s her independence day!”
“You’re not really going to give up your principles and move back in with your parents, are you?” Phyllis asked earnestly.
“I don’t want to,” admitted Maxie, “but what else can I do?” She looked around the circle, half hoping her friends could come up with another solution.
“What about an old-fashioned rent party?” suggested Dolly. “Ask everyone we know to contribute a few dollars.”
“You could sell some of your jewelry, or even clothes,” Lois added.
“I can give you tips on reducing expenses—the department has a budget book we hand out to destitute Docksiders.” Phyllis began digging through the woven straw bag she carried.
“Isn’t the allowance from your grandmother’s trust?” Janet mused. “Perhaps there’s a way to force your mother to give you the allowance—or even to break the trust.”
Maxie sat up straight, as a brimming martini was set down in front of her. “You mean I’d get all of Grandmother’s money at once, instead of waiting until I’m thirty-five?” This appealed to the heiress much more than Phyllis’s budget book.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” warned Janet. “Even if it’s possible, it might take quite a bit of time and money.”
“Of course.” But the idea was more intoxicating to Maxie than her martini—why, she’d be free of her parents, permanently!
“Meanwhile, you need to either pay your rent at the Magdalena Arms or go back home to Mumsy.” Janet ticked off the options on her fingers in an orderly fashion. “There’s no way around it, Maxie—you need a job!”
“But what can I do?” demanded Maxie earnestly. “Pamela seemed to think that with my lack of experience and history of dabbling no one would hire me.”
“Pamela’s just mad you were smooching that Ellman girl.” Dolly dismissed the clothes-buyer’s career wisdom. “There’s no reason you can’t make a living like the rest of us ordinary folks! Let’s see . . .”
The gang eyed Maxie judiciously, as if fitting her for a suit of clothes. “The problem,” murmured Lois, “is that you have such varied interests.”
“And talents,” added Phyllis thoughtfully.
It was true. Maxie had never been able to make up her mind what she wanted to do. She’d played with painting, trifled with cooking, and even toyed with the trumpet. She followed fashion, loved jazz, easily identified most Bay City bugs, and could recite the rules of polo and list the game’s principal players. To top it off, she spoke a smattering of French, and could fool native Finns when she exclaimed, “Kaipasin sinua paljon!”
Her job as assistant for columnist Mamie McArdle had seemed ideal. She loved roving around Bay City, investigating all sorts of abstruse topics. But at her current pay rate, the part-time position was a lark, not a career.
“If I could just figure out what I’m best at.” Maxie spoke her thoughts aloud. Suddenly Lois grabbed her arm. “There’s someone who can tell you!” She pointed a finger at the bar.
Talking to the bartender, her chestnut hair coifed in a smooth bouffant, her lime-green skimmer making her look as fresh as a Popsicle, the woman looked vaguely familiar to Maxie. “Who—?”
“That’s Doris Watkins!” Lois said proudly. “The career counselor!”
Chapter 4
Miss Watkins Is Perplexed
“Miss Watkins!” The tipsy gang of friends surrounded the startled career counselor like bobbysoxers besieging the latest teen idol. “You have to help Maxie!”
Doris Watkins had risen in the working world since her days advising high school girls stymied by the choice between nursing and teaching. From Walnut Grove High School Guidance Counselor, to Girls Reformatory Vocational Liaison, to Hospital Vocational Counselor, Miss Watkins had climbed to the top of her profession, rung by rung. But even now, in her prestigious position as Head of Personnel at the Business Machines Corporation, she was always ready to offer advice and aide to any girl suffering career confusion.
In fact, it appeared that Maxie and her friends had interrupted an impromptu counseling session with Francine’s bartender. “This business has me so bothered I can’t concentrate,” Tobey was telling the sympathetic counselor.
“I’m sure I can find a solution,” Miss Watkins said, before turning to the eager group of girls. She smiled at them, radiating her reassuring air of warmth and competence. “What’s all this about?”
“It’s Maxie.” Lois acted as spokeswoman for the group. “She simply has to find a job!”
“But I have too little experience and too many interests,” Maxie explained.
“Sounds like you’re a candidate for the Spindle-Janska Personality Penchant Assessment,” Miss Watkins told her. “If you’re free tomorrow, I can—”
“Oh, Miss Watkins, wouldn’t it be possible to take this Personality Assessment thing tonight?” Maxie interrupted eagerly.
Miss Watkins was taken aback, as the rest of the group echoed Maxie’s plea for immediate testing. “But maybe Miss Watkins doesn’t have the test with her,” good-natured Phyllis suggested, offering the dubious career counselor a way out.
“N-n-o-o-o, I always carry extra copies of the PPA,” said Miss Watkins, putting a protective arm over the leather satchel balanced on the barstool next to her. “It’s simply that I’ve never administered the test in such un-sual circumstances, to someone who’s perhaps under the influence of alcohol—”
“Just two beers and a martini,” put in Maxie.
Miss Watkins continued, as if thinking aloud, “Of course that would be an interesting data set . . . if I could compare to . . . especially given the current predilection for the liquid lunch . . .”
Tobey, who had lingered nearby wiping the bar, suggested, “She could take the test in the storeroom, away from the noise, if you want.” She winked at Maxie. “It’s a crazy test, but it does the trick!”
“All right, we’ll try it,” decided Miss Watkins. “But you must promise, Maxie, that you’ll come to my office next week and retake the test under standard conditions, so I can compare the data.”
Excited by the sudden turn of events, Maxie would have agreed to much more. While the gang returned to their drinks, Tobey ushered her into the little storeroom behind the bar and provided her with a rickety stool. Miss Watkins handed Maxie a copy of the test, along with a clipboard, which had a ballpoint pen attached to it by a silver chain.
“Don’t dwell too long on any one question,” she instructed Maxie with a smile. “Your instinctive reaction is what we’re after. This test is about you and your pe
rsonality—there are no right or wrong answers.”
The door latched behind her, and Maxie was alone in the dimly lit storeroom. The ex-deb felt a wave of trepidation, as she wondered what the test would reveal about her personality. She’d never worried about her character before—that kind of introspection was for squares and dullards! But what if her penchant proved to be for partying? What if the test showed she had an aptitude for exactly nothing? What if Pamela was right, and Maxie didn’t have what it took to make it as a career girl?
“There’s only one way to find out,” Maxie told herself firmly as she picked up the pen and bent over the test.
The Personality Penchant Assessment started with easy questions: did she prefer to work outdoors or indoors; with a group or alone; how many windows did she think were ideal in an office? Either, wrote Maxie. Both, but I like to be in charge. Two, at least.
You prefer to be . . . You’re attracted by . . . When doing x, y, or z you a) rapidly become bored, b) work for an alloted time and then stop, c) lose track of time and only stop when recalled to your surroundings by some outside force . . . The questions and choices marched on.
Next Maxie was confronted by a succession of hypothetical scenarios that had her furrowing her forehead. If she found a $10 bill . . . if she missed her train . . . if she was suddenly orphaned; “Which I have been, in a way,” she muttered to herself.
You are walking through a dense forest and you come to a log that lies across your path. Do you leap over it or walk carefully around it? Maxie lifted her head and stared unseeingly at the case of Old Taylor 86, The World’s Most Popular Bourbon, trying to imagine the situation. It would all depend on how thick the underbrush was, and whether she was wearing an old pair of dungarees or a new pair of capris. She envisioned the forest at Loon Lake, majestic pines casting tranquil green shade on the velvety forest floor, the hum of mosquitos, the cool damp; she saw chipmunks scurrying, and down the path, a big-eyed fawn, still as a statue. Then the fawn was Elaine, her diamond engagement ring glittering in a shaft of light that penetrated the thick canopy, as she parted her scarlet lips in surprise.
