by Monica Nolan
“Mmm.” Lon was nibbling on her earlobe. Maxie had taken off her matching pearl earrings, but she’d forgotten to show them to Pete.
“Do you do that every day?” Maxie was intrigued.
“Only on special occasions.” Lon began kissing her again. When they next came up for air, Maxie remembered to take a gander at the bar. No one was looking at them. The men were all riveted by the televised baseball game.
“Since your Pete wouldn’t take my pearls, maybe you’ll make me a loan,” she suggested playfully. “I suppose you charge loan-shark interest?”
“Of course.” Lon nuzzled Maxie’s hair while Maxie tried to decide once again whether the beautiful butch was on the level.
“On the other hand, I’ve already made one shady deal this month. I think that’s my limit,” Maxie said, thinking of Mrs. Olssen and the milk money.
“What are you talking about?” Lon sat up.
“You mean, you don’t know all about it already?” Maxie was pleased to discover a look of alarm in the other girl’s eyes.
“Listen, Maxie—kidding aside—keep your nose clean.” Lon seemed serious.
“My nose is as clean as a fresh handkerchief,” retorted Maxie. “I’m working at an honest job and—oh!” She clapped her hand to her mouth in dismay. “I’ve got to get back!”
Darn that Lon, Maxie thought as she ran back to Sather and Stirling. That shady Sapphic sister had driven her substitute-receptionist job right from her head! Maxie didn’t even want to think what Lois would say, or worse, how she’d look. Her fifth-floor neighbor might be lenient about a little noontime necking, but office manager Lois would call her on the carpet! The temporary receptionist quailed at the thought.
She flew into the office, breathless, the handkerchief she’d used to wipe away her smeared lipstick still in her hand. “I’m awfully sorry, Lois,” she began. But to her surprise Lois was beaming at her.
“Good news, Maxie!” she said as the frazzled ex-deb slipped on the headset and settled herself at the switchboard. “Miss Watkins called—she thinks she’s found you the perfect job.”
Chapter 14
Polish
Maxie sat in the reception area of Polish magazine, trying to quell the butterflies in her stomach. Why hadn’t she ever finished that secretarial course? Everyone said only the sharpest girls were considered for Bay City’s most famous fashion magazine—the kind who typed ninety words a minute and brewed a perfect cup of coffee while answering phones with tact and style. When Maxie had told the girls at the Arms that she had an interview with dynamic young editor Harold “Hal” Hapgood, they’d wished her well, but urged her, one and all, not to get her hopes up. Only Miss Watkins seemed confident that Maxie and Hal would click.
“Stop thinking about what you can’t do, and remember all you have to offer,” she’d advised the anxious ex-deb. “You have some unique qualifications that will have Hal slavering to hire you!”
At least she looked polished, in new summer shoes and a buffed-up bouffant. She touched the Mainwaring pearls at her throat, glad she hadn’t pawned them after all.
She looked around the office, with its modern furniture and fixtures, its vases of fresh flowers and the big windows lined with oyster-white drapes, which looked out over bustling Bay City. What a contrast to the grim courtyard of the Eleanor Roosevelt School! She bent her head to study the latest issue of Polish, which she’d picked up off the low cherrywood coffee table, polished, of course, to such a high gloss that she could practically check her lipstick in its gleaming surface.
Who’s going to be at the Gundersons’ annual garden party? Why, practically everyone. The fete benefits Bay City’s favorite charity, the Bay City Beautification Fund, and “beauteous” is the word for the festive array of flowers on the grounds of the Gundersons’ famed country cottage....
The column was called “Here and There” and seemed to be an excuse to stuff the page with as many names of Bay City movers and shakers as was possible.
Funny, how appealing the magazine made the Gundersons’ flower fete sound, when Maxie remembered how dull she’d always found that particular party. She flipped to the fashion spread.
“Mr. Hapgood will see you now.” A soignée secretary, her hair coiled in a smooth French knot, appeared before Maxie. The aspiring magazine assistant hastily put the copy of Polish back on the table, taking the time to align its edges with the five other copies. Then she followed the girl, who moved quickly through the busy office, picking up proofs and copy and passing on mysterious instructions like, “Mr. Hapgood wants the mood to be louche, not sordid—he says you’ll have to salvage it somehow,” without even stopping. She deposited the pile she’d collected on a desk outside a door that said HAROLD HAPGOOD in raised metal letters. Knocking on the door, she opened it without waiting for an answer. “Miss Mainwaring, Mr. Hapgood.” She waved Maxie in.
“Thanks, Lucille.” Hal Hapgood rose from behind his desk as Maxie crossed the big office to shake his outstretched hand. The door shut behind her with a quiet click.
“Maxie Mainwaring, welcome!” The editor was a slight man, under average height, with a high forehead, his sandy hair combed straight back. He was unexpectedly dandy in a striped summer suit with a forget-me-not in the buttonhole. His eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses were sharp as they surveyed Maxie.
“So you think you can add an extra gleam to Polish, do you?”
“Well, I want a job here, if that’s what you mean,” the girl replied without thinking. She was trying to decide if she’d met Mr. Hapgood before or if he just looked like someone she knew.
The editor seemed amused. “And why is that?”
“It would be more pleasant than what I’ve been doing.” Maxie decided that honesty was her best policy. Hadn’t Miss Watkins told her to be herself?
Hal laughed this time, a short bark. “Don’t be too sure,” he warned her. “I’m glad to see losing your allowance hasn’t stifled your spunky spirit.” He eyed the ex-debutante to see how she reacted to this reference to the springtime scandal.
“The only thing it’s affected is my pocketbook!” Maxie retorted.
“But do you know how to work?” Hal queried, suddenly serious.
Maxie thought of all the different jobs she’d held and experiences she’d acquired. “I’ll do anything you throw at me,” she declared. “I can check facts, and even invent them! I can break up a schoolyard brawl, answer twelve phone lines, and speak a little Finnish. I’ve explained the facts of life to a four-year-old, and I know the difference between an ellipsoidal and a Fresnel!”
Hal seemed impressed. Then he asked the dreaded question: “Can you type? Take shorthand?”
“Not very well,” Maxie replied lamely. “But I’m a quick learner!” However, she could tell she’d lost precious ground.
“I’ll be honest with you, Maxie.” Hal picked up a freshly sharpened pencil and twirled it between his two hands. “I was intrigued when Miss Watkins suggested I see you. I must admit I like your style. But I have dozens of applicants for this post, each of whom has top-notch secretarial skills. What can you offer, honestly, that could compensate for that lack?”
He was already beginning to get up, as if the question was rhetorical.
“I know where I know you from!” Maxie cried triumphantly. “You came home one Easter with Ginger’s brother Greg! I forgot to say, I have an excellent memory for faces,” she added modestly.
She’d known him only as Harold, but now she could see traces of Greg’s soulful prep-school friend who wrote poetry, and had been altogether unlike Greg’s rugby-playing crowd.
“Why, of course.” Hal sat back down. “The two little girls, always underfoot. I’d forgotten it was the Mainwarings who lived next door. That was long ago, before I needed to know who was who in Bay City.” The editor fell into a nostalgic reverie.
“We used to follow you, when you and Greg went walking in the ravines,” Maxie reminisced. It had been her first observatio
n of youthful passions. “Are you still friends with Greg?”
Hal spread his hands. “You know how it is. He’s married now with a couple kids.” He gave Maxie a look filled with meaning. “We take a fishing trip together, from time to time.”
They sat a moment in comfortable cameraderie, two denizens of the twilight world, letting their hair down.
“I really would like to hire you, Maxie,” the editor said regretfully. “But my second assistant must be able to—”
Maxie interrupted. She felt more confident now that she was talking to Greg’s old friend Harold. “I bet you’ve got typists by the dozen here. But do you have someone who knows Bay City society like the back of her hand, the way I do? Who’s visited the Houcks at home? Who’s summered at Loon Lake since infancy? Can any of them ask impertinent questions of important people and get away with it? Do they know”—she leaned forward and lowered her voice—“that half the flowers at the Gundersons’ garden party are flown in from out of state?”
“No!” gasped Hal.
“Yes,” said Maxie with certainty.
“You’re right,” Hal decided abruptly. “You might be just what I need!” He stood up and held out his hand. “Welcome to Polish!”
Maxie danced out of the Polish offices in delight. Not only had she gotten the job, but she’d be making almost twice what she’d earned as a Recreational Aide!
She phoned Miss Watkins from the lobby to share her success. Her stalwart supporter was delighted by the news. “I’ll put it with your dossier,” she told Maxie. “When Mrs. Spindle-Janska returns from the Helsinki conference, and looks at the results of the OCIVAC . . .”
Maxie replaced the receiver, wondering when the indefatigable career counselor would realize her job was done. Maxie was positive she had finally found the perfect position.
And tonight was the party at Janet’s to celebrate her passing the bar exam, Maxie remembered. What an equally perfect way to celebrate!
As she hung up the phone, Maxie saw a familiar face—Kitty was dawdling on the sidewalk, looking in the windows of the jewelry store on the bottom floor of the building opposite. What on earth was she doing in this neighborhood? Bay City College was all the way across town.
Kitty glanced at the lobby, and suddenly hurried away.
Curious, thought Maxie. Didn’t she see me?
She followed the strange psych student around the corner and down the block. Her neighbor suddenly darted into a building. Maxie hurried after her. She had a feeling she was about to prove that the supposed psychology student didn’t know an introvert from an extrovert!
Through the glass doors, she saw Kitty step onto an automatic elevator. She entered the empty lobby and watched the floor indicator until it stopped on the eighth floor. Then she turned her attention to the building’s directory. A rare bookseller, something called Sociological Survey Editions, a literary agency—which one was Kitty visiting? Maxie frowned. Kitty could be visiting any of them, quite innocently.
Nontheless, she boarded the elevator and rode to the eighth floor. “Eeny, meeny, miney, moe,” she whispered. Her pointing finger landed on IRA ABRAMOVICH, ANTIQUARIAN, RARE EDITIONS. But when she entered, the room behind the frosted glass door with the gold-leaf lettering held only an old man with a flowing white beard, bent over an illuminated manuscript. When he lifted his head inquiringly, Maxie backed out, saying, “Sorry! My mistake.”
The elevator door was just closing. Darn it! Had she lost her quarry? Maxie looked at the literary agency. Was Kitty just another girl who dreamed of being a writer? But why would she hide that? Maxie opened the door to Sociological Survey Editions, putting her money on the dark horse.
It was a publishing company, a small one. There was a rack of books in the reception area. Maxie picked one up. In the Suburbs was the title. Wife-swapping! Dipsomania! Reefer parties! ran the cover line. Where boredom runs rampant and morals are trampled! Maxie turned it over and read that the suburbs featured a host of problems she could learn about if she read the sociological study by Dr. Calvin A. Kilmer, Ph.D.
“May I help you?” Maxie looked up to find a gray-haired woman gazing at her suspiciously.
“I was supposed to meet a friend,” fibbed Maxie. “Dark hair, Peter Pan collar?”
“You mean Miss Coughlin.” The woman relaxed. “One of our authors. Are you . . . did you have an interview appointment with her?”
“Yes,” lied Maxie, curious to see what would happen.
A man came out of an office in back, and shot Maxie a piercing glance. “Mr. Freitag, this young woman was looking for Miss Coughlin.” She lowered her voice and murmured something.
“Won’t you come with me, Miss, er . . . ?”
“Maxine,” Maxie said. She followed the clean-shaven, gray-haired man, reasoning that she could always use one of Nadia’s holds on him if he tried anything funny.
He led her to a small bare office and told her to sit down. Then he took out a portable recorder and placed it on the desk. “This is our Stellavox,” he explained, noticing Maxie’s startled look. “We record all our interviews.” He attached a microphone and pressed a button. “Interview, Maxine,” he said, and followed with the date and time. He turned his piercing gray eyes on Maxie. “When did you first enter the deviant life?”
Chapter 15
House Party
Maxie burst into the Arms full of her new job and her new discovery. “Hallooo!” she caroled, when she reached the fifth floor. “Where is everybody? I’ve got news!” How the girls would exclaim when she told them that Kitty, the new girl, was playing the innocent student while spying on all of them in order to write a supposedly serious sociological study of the Sapphic sisterhood!
“Just a minute.” It was Dolly’s voice, but it was coming from Netta’s empty room.
Maxie put her ear to the door and heard another voice saying, “Lift your chin, just a hair—good! Hold that.”
“Stella?” Maxie pushed open the door, and was momentarily blinded by a flash of light. She blinked and saw a nearly nude Dolly, stretched out on a polar-bear skin, complete with snarling snout.
“Maxie!” Dolly glared at her, while not moving a muscle. “You might have knocked. Was that okay?” she asked anxiously.
Stella was climbing down from a small stepladder behind a camera on a tripod, holding a strobe light in one hand. “Perfect!” she said cheerfully. “You looked genuinely surprised—as if you had seen Santa coming down the chimney.”
“I’m sorry.” Maxie remembered now that Dolly had written for, and received, permission from Netta to turn the absent teacher’s room into a temporary studio. She and Stella had been hard at work on their photography project all last week. Now Maxie looked around the room, impressed by the transformation. Netta’s bed had been pushed into a corner and the rest of the furniture piled on top. Dark cloth covered the narrow window and a roll of heavy paper was taped to the wall behind Dolly, painted soft smudges of pink and green and beige. “It looks like a real studio!”
Dolly had scrambled to her feet and was putting on a robe. “Not bad, huh? A little small, but we make it work!”
“Maybe the world doesn’t need another girlie calendar,” Stella apologized, a little shamefaced. “Not the way it needs, say, Louise’s treatise, ‘The Homosexual and Her Society.’ But the money . . .” She sighed.
“I think it sounds exciting,” reassured Maxie. “I’d love to help! I’ll ask around the art department at Polish for photo-shoot tips.”
Dolly stopped in her tracks. “You got the job at Polish ?” She whooped. “No one thought it could be done!”
Stella’s eyes were wide with admiration. “That’s marvelous, Maxie, just marvelous!”
Their response was as satisfying as she’d hoped. “And guess what else,” she began, ready to tell them she’d been right about Kitty.
But Dolly was saying, “I can’t wait to see Pamela’s face when she hears. She’s going to be at Janet’s party, you know.”
Maxie’s heart beat faster. She hadn’t been sure Pam would show. Would Pamela be impressed by her prestigious new job? Was this the weapon that would win back her hardworking girlfriend?
“I’d better go change.” The magazine assistant tried to sound casual.
Magazine publishing and gossip vanished from Maxie’s mind like mist as she contemplated the contents of her closet. She pulled out the mauve sundress Pamela had gotten her at a sample sale last summer, wondering if Pamela would feel as sentimental at the sight of it as she did. She fussed over her makeup, and fluffed her bouffant. She wanted to look her best!
Janet’s little studio was crowded when the girls from the Magdalena Arms arrived. Stella had tagged along, at Dolly’s invitation. “I’d like to come,” the amateur photographer confessed. “With Francine’s the way it is, private parties are the only way to have any fun!”
Maxie surveyed the mob, wondering how many girls were here to cruise, and how many to celebrate Janet’s success. The newly minted lawyer, flushed and happy, stood by the fireplace, with her certificate propped up next to her on the mantel. Maxie wiggled through the crowd to congratulate her. “Are you going to get a girl now?” she shouted over the din. Janet had always sworn she would avoid any entanglements until after she passed the bar. Now she shouted back, “After I find a job!” Then she pulled Maxie into the tiny foyer.
“Speaking of work, I took a look at that trust of yours,” she said in a normal voice. “There are some irregularities that might be a weak spot if you decided to try to break it. Who is Alta Nyberg, for example?”
“That’s my dotty great-aunt,” said Maxie. “She’s in a sanatorium out in the countryside now.”
