The Subway Girls_A Novel

by Susie Orman Schnall

  “That’s okay. Your secret’s safe with me. So what are you going to do? Do you love him?”

  “I did. And then I didn’t. But to be perfectly honest, I can’t stop thinking about him, the him I used to think he was. So I guess I still do love him.”

  “Then do it. I’m married, and it’s the best thing. Men you can fall in love with don’t come around very often, honey, regardless of how many proposals from strangers you’ll get as Miss Subways. If you’ve found a good man and he loves you, forgive his faults and move on. I know a girl whose husband strayed once before they were married. It bothered her for a bit, but I will tell you the honest truth: she’s completely gotten over it. It’s like they have to get that out of their systems before they get married. Maybe it’s the ones who don’t stray before they’re married who you have to worry about.”

  Charlotte had never thought about it like that before.

  “And adopting a baby is one of the noblest things you can do,” she said. “It sounds like that baby was meant to be yours. I don’t know you very well, but you sound like a reasonable girl. If you think there’s a shred of possibility that this could turn out okay, I say go for it. Sounds like that fellow, despite what he did, has a good head on his shoulders if he’s offering to adopt that baby and raise it himself.”

  The photographer called the girls back and asked them to hold hands and run toward the water. Which they did about fifty-seven times until he got his shot. But it gave Charlotte a chance to think.

  When they were breaking up, Miss Fontaine pulled her aside. “Charlotte, dear, you did great! I knew it would be a good idea to include you in this. And now that I know what a good fit you are with the other girls and how easygoing you are with photographers, I’ll be sure to invite you to other press events.”

  At that very moment, Charlotte realized exactly what she needed to do in order to ensure she was in front of that typewriter on the eighteenth. And after conferring for a few more moments with Miss Fontaine, Charlotte knew her instincts had been correct.

  * * *

  Luckily, it was slow at the agency for Miss Fontaine, and she had time to help Charlotte make all the arrangements. Time was literally running out for Charlotte. She had to turn around the fortunes at her father’s store or she could forget all about her dreams of backlit skyscrapers, cigarettes in the break room, memos in triplicate, and a shared apartment on a low floor in Manhattan.

  Charlotte hadn’t notified her father about the plan, knowing that he would give her an unequivocal no. So she arranged it all behind his back.

  On Friday morning, the first newspaperman turned up just before 10:00 a.m. Mr. Friedman typically stayed in his office until ten thirty, so Charlotte and Miss Fontaine were able to set up without him knowing. They hung bunting, inflated balloons, and unfolded the sign they had printed for the occasion. Miss Fontaine even brought one of Charlotte’s actual Miss Subways posters, which they hung on the wall behind the cash register. They stood back and admired the effect.

  “You’re Charlotte Friedman!” the first newspaperman said.

  “I am. Welcome to Friedman’s Paint and Wallpaper. My father founded this store, and we’ve been serving the needs of Brooklynites for almost two decades.”

  Additional photographers and journalists began to enter the store. They took a look around, grabbed a pastry and a cup of coffee from the table in the back corner, and assembled around the chairs in front of the small platform Charlotte and Miss Fontaine had set up.

  Charlotte knocked on her father’s office door.

  “Come in!”

  “I’m holding a press conference downstairs in five minutes. A large number of photographers and journalists have already arrived, because they like doing articles featuring Miss Subways winners in their daily lives. There’s a fantastic turnout, and I’m hoping it will result in favorable coverage in the local papers. As you know, my goal is to increase business for the store, so at the end of the presentation I’m going to announce a special promotion. Please come down if you’d like to join us.”

  Charlotte took a second to enjoy the look on her father’s face, then she turned around, shut his office door behind her, and walked down the stairs with an ear-to-ear smile plastered across her face.

  * * *

  “You should have seen it, JoJo,” Charlotte said later that night as she and JoJo walked toward a back table at Thompson’s.

  On their way to sit down, Charlotte noticed people pointing at her and heard someone whisper, “She’s Miss Subways.” It had happened several times, at different places, since her poster had gone up. When people recognized her, she felt a little thrill. The lovely fuss.

  Once they were seated, JoJo opened her eyes wide and asked, “What did he say?”

  “Wait, before I tell you, I have a question. When you called Miss Fontaine at John Robert Powers to pretend you were my mother, what did she say?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? I didn’t actually speak with her. I left a message with her secretary.”

  “Oh, that explains it. Because you’ll never believe this one. My mother went behind my father’s back and also called Miss Fontaine to tell her I could participate in Miss Subways. Miss Fontaine must think my mother is crazy!”

  “Or persistent.”

  “Anyway, back to my father. He came down the stairs right after me, but he couldn’t say a word because Miss Fontaine had begun her introduction. So he just stood there. I was petrified he was going to kick everyone out.”

  “So how’d it go?”

  “We had a great turnout, the journalists asked me buckets of questions, and the photographers must have used up all their film. It all depends on whether the newspapers print the story, though. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “What did your father say when it was over?”

  “He went back to his office and stayed up there all day. I closed the store at five o’clock and haven’t seen him since.”

  “My goodness, Charlotte.”

  “I’ve given it all I’ve got. This has to work.”

  “I got a call from Sam today,” JoJo said tentatively.

  “What did he want?” Charlotte asked, trying to keep her voice level.

  “He said you haven’t been returning his calls and he wanted to know if I had any idea what you were going to do.”

  “I’ve been avoiding him.”

  “Why, Charlotte?” JoJo asked pleadingly.

  “Because I’m struggling with how I go about telling him that I’m not going to choose him.”

  Charlotte and JoJo were both silent. Until she’d spoken those words, Charlotte hadn’t been certain that was what she really wanted.

  “Why does it seem, Charlotte, that you think you’d be weak or giving in if you marry Sam and raise the baby?”

  “Because it would be.”

  “I thought that might be how you’re feeling. I actually think it would be the opposite.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t think we need to get too deep into this ancient and well-played conversation again, but I will say one thing. I will admire you greatly if you marry Sam and adopt the baby. I think it is the strongest possible thing you could do at this point in your life.”

  “And give up on everything I want so I can give Sam and Rose everything they want?”

  “I know this is an awful situation. But don’t think that in order to pursue your dreams in advertising, you have to push everything else out of your life.”

  Charlotte just stared.

  JoJo continued. “I think you should go for it. Take a risk.”

  “Do you really think that?”

  “You know very well that I always say what I mean.”

  “But it accelerates my life so much. This isn’t how I thought my future would look.”

  “Very few things in life unfold the way we thought they would. In fact, you should be suspect when they do. Who cares when the best things in life happen? Don’t you see? You’re getting e
verything you wanted. The packaging is a little unexpected and not ideal, but the stuff inside, the stuff that really counts, is just right.”

  * * *

  Charlotte left the house early on Saturday morning so she could buy all the papers at the newsstand. She went straight to her father’s store, where she sat behind the counter and went through them one by one, cutting out each mention and photograph and creating a stack of coverage off to the side.

  It was more than she could have imagined. The Daily News! The Brooklyn Eagle! It all happened just as she’d planned. Some of the papers even printed the promotion that she came up with: buy one can of paint, get one free. Her father was especially traumatized by that particular lulu, but he didn’t tell her to kill the plan.

  Charlotte was so excited, she couldn’t sit still in her stool behind the counter. So she busied herself organizing the new wallpaper books on the main shelf. When that was done, she made sure all of the paint can labels faced out. All the while, she would look out the window, expecting any minute for swarms of people to start lining up for the free paint. Or to see a real Miss Subways in the flesh. Or both.

  Perhaps they’re waiting until after lunch, Charlotte thought. At one point, the front door opened, and four young men walked in. Charlotte stood up and smiled as they approached the front desk. She stood a bit to the side so they could see her poster.

  “How can I help you boys today?”

  “Good morning, ma’am,” the tallest one said. “My car broke down. Would it be possible for me to use your telephone to call for some help?”

  “Of course,” Charlotte said, trying not to let the surprise and anger enter her voice as she nudged the telephone closer to the boy. She waited to see if any of his friends noticed her poster. But they didn’t.

  And so went the day. A few customers here and there for typical Saturday needs. But no knocking down of the door in a mad rush. Charlotte chastised herself for thinking she could manipulate her situation. And she’d have no better luck on Sunday since the store was closed. On Sunday night, she endured a mostly silent dinner with her parents and looming looks from her father.

  After dinner, Charlotte helped her mother with the dishes.

  “You’ve shown a lot of maturity recently, Charlotte,” Mrs. Friedman said, her hands deep in the suds. “Working for your father like that and doing what needed to be done for this family. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that,” Charlotte said, drying a pot.

  Mrs. Friedman suddenly looked up. “Charlotte, even though I haven’t pried, I do realize you’ve got a lot on your mind. You don’t have to tell me, but whatever it is, you know you don’t always have to make things so serious, so grave.”

  Charlotte put down her towel. “What are you talking about?” she asked her mother.

  “I sensed the tension between you and Sam the other day. I’ve noticed he hasn’t been coming around, and I know you’ve been on the telephone with JoJo more than normal lately. I’ve learned valuable lessons from a lot of experiences: when I gave up my career, when Harry was killed, when your father and I were having problems—”

  “Problems? What kind of problems?”

  “Let me finish. And I learned more lessons when it became clear that the store was in trouble. Each of those scenarios seemed so important. Like nothing else in the world could continue as normal because I was experiencing something so critical. But you know what? Life goes on. The world outside does not stop a second for our little, and that’s what they are in the scheme of things, little, individual problems. It took me a long time to learn that, and I don’t want you to have to be my age when you figure it out.”

  “It doesn’t make dealing with problems any easier though,” Charlotte said.

  “But it makes the experience of the problem easier. When I finally changed my perspective and accepted that those problems too shall pass, and life will go on, it was radically liberating. Hard times will always hurt, I’m not saying that. But changing the picture frame around those hard times changes the way you see them.”

  Charlotte thought about how she could apply that thinking to her current circumstances.

  “I also want you to know, Charlotte, that I think you’re so strong. You’re so much stronger than I was at your age. I think you can handle just about anything.”

  Charlotte looked at her mother, thankful for the vote of confidence. She had become so exhausted by all the decision-making and the heaviness of her situation. She didn’t think she could take much more. Her mother dried her hands and put them on Charlotte’s shoulders.

  “I know our relationship has been strained recently. And I realize, and I’m so sorry, that I paid more attention to Harry when you both were little. It’s inexcusable, and I know I can never make that up to you. But things have been looking up for me lately, I’m starting to see some sunlight, and I want you to know I’m here for you. I’m going to do better.”

  “Thanks, Ma.” Charlotte knew that was difficult for her mother to say. It didn’t wipe out the years of pain just like that, but Charlotte was open to developing a closer relationship with her mother. She smiled at the thought of moving on. “What did you mean when you said things have been looking up for you lately?”

  “Well, you inspired me, Charlotte.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes, with your Miss Subways. I felt so proud of you for having the confidence to do something like that. Rabbi Silverman at the synagogue has been asking me for years to sing at services. I’ve always been too timid, so I’ve repeatedly said no. But you know what I’m going to do, as soon as you and your father go to the store tomorrow?”

  “What?” Charlotte was beaming at her mother.

  “I’m going to walk myself down to that temple and tell Rabbi Silverman I will gladly sing at services. And you know what? I can’t wait.”

  * * *

  Charlotte sat in her bed and thought about what her mother had said. She was happy that her mother was finally getting to pursue her dream. And she realized her mother was trying to tell her that sometimes you need to play the hand that life dealt you and eventually things would turn around. Charlotte needed to accept that, for now, she would be working at the store, and perhaps someday she’d get to do her own version of singing in the synagogue. She took a breath and decided that come morning, she’d telephone Mr. Hertford and tell him she wasn’t cut out for advertising after all.

  CHAPTER 24

  OLIVIA

  THURSDAY, MARCH 15, 2018

  Olivia was in the conference room with Priya, Matt, and Pablo. Matt had asked Pablo to stay on to get through the pitch. When Pablo saw Olivia upon her return to the office, he apologized profusely and made her sit down with him so he could explain everything.

  Olivia had worked on the plane ride home, and she thought they were in a good position. Mrs. Glasser had helped arrange for a handful of the Miss Subways alumnae, her handpicked choices, to be photographed for the new creative. Pablo had hired a freelance photographer, who was setting up in an empty office. Priya would manage the shoots.

  Olivia was excited with the direction the pitch was taking, and she was also happy with how she and Matt were getting along. It almost felt completely natural, a normal coworker relationship, and the underlying and tension-filled hum that Olivia had always felt seemed practically unnoticeable.

  Ben was supposed to bring Rose to his grandma’s apartment at ten, so, starting then, Olivia began checking her phone regularly.

  At 10:17 it finally buzzed. It was Ben calling.

  “Hey, how did it go?” Olivia asked, stepping out of the conference room.

  “My … Oh, Liv…” Ben was crying, unable to get the words out.

  “Ben, what is it? What happened?” Olivia asked, frozen where she was standing.

  “She had a heart attack. I’m on my way to Lenox Health.”

  “Who had a heart attack?”

  “My grandma,” Ben said, and st
arted crying again.

  “I’ll be right there,” Olivia said, and hung up.

  Olivia grabbed her purse out of her office and told Chloe to tell the team that Mrs. Glasser was in the hospital, and she’d be in touch as soon as she could.

  Lenox Health was less than a half mile away, so Olivia ran there. She had gone to work in casual clothes and flats, knowing they were just going to be working in the conference room all day and night, and she was thankful that she could move quickly on her feet.

  Olivia went to the emergency room entrance on Seventh Avenue and asked at the desk for Charlotte Glasser. The woman at reception said she couldn’t have any visitors, and directed Olivia to the waiting room.

  While she walked, Olivia texted Ben that she was there. When she entered the waiting room, she found Rose sitting there, crying.

  “What happened?” Olivia asked, putting her arm around Rose.

  “She saw me and collapsed,” Rose said. “I knew I shouldn’t have come. But it’s been so many years. I thought it would be okay.”

  “What happened between you two?”

  “It’s not my story to tell, Olivia.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “Olivia.”

  Olivia turned and saw Ben standing at the entrance to the waiting room.

  “I’ll be right back,” she whispered to Rose, and patted the woman on the shoulder.

  Olivia went to Ben and put her arms around him. He held her tightly.

  “Is she okay?” Olivia asked.

  “They don’t know yet,” Ben said. His eyes were red. “The doctor said she just needs to rest.”

  “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

  “When I got to her apartment, I told her I had a surprise for her. She came into the living room, took one look at Rose, and grabbed her chest. She was able to tell us that she felt pressure. Rose told me to call 911, that she thought it was a heart attack. I took out my phone, and Rose led my grandma to the couch. A few minutes later, the ambulance arrived and the EMTs started working on her right away. She looked so small and helpless. They took her in the ambulance, and I went in a taxi with Rose. We got stuck behind a tow truck, so it took forever to get here. They let me in to see her when I got here, but she was already sleeping. The doctor said they did an EKG on her when she arrived and they gave her some kind of clot-busting medicine. He said they’ll transfer her soon to the ICU.”