The Subway Girls

by Susie Orman Schnall

  The concept was that the subway not only literally took you places, from here to there, but it also took you places in your life. A college graduate living in his parents’ basement in Queens could get on the subway and arrive at his new paralegal job in Manhattan. A young man who recently immigrated to America could take the subway from his overcrowded apartment in the Bronx to his new vocational school in Brooklyn. A fifteen-year-old girl living on the Lower East Side could take the subway to Bronx Science, the highly competitive public high school. A little kid who wanted to be a zoologist could take the subway to the Bronx or Central Park Zoo.

  Olivia explained to Pablo and Priya that the placards would show a photo of one of these New Yorkers, and next to it the copy would read: “I took the subway to____________, and the subway took me to __________.” The person in the photo would fill in the answers in his or her own handwriting. So, for instance, the first example would say, “I took the subway to Fifty-First Street and Lexington Avenue in Manhattan, and the subway took me to an exciting and promising career in the law.”

  Pablo and Priya liked the idea and agreed it would make riders look up because they’d be curious who the latest New Yorker “going places” was, like the original Miss Subways campaign, but it would also show the larger purpose of the subway in that it didn’t just transport people, it transported their lives as well.

  But when it came time to decide which campaign to go with, they couldn’t come to a consensus.

  “I think the tastemakers designing cars is going to be a really expensive proposition. My gut says to not go with that idea because we’ll have to present budgets, and I’m sure the client will balk at the costs,” Pablo said, looking down at the sketches he had been drawing of the “Takes You Places” concept.

  “That’s true. But I didn’t know we had to present budgets for this round,” Olivia said.

  “I’m not sure we do,” Pablo said, “but just in case.”

  They all thought quietly for a moment.

  “I just had an idea,” Olivia said. “What if we combine the Miss Subways and ‘Takes You Places’ concepts? Just thinking out loud here … What if we did somewhat of a ‘Where Are They Now?’ for the Miss Subways winners? The placard could be two panels. The left side could show the original poster, and the right side would show a photograph of the woman today and how being Miss Subways propelled her in her career or her life or meant something to her in some other way. We can re-create the look of the original photo for the current one, and the tone of the new copy could be inspired by the original poster. Not sure how we would do it exactly, but we could riff on it from there.”

  “Pablo, what do you think?” Priya asked, spinning her pen in her fingers.

  “I think it’s great,” Pablo said, already sketching a two-panel poster based on Olivia’s description.

  “I do too,” Priya said. “I love it.” She and Olivia walked behind Pablo to see his sketch.

  “Great,” Olivia said. “Priya, can you please write up a preliminary brief on the strategy and what we need to do to make it happen? And, Pablo, if you could work on some rough art, that would be great. Let’s all meet back here tomorrow morning at nine and we’ll go from there. I’ll bring breakfast.”

  * * *

  “So sorry I’m late,” Olivia said, approaching the round table. With a blowout from Drybar and a perfect black dress from Jenna’s closet, she felt like Beyoncé and Sheryl Sandberg and Olivia Pope all wrapped up into one pulsating package of female confidence.

  “Olivia, what are you doing here?” Thomas asked, looking at her like she was a space alien.

  The other four men at the table—the three men from the MTA and Matt—all stood.

  “I guess we’ll need that extra chair and place setting after all,” Matt said to a waiter.

  Olivia could tell from Matt’s wording that the table had originally been set for six, true to the reservation after Christina had added Olivia to it. She imagined that when the men had all arrived, they’d wondered why there was an extra setting and had had it taken away. She smirked to herself, enjoying the drama of it all. Her insides sizzled at achieving this element of surprise.

  “My pleasure, sir. I’ll have the table reset right away,” the waiter said, smiling at Olivia.

  “Olivia, this is Ed Freck from the MTA,” Matt said, gesturing to the man to his right. All of the men were still standing except for Thomas, who was sitting, shooting hate daggers from his eyes at Olivia. Ed Freck was very tall and thin, with whispers of white hair tickling the tops of his ears.

  “Ed, so nice to meet you,” Olivia said, shaking his hand firmly.

  “Likewise, Olivia. And these are my associates, Ken Trainor and Evan Greenleaf.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Olivia said, shaking both men’s hands.

  “You didn’t miss much, Olivia,” Matt said as they sat. He searched Olivia’s face for some answer to the question of why she was there. She gave him nothing but a self-assured smile. “Ed here was just telling us about a hole in one he had last summer at Hudson National.”

  “But that would be boring to Olivia, so we don’t have to talk about that anymore,” Ed said graciously, taking a sip of his wine. All of the glasses were filled with red wine, but Olivia’s still sat empty. “Olivia, would you like some wine? We’re drinking a California Cab,” he said, waving over the waiter.

  “I’d love some, Ed, thanks,” Olivia said. “And please, continue with your story. I’d love to hear about your hole in one.” The waiter filled her glass and she took a long sip.

  “Are you a golfer now, Olivia?” Thomas asked, his arms folded across his chest.

  “Can you believe that outcome at the PGA National a couple of weekends ago?” Olivia asked the men at the table, all except Thomas, whom she ignored.

  They continued to speak about golf and then ordered their dinners.

  “So you’re the Olivia who so impressed Jack Haldon?” Evan asked.

  “Olivia and I have worked together since she started in advertising,” Matt said proudly, buttering his roll. He looked particularly handsome tonight in a dark suit and lavender tie. Olivia recalled he had been in jeans and a button-down at work that morning, so he must have also gone home to dress more appropriately for these potential clients.

  “I can certainly see why Jack spoke so highly of her,” Evan said, winking and air-toasting to Olivia across the table with his wineglass.

  Olivia smiled tightly and noticed Matt wincing.

  Ed changed the subject quickly and began talking about the MTA and their objectives for the new campaign. Olivia asked incisive questions and Thomas was noticeably quiet, still, Olivia assumed, privately fuming over having been had. He seemed especially angry, and Olivia could only presume it was because of the way the MTA men and Matt seemed so deferential to her. She knew they were on their best behavior—even Evan, in his own eyes—because she was female, and Olivia felt particularly conflicted about that. The irony that a woman’s gender could be both a liability and an asset in business was not lost on her.

  After several bottles of wine and several hours of conversation, they all walked out together. The dinner couldn’t have gone better. Olivia better understood what the MTA was trying to accomplish with their marketing strategy, and she was excited to get to work with Priya and Pablo tomorrow to hammer out their approach. But for now, she just wanted, needed, to sleep. She was certainly feeling the effects of all that gorgeous California Cabernet.

  “What the hell was that?” Thomas asked Olivia as soon as the MTA guys left in a cab headed to the West Side. It was past ten and the air was frigid. Olivia wrapped her coat around herself tightly, but her legs were freezing.

  “That was me refusing to be excluded from a dinner that I rightfully should have been at. It only shows your weakness and insecurity that you didn’t invite me in the first place, Thomas,” Olivia said, her hair blowing in the cold wind. She looked down the street and put her arm up for a cab.

&
nbsp; “You could have scheduled your own dinner, Olivia. We’re on separate teams here. No one was stopping you from calling Ed Freck. You just weren’t bright enough to think of it yourself, so you had to bulldoze my dinner.”

  “I don’t have the energy to listen to your childish whining, Thomas,” Olivia said, stepping off the curb as a cab slowed in front of her.

  “You’re on my way. I’ll take you home,” Matt said, opening the door for Olivia.

  “I’ll be fine,” Olivia said, getting into the cab.

  “At least save me the money of having to pay for your expensed cab ride. Think of it as good economics for the agency,” Matt said, holding the door.

  Olivia looked at him and nodded slightly.

  “Good night,” Matt said to a stunned Thomas. He followed Olivia into the taxi and shut the door.

  They rode for a while in silence. Olivia wanted to confront Matt about why he felt it was okay to exclude Olivia from a dinner she believed she clearly should have been invited to, but she didn’t have the energy. And she didn’t want to listen to the excuses.

  “You’re quiet,” Matt said, turning in his seat to face her.

  “I’m tired,” Olivia said.

  “You were electric tonight,” Matt said, smiling at her.

  “What do you mean?” Olivia asked, allowing herself a small smile.

  “I mean that you had those clients eating out of your hands. That Evan Greenleaf jackass couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

  Olivia sat silent for a moment and turned to Matt. “I know you mean well, Matt, but it would be so much more satisfying to hear you say that I was electric because of my shrewd questions and intelligent conversation.”

  “Oh, Liv, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” Matt said. “You were fantastic in every single way. I thought women enjoyed knowing they were perceived as attractive.”

  “They do. I do. It’s just tricky in a work situation to be feminine but also be taken seriously.”

  “Well, I take you very seriously,” Matt said, smiling.

  Olivia’s strength to withstand being charmed by Matt was diminishing.

  “I’ve been thinking about this, Olivia, and if we don’t win the account, I don’t want you to worry about money. If you ever need to borrow anything, I will always lend it to you. You’ve been nothing but loyal to me, and I would gladly help you out in any way I can.”

  “Thank you, Matt, but I want to make my own money and not have to depend on anyone else for my needs.”

  “I completely respect that, Liv. But asking for help doesn’t mean you’re weaker because of it, and it certainly doesn’t mean you’re depending on someone else.”

  Olivia looked out the window. They were getting closer to her apartment. She knew Matt was right, but it was so hard. Thinking about her parents and knowing how her mother felt like she couldn’t leave her father because she couldn’t survive on her own—financially, emotionally—really struck a chord with Olivia.

  Just then the cab stopped short and Olivia rolled into Matt. Her face was right next to his. Before she knew what was happening, he leaned in and kissed her. She could taste the wine, the mint he had taken from Sparks on the way out, and warmth. She heard herself let out a soft moan. But she didn’t pull away. She allowed herself to be kissed by Matt. Solely for the reason that it felt good. And she wasn’t thinking of anything else. Not tomorrow, not the future, not whether it was a terrible idea for her to be kissing her boss who she was secretly in love with. She just liked the way it felt.

  “Do you want to come up?” Olivia asked.

  CHAPTER 13

  CHARLOTTE

  FRIDAY, MARCH 18, 1949

  “Ladies, thank you for joining us again.” Miss Fontaine stood at the front of the conference room.

  Charlotte couldn’t believe that Friday at five thirty had finally come. The combination of excitement and dread for this moment was unparalleled in Charlotte’s staid life. Her heart was racing. Anabella Duarte looked as if she were going to vomit. Bella London looked as smug and confident as Will Shakespeare at a poetry reading. And Rose. Where was Rose?

  “Soon, Mr. Powers will come in to announce the winner. He’s been detained on a telephone call. If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on an important matter, and I’ll be back with Mr. Powers in a few minutes.”

  Right after Miss Fontaine left, Rose sashayed in, preening as if it weren’t the least bit unusual for her to enter a gig once the band had already started to blast.

  “Oh, the queen has decided to grace us with her presence,” Bella said, snickering as Rose sat next to Charlotte.

  “Did you say something, dear?” Rose asked Bella dismissively, raising an eyebrow.

  Bella harrumphed and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “How are you holding up?” Rose whispered to Charlotte.

  “I’m so nervous. I’m not sure I can hold my lunch in any longer. And you?”

  “I’m fine. I know I’m not going to win. But I wanted to be here for you in case you did.”

  Charlotte started to say something to Rose, but the door swung open and Miss Fontaine and Mr. Powers entered.

  “Girls, so wonderful to see you all again,” Mr. Powers bellowed.

  “Thank you, Mr. Powers,” they said in unison.

  “Every month, I tell you, it gets harder and harder to pick a Miss Subways. You’re all lovely girls, and each and every last one of you could be a Miss Subways. So I don’t want you to be dismayed if you don’t win. We’ll keep you in the running for future months.” He looked around the room and smiled at each of the girls. “Without further ado, Miss Subways July 1949 is”—he paused and gave the room another pointless study—“Miss Rose Grant!”

  Charlotte was stunned, but she did what any dolled-up beauty pageant loser would do: she pasted a fake smile on her face, congratulated Rose, and gave her a heartfelt hug nonpareil.

  “I can’t believe it!” Rose exclaimed.

  Charlotte was pushed to the side by other girls clamoring, most likely spuriously as well, to congratulate and embrace Rose. It gave her a moment to crawl inside her head and consider what had just happened. She lost. There would be no Miss Subways. There would be no increased attention for her father’s store. There would be no realization of her grand scheme.

  Charlotte looked up just as Bella stormed out of the room, crying. No one chased after her to console her. One of the birds came in with a tray of champagne and they all toasted Rose.

  When the excitement had subsided and the girls had packed up their battered prides to leave, Rose turned to Charlotte. “I’m so sorry, Charlotte. I know how much this meant to you.”

  “Thanks, Rose, I appreciate that. But I know how much it meant to you as well. And I’m happy for you.”

  Rose hugged Charlotte and thanked her for being so supportive and gracious. Charlotte restrained a guffaw, considering “supportive” and “gracious” were not the two words she’d use to describe how she felt. Bitter and angry, perhaps. Even desperate. But supportive and gracious? Not a bit.

  Miss Fontaine approached Rose to tell her what would happen next. Charlotte gave Rose a kiss on the cheek and said good-bye.

  “Oh, won’t you stay with me a minute, Charlotte? Then we can walk out together.”

  Listening to what Rose had in store was the last thing Charlotte wanted to do.

  “Please,” Rose said.

  Charlotte gave a small smile, sat down, and prepared for the gross injustice of having to suffer through the winner’s briefing.

  “The photo shoot will be this Monday at nine o’clock. I know it seems early to do the photo shoot months before the poster will debut, but after your shoot, it takes time for the photo editors to select the best photo and do the retouching. Then the copywriter drafts the poster copy. Then it goes through an approval process with Mr. Powers, J. Walter Thompson, and the New York Subways Advertising Company. Finally, the almost ten thousand posters themselves need to be printed and distri
buted, and we need additional time for the previous month’s posters to be taken down and replaced with the new ones. So you see,” Miss Fontaine said, finally taking a breath, “it’s quite an endeavor.”

  Rose grabbed Charlotte’s hand. “This is so exciting!”

  Charlotte smiled and nodded. And then she returned to the churn of thoughts in her mind.

  “Any questions?” Miss Fontaine asked Rose.

  Rose shook her head.

  “Okay, well then, Miss Grant, I’ll see you back here on Monday at nine sharp. Miss Friedman, I’m sorry it didn’t work out this month. There’s always next.”

  “Thank you, Miss Fontaine,” Charlotte and Rose said.

  “I’m still in shock. Pinch me, and tell me that all just happened,” Rose said, turning to Charlotte.

  “That all just happened,” Charlotte said, pinching Rose, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

  “Ouch!”

  “You said to pinch you.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t have to do it so hard.” Rose laughed.

  “Your dream came true, Miss Rose,” Charlotte said.

  “Well, that it did, Miss Charlotte. I hate that you didn’t win though.”

  As Charlotte and Rose stood on the sidewalk, Rose said, “What do you say we go out and celebrate?”

  “I’d love to,” Charlotte said. “But I’m meeting Sam for dinner near his office.”

  Charlotte and Sam had made plans to go out to a fancy restaurant after the announcement. That way, they figured, if she won, they could celebrate. And if she didn’t, well, at least there’d be a tasty steak and a glass or three of champagne to soften her spikes.

  “Okay, another time,” Rose said, leaning in to give Charlotte a kiss on the cheek.

  “Why don’t you join us? I’ve told Sam all about you, and I would love for the two of you to meet. How about it?” Charlotte’s substantial hesitation to include Rose was clobbered by her nice-girl discomfort in leaving Rose alone on a night like this.