“That must have been terrifying, Ben. Are you okay?”
“I will be when she is. I just can’t lose her, Olivia. She’s all I have.”
Ben’s eyes teared up and she hugged him again. This poor man, Olivia thought, to have lost so many people in his life.
Eventually they pulled apart and went to sit with Rose.
Ben gave Rose the update, and she sat back in her chair with a long sigh.
“I guess she was so excited to see you,” Ben said. Olivia imagined Ben was trying to assuage Rose’s guilt at having caused this to happen.
Olivia, who was still holding her phone, felt it vibrate.
Priya
What happened? Is Mrs. Glasser okay?
Olivia
She had a heart attack. Being monitored. Doctor thinks she’ll be okay. Do u need me to come back right away?
Priya
So sorry to hear. No, we’re fine. Stay, and I’ll let u know if we need u. Starting photo shoots now. I won’t tell the ladies what’s going on.
Olivia
That’s a good idea. Okay, thx Priya. Thx for everything.
Olivia sat with Ben and Rose in the waiting room for the next couple of hours. She kept them hydrated and made sure that the television was tuned to something lighthearted. They didn’t talk much. Everyone was absorbed in their thoughts.
Eventually the doctor came out to talk to Ben and told him he was pleased with how Mrs. Glasser’s EKG looked and how she had been responding to the medication. He had transferred her to the ICU, but they had had to give her a small sedative because she tried to get up and leave.
Ben exhaled.
The doctor said that in his experience, a patient in this condition would sleep through the night, so he encouraged Ben to go home and he’d call if anything changed.
Rose said she wanted to go back to her hotel room and rest, that she was sorry she had caused so much trouble.
“Rose, please don’t feel badly,” Ben said. “I’m just sorry that this happened, because I know how much you wanted to see my grandmother. And I’m sure she felt the same. I think it was just too much of a surprise for her. I should have given her notice. I didn’t realize her heart couldn’t handle it.”
Olivia said good-bye to Ben and Rose and walked back to the office. When she arrived, she reviewed the preliminary creative Pablo had mocked up using the photographs from the Miss Subways women. She loved how the treatment looked and was thrilled with both the creative and the copy one of the copywriters had written after he interviewed each of the women.
Olivia was pleased with how all the pieces were coming together. But she was incredibly worried about Charlotte.
* * *
MTA headquarters was all the way downtown near Battery Park. Olivia woke up early on Friday to get ready. She chose a fitted black skirt suit from Jenna’s closet and an elegant white blouse. Matt picked her up in a taxi outside her apartment at eight. The presentation was to start at nine fifteen. They didn’t know how traffic would be, and they didn’t want to be late. Pablo and Priya would be coming directly from the office with the creative.
“You ready?” Matt asked Olivia when she got in the cab.
“I am,” she said confidently. And she was telling the truth. Olivia loved giving presentations, always had. She felt powerful speaking in front of a crowd and always enjoyed the positive response she seemed to get. As long as she was prepared, public speaking was not a problem for her.
“How’s Mrs. Glasser?” Matt asked.
“She’s not out of the woods yet. But apparently she slept through the night and there don’t seem to be any new complications. Ben, that’s her grandson, the guy you met outside my apartment that night? He’s been texting me with updates. I’m hoping to see her once the pitch is over.”
“He seemed like a nice guy, that Ben,” Matt said, looking at Olivia.
“He is,” she said, turning away from him and looking out the window.
They rode in silence the whole way and then stopped in front of the MTA office at eight forty-five.
Pablo and Priya were on the sidewalk, waiting for them.
“You look great,” Priya said, handing Olivia a latte when she got out of the cab. She handed Matt a cup of coffee as well.
“Thanks, Priya. You do too,” Olivia said. She had been having thoughts last night about opening up a small consultancy with Priya. They worked so well together.
“I think we’ve gone over every contingency with this,” Matt said, addressing them on the sidewalk. It would be reasonable to go inside fifteen minutes early, but a half hour early would appear a little too eager. “We’ve prepared as well as we could have, and I think we’re going to ace this one. Thank you all so much for your hard work. I know there has been a little drama with this preparation, but we’ve come out okay, and this business is ours to win.”
They conferred a bit longer, and then, when it was time, they went up the elevator in silence. When the elevator opened on the eighteenth floor, they all stood there, stunned.
“Oh my God,” Olivia said quietly, and broke into a huge smile.
Olivia, Priya, Matt, and Pablo looked at each other, all questioning who was responsible for this. Each of them shook their heads in silence. There were at least thirty older women, each holding a Miss Subways poster, standing in the reception area of the MTA.
The women quieted down and Eleanor, who had been photographed for the pitch, came forward.
“Charlotte called a few of us Wednesday night to suggest we come down here this morning for moral support. I guess word spread.” She shrugged. “We didn’t realize we’d have such a turnout. I hope it’s okay.”
“Okay?” Matt said. “It’s fantastic. Thank you all so much.”
Matt pulled Olivia aside and whispered something to her. She nodded in agreement.
They all stood quietly, packed like sardines, in the waiting area. Ed Freck was the one who came out to usher the team into the conference room for the presentation.
“Matthew,” Ed said, approaching Matt. “Looks like you brought your own cheering section.”
“Something like that,” Matt said, following Ed into the conference room. Olivia, Priya, and Pablo walked behind Matt and Ed, who were making small talk. Matt turned around and noticed that the Miss Subways women were still in the waiting room.
“Well, come on, ladies!” he said loudly over his shoulder. “What are you waiting for?”
A little yelp rang out, and the ladies began following the team. When they got to the conference room, without a word, the women assembled around the perimeter of the room, each holding her poster in front of her midsection. Olivia didn’t think they could have arranged it any better if they’d tried.
CHAPTER 25
CHARLOTTE
MONDAY, JULY 11, 1949
Charlotte dragged her feet getting ready. She’d had trouble sleeping the night before, thinking about the conversation she’d had with her mother. Thinking about the telephone call she would place to Mr. Hertford at J. Walter Thompson. And thinking about the decision she had to make regarding Sam.
She’d gone over every possible scenario. And though her head and her heart battled through the night, resulting in a life-threatening casualty for one of them, by the time she woke up, the blazing sun already warming her windows, Charlotte was certain of her decision. And she was prepared to share it with Sam.
There were people who wouldn’t understand her decision. Wouldn’t agree with it. She knew that for certain. And as life would have it, there were those who would. Charlotte decided to ignore the former group. And clink overfilled glasses with the rest. Who got to decide what path someone’s life took? Was it foretold?
But it was time for Monday morning. The great arbiter of fresh starts and calendars stretching for days on end. Office workers in Park Avenue corner offices and pattern makers in Garment District walk-ups were drunk with the possibility of a whole week set before them like a new school year to a
class full of wide-eyed kindergarteners. The idea that there was so much time to make things happen.
For Charlotte, it was day one of settling into her life at Friedman’s. One thing that had become clear during last night’s duel was that in order for her to survive this new life she was embarking on, she would have to do two things: One, accept the reality that she had to help her father. This was not the time for her to have a career in advertising and an exciting and glamorous life out of Brooklyn. It would happen one day. Just not now. And two, initiate a thorough advertising plan for Friedman’s so she could approximate a career. This she would do whether or not her father approved.
Charlotte walked to the store in a languid haze, precipitated by the suffocating air and her deep ambivalence toward how her post-graduation plans had turned out. Plus, she had big news to tell Sam. News that would change everything.
After preparing a cup of Maxwell House in the storeroom and pivoting the OPEN sign up front, Charlotte made herself comfortable behind the counter. Her father, as usual, was upstairs in his office.
Charlotte rehearsed what she was going to say to Mr. Hertford. She didn’t plan on a long conversation. Rather, she feared he would be annoyed by her capriciousness, so she tried to come up with the perfect line to help him understand her predicament and ensure that if her station should change, he would be willing to give her another chance.
Gathering her courage, she picked up the phone and started to dial but was interrupted by a young man in coveralls entering the store. Charlotte sighed in frustration and hung up the phone. The young man, holding a newspaper, approached Charlotte, looked at the Miss Subways poster, looked at his newspaper, looked back at Charlotte, and smiled. He was holding that morning’s Daily Mirror, which contained this bullion from Walter Winchell:
Who’s not fawning over this month’s Miss Subways, Charlotte Friedman? The golden beaut may be a lover of art, but most of the time she’s locked up like a princess down on her luck at her father’s paint store. Don’t tell a soul, but if you want an audience with her, you can find her at Friedman’s on Third in Bay Ridge. And if you just happen to have a bare wall, I hear they’re offering a can of free paint for each one you buy. Sounds like this Charlotte may be brainy as well as beautiful.
Charlotte thought it was interesting to reflect on how a wave began. How it was impossible to notice the first tiny swell that would gain momentum and carry water and energy with it to create something bigger, something that would change landscapes and affect lives. And sometimes noticing the beginning dulled the impact, the beauty, of its final form. So it was with the young man in coveralls.
“Papa, can you come down here?” Charlotte yelled up the steps to her father’s office before running back down to manage the swelling crowd.
“What is it, Charlotte?” Mr. Friedman yelled, annoyed as all get-out, halfway down the stairs before noticing what was happening on the floor.
“Walter Winchell wrote about us,” Charlotte said, unable to contain her smile as her father came up next to her at the register.
Together they looked out at the store, at the crowd stacking paint cans in their arms, waving their papers, and pointing at Charlotte’s Miss Subways poster.
* * *
“You should have seen it, Sarah,” Mr. Friedman said as he and Charlotte entered the kitchen that night, side by side.
They told her all about the crowd. About the people who had come from as far as Staten Island to take a photograph with Charlotte and have her sign their autograph books. About the neighbors who told Mr. Friedman that his two-for-one promotion was a brilliant idea, and they would be stocking up on paint for renovations they’d been putting off. And about the developer who awarded Mr. Friedman the contract for a new building he was putting up in Brooklyn Heights because he wanted to keep the business local. Apparently, though Saturday’s papers had given a small mention of Charlotte and the promotion, it took Walter Winchell’s piece that day to make an impact and bring customers to the store.
“I’m proud of you, Charlotte,” her father said.
Charlotte and her mother looked at each other, her mother with tears in her eyes.
“You’ve never said that to me before,” Charlotte said, an edge in her voice.
“And I regret that.”
“So why now?”
“Because today I saw you as a woman for the first time. And it startled me. I’m not too good with words, Charlotte. And I know I haven’t been too good as a father, but you have impressed me with your determination. So I’ve made a decision.”
Charlotte looked at him expectantly and was happy she hadn’t had a moment to call Mr. Hertford.
“I’m going to allow you to do the advertising for the store you’ve wanted to do. Business was incredible today. And it gave us a little cushion that will hold us for a bit. I know I’ve been stubborn in letting you execute your ideas, but if you come to me tomorrow with a plan, we can discuss it.”
Charlotte exhaled and knew she was surprising her father by looking disappointed instead of elated. She looked at her mother and then her father, and then she stood up.
“I’ve been through more in the past few months than I’ve been through in my entire life. I’ve seen things and experienced things that have changed my perspective on life and my understanding of people. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that I need to make my life happen for me, not let it happen to me. Papa, I’m glad the press conference worked, and I’m glad today gave you a cushion, and hopefully the crowds will continue to come. But my last day working with you will be this Friday. Next Monday, I’ll be starting my job at J. Walter Thompson.” She held her breath, expecting her father to start shouting. But he didn’t.
Dear Sam,
I’m sorry I’m writing this in a letter, but I was afraid I wouldn’t have the courage to tell you my decision if I was sitting across from you.
This has been an excruciating decision for me. If I reject the idea of adopting the baby, I lose you in the process. If I forgive you for your transgressions and decide to marry you, I’m agreeing to raise and be the mother of your and Rose’s baby. I know you’re convinced that it would someday become irrelevant that Rose is the biological mother of the baby. I’m not so certain.
Do you recall that Thoreau book we both read in college and our favorite quote about advancing confidently in the direction of your dreams? I know I need to just do that. And that way I can’t go wrong.
The question is which dream do I pick? The one where I’m married to you and we have a family? Or the one where I become an independent woman, pursuing a career, experiencing life and the world on my own for the first time? I can’t pick both dreams; that’s just too much.
So I’m picking me. I know that by definition means I’m not picking you, but please don’t feel that way. I hate that I am hurting you with my decision. And please know that I wish you all the best in health and happiness with your new baby.
Love, Charlotte
On Monday morning, July 18, 1949, with a smile on her face that hadn’t subsided since she’d woken up, Charlotte slipped on the new outfit she had bought for that day. She tied the bow—a black-and-white polka-dotted number—at the collar of the white short-sleeve blouse and adjusted the matching belt on her knee-length black skirt. Looking into her vanity mirror, she quickly applied another coat of ruby lipstick and checked her eye makeup. Then she put on her pumps, grabbed her gloves and purse, and skipped down the stairs.
When she opened the front door, Charlotte laughed. Nothing had changed: there were still twelve broad steps leading from her door to the small wrought-iron gate and then two more steps to the sidewalk. The silver maple in the front yard still flaunted its glossy five-fingered leaves. The windows of the brick two-family house across the street were still cluttered with houseplants and religious statues.
But everything was different. The air hummed. The light tingled on her skin. The sky smiled. Charlotte smiled back and understood at once that t
his was what it felt like to finally be the author of her own precious life.
CHAPTER 26
OLIVIA
FRIDAY, MARCH 16, 2018
“Tell me all about it,” Mrs. Glasser said when Olivia walked into her room later that afternoon. She was doing so well—much to everyone’s surprise and delight—that the doctor had transferred her out of ICU and into a regular room.
Olivia brought a chair close to Mrs. Glasser’s bed and told her all about the pitch. Ben was sitting on the opposite side of the bed, so he was listening as well. He was holding his grandmother’s hand and smiling brightly at Olivia.
Olivia told her about how surprised they were to see all the Miss Subways when they arrived at the MTA. And how the women stood proudly, a display of living history, in the conference room during the presentation. Having the women there, Olivia said, made for a compelling visual and deepened the impact of the message they were trying to send through the “Where Are They Now?” creative.
“When I wasn’t speaking, I would glance around at the MTA people and watch them watching the Miss Subways. For some of the older people at the table, you could tell the memories of staring up at those girls throughout all the years of the campaign came flooding back. It was quite poignant.”
Olivia said the MTA team asked all the right questions and completely seemed to understand the direction Olivia and her team presented. She didn’t think it could have gone any better.
“I just wish you had been there to see it, Mrs. Glasser,” Olivia said.
“Me too. But I’m glad I played a small role. It was a treat being back in the advertising world again, although so much has changed from my day. Anyway, I’m so happy it all went well. I knew it would, Olivia. You’ve got that special something,” Mrs. Glasser said in a soft voice. “By the way,” she added, “I think it’s about time you called me Charlotte.”
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