Back to Jerusalem

by Jan Surasky

  “He’s cute. I have a five-year-old. Her name is Rosa.”

  “That’s nice. And, where is she now?”

  “She’s in school. I got knocked up in high school. Nice guy, but bent on a different path. I’ve been trying to support Rosa and me and take a few classes at the same time.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I wait tables over at McGinnity’s two blocks from here.”

  “And, what do you take in school?”

  “Secretarial. I hope someday I’ll get a job on Madison Avenue in some big, modern office.”

  As Dee sipped her coffee and dug into the few cookies Jenny had left from the ones Sparky had packed for the drive to Brooklyn, Jenny assessed her neighbor. Street smarts, a few well-placed tattoos. Beautiful long, dark hair neatly wrapped in rollers. Long, very red nails and lots of makeup. The largest dark brown eyes Jenny had ever seen.

  “Where are you from, Jenny? I’m from here.”

  “A small town called Jerusalem. Along the southern tier of the state.”

  “Sounds cool.

  “Dee stands for Diane which I hate. What does Jenny stand for?”

  “Jennifer. I was named after a great-grandmother.”

  “How nice. I didn’t know my grandparents. My parents came over from Sicily.”

  “Well, I bet they have a lot of stories to tell.”

  “When they get a chance. We have a large family. I have two sisters and three brothers.”

  “I’m an only child.”

  “We can fix that. I’ll take you to one of our family reunions. The noise will make you want to run for that small town of yours.”

  Jenny wasn’t sure what she and Dee had in common. But, she was sure of one thing. Her new friend was amusing. And, despite her rough exterior, and a burden she was thrown at a very early age, remarkably sensitive, with a warm and loving heart.

  Dee jumped up as she shoveled in the last of her cookie binging. “Gotta go. Rosa gets home now.

  “Thanks for the coffee. Stop down anytime. Apartment 713.”

  “Will do. Thanks for the visit.”

  The door slammed as Dee ran out, at the same time trying to wave a quick good-bye to Josh who sat fascinated in the corner.

  “Our first neighbor, Josh. I wonder what the others are like.”

  Jenny tried to calm her homesickness as she lifted Josh to take him into the bathroom with the cracked sink to wash his hands for his afternoon snack. As she coaxed the hot water from the tap, she made a mental note to begin looking for a shorthand job on Monday.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Pounding the proverbial pavements of New York was exhausting and confusing. Finding her way around took almost all of Jenny’s resources, both financial and mental. Learning the subway and the bus system, the street cars and the taxis, took time. But, Jenny wasn’t afraid to ask. She soon got used to the gruff exterior of almost every New Yorker, finding them friendlier than she so often had heard.

  Josh was now with Mrs. Donetti, Dee’s mother, almost every day of the work week while Jenny looked for a job. Mrs. Donetti had taken in pre-school children for the last twenty years. Her house was chaos, but she seemed to enjoy it. Children wandered everywhere, but parents were held to task for a proper lunch and a clean rest mat.

  Often, Mrs. Donetti had to mother the parents as well as the children. If a parent forgot their duties of prepared lunches, snacks or perhaps repairing a favorite toy, they often got a lecture from Mrs. Donetti, but they often got a hug as well if they threatened to buckle under the stern exterior.

  Jenny snapped out of her reverie as she jumped to avoid a cab moving slowly toward pedestrians who were hurriedly trying to run a red light. The cab driver yelled out of his open window. Jenny clutched her leather notebook and walked faster.

  220 Madison Avenue. She was here. Her first interview. A friend of Miss Ransom’s who ran the steno pool. She pushed the gold trimmed-revolving door to enter the lobby. The directory was straight ahead, perched to the right of the elevator bank, all encased in marble walls. Mallory, Hollander & Wexler. Import Export. Just what she wanted. Eighteenth floor. Jenny had never been on the eighteenth floor of anything. Most buildings in Penn Yan were not raised beyond a few stories.

  She pushed the eighteen button at the elevator bank, invoking an immediate bong and the swift opening of an elevator in front of her face. Somewhat daunted, she entered it, stepping carefully onto its carpeted floor. Three people followed, pushing buttons as they entered. They stared at the ceiling or straight ahead as it rose, getting off at their appointed floor.

  Jenny got off at eighteen, lit up on the monitor above the button panel. She followed the red carpet down the hall to 1855. On the heavily paneled walnut door hung a sign with the firm’s name in gold, and the partners’ names in small black letters underneath. Jenny pushed open the door.

  The receptionist barely looked up, but looked directly at Jenny.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Yes. With Mr. Masterson at 10:00.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Jennifer Anderson.”

  “He’ll be right with you. Please be seated. Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thank you. I already had some.”

  Jenny sat down on one of the upholstered maple chairs, eyeing the magazine pile laid out neatly in the center of the mahogany coffee table. Two other people were waiting, one drinking coffee, one intently reading a magazine, both with bulging briefcases at their side. Jenny chose “The New Yorker.”

  She had never seen a magazine without recipes or starlet gossip. Nevertheless, the cartoons began to fascinate her. Perhaps not for their concepts, for she barely understood any of them or got the drift of their humor. But for their drawings. She had never seen drawings where it was obvious the artists could let loose, bringing to life humor she didn’t even understand. If only she could doodle like that, or sketch.

  Suddenly, a middle-aged man, heavy set, appeared in the doorway that led to the private offices, calling her name. Jenny was startled, since she hadn’t heard her name announced out loud from the receptionist’s desk. But, she decided as she looked, that the complicated box of buttons on the receptionist’s desk was responsible for summoning him. She rose immediately.

  Mr. Masterson extended his hand. Jenny grasped his as he shook hers firmly and rapidly. “Please follow me. We will be heading toward my office.”

  Jenny followed as fast as she could. As they reached his office, he motioned her inside. “Take either chair.” Jenny chose the one closest to the door. Mr. Masterson followed, settling himself into the large, leather swivel chair behind his massive, mahogany desk.

  “Do you have a copy of the letter of recommendation you sent us? I know you sent it on ahead, but if I want it, I’ll have to hunt down Alma. That’s Alma Bienvenuti, head of the steno pool. She’s hard to find, sometimes.”

  Jenny pawed through the sheaf of papers she had neatly pressed into her notebook, pulling out the letter. Mr. Masterson scanned it, then looked up. “A pretty good recommendation. Do you think you can live up to it?”

  “I think so, Mr. Masterson.”

  “I’ll level with you, Jennifer. We’re pretty shorthanded right now. And, this is a fast-paced pressured business. Lost two girls last week, one to maternity, one to going back home to Montana. If you think you can do the job, the job is yours.”

  “I’d like that, Mr. Masterson.”

  “You can call me Bill. Almost everyone here is on a first-name basis. We try to be as laid back as we can in the office. We are frantic with phone calls and mailings across the continents. It kind of gives us a leveler.

  “Now, you can take your tests. Follow me and we’ll go find Alma.”

  Jenny followed as fast as she could. She made a mental note to wear more comfortable shoes if she got the job.

  “Ah, there you are Alma.” Mr. Masterson was addressing a formidable but pleasant looking woman of an uncertain age,
much makeup, a rather hard countenance, but with a large, welcoming smile on her clearly hassled face.

  “Come in, Bill. Welcome to the world-weary cluster of support desks.”

  “C’mon now, Alma, it’s not that bad. What do you have to worry about? All you do is sit here and type all day.”

  “Thanks for the vote of support. Now, what can I do for you.”

  “I have here a Ms. Jennifer Anderson. She’s interested in joining your ranks but first we have to see what she can do. Do you have time to give her a test?”

  Jenny peeked around Bill Masterson. A huge room filled with desks and typewriters appeared before him, filled with sun coming in from the very large windows which graced the outside wall.

  “Come in, Jennifer. I think we can find someone to give you a test. Maybe in the meantime, Cathy can give you a tour of our offices.” She motioned to a very young woman who sat two desks away and who was busily typing without looking up. “She’s from Iowa, but she’s practically like a native New Yorker already.”

  “Thanks, Alma. Nice to meet you, Jennifer. Good luck.”

  Bill Masterson turned to hurry down the hall as he spoke. Alma got up from her desk and ushered Jenny into the steno room.

  Jenny looked round at the cluster of desks as Alma guided her to Cathy’s. Alma introduced the two. “Maybe Jennifer would like a tour of our well-appointed offices. I’ll finish your work for you, Cathy.”

  “Thanks, Alma. I could use the break.”

  As Cathy rose, Jenny noticed her height. Very tall, and very slender. Cathy walked with a slight limp.

  “We’ll tour the middle management first. The partners don’t like a lot of intrusion.”

  As Jenny followed, she noticed a profusion of maps. Maps under glass, maps with pins, and old, artistic maps of an ancient nature.

  “Have you gotten used to New York yet?”

  “I haven’t seen too much of it. I have mostly gotten settled in my apartment in Brooklyn.”

  “Nice choice. I live in New Jersey. An hour and a half commute.”

  “Do you like New York?”

  “I haven’t thought about it. I came here to learn this business.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “A small town in Iowa.”

  “What made you come here?”

  “Trade is my passion. I was an economics major at Iowa State. But, there are no jobs in global trade there. I was offered a bank job, but it was dead-end.”

  “Sounds exciting. How come you’re a steno?”

  “No jobs here for women except in the typing pool. Import export is still a man’s world. I hope to go back to Iowa and start my own business. With the new upgraded shipping and the new improved transatlantic cable you don’t need New York or the coastlines anymore.”

  The tour ended with a look at the partners’ offices, at least the outsides. Mr. Mallory’s was empty. Cathy explained he was away on a sales trip, so they could peek inside. A big fish hung on the only unencumbered amber wall. A souvenir from a fishing trip to Antigua, Cathy said. Jenny looked out the two huge windows at the street below. Tiny taxis, tiny buses, and dots that resembled people filled the streets and sidewalks.

  Jenny passed the tests with flying colors. Her studying had paid off. Bill Masterson saw her briefly once again, this time to fill her in with a variety of company rules and benefits. Then, he passed her off to personnel. Endless forms and paperwork. When she was done, Alma took over.

  “We’ll see you here on Monday. By then we’ll have a desk ready for you.”

  Alma surveyed Jenny. “Everything you have on is fine except for the shoes. You will want a more comfortable pair. Chasing after these execs take practice and persistence. Tailored dress is preferred so you can stock your wardrobe accordingly.

  “We look forward to seeing you on Monday. Watch out for the rush hour crowd you’ll find down there when you leave. They are very unforgiving.”

  “Thanks, Alma. I will. And, please thank Cathy for the tour. I really enjoyed it.”

  “Will do.”

  As Jenny struggled to find the right bus that would take her to the train station, she could hardly wait to get back to her apartment so she could call Sparky and Aunt Gert with the news.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Jenny arrived bright and early at Mallory, Hollander & Wexler Monday morning. She had gotten Josh off to Mrs. Donetti’s where he was the resident toddler. Not old enough to play sophisticated games, but not too young to be considered an infant, he was sought after as an audience, where he would clap in delight at four-year-old Cora’s antics, or sit admiringly in the corner for hours as three-year-old Brandon regaled him with his knowledge of every piece of every game in the cupboard.

  Jenny hurried down to the steno room. There, under a window with a burst of sunlight making its way through the newly-cleaned panes of glass set into the modern building, was Jenny’s desk. A “Welcome Jennifer” sign sat atop the laminate wooden finish.

  “Jennifer, good morning. I’d like you to meet the managers. Follow me.”

  Jenny hurried to keep up with Alma. All the managers were cordial but curt. It was plain to see that serious business was the order of the day. Bill Masterson took the time to welcome her again, adding that any problems or questions he would be glad to handle if Alma was away. Jenny thanked him and followed Alma back to the steno room.

  Alma pulled a sheaf of papers and some steno pads from her desk. “These have been sitting here for a week. As Bill pointed out, we have been fairly short-handed for the last few weeks. I have three girls’ pads in my desk waiting for transcription. Do you think you can do it?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay, most use the style you’ve been trained in. But, if anything comes up you can’t understand, ask Cathy. She can translate anyone’s notes, I’ll bet even in Swahili. I have to be gone most of the day. Cross town meeting with Mr. Hollander. Have to catch a cab.”

  “Thanks, Alma.”

  As Jenny tried to decipher the shorthand symbols in front of her, she wondered if she had acted wisely in uprooting herself and Josh for New York. But, as she contemplated the decision, she decided she had no choice. Mary Lou Anderson had threatened to ruin her, insisting that the divorce was a vendetta on her part to destroy the Anderson image. She had threatened to block every employment opportunity Jenny might have and to fight for custody of Josh if Jenny opposed her.

  Josh and Jenny were settling into the New York scene, albeit slowly. Josh was ecstatic with his new playmates at Mrs. Donetti’s, and had made fast friends with Dee and her daughter Rosa. Jenny still had attacks of homesickness and tried to quell them with a call to Sparky or Aunt Gert, or singing a little ditty she had learned in grade school or reciting a stanza from Blake’s “Jerusalem,” or picturing the fields of the southern tier in all their autumn splendor, or the first daisies of summer, pure and white, rippling in the sway of a gentle breeze.

  “Jennifer, do you need any help?”

  Jenny looked up to find Cathy standing over her desk.

  “Maybe. I’m finding it impossible to make anything out of this one pad.”

  “That’s because it’s Hedda’s. She’s from England. They use the Pitman method there.”

  “Well, I’m only familiar with Gregg.”

  “Most of us are. I’ll take that one from you. I learned the others because I had nothing else to do when I first got here. I miss Iowa.”

  “Thanks, Cathy. I’ll owe you one.”

  “No problem, Jen. How about lunch? Then we can rake everyone over the coals and I can really baptize you into the fold.”

  “Thanks again, Cathy. I’d really like that.”

  Lunch was fun as she and Cathy huddled in a vinyl-covered booth around the corner at Lindy’s. The restaurant had lost its famous cheesecake and celebrity customers, and gained a lot of new locations, but Jenny felt at home here. The grease-spotted menu could almost double for the ones that Cap’n put out.

 
“Let me give you a rundown of the managers,” Cathy said between bites of a tuna on white. “They’re the ones you’ll deal with at first. The partners have their favorites who have been here for years.

  “You’ve met Bill Masterson. He’s nice, but they’re not all like him. Tom Herrington is a bottom pincher. Eight kids and a lust for life. Malcomb Schuster seems portly and proper, but he can turn on a dime and blame the steno for all his mistakes. Bernie Torrington is the one you really have to watch. Eager to get ahead, he will use anyone who’s handy, or naïve. He has been known to set up situations to get a person fired if they don’t succumb to his will.”

  “Gee, Cathy, nothing like at Miss Lindstrom’s. The only one we chatted with was the janitor at the end of the day.”

  “Well, this is New York. The sooner you get on to it, the sooner you can start to enjoy. Now, eat up. We’d better get back. Alma is a stickler for hours.”

  Jenny enjoyed the challenge of deciphering the other note pads upon their return. Despite the universality of the Gregg method, little squiggles and quirks of the pen could alter the look. She hardly had time to enjoy the afternoon sunbeams dancing across her desk.

  Alma returned late in the day. She acknowledged no one as she pulled her typewriter from its spot underneath the top of her desk, typing furiously to transcribe her notes of the morning.

  Jenny began thinking of where she would take Josh for dinner. They deserved a night out. Maybe the diner around the corner from their apartment. They had both grown to like the place. A warm-hearted waitress and a tough but softhearted ex-marine who owned the place completed the picture. Ernie waited for their arrival and got pencil and paper for Josh to draw while he waited for his toasted cheese and the cook flipped her burger, which was so close to the ones at Capn’s she could swear they learned from the same chef.

  Jenny said her goodbyes to the other stenos as she left for the day.

  Alma looked up briefly. “Hope you had a good day, Jennifer.”

  “It was fine, Alma. Thanks.”

  As she hurried for the cross-town bus that would take her to the train station, she congratulated herself on making it through the first hurdle of her move to New York. She must pick up a celebration toy for Josh in that cute little shop she had seen in Grand Central. What would he like? She thought of a push toy, then scratched it for a puzzle or an accordion.