We Five

by Mark Dunn

  “A pri—?”

  “A spy! She thinks she’s clever and has been able to hide this fact from us. But everybody knows. Everybody except, apparently, you, Ruth. And so now so do you. So let’s just make her wait until Satan puts on woolens, shall we?” Ruth noted a mischievous twinkle in her supervisor’s eye; she smiled and nodded conspiratorially.

  Now Miss Colthurst sighed…rather noisily.

  “I have had much better mornings. My toothache has returned, which always puts me in a dreadful mood.” Miss Colthurst took a deep breath. “Here’s the situation: there are five men due here early this afternoon from the Katz Advertising Agency. Mr. Pemberton has fired the somnolent Mr. Leeds, our advertising manager, and given the wide-awake Katz agency our account. That’s the way things are being done with the big stores these days—even stores without advertising managers who’ve been known to fall asleep while standing fully erect. There is to be no more internal advertising, but there will be advertising, and a great deal of it, thanks to the vigorous efforts of the smart young men who run that enterprising concern. Well, the agency wants to start things off with a big bang. It wants to place photo advertisements in the Chronicle and the Call and the Examiner, and in several magazines that have a large readership throughout northern California. It’s quite an outlay of money for the store, but Mr. Pemberton is convinced it will be worth it, since sales have been in such a terrible slump lately. You there! Mrs. Withers! You cannot be putting your hands behind the counter like that. The absolute nerve of that woman. Miss Guinter, would you please wait on Miss Withers…before I lose the last ounce of my sanity right here in the middle of—what was I saying?”

  “Something about the new advertising agency doing photo—”

  “Yes, thank you. Photo advertisements. So, these young men—and they’re all quite new to the advertising firm—including Mr. Katz Junior, who is the son of the owner…”

  “Who, I take it, is named Mr. Katz Senior.”

  “Yes, of course. Now don’t play on my last nerve, Ruth dear.”

  “I won’t. Go on.”

  “All of them, hired on fresh out of Stanford only a few months ago to bring pep and youthful ideas to that firm—they’ll choose five young women from among the ten female salesclerks whom I have chosen for their consideration, and the girls will be escorted to Golden Gate Park on Friday to have their plein-air photographs taken, as it were.”

  “All five men are needed for the one photographic session?”

  “Oh yes, oh yes. They are each of them responsible for a different aspect of the whole operation. One will work with Miss Dowell and me in selecting the clothes—obviously we’ll want to promote our summer lines—another to photograph, another to write the copy as he is so inspired, and so forth. I’ve never seen anything like it. I understand this represents the future: these scrubbed-face advertising agents pulling out all the stops to make a ‘campaign,’ as they call it—it’s quite like a little military operation, isn’t it?”

  Ruth nodded. “So, Miss Colthurst, I take it from the look of disappointment on your face that you’d selected my friends Mag and Molly and Carrie as candidates.”

  “Naturally. And you and Jane as well.”

  “Jane?”

  “My goodness, Ruth—how you say it! And Jane being one of your dearest friends.”

  “No, no, no. It’s not that I think Jane isn’t—”

  “Oh, it most certainly is.” Lowering her voice: “And why shouldn’t a person think such a thing? Jane is a dear, and smart as a whip, and I know that someday she’ll be one of the best buyers this store has ever had, but she is no Gibson girl, and we both know it. Even so, it was she who first spoke to young Mr. Katz when he came to the store last Thursday while I was at the doctor’s having my knee looked at. And there was apparently something about her which the young man deemed ‘photogenic,’ and so when the two of us had our meeting on Friday, he asked that Jane be included in the ten finalists he’ll present to his fellow account men. And it wasn’t my place to dispute the request. I asked Mr. Pemberton later that afternoon how he would feel if Miss Higgins happened to end up in photo ads for his store and he said he’d be perfectly fine with it. I was quite surprised at first, but then I came quickly to realize just why he should be fine with it. Our employer, as you probably know, is the father of a daughter with a harelip. I believe it’s the reason our store mascot has been that damned little bunny rabbit for the last ten years. I think the bunny reminds him of her. Well, of course, that would make him inordinately accommodating when it comes to matters of outward and inward beauty. And he did tell me—to put a topper on things—that plain-looking women have just as much right to look at a Pemberton, Day & Company store advertisement and picture themselves wearing the garments we sell as women who are more prettily disposed.”

  “Well, he does have a point, I guess.”

  “So the gentlemen will be here at two o’clock and I will cross my fingers we’ll have Maggie and Molly and Carrie with us at that time, because they are so very beautiful, each one of them, and it should be such a credit to the store to have them presenting its merchandise in artful photography.”

  “Should I go look for them?”

  “I had considered asking you. But I haven’t another clerk to spare. Oh, fiddlesticks! I can take over Gloves for you if you aren’t gone too terribly long.”

  “Then I’ll go.”

  “Yes, yes. Go. Skiddoo.”

  Ruth found her friends exactly where she thought they’d be: Maggie’s uncle’s drugstore on California Street. To be accurate, Maggie’s “Uncle” Whit was no longer Maggie’s uncle-in-actuality, since her aunt—Maggie’s mother’s older sister—had divorced him a couple of years earlier. But Maggie still claimed him as such, since he’d never lost his fondness for her, nor had he ever suspended his willingness to treat Maggie and her friends to free strawberry ice cream sodas or fruit-flavored phosphates or Coca-Colas at his fountain. Today it was lemon and orange phosphates Maggie and Molly and Carrie were drinking at one of the fountain’s little café tables.

  Seeing Ruth first, Carrie proclaimed with welcoming silliness, “Behold! The search party has officially arrived!”

  “It didn’t take much searching,” admitted Ruth, while pulling a whitewashed wrought-iron chair over to the table. “What’s the opposite of a wild goose chase?”

  “I don’t know,” said Molly, in a sullen tone. “Would you like something to drink, Ruth? Mr. Whitten has a new root beer on tap and wants opinions as to whether it’s worth keeping.”

  Ruth shook her head. “What I’d like is for the three of you to get yourselves out of these chairs and right down to the store before you lose your jobs. I cannot believe it! Sitting here like ladies of leisure and putting Miss Colthurst in such a terrible fix. She had to bring over Miss Grable from Misses’ Ready-to-Wear—Jeanna Grable, who doesn’t know the first thing about ribbons, and Miss Shields is making a terrible muddle out of measuring and packing in your absence, Molly.”

  Molly frowned. “Is that my fault? Any other girl could learn the job in five minutes.”

  “And just look at your faces,” Ruth grumbled on. “I’ve never seen such a study in glumitude. Honestly. You all look as if somebody just died owing each of you a very large sum of money.”

  “Ha ha and hee hee,” returned Molly with a sneer and a flounce. “You may take your little vaudeville funny act elsewhere, Ruth.”

  Ruth turned to Carrie, who was wearing a frothy lemon-phosphate mustache. “Carrie, can you not make them see reason? Nothing is going to get settled this morning and you’re all needed at the store. And today most especially.”

  “And what makes today more special than any other day?” queried Carrie.

  “If you must know, the new advertising agency that has been given Pemberton, Day’s account is going to photograph several lucky shop girls at Golden Gate Park on Friday, and each of you is in the running.”

  “What do you mean,
‘photograph’?” asked Carrie.

  Ruth sighed with exasperation. “Photograph. With a camera. A professional camera—not a Brownie. Five of Mr. Pemberton’s salesclerks are going to become photography models for the entire day and they’ll appear in Pemberton, Day advertisements all over town—you’ve heard of advertisements?”

  Molly’s face lighted up, while Carrie mumbled petulantly that of course, she’d heard of advertisements.

  Ruth went on: “Miss Colthurst has picked ten of us who will be looked over by the agency men. And from those ten they’ll select five for the job.”

  “Will we be paid?” Maggie, having finally decided to join the conversation, did so without the slightest suspension of her dark mood.

  “Of course you’ll be paid,” replied Ruth. “If you’re selected.” Ruth’s expression suddenly changed; she grinned slyly. “My goodness, but aren’t we being a wee bit presumptuous about our chances?”

  Maggie sucked up the remaining puddle of phosphate at the bottom of her fountain glass. Unlike her friend Carrie, who liked to slurp from a spoon, Maggie used a straw. “Not at all. We four are the prettiest salesclerks in the store. Of course, I have no idea who will occupy that fifth spot.”

  “I do,” said Ruth. “Jane.”

  Maggie’s look of surprise replicated that of her friend Carrie. Molly registered her own astonishment with nothing more telling than a slight clearing of the throat.

  “Jane?” said Maggie. “And just how is this possible?”

  “Oh do be kind!” ejaculated Molly in a burst of magnanimity for her absent friend. “We’ve had all we can take of your monstrous behavior, Mag. It is common knowledge that Miss Colthurst is very fond of Ruth, and it’s probably a very simple thing for Ruth to ask her to exert her influence with these agency men to win Jane that fifth spot. And then it shouldn’t be far-fetched at all for the five of us—including Jane—to model those clothes together as we do nearly everything else together—even though Jane probably is ill-suited for the modeling profession.”

  Ruth groaned. Withholding the fact that she had nothing to do with Jane being seriously considered for the advertisements, Ruth glared at Molly as she acerbically observed, “As far as I can tell, Mag isn’t the only one here today who has taken sudden leave of her generally kind and gentle nature.”

  Carrie nodded. “It’s true. Both Mag and Molly have had a peach of a grouch with each other since they got up this morning, and now they’ve taken to lashing out at people who’ve done nothing but wandered innocently into their presence. Mag, I don’t believe, for example, that you ever thanked your uncle for these refreshing beverages.”

  Maggie snorted. “Didn’t I?” She shrugged. “Well, I don’t remember one way or the other. My mind, as you already know, has been elsewhere. Besides, Uncle Whit probably didn’t even notice. He generally preoccupies himself during our visits from behind his pharmacy-office window-blind, peering and leering at us as if we’re the original Floradora girls.”

  “Mag!” exclaimed Carrie, her hand quickly flying to her mouth in reaction to this low insult.

  “It’s true,” Maggie resumed. “And don’t—none of you!—turn around and look at him. He’ll know we’re talking about him. Ruth Thrasher, did you make all that up about the photography outing just so we’ll hustle ourselves over to the store?”

  “Absolutely not. The agency men are coming. They’ll be there at two. But whether they’re coming or not, you’ve been most derelict and irresponsible—all three of you—in letting this spat keep you from your work.”

  Maggie made as if she would contest this rebuke, but then surrendered and nodded with obvious contrition. “You’ll be happy to know, Ruth, that Molly and I have come to terms. We’ve smoked the pipe of peace. I remain unhappy with this deuced marriage, but I’ve promised no longer to actively oppose it.”

  Ruth turned to Molly for confirmation. Molly nodded.

  Then Ruth exchanged a look with Carrie. “And what was it that Molly brought to the armistice table?”

  Molly spoke for herself: “A willingness to speak to Papa and ask if he might postpone the marriage for a while. Perhaps for a couple of years. Mag is right about one thing—”

  “One very big thing,” put in Maggie.

  “However you may wish to characterize it, Mag. Our parents are rushing into this marriage. They’ve planned nothing. They’re like Romeo and Juliet making googly eyes at each from opposite sides of the ballroom. The postponement works very much to my father’s benefit, because it gives Mag time to come around—to see that Papa has changed, that he isn’t at all the man he used to be.”

  Ruth curdled her forehead into a frown. “This doesn’t smell right.”

  Carrie laughed. She had tried to suppress it, but it came out none the less.

  Ruth pointed at Carrie with an accusatory finger. “You know! Out with it! What’s the real reason Molly’s agreed to these previously unthinkable terms?”

  Carrie laughed again. Her laughter was blubbery: little puffs of merriment escaping from behind wobbly, loosely compressed lips. “You should sit down, Ruth. Molly, go and get Ruth a sarsaparilla.”

  “I don’t want a sarsaparilla. I want the truth, and right this very moment, if you please.”

  Carrie reached out and took Ruth’s hand. “Ruth, dear. You are to go to Miss Colthurst who, as it has been said before, is immoderately fond of you, and who will do anything you ask, and you are to tell Miss Colthurst that Molly can’t take another minute in that stuffy packer’s warren above the ribbon shelves doing the work of a galley slave. She’s to come down behind the counters and join the civilized world. It’s the only decent thing to do.”

  “But who will—”

  Maggie answered the question Ruth wasn’t given time to ask: “The cash girls are all being let go next week with the installation of all those bizarre and perfectly futuristic pneumatic tubes. Any one of those poor young things will be more than happy to take over Molly’s job as packer in the ribbon department to keep herself on the Pemberton payroll.”

  Ruth thought about this. “It’s a lot to ask.”

  Maggie shook her head, smiling pleasantly. (The very first smile of the morning from her.) “Is it too much to ask for such a helpful employee as yourself, Ruth, who knew exactly where her missing fellow salesclerks would be found loafing, and who will have heroically brought them back and saved the day for Pemberton, Day? Miss Colthurst cannot help but be exceedingly grateful—not that she isn’t already—”

  “—immoderately fond of me. The next one of you who utters this phrase will get a crowning with whatever I can find nearby that is hard and heavy and bound to crack the skull!”

  “Why is she so fond of you?” asked Molly, setting her empty glass on the tray with the others.

  “It beats me,” said Ruth. “Perhaps she likes orphans.” Ruth rose from the table along with her three sisters. “Well, of course I’ll ask her. I’ve always hated it that Molly has to spend the whole day toiling away up in that stuffy, cramped little loft.”

  Molly could not help herself. She got up from her chair and planted a kiss upon Ruth’s soon-to-be-blushing cheek.

  “Isn’t it nice how things sometimes work out?” Molly asked. “And on top of it all, we’re going to be fashion models! I’ve always wanted to be a fashion model.”

  “Only if we’re selected,” cautioned Ruth. “There are other pretty girls working at Pemberton, Day who are also to be considered.”

  “Pretty, yes, but not nearly as pretty as we are,” said Molly. “It’s what Mag said earlier. And you’ll get no argument from any of those agency men. Look at how Mag’s uncle gawps at us. Like we’re the most beautiful girls he’s ever seen.”

  “It’s unnerving. Creepy,” commented Ruth, catching the pharmacist out of the corner of her eye. Maggie’s Uncle Whit was indeed looking in their direction—and quite absorbedly.

  “Yes,” said Maggie. “But he really is harmless. It wasn’t a roving eye
that broke up his marriage to my aunt. It was his addiction to Heroin-Hydrochloride cough elixir. Which reminds me that I really should thank him for opening the fountain to us before hours. I’ll only be a moment.”

  Maggie strode back to her uncle’s office at the rear of the drugstore. Observing her approach through its little window, he flung open the door to admit her before she’d even had opportunity to knock.

  “Uncle Whit, we want to thank you so much for all your hospitality this morning. We must be going along to work now, but you were such a peach to let us sit here for nearly an hour.”

  Uncle Whit had a ready smile on his round, almost cherubic face. His eyes were veined and red with bloodshot from his various addictions, most of which robbed him of consistent (and restorative) sleep; but otherwise his noxious habits took little noticeable toll upon his body or countenance. (And Maggie had always been astonished by how much energy he seemed to have.) “Have you worked things out with your friend Molly?” he asked with warm solicitude. “I couldn’t help overhearing bits and pieces. Does this mean your mother won’t be marrying Molly’s father?”

  “Not for the time being, at least. We’re going to convince them to delay the nuptials.”

  “Perhaps ‘no nuptials at all’ would be the better course. Are you aware that Dr. Osborne practices both the medical and dental arts without a proper license?”

  “I knew he wasn’t a qualified physician. I didn’t know that he shouldn’t be practicing dentistry either. That’s an intriguing discovery.”

  “And he drinks. I’ve never met a hard-drinking man who didn’t come to a bad end.”

  “Nor have I, Uncle. Including my own father. But you already know everything there is to know about that.”

  Uncle Whit nodded. “Before you go, Niece, I have something to give you. One of my fountain customers accidentally left it behind yesterday. I don’t know a thing about her, except that she said she was on her way to Oakland to catch a train for someplace in the East. Since I don’t know where to send it, or whether she should ever be back here to collect it, I wanted you to have it.”