I didn’t mention the day after our wedding when he went missing for twenty hours without a word. I couldn’t do that because we had already swept that one under the rug. And once it’s under the rug, it has to stay there.
“Garth, you told me to get a job. I got a job. It’s been a long day. I’m tired. I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. I have to go to work tomorrow morning.”
It was apparent that he was still angry with me, and he looked like he still wanted to argue, yet he backed away. I don’t believe he wanted to mess with his meal ticket.
Thirty
I had done exactly what he had asked me to do. I had gotten a job. I would be our sole support. He had no right to criticize me. Why didn’t I tell him that? Why? Why? I just don’t know. I would avoid confrontation at all cost. I was a master at avoiding confrontation. Grab the barbs and sweep them under the rug.
So I went to the bedroom, kicked my shoes into the corner of the closet, took off my suit and hung it in its plastic cover, and headed for the shower. When the water reached that mmmmm temperature, I stepped in and let it wash the day down the drain. When I was thoroughly relaxed, I dried myself with my favorite fluffy yellow towel, brushed the onion from my breath, pulled my nightgown over my head, and set the alarm clock for six a.m. It was still light out when I crawled into bed. I was asleep as soon as I shut my eyes.
I didn’t hear Garth come to bed, but he was beside me when the alarm sounded the following morning. I pressed the button on the clock and tried to remember why I had set the alarm in the first place. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to get my bearings. Then I remembered that I had set the clock because I was a working woman and I needed to get out of bed and go to the office.
I headed for the bathroom to get ready. Since I had taken my shower the night before, I had only to fix my hair and put on a little make-up. I washed my face, stuck some hot rollers in my hair, and headed for the combo room for some breakfast.
I had not eaten since my hotdog at two o’clock the afternoon before, and I was ravenous. I didn’t have a taste for soggy corn flakes—I sure could have used some Lucky Charms with pink milk—so I stuck a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. I took a jar of strawberry preserves and a jar of peanut butter from the cupboard and poured myself a big glass of milk. When my toast popped up, I slathered one piece with peanut butter and the other with the preserves. I opened the front door and picked the newspaper off the welcome mat. I took it to the table but didn’t even remove its rubber band. Instead, I ate in silence, most of the time with my eyes closed.
The day before I had filled out an application for employment. Someone reviewed it and said I was worthy of advancing to the next level. I had shone at the next level and was asked to report to work yesterday. I told my Ma’am, and she had pumped her fist. I told Percy, and he lifted me, twirled me, congratulated me, hugged me, made me proud of myself. How did he always know how to say the right thing? Certainly no one had taught him. I told Garth, and he had yelled at me for failing to leave him a note.
When I had finished my toast and had licked the preserves from my sticky fingers, I took my plate and glass to our tiny sink, rinsed them, dried them, and put them back in the cupboard. Since our place was so small, we had to return everything to its designated spot once we were through using it.
I returned to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and put the finishing touches on my face and hair. I had decided to wear my navy suit skirt with a pink blouse. Becky had been wearing a solid skirt and colored blouse, so I figured that was standard acceptable attire.
Since Garth did not have class until ten o’clock that morning, he was still in bed when I stepped into my shoes and picked up my purse. Before I headed for the door, I nudged him and told him that I was leaving for work.
With his back still to me, he said, “Unh!”
So the big old fancy lady person left for her first day of work—ever!—without fanfare or a thank you or a kiss. Not even a goodbye.
Thirty-one
I gave myself plenty of time to reach Smith, Smith, Williams, Byrd and Needham by eight thirty. I arrived at the parking lot with ten minutes to spare. I took a ticket from the lot attendant and walked the one block to the building. I entered the lobby on tiptoe and went directly to the elevator that would take me to floor ten. Once I arrived, I surprised myself by finding HR on my own.
When I stepped into the office, I gave my name to the receptionist, and she told me to sit and someone would be with me shortly. Before I could reach a chair, Mrs. Hardy appeared, shook my hand and welcomed me to Smith, Smith, Williams, Byrd and Needham. She was wearing a dark suit identical to the one worn the day before by Miss Glasses on a Chain. Mrs. Hardy, though, did not wear her glasses on a chain. She wore them on top of her head like a hair band. I decided that, if I ever needed glasses, I would wear them on top of my head like a hair band when I wasn’t looking through them. I thought I might just get some glasses to wear as a hair band, even though I didn’t need them for seeing. I liked that look. It made Mrs. Hardy look like an intelligent accessories shopper.
Mrs. Hardy handed me off to a younger woman who introduced herself as Leslie. She was dressed more casually than Mrs. Hardy, in a skirt and blouse, and I was relieved to see that I had not underdressed for my first day on the job. Leslie took me to a very small, very empty room, had me sit at a desk, and handed me a stack of forms to complete: insurance forms, payroll forms, tax forms, and some forms I couldn’t even identify. Once I had completed all of the forms, Leslie made copies of my driver’s license and social security card to add to my personnel file and handed me off to yet another person. I was feeling like a relay baton.
Eric was a summer intern. Red haired and freckled with a voice that had not yet changed, he was wearing khakis and a button-down shirt. Now I was sure I wasn’t underdressed. Eric told me that it was his job to escort me to my office. My office… It sounded so professional. I was anxious to see my office.
We stepped into the elevator on floor ten, and Eric pressed B. The elevator whirred past all of the numbered floors to B. What did B stand for? As soon as the elevator came to rest and its doors opened, I knew what B stood for: Basement, Below everything else, Black Hole, Beyond awful. My office was a windowless, gray cinder block room with a tiled floor. There was no sink-up-to-your-ankles carpet or see-your-face mahogany walls. There were ten rows of desks, each row six desks deep. There was a Selectric typewriter and a tape player on each desk, and all but one desk—mine, I assumed—was occupied by a woman wearing earphones, typing furiously. The clacking sound was ear-splitting.
Eric introduced me as Mrs. Brooks to the woman sitting in the first desk of the first row and disappeared. I guess he didn’t want to spend more time in the Black Hole than he absolutely had to.
The woman in Row 1, Desk A was Velma Fulsom, my supervisor—the supervisor of all fifty-nine women in the typing pool at Smith, Smith, Williams, Byrd and Needham.
Velma removed her earphones, stood, pumped my hand, and said, “Welcome, Missy. I unnerstan’ you’re a whiz-bang typist. We’re glad to have ya. Pull up a chair; let’s chat.”
I pulled up the only chair available and sat as Velma continued: “Now, first off, you don’t need to be dressin’ all fancy down here. We like to keep it simple, dress for comfort. Why, you could wear your pj’s and wouldn’t nobody make no nevermind.”
I wasn’t quite sure what make no nevermind meant, but I got the gist of what Velma was saying. To Velma dressing for comfort meant wearing white tennis shoes and bobby socks and a purple sweat suit with three kitten faces on the shirt. Each kitten had a real bell where its neck should have been, and as Velma breathed, her ample bosom heaved and caused the bells to ding, ding, ding.
“Now, Missy,” (From that day Velma never called me anything but Missy.) “you play your cards right and keep your nose clean, and you can go places in this typin’ pool. Look at me. Come here right out of high school, and here I am, thirty ye
ars later, the supervisor of the whole shebang. Now, don’t you go gittin’ no ideas ‘bout pushin’ me out cause I’m here for the long haul.”
And, with that, Velma threw back her head and let out a huge, raucous laugh.
“When I come here, I thought it was a temporary thing. Mr. Fulsom was in electrician’s school, and the plan was for me to be our sole support till he could get his business on its feet. Then I’d quit ‘n have some babies. Well, the business got to goin’ fine, but I just couldn’t seem to leave. The pay was good and the benefits better. I looked up one day, and it was too late for babies. But, like I always say, you got to pick your priorities. Career or family? Guess I chose career, but, I tell you right now, ain’t got no regrets. So you pick your priorities, Missy. Now, let’s git you started. Looks like you’re 10-F.”
I followed Velma to Row 10 and squeezed past A, B, C, D, and E to get to F—my office! Velma, said, “Now, you can put your pocketbook down here in your drawer. Feel free to bring any other personals with you—tishers, hard candy, female products—and stow ‘em right down in there.”
And all the while I’m thinking, “This is temporary, a means to an end. This is temporary, a means to an end. This is tem…”
But Velma was talking again: “Don’t think I need to ‘splain no Selectric to Miss Eighty-five Words Per Minute,” and then she slapped me on the back. “But let me tell you ‘bout this here machine—called a dictatin’ machine. You’re gonna take the rubber band offen your job—that’s this batch of tapes with the work order—and you’re gonna fill in your name and work station—that would be 10-F—at the top of this sheet of paper here, and then you’re gonna pop tape number one into your dictatin’ machine. Strap them little earphones on your head, and you’re good to go. Use them foot pedals to make yer tape go fords or backerds—right pedal fords, left pedal backerds—and just type what you hear to beat the band. Onest you’re through with a whole job, rubber band the work order back around the tapes, and take the tapes and your transcription up to one of them baskets, and a runner will deliver it upstairs. Pick up another job from that bin over yonder, and start all over again. Iffen you don’t unnerstan somethin’, you know where to find me.”
I said, “Yeah, in 1-A.”
She said, “You got that right. Now, just one more thing. We take a fifteen-minute potty break at ten in the mornin’ and another at two in the afternoon. You’ll find our little girls’ room on floor three, but one of the girls will show you. We git thirty minutes fer lunch, startin’ at noon. You can bring your lunch, git a snack in the snack bar on two, or you can go on out on Walnut and git you a burger or dog. Choice is yers. Now, you git to work, Missy. Good to have you.”
I felt like crying, but I just kept telling myself, “It’s only temporary, a means to an end. It’s only temporary, a means to an end. It’s only temporary, a means to an end.”
Thirty-two
I was surprised to find that my first day in the typing pool at Smith, Smith, Williams, Byrd and Needham wasn’t so bad. It was mind-numbingly boring, but it didn’t make me cry and run screaming from the place.
At morning potty break a young girl named Heidi approached me and told me she’d show me to the ladies’ room. We chatted and hit it off right from the start. She was going to the University at night and typing by day. She had just two years left till she would graduate, and she was hoping to go to law school after she finished her undergraduate degree. The fifteen-minute break was over all too quickly, but Heidi said we could eat lunch together, if I’d like.
So I worked on my job, running my tape fords and backerds, till I finished transcribing and delivered my first project to the basket for the runner to retrieve and deliver.
When Velma saw that I had finished my job, she jumped up, took off her earphones, and said, “Great goin’, Missy. I had a good feelin’ ‘bout you. You’re doin’ just fine.”
I kept telling myself, “…means to an end,” but I knew that during my stay Velma’s support would mean the world to me, would keep me going.
At noon Heidi and I ascended to Walnut Street. It was so wonderful to see daylight again. Heidi had brought a sandwich, but I got myself another hot dog—this time without onions—and an RC. We walked over to the bench where I had sat the day before, ate our lunch, and began a lasting friendship. And, just like that, thirty minutes was gone. It was back to B for us.
When five o’clock finally arrived, my eyes were crossing, my back was getting tired, and I was ready to call it a day. I retrieved my purse from my personal drawer—making a mental note to bring hard candy and tishers the following day—and headed for daylight. On the way to the car, I decided to stop by Leggett’s Department Store on my way home to buy some sweatsuits for work—not purple with kittens, but your basic gray.
At Leggett’s I stepped into the elevator and punched B for the bargain basement. How appropriate that I should shop on B when I also worked on B. As soon as the elevator came to a halt and I stepped out, I spotted the rounder crammed with colorful sweatsuits. I pushed aside the pinks, greens, and reds and went straight for the unassuming gray. I also found a navy in my size that didn’t turn my stomach, so I splurged and got them both.
I stopped by the Piggly Wiggly for a bag of hard candy, tissues, and some Tampax for my personal drawer and headed for home.
Had I deliberately detoured after work so that I’d be late getting home? Was I trying to punish Garth? Teach him a lesson? I was so hurt by his behavior the day before and by his ignoring me on my first day of work. Maybe I was striking back. We had just gotten married. Were we just experiencing the growing pains of being a couple? Did other newlyweds behave this way? Well, I just didn’t like it. I hoped we’d soon get the hang of being a Mr. and Mrs. and begin treating each other with respect.
When I stuck my key in the apartment door, I was still mad that Garth had been so rude to me. I hadn’t even had time to turn the knob before Garth opened it from the inside. He smiled broadly, took my package from my hand, and wrapped me in a warm hug.
When he released me, he said, “I hope you’re up for Chinese. I got all of your favorites.”
Garth had set the table, placed a vase of daisies in the center, and had even lit candles.
But he hadn’t apologized.
He said, “Run put your purse away and wash your hands while I heat the won ton soup and chicken cashew.”
“What about your rude behavior?” my head screamed at me.
My mouth wanted to scream it at Garth, but I knew the evening would be spoiled if I were to bring up Garth’s behavior of the night before. But the purpose of this evening was to keep me from bringing up last evening, wasn’t it? I was faced with quite a dilemma. I bit my tongue and went to the bathroom to wash my hands, but not before I swept another incident under the rug. I was getting pretty good at this.
When I returned, our supper was already served and waiting for me. Garth pulled out my chair, and all of my anger melted away as Garth and I ate and laughed for hours. I told him about Velma and tried to mock the way she talked.
Garth laughed so hard that at one point he grabbed my arm and screamed, “Stop! Stop at least till I can catch my breath.”
But I wouldn’t stop. I kept telling my story while Garth held his sides, the tears streamed down his face, and his laughter became a wheeze.
I told Garth every detail of my day, and he never took his eyes off me as I spoke. He acted as if he thought what I was doing was important, worth talking about. He told me he appreciated my sacrifice, and he promised to make it up to me when he could.
After we ate, Garth told me to go relax in a warm bath while he cleaned the combo room and put the food and dishes away. I soaked and relaxed until I was as limp as a rag. When I got out of the tub and dried myself with my yellow towel, Garth appeared at the bathroom door. He took my towel out of my hands and dropped it on the floor. He wrapped his arms around my naked body and kissed me. Then he picked me up and carried me over the thre
shold of our bedroom. He laid me on the bed, and we had another wedding night with touches and whispers and love talk and giggles.
And I was certain that we were getting the hang of being Mr. and Mrs.
Thirty-three
Garth said, “Mother has invited us to have Thanksgiving dinner with her and Father. Would your parents mind if we spent this year with my parents and then next year with them?”
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Thinking that my parents would mind if we didn’t spend Thanksgiving with them is funny. I don’t believe they’d even notice we weren’t there. Or that it was Thanksgiving, for that matter.”
We never had a huge family Thanksgiving dinner at our house. We just viewed Thanksgiving as a day without school. Percy, Oops, and I would get up late, fix ourselves a bowl of cereal, and sit in front of the TV in our pajamas, watching the Macy’s parade. Toward noon Ma’am and The Colonel would wander down from their room for Bloody Marys and the newspaper.
At some point in the day, one of us would whine, “I’m hungry,” and The Colonel would say, “Well, then, get your clothes on, and we’ll go see if we can find something to eat.”
We’d all pile into the car and head out, looking for an open restaurant. We’d generally end up eating Chinese or Indian or Thai because Chinese, Indians, and Thais didn’t know Thanksgiving from any other day. We had hamburgers—lots of hamburgers—and once a pizza.
We ate Indian food around the time that Ravi Shankar was popular, and the restaurant had hired a sitar player to entertain the diners. We were about the only diners in the restaurant that Thanksgiving, so we had the sitar player all to ourselves. Percy asked him if he took requests, but the guy looked at Percy like he didn’t know what request meant.
Then Percy said, “Can you play We Gather Together to Ask the Lord’s Blessing on that thing?”
Even The Colonel laughed his ass off at Percy’s request.
Getting the Important Things Right Page 14