Lorewyn nodded and gave her an affirming smile. “You’re absolutely right, Blackbird. I guess it’s a good thing I have you with me. You’re usually the sensible and cynical one… and I need that to keep my romanticism in check.”
They finally got their turn at the processing station. The short middle-aged man with spectacles who was in charge of their line glanced at both women curiously.
“You two ladies traveling alone?” he asked.
“No,” Lorewyn replied. “We’re with each other.”
The man just gave a slightly amused grin. “No, I mean do you have families? Husbands? Or are you sisters? Cousins? Spinsters? What’s the deal?”
Rhianyn nodded, beginning to understand. “Oh, we’re sisters,” she replied, resorting to the typical role-play to which she and Lorewyn had grown accustomed over the centuries in evading the not-so-readily-accepted truth of their relationship.
“No husbands,” Lorewyn added. “Just the two of us, starting new lives here in America… just like everyone else.”
The man continued looking at them both. “Like everyone else, uh huh,” he stated. “You two are sisters? You don’t look much alike.”
“I know, we get that a lot,” Rhianyn explained, motioning to Lorewyn. “She’s adopted.” She put her arm around Lorewyn and offered a wide grin. Lorewyn played along, likewise grinning.
The man chuckled a bit and dipped his pen in the nearby inkwell. “Well, you both speak English quite well… and not very accented either. Pretty remarkable. Names?”
“Names?” Rhianyn repeated.
“Yes, your names,” the man clarified.
“Oh… Selinger,” Rhianyn answered, enunciating the name she had previously chosen for this new episode in her life with Lorewyn in this realm. “Rachel Selinger.”
The man wrote the name in the register. “Shalom,” he said.
Rhianyn looked a bit confused. The man noticed her confusion and added, “you’re Jewish, yes? Selinger? Rachel? I’ve been doing this long enough to recognize Ashkenazi names.” He gestured toward Rhianyn’s long dark hair and steel grey eyes, which did in fact give her a bit of a stereotypical Eastern European Jewish appearance.
Rhianyn wasn’t prepared for this one. I should’ve researched my name choice better, she thought. But she rolled with it.
“Yes,” she offered, more confidently this time. “Sorry… it’s been a long voyage.”
“I understand,” the man said, turning to Lorewyn. “And you?”
“Ariel Archer,” Lorewyn replied, likewise giving the name she had chosen beforehand. Given what had just happened with Rhianyn, she decided to improvise a bit. “I’m adopted, remember?” She shot a playful grin at Rhianyn.
This seemed to satisfy the man and he finished entering their names in the register. “Country of origin?” he asked again.
“We’re from the Kingdom of Great Britain,” Rhianyn responded.
“But we’ve traveled elsewhere in Europe,” Lorewyn added quickly, anticipating the follow up question. “We both spent time in Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Barcelona, a few other places… that’s likely why neither of us have very traditional British accents.”
The man gave them another curious look, but didn’t say anything and wrote some more in the register. He completed the paperwork, stamped a couple of small pieces about the size of a notepad, and handed both women their documents.
“You ladies can now add New York to your impressive resumes,” he offered with a smile. “Welcome to America, Miss Ariel Archer and Miss Rachel Selinger.”
Lorewyn and Rhianyn both thanked the man and with excited expressions on their faces made their way with their luggage through the awaiting gates. They wasted no time in finding the ferry and boarded it for a trip to Liberty Island before officially setting land on their new home.
“We did it, Blackbird!” Lorewyn exclaimed as they left Ellis Island on the ferry. “We’re Americans! This is our home now.”
Rhianyn returned her wife’s embrace and looked up at the statue that seemed to rise in front of them. While she didn’t feel particularly homeless, poor, or tempest-tossed in that moment, she could say with some degree of confidence that she was tired… tired of enduring centuries on a single continent, tired of moving from place to place every couple decades, of changing identities all the time, of trying to reinvent oneself and start a new life all over again, always careful, never feeling completely free to be oneself. Yes, she was tired, and she knew Lorewyn was too, in her own way.
Maybe this time will be different, she thought. Maybe America, with all its drawbacks, will indeed be a place of opportunity and a chance to pursue a new dream.
***
“Well, I think I’m starting to understand why Humans aren’t very keen on saving money… and the phrase ‘you can’t take it with you’ is making more sense to me.”
It was the Fall of 1921. Lorewyn and Rhianyn had been living in New York for the past three months. The apartment in Brooklyn they had found was working out fairly well, although a bit more space (and therefore more rent) than they truly needed. It was a two-bedroom. They had initially tried for a one-bedroom to save money, but the property manager refused to rent a one-bedroom to two women.
“I’m not saying anything about you two specifically,” he had explained. “I get it, you’re sisters. But a lot of people would get the wrong idea, if you see what I mean… two single ladies… sharing a one-bedroom… I have a reputation in this community. I gotta uphold it. No queer stuff, if you get my drift, not even the appearance of it.”
So, Lorewyn and Rhianyn had to get the extra bedroom, which was essentially used as an office, although neither of them had found work as of yet that would constitute the possible need for such a space.
The comment Rhianyn had made about saving money was her half-humored sarcastic way of trying to deal with the fact that money would potentially be a problem.
“No really, I get it,” she continued to explain. “Humans have such short lifespans. They can afford to spend money and not have to worry about having to live for century after century. But for us, Yellowfeather…”
Lorewyn understood too. “We’ve both been trying to find work, no fault on either of us. You would think we’d have more luck with this, being that women are finding more of a place in American society today. But I guess it really is still a man’s world, huh? So hard for us ladies to find any kind of job that pays well.”
“We’re still good on the savings, right?” Rhianyn asked.
“Yes, I checked at the bank a couple days ago,” Lorewyn replied. “Good thing we prepared for this and brought a sizeable nest egg from Europe… but you’re right, it won’t last forever. And if anything happened to the economy…”
“I don’t predict anything bad like that happening anytime soon,” Rhianyn mused. “Not the way things are currently. The Spanish Flu has been gone for at least a year now. We picked a good time to move here.”
“We’ll be okay,” Lorewyn said reassuringly. “I’ve got an interview tomorrow in the Garment District, remember? They’re looking for models. I might have a shot.”
“If I was the one hiring, you’d be on 7th Avenue sporting the latest fashions for sure,” Rhianyn grinned. “Preferably the ones with minimal fabric covering your…”
Lorewyn interrupted her with a playful slap on the arm and a feigned scoff, but drew near to kiss her all the same. “Too bad sword-smithing isn’t in demand here,” she commented. “You’d make a killing in less than a month!”
“No pun intended, huh?” Rhianyn smirked. “I’d offer to take you out for a drink in anticipation of your soon-to-be modeling career, but we can’t buy booze thanks to the Volstead Act. New York’s just not as much fun as I had imagined.”
“We’ll just have to make it fun on our own terms then, won’t we?” Lorewyn smiled, preparing for bed. She paused a moment in front of the mirror, examining her long silvery blonde hair, holding up a lock of it. “I was thinking ab
out bobbing my hair… what do you think, Blackbird?”
Rhianyn shook her head as she began to change into her nightgown. “Don’t you dare, Yellowfeather! I can tolerate a dry liquor cabinet and a sword-less society. But I don’t think I could make it around here with a short-haired S’trysthyl for a wife! You know I love your long hair too much.”
Lorewyn made it on time to her interview in the Garment District with time to spare. She had put on her best outfit and was ready to give the show of her life! Things didn’t quite go as she had planned, however.
His name was Goldberg. He owned a profitable textile business that contracted with a lot of the big companies in the city, providing custom-made suits and dresses for the Midtown Elite. He was cordial toward Lorewyn, but honest.
“Miss Archer, I don’t know how to break this to you,” he said sympathetically, “but I interviewed a young lady earlier this morning and offered her the job. I’m sorry you came all this way from Brooklyn. You’re a lovely young woman, and I’m sure you’d be a great fit for my wears, but I only have room for one female model at the moment.”
Lorewyn understood and was about to leave when another woman came running into his office fumbling over a stack of papers.
“Mr. Goldberg!” she exclaimed, obviously frustrated. “I can’t prepare all these invoices and orders by this morning’s deadline! I’m sorry, I just wasn’t hired for this kind of work!” She looked as if she was about to break down and cry.
“Margie, I need those done!” Goldberg insisted. “Glenda quit yesterday, and I haven’t had time to hire a new secretary. I know you’re my inventory clerk, but you gotta have some experience typing up…”
“Mr. Goldberg?” Lorewyn broke in. “If you set me up with a typewriter, I can get those documents finished for you this morning… I guarantee it. And if I can deliver on that guarantee, could you guarantee me a job as your secretary to replace Glenda?”
Goldberg looked her over skeptically for a moment, but then grabbed the papers from Margie and gave them to Lorewyn.
“You’re on,” he stated. “I need them by noon. You get ‘em done, you’re hired!”
Lorewyn nodded and followed Margie to an office with a typewriter on a desk. Lorewyn had used a typewriter before, back in Europe. The one Goldberg had was more updated, but the principle was still the same. Lorewyn had dexterity that was far superior compared to a Human’s, but she had learned to be cautious. Anything over 180 WPM would draw suspicion, especially since she had no formal resume as a copyist or transcriber. She took a moment to familiarize herself with the device, then took the stack of notes and got to work.
She was likely pushing 200 WPM without realizing it, but she was also keenly aware that she needed to dazzle Goldberg if she was to land a job. Margie poked her head in every few minutes with an astonished look on her face at Lorewyn’s speed and precision on the machine. At one point Margie left the office door open and Lorewyn could hear an interchange between Goldberg and another man. They were walking down the hall toward the office.
“Goldberg, you know that gala’s this weekend,” the other man was explaining rather emphatically. “We have a dozen new published releases, authors to be recognized, schmoozing to do, and there’s talk of adapting Edith Wharton’s Age of Innocence into one of those moving pictures. I need those garments!”
“Max, it’s been crazy, what can I tell you?” Goldberg replied. “This past year our business has been booming… I can’t keep up! Look, I’m gonna honor the contract, you have my word… it might be cutting it close, but I can…”
They were standing in front of the office now, Lorewyn’s fingers flying on the typewriter keyboard, finishing her final pages. She was ahead of schedule. It wasn’t even half past eleven yet! The man Goldberg was speaking with, Max, suddenly stopped and looked into the office, noticing Lorewyn.
“Goldberg…” Max said, his voice dropping. “Who is that?”
“Oh, the dame?” Goldberg replied. “She came in for a model interview, but I had already filled it. She’s a looker, isn’t she? But I had these orders to finish, you know, behind on the paperwork, and she offered to…”
But Max had stopped listening and was stepping into the office, watching Lorewyn’s work on the typewriter intently, quite amazed. Lorewyn finished her last page, gathered up the completed work, and stood to deliver them to Goldberg, almost running into Max who was standing only a few feet away.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Lorewyn exclaimed, making sure she didn’t lose her grip on the papers. “Excuse me, but I need to get these to Mr. Gold…”
“My name’s Max Perkins,” the man said, introducing himself and offering his right hand, shifting the pipe that he had been smoking to his left. “I gotta say, I have never in my life seen someone who can type like that!”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Perkins,” Lorewyn responded humbly. “I just saw a need here and offered my help.” She looked past him at Goldberg, who was still standing outside the office with an annoyed look on his face at what he perceived to be his customer’s intent. “Mr. Goldberg, these are finished, with time to spare. Now about that job offer you had promised…”
“What’s your name?” Max asked.
“My name?” Lorewyn answered. “It’s Archer… Ariel Archer, but…”
“Miss Archer, what would you say if I offered you a job right now as a copy editor and proofreader for one of the most distinguished and successful publishing houses in New York? Hell, in America for that matter!”
“Dammit, Perkins!” Goldberg blurted out, finally stepping into the office, angrily. “Miss Archer already has a job, with my company!”
“No offense, but from what I just heard, it sounds like a job offer hadn’t been formally made yet,” Max stated.
“You son of a…” Goldberg started to say but checked himself. He turned to Lorewyn. “$15 a week and you start on Monday!”
“I’ll double that,” Max commented. “And you can start as my assistant at Scribner’s tomorrow. How does that sound, Miss Archer?”
Lorewyn gave Goldberg a sympathetic smile and handed the papers to him. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Goldberg, and I did uphold my end of our bargain. The work is finished on time. And I know you upheld your end too… you offered me a job. But I’m going to accept Mr. Perkins’ offer. No hard feelings, I hope?”
Max just smiled at both Lorewyn and Goldberg and took Lorewyn’s coat from the nearby rack, holding it for her as she put it on. Together they walked out of the office, leaving a frustrated and sighing Goldberg behind.
“I’ll be back on Thursday for that gala attire!” Max called out as they were walking. “Have it ready… no later.”
Max turned to Lorewyn again when they were outside and standing on the sidewalk of 8th Avenue.
“Tell you what, Miss Archer,” he said. “Let me buy you lunch, and we’ll talk about your new career in editing and publishing.”
“Deal,” Lorewyn said in return. “But please, call me Ariel. I like my last name, don’t get me wrong… but… well, it’s just something about the formality and honorific, you know? Kind of like… Lady.”
Max laughed as they began walking toward Midtown South and Madison Avenue. “I like your style… Ariel. Call me Max.”
CHAPTER 2
Rhianyn had spent the day in Manhattan as well, but further south than the Garment District or Midtown. She had started near Washington Square with a newspaper in hand, combing the job listings, and making her way down Broadway, south of Houston, past Tribeca, and eventually ending up near Wall Street. Hotel staff ads, a couple of telephone operator positions, clerks, social workers, she checked them all. There were plenty of jobs that simply wouldn’t hire a woman, no matter how skilled or attractive, and then there were other jobs that Rhianyn knew about that weren’t necessarily advertised but that depended solely upon a woman’s skill and attractiveness. She wasn’t interested in those jobs, thank you very much!
But she hadn’t had any luck so
far. There was the issue of her chosen name and her corresponding physical appearance. Rhianyn had picked up some Yiddish in the past three months. It was sort of necessary… she had been faced with interactions with New York’s Jewish community, which was prolific and widespread as she found out. These were almost always positive interactions, but there was a general assumption from many of the folk she encountered that she had at least a partial working knowledge of Yiddish. So, she did some studying and had developed a modest vocabulary, plus some information about Jewish culture in America.
The bad side was that she found herself stereotyped. “You’re out looking for a job, a nice Jewish girl like you? Isn’t your husband taking care of you? He must have some money, yes?” It got tiring after a while. But she had chosen a Jewish name. This was the hand she dealt herself.
And there were the less than scrupulous offers too, as expected. “It’s still a man’s world,” as Lorewyn had remarked, and that was certainly the case in New York as well. Men in position of power, who could offer or withhold opportunities from women. Rhianyn even found herself having to remove a man’s hand from her knee as she was sitting next to him at a table in his office on Cedar discussing a temp job. She didn’t remove it gently either, exerting considerable force on the man’s wrist, causing him to wince in pain. She got up and left a moment later, but not before having to hear the misogynistic squawk from behind her.
“Forget it! I ain’t hiring no broad with a vise-grip for a hand anyway!”
And so, she kept on. Rhianyn decided to take a break sometime in the mid-afternoon, considering when she might call it quits for the day and head back to Brooklyn. She was sitting on a bench in City Hall Park sipping some tea when her attention was diverted by a horse and carriage on the corner. The driver was trying to calm the horse who was very agitated. Agitated was perhaps too light a description. The horse was neighing angrily and rearing up as the driver had stepped down from the carriage and was trying to calm the animal. There was a beat cop who had seen the commotion and was speaking to the driver.
Two Birds, One Feather: The Lives and Times of Lorewyn & Rhianyn in America Page 2