The way my exposure to the outside world came about was circuitous; the instructor gave us a writing prompt in the form of a photograph from the 1950’s of a stylish woman standing next to an expensive sports car, a bridge in the distance partially obscured by fog. The moon rose in the background, eerily beautiful.
Closing my eyes, I imagined I was the woman in the photo, being lured over to the edge of a cliff by a handsome man. The bridge in the distance, the Golden Gate, drenched in fog, reminiscent of stories I’d heard about San Francisco. I admit, I was fully enraptured by the photograph, transported there in seconds. I could even smell the seaweed in San Francisco Bay.
Giving us fifteen minutes to write two hundred and fifty words or more, he waited, watching us, watching me. I didn’t notice his stare until the classmate behind me tapped me on the shoulder.
“Weiner, are you completely grossed out? Old man Hare hasn’t taken his eyes off you since we started to write.”
Ignoring him, I glanced up at the teacher and didn’t waver when I saw that it was true; he watched me.
“Philipa, do you have a question?” he asked.
“No,” I answered, embarrassed and fidgeting in my seat.
“I know something about you,” he said loudly, walking toward me.
Standing at the side of my desk, his groin at eye level I was afraid to look. Intimidated, I lowered my eyes. I know my face was burning red. No one made a peep. Holding out his hand for my paper, I put my pen down and handed the essay to him. Skimming it quickly, he smirked, complete with sound, just enough to make me feel inadequate.
“So! You’re the student who wants to work at Mademoiselle!”
The announcement got the attention of my classmates. He must have obtained the information from the questionnaire all seniors filled out for the yearbook. Since I wasn’t on any committees and didn’t hold any office, a simple line of words to be placed under my senior picture and most likely ignored by my classmates, was now made public in front of forty students.
Not responding to him apparently was the wrong thing to do.
“Do you think this romantic rubbish is going to get you a job at a New York magazine?”
He didn’t really expect me to answer, but that was okay because I wasn’t going to sit there another second; I was afraid I’d throw up. Sliding my books and papers off the desk, I slipped out of my seat, reached for my book bag, snatched my essay out of his hand, and left the classroom.
Apparently, not waiting for class to end, several of my classmates made a beeline to the principal’s office, complaining on my behalf. I didn’t know because I was on my way home, sick, the revulsion that by making a spectacle of myself, I might have destroyed chances of happiness my senior year. The first response of any catastrophe is often exaggerated, and I had definitely inflated the situation.
My mother was waiting for me, standing at the screen door in a frenzy, worried, compassionate.
“School called,” she said. “He’ll apologize to you, of course.”
I heard her words, but they didn’t register, feeling like I was underwater. Opening the screen door for me, she ushered me into the kitchen, that protective arm around my shoulder.
“Sit down, dear. I’ve made you tea and toast. You should go back, you know. I’ll go with you.”
“Okay,” I said, my lips trembling.
This was a new experience for me, the drama and overreacting. It was something we expected from Angela. It gave me a new compassion for her. A being could truly be driven to unexpected behavior by the cruelty of others.
“I don’t know why he singled me out. It was like the man hated me on sight. He must be on the yearbook committee.”
“Well, try not to worry about it. We’ll nip it in the bud right away so you can get back in school. Excellent student, perfect attendance and awards for sports. You aren’t going to let some little man destroy that for you, now are you?”
“No, but how did you know he was a little man?” I asked.
“The secretary at school told me,” she answered, smug.
After tea and toast with my mother, she got her purse and keys and waited for me at the door. Following her out to the car, I remember everything about that day, how she took my book bag for me to lighten my load, turned to lock up the door; even though our neighborhood was safe, the house rarely empty. I could see with everyone away at college, just her and me living there during the week, we’d have to alter the way we came and went. It made me sad, evidence of our changing life.
I got into the front seat and waited for her to get into hers. Each detail I remember clearly; the way she leaned forward to put the key into the ignition, the smell of her car with the little paper pine-tree deodorizer hanging from the rearview mirror, the blast of air when she turned on the air conditioning.
Chatting about the girls and when they’d be home again soothed me. I felt protected and cherished; the opposite of what I’d experienced in class. At that point in the return trip to school I knew I wasn’t going to go back to the class, apology or not. A seminal moment for me, the idea that I could make choices protecting myself from abuse was huge. Even more, that my mother had my back.
Chapter 7
Two months before college graduation, I went to a job fair the university held. Checking the list of vendors, my heart rate increased exponentially when I saw the familiar name listed.
Many of my classmates didn’t have jobs yet, but unemployment wasn’t an alternative for me, my mother on my back every chance she got. Hounding me about perfecting my resume, she constantly sent me ads from the local newspaper, advising me about what I needed to do to make sure I didn’t come home in June without a promise of full-time employment. Since I wasn’t able to find a husband, employment was mandatory.
“Don’t be upset, Pipi,” Lynne said. “She made the same rules for the rest of us. Why do you think I’m still in school?”
Martha was the only one to find a husband in college. The quintessential science nerd, Hubert got a job at the airport testing safety devices for one of the airlines. Martha was going to be around for a while.
Angela found a husband, but he was practically raised in our backyard. Angela and Anthony got married the summer after she graduated from college. So in spite of getting a teaching certificate, after working in his father’s pizzeria every summer from the time she was fourteen, she’d work there until death do them part. Although I didn’t have the heart to tell her, now her hair always smelled yeasty, like pizza dough.
Ida, funny, sarcastic Ida, fell in love with an artist, a bonafide, card carrying, guild member artist. She’d be working for a long time to come, or until Luke got the recognition he deserved.
Lynne graduated with honors from the business college and ended up going to nursing school because she couldn’t find a job in business. My mother wasn’t about to let her forget that she’d told her to go to nursing school in the first place and could have saved a lot of time and money if she’d listened. Lynne was in her last semester; sweating it out before she had to take the licensing exam. I didn’t envy her.
Walking up and down the aisles at the job fair with a file folder full of fifty resumes, nothing fit. A journalism major; I didn’t want to waste time by filling out applications to be an administrative assistant for a food distributor, or a dental assistant. My fantasy job lurked within the tables and displays. I knew what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, and I wasn’t giving up until I got that job. And as I rounded the corner on the last aisle, there it was.
The only business worth handing over my resume; the fashion magazine I read cover to cover every month since I could read. A man sat at the table under their recognizable banner and when I paused in front of it, he jumped up, excited someone was stopping.
“Benjamin Smith,” he said, nodding his head at me. “You a journalism major?”
“Yes,” I replied, pulling one of my fifty resumes out of the folder and handing it to him. “What do you have a
vailable?”
Biting my tongue to keep from laughing, I wanted to add, I’ll take anything you’ve got.
“Entry level copyediting,” he answered. “We offer a foot in the door, full paid health insurance, relocation assistance and three weeks personal time off, which includes sick days and holiday pay.”
My mind swirled around what he’d just said. I never gave health insurance or moving expenses a thought, assuming my mother would keep me on her policy and would let me live with her for the rest of my life. That’s when it occurred to me that relocation assistance meant it wasn’t local. Of course, it would be in Manhattan. What was I thinking?
“Where are you located?” I asked, just be sure.
“New York City,” he said, smiling again. “Why not fill out an application and take a look at our remuneration package. The only caveat is that we’d need the applicant to come to New York for the interview. And, the job starts right after graduation in June.”
Pushing an application over the table to me, he pointed to a chair. I pulled it over and sat down, looking through my bag for a pen. I copied information off my resume onto the application. When I finished, I pushed it back to him as he handed me a folder with the name of the magazine on the cover. Chills went down my spine. This was my dream. I’d worked hard for it, and now I would make it come true.
“Have you had a lot interest?” I asked, suddenly worried I’d get lost in a shuffle of applications.
He shook his head.
“Not too much because it’s entry level, and that means entry level pay.”
Reaching for the folder again, he picked through the paperwork, pulling out a white type-written sheet covered with numbers.
“Editing jobs don’t start at much, but for the right applicant, the pay will increase quickly. Having to move to New York is a scary proposition for many new graduates, too.”
Well, it wasn’t for me, although I didn’t say anything to him. I reached out for his hand; the first time I’d done that. Wax came to mind, his wonderful hand which he’d held out for me to shake. A chill went through me, my mind wandering to Wax, while I tried focusing on the man in front of me, his name tag printed in large, red letters.
“Benjamin, thank you for telling me about the job. I hope you’ll consider me. What’s your time frame?”
I was shocking myself at how aggressive I was, but I wanted the job.
***
On graduation day, the whole family came, including my grandparents from Brooklyn. When my turn came to walk on the stage, my grandmother cried while my grandfather napped; his head down, toupee slipped forward. After I received my diploma, and everyone clapped for me, Ida said he sprung up and hammered his hands together, whistling through his dentures, screaming,
“Pipi Wiener rocks!”
Standing in a group with my family, the mortarboard in hand, I caught myself looking for Wax in the crowd, but of course, he wasn’t there. Although I didn’t invite him to the ceremony, he knew I was graduating, yet he never contacted me. Refusing to accept that I was being passive-aggressive, focusing on my family helped me get through the disappointment that he hadn’t read my mind and showed up.
My grandfather took us out for lunch, and in spite of the laughter and camaraderie, it took every bit of self-control I had not to permit my feelings about Wax’s rejection ruin my party. Later, I felt ridiculous that I allowed what I perceived as his indifference to impact how I felt about myself, anger at him gradually replacing the disappointment, the conflict cycling all day long.
The following day, while packing the last few things to move out of my dorm, one of the residents brought me a message from the receptionist saying that Benjamin Smith was on the phone at the desk. The name didn’t register immediately, and then I remembered. The magazine! I threw what was in my hand onto the bed and ran down the hall to the stairs.
Obsessed with thinking how wonderful it would be if I could move to New York right away, I didn’t want to go home unemployed and unmarried, another disappointment for my mother to deal with.
The logistics; how’d I get there, where I would live, the loneliness of living in the city where I didn’t know a soul didn’t bother me. I just wanted to get as far away from the risk of running into Wax as quickly as possible. Five years later, I still gave him power over my happiness.
The secretary smiled at me and held the phone out when I got to the desk. Hesitantly, I took it from her, trying to calm down.
“Hello,” I said, still out of breath.
“Philipa, it’s Ben Smith,” he answered. “I’ve got good news. The human resources people here are very interested and would like you to come to Manhattan at the beginning of the week and meet everyone.”
I didn’t say anything right away, because I didn’t know if that meant I had the job or if I was competing with other applicants.
“Oh, how exciting,” I said flatly. “What should I do?”
Realizing how ungrateful I sounded, it was too late to remedy. In exasperation with myself, I shook my head at the receptionist, who gave me thumbs up regardless.
“You don’t have to do a thing,” he said. “Your reservations will be made here, and someone will contact you tomorrow with the details. We ask you to come prepared for one night. The Barbizon Hotel is close by, and everyone stays there when first coming into the city. We’ll set that up, too. Then, if we all feel like we’re a good fit, you’ll go home, get your affairs in order, and come back the following week.”
“Oh wow, that fast!” I said, stuttering.
“Yep, remember I said it starts right after graduation. Well, what do you think?”
“Yes, absolutely, I’d love to come,” I said, trying to make up for my earlier lack of enthusiasm. “I can’t wait, actually.”
“Alright! I’ll get the ball rolling,” he said. “You have a great weekend.”
We said goodbye and I hung up the phone. The secretary was looking at me over her cup of coffee.
“Did you get a job offer already?” she asked, admiringly.
“I can’t believe it, but yes, I did,” I said, flabbergasted.
“Well, congratulations! That’s really great.”
I smiled at her and turned to the stairs again. I only had a few more things to cram into my car and then I’d start the hour and a half drive toward home for the last time.
It was then I realized there’d be no more Wieners at that college. It would be the first time in ten years. Hopefully, my nieces and nephews would attend, carrying on the tradition that had started with my late father.
The excitement that I’d be going to New York wouldn’t really penetrate until my sisters heard the news. I needed their validation like never before. Pulling into the driveway behind my mother’s car when I arrived home, I was mindful of not looking over to Wax’s street. After all this time, aware that he wouldn’t be waiting for me at the place where the alley crossed our streets was still disheartening.
Taking a few deep breaths, I focused on my news, hoping to rekindle the enthusiasm that thinking about Wax had diminished. I popped the trunk and grabbed an armload of my stuff. My mother heard the car and walked out to greet me, her usual inquisitive expression, honing in to see if she could read me.
“Well?” she asked, her poker face on.
“You’ll never believe what’s happened!”
“Don’t make your old mother guess,” she said, teasing.
“I got a job offer,” I said, grabbing her arm; I looked her right in the eye. “At Mademoiselle!”
“Of course, you did,” she replied. “All my children are successful.”
“Right, Mom,” I said, handing her bags.
“What, ‘right Mom’? You’ve set your sights on that magazine since you were a little girl. Of course, you’d get the job. Don’t downplay your effort, Pipi. You should be proud.”
Trying not to get my hopes up, just in case, I turned back the car to get another load when Martha came out to help.
/> “Pipi got a job,” Mother announced. “At Mademoiselle!”
“No way!” Martha shouted, leaning forward to kiss my cheek.
“I still have to have an interview,” I said.
Reaching to take my suitcase, I wouldn’t give it to her; Martha’s pregnant. It’ll be my sixth niece or nephew. Grabbing the suitcase, she was indignant.
“I’m not an invalid,” she said. “So, give us details.”
A quick rundown of the upcoming timeline, my excitement returned as I’d hoped thanks to the interest of my family.
“Well, I have to fly to New York on Tuesday to meet everybody. And if I’m a good fit, they’ll hire me,” I explained.
“A good fit? What does that mean?” my mother asked.
“It sounds like a way to filter applicants, Mom,” Martha said.
“Does that mean you’ll have to move to New York?” she asked. “Maybe it’s not such a good thing after all.”
“Can we get everything inside before we get into that?” I asked, the conversation not going the way I hoped it would with my mother’s negativity. “Who else is home?”
“Just Lynne,” Martha said, then whispering to me when my mother was inside. “She’s got news, too. But let her tell you in her own time.”
“Great,” I said. “Now I’ll be worried until she tells me.”
“Let’s concentrate on your news first,” Martha said. “This is such a milestone! We can use it to motivate our kids; focus on what you want all of your life, and it will come true.”
“I need to tell everyone. I need advice,” I explained, my mother’s concern over leaving the nest spreading doubt like mud over my enthusiasm.
“I’ll call them over,” Martha said. “Ida has been like a maniac waiting for you to get home.”
Some of my confidence seeped back hearing about Ida; my sisters were my sounding boards. Martha went back inside the house to make the calls while my mother and I finished with the car. They’d taken most of my junk home the day of graduation, so there wasn’t much to move.
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