“ . . . for?”
“For summer at the shore.” Julia was wearing the expression of long-suffering superiority that had only gotten worse since she’d been married.
“Of course I’m ready for summer at the shore.” July and August on Buzzards Bay, mucking up clams, playing tennis, walking miles and miles around sandy inlets, doing a whole lot of nothing at all, just like always. Only, this year, I’d be in Hollywood!
“But have you packed yet?”
My goodness, but Mother was putting a fine point on it. “I will.”
“Yes, but when? Haven’t you been listening? We’re leaving Monday morning.”
“This Monday morning?”
Lawrence sneered. “I don’t know why God bothered to give you two ears since you don’t even use one of them.”
I would have stuck my tongue out at him, but I didn’t want to be a bad example for the boys. “We go to the shore in July and August.”
Mother sighed. “Yes. And this year we’re also going in June.”
“But—”
“You always say you wish you could stay there forever.” Mother was speaking at me the way she spoke to Henry when he was being unreasonable.
“I know, but—”
“Really, Ellis, you need to pack your things tonight.”
“But I can’t go!” What was wrong with everybody? Why hadn’t they bothered to tell me? And what about tradition!
“Of course you can go.”
“Of course I can’t because I have to work for—” Oysters and clambakes! I’d almost gone and ruined everything. Or . . . maybe I actually had ruined everything. Everyone was staring at me. Still.
“You have to work?” Lawrence was trying hard not to laugh as he said it.
“I do.” I busied myself with my ham steak, hoping everyone would just leave it at that.
“You have a job?” Lawrence hooted the words as if he couldn’t quite believe them.
“Of sorts. And it’s very important, so I can’t go to the shore just now.”
“But it’s all been planned. I’m taking the boys. You have to go!” In Julia’s mind, at least, it was all settled.
Mother tapped a spoon against her glass, and immediately, silence descended. “You’ll just have to quit. You can’t stay here in the city by yourself.”
Father held up a hand. “Now wait just a minute. If Ellis has got herself a job, perhaps she should keep it.”
I weighed the risk of saying something against the risk of saying nothing. Janie really needed her job, especially since Mrs. Winslow had died, and if I went to the shore, then I wouldn’t be there to work it for her and she’d get fired. I had to say something. “It’s only for two weeks.”
Mother had put down her spoon and pushed back her plate as she met my father’s eyes. “What two-week job could possibly be worth giving up extra time at the shore? I’ve already made our plans.”
Father lifted his brow. “I don’t know.” He directed his gaze toward me. “What sort of job is it?”
I couldn’t really say, could I? Because they’d wonder why I was filling in for Janie, and Father was likely to know the chief or the supervisor and if he mentioned Janie just needed a couple weeks off and they gave it to her then I’d have no other way to earn the money I needed. At least, not so quickly. I was doing her a favor and she was doing me a favor and, really, that’s all that mattered, wasn’t it? “It’s a . . . well . . . it’s . . . I’ll be . . .”
“She just wants to stay since Griffin is staying.” Julia screwed up her mouth in a scowl.
“I do not!”
Father looked from her toward me. “Ellis? What sort of job is it?”
“It’s . . . helping the less fortunate.”
Julia huffed and puffed. “None of the less fortunate expect to be helped in the summer. They can wait until autumn.”
Mother gasped. “Really, Julia!”
“Well, they can. I promised the boys Buzzards Bay.”
The boys didn’t really seem to care as far as I could see. One of them was shoving olives onto his fingertips, and the other was trying to insert the stem of a spoon up his . . . I reached over and tugged it down before Mother could spot him.
“Which less fortunate?” Father asked the question as if he really wanted to know.
“It’s, um . . . well . . . it’s an orphan.” Kind of. I mean, before she’d told me there was a Mr. Winslow, I’d thought Janie was one.
Mother brightened. “Oh! Then you must be helping down at the Orphan Asylum with the pageant for their benefit.”
“It’s not actually those—”
“Since your father has to stay in the city I suppose . . .”
What on earth pageant was she speaking of? “It’s only one orphan I’m helping. It’s not the asylum. What I meant was—” What on earth was I thinking of! Telling them would only get Janie in trouble and cost me a train ticket to Hollywood.
“I think it’s wonderful you’re choosing to spend your time so charitably.” Mother actually smiled at me! “I’m quite proud of you, Ellis.”
She was proud of me?
“You can come out to the shore once the pageant’s over.”
“But, Mother—!”
Mother shushed Julia. “Ellis has taken up a cause. We all need to be supportive.”
Sunday morning was spent in church, and after a dinner of cold roast, Mother and Lawrence readied for the annual migration to the shore with a great clatter, banging trunks and bags and hatboxes about.
“Have you seen my tennis racket, El?” Lawrence poked his head around my bedroom door.
I looked up from my magazine. “Your what?”
“My racket.”
“Um . . . no.” Not since I’d borrowed it to use in a play back at the beginning of the term.
“Have you seen yours, then?”
“Sure. It’s in my closet.”
“Can I take it?”
“Are you taking your blanket robe with you?” It was so much cozier than my silk kimono.
“No.”
“Mind if I use it?”
“Go ahead.” His muffled answer came from my closet, where he was rooting around.
Which got me to thinking: What did a hello girl wear when she worked at the switchboard? I spent some time that evening going through the few dresses I had that weren’t stained with grape juice as I tried to decide. They were all several seasons out of date, but it wasn’t as if anyone was going to see me. Still, that didn’t mean I had to make a bad impression. I oughtn’t be too formal, but at the same time, it wouldn’t do to be too casual either. I needed to . . . well, I needed to look like Janie, that’s what I needed to do! But what did Janie wear? What had she worn when I’d seen her last? I closed my eyes and tried to conjure her, but I couldn’t. All I kept seeing was a gray, shapeless sort of form.
Gray and shapeless.
I didn’t have anything gray and shapeless. I had yellow and shapeless. Or white and shapeless. Or lilac or green. I chewed on a nail. Costuming was critical. In order to be the character, I had to look like the character. The important thing was not to be noticed for who I was; I had to be accepted for who I was pretending to be. And in this case, since I was going to be Janie, it was better that I not be noticed at all.
White would have to do.
And I’d wear flesh-colored stockings and my . . . which shoes? Not my old T-straps. But I couldn’t wear my silk pumps or my galoshes . . . could I?
No.
At least . . . not the galoshes. Too conspicuous.
I rummaged through my jewelry chest and pulled out a string of beads. Just because I was pretending to be someone else didn’t mean I had to look ugly while I was doing it. Now I just needed a hat. I’d darken my brows a bit. I wouldn’t wear any lipstick, and I’d hold myself with an air of timidity. I practiced in the mirror for a while, then closed my eyes and imagined myself as Janie and started to walk with that rolled-shoulder way she had.
&nb
sp; “Ellis.”
My eyes flew open.
Mother was stepping into my room, a sweater draped over her arm and a hatbox dangling from her hand. “What time do you need to wake up in the morning?”
“For . . . ?”
“For the orphans.”
“Oh. Oh!” Early. “I need to be there at seven.”
“Better make it five thirty, then. That’s what I’ll tell the maid. And I’ll let the kitchen know to have breakfast ready for you at six o’clock sharp. And the driver to be ready for you at six forty-five.”
Five thirty! Six! Six forty-five!
She came over to kiss my cheek. “Kiss me now. I won’t be up that early in the morning.”
I pecked her on the cheek.
“Don’t look like that. There are many people who get up far earlier every day. This will be good for you.”
7
Five thirty was dreadfully early in the morning! I wandered around my room for a few minutes trying to remember why it was that I was up and then, once I remembered about the job, I threw on my kimono, washed my face and—where had I put my kohl pencil? And how was I supposed to darken my brows when I couldn’t find it? I might have used shoe polish if I’d had some.
I could ask Lawrence.
No. If I woke him, he’d wonder what I was doing and I’d have to explain and then he’d have something else to hold over my head.
What to use? Maybe . . . what was black? Soot? Ashes?
A fountain pen!
Using the mirror, I marked in my brows with the pen. My, but they were dark! Although Janie was one of those blondes with very dark brows. I put the pen down and took an entirely objective look at myself. If I narrowed my eyes and didn’t look too closely, I was relatively certain I could pass for her.
I combed a bit of Lawrence’s petroleum jelly through my hair and tried to adjust the waves to look like Janie’s, praying they would stay. After rolling up my stockings and fastening my dress, I draped the beads around my neck. I practiced talking like Janie for a few minutes, then tiptoed down the stairs and into the dining room.
It had been so long since I’d been up for breakfast at home I’d forgotten what was served. It was toasted brown bread and tea, which made me remember why I’d always thought breakfast not worth having.
“Is there any coffee?”
The maid’s brows rose as she shook her head.
That was a shame. I’d gotten used to coffee at Radcliffe.
I dunked my toast into the tea and drank up what was left.
At quarter to seven, the driver helped me into the car, and by five minutes to seven, he was stopping in front of the Female Orphan Asylum.
I leaned forward. “You don’t happen to know where the central switchboard is around here . . . ?”
He pointed down the street where several girls were entering a building. I slid across the seat as he opened the door, then stepped down onto the street.
“When shall I pick you up, miss?”
“Oh. At . . . um . . .” I hadn’t thought to ask Janie when work ended. “How about five o’clock?”
Janie Winslow. Janie Winslow. I needed to become Janie Winslow. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that being Janie would be as difficult a role to play as I’d ever had. Usually I played characters people paid attention to, but Janie had never been very remarkable. She was never noticed because she really wasn’t very noticeable. So as long as no one noticed me, then they wouldn’t notice I wasn’t her, and I’d succeed at playing the toughest role I’d ever had! As I walked up the steps toward the building, I turned my shoulders in and looked at the ground as I followed two girls inside. I was hoping they were hello girls, although if they were, then they were much more fashionable than I had thought. Much more fashionable, on the whole, than I was.
I sped my pace to keep up, and when they opened a door, I slipped inside behind them. It turned out to be a bathroom with two long benches and several rows of shelving nailed up along the wall. As the girls unpinned their hats and pushed them up onto a shelf, I did the same. They left their pocketbooks as well.
I did that too.
As they turned to leave, one of them stopped beside me. “I thought you were going to find someone to work for you, Janie!”
“I was.” This must be Doris. I felt myself grinning. I couldn’t help it. “I did.”
“You’re not—” She took a step closer. “You’re not Janie!”
I’d done it! I’d passed the first and most important of tests!
“You’re tall enough and you look enough like her but . . .” She cast an appraising glance at my dress before her gaze dropped to linger on my shoes. “I thought she said she was going to get some girl from that big house her mother had worked in.”
“I am. I mean, that’s me.”
She frowned at me for a moment, then stuck out her hand. “I’m Doris. Pleased to meet you.”
I shook it.
She pulled two cards from the wall, handing one to me. “Here.” She stuck it into a machine that had a clock face on it. When she drew it out, a hole had been punched into it. “Do yours.”
I did the same.
“Follow me, and I’ll show you where your board is.” She linked her arm through mine as she pulled me toward the door. We approached a room that buzzed with voices. “Stick close.”
Three sides of the large room were lined with what had to have been switchboards, but they didn’t look at all like Janie’s drawing. They were big, and they sprouted all kinds of cords.
Doris elbowed me toward an empty stool. It was so tall I had to climb it just to sit down.
My switchboard friend glanced pointedly at the board toward . . . Ah! There was the headset. I put it on, adjusting it at the top of my head so it fit over my ears but as I bent my head forward, I whacked my chin on the mouthpiece.
Ow!
Rubbing my chin, I looked my board over, trying to remember everything Janie had told me. There was the little desk . . . and the pairs of jacks . . . and looming atop it was the switchboard with all kinds of gaping round holes. And—oh! There was a blinking light.
What was it she’d said about blinking lights?
I was . . . I was supposed to . . . work with pairs of jacks. And cords. But . . . what was I supposed to do with them?
Don’t turn around.
Speak with a smile in your voice.
Avoid the supervisor.
But what was I supposed to do with the cords?
I snuck a look at Doris but she was just . . . sitting there. I took a peek at the girl who sat on my other side. As I watched, she took up a jack with one of those cords and plugged it—oh! I remembered.
I took a jack just like she had and plugged it in beneath the blinking light. “Number, please.”
“Tremont-4624.”
“Thank you.”
I looked at all the empty holes in the board in front of me. Which one was Tremont-4624? Janie said they’d be marked, but I didn’t see any numbers. There had to be some system to it, didn’t there? There were two, four . . . ten rows of jacks with two, four, six, eight . . . fifteen columns in each row. And on the sides, the rows were marked off with numbers and . . . oh! I saw it now. They were marked off in groups of fifteen. All right so . . . I made a calculation, counting off numbers, then picked up the second jack and plugged it in.
In my headset I heard a ringing and then the sound of someone picking up on the other end. Thank goodness!
“Hello? Hello?” A male voice.
“Pete? This is Larry. I was wondering, did you want . . .”
I wasn’t supposed to be able to hear conversations, was I? It didn’t seem like I ought to be able to, but how was I supposed to make the talking go away? I glanced over and saw Doris gesturing toward my shelf.
I looked down, but I couldn’t see anything.
Her arm shot past me as she flicked at a switch beneath the pair of cords I’d used and the conversation was cut off.
I remembered now! I was supposed to plug the cords into the jack and flip the switch. I’d forgotten about that switch. But I didn’t have time to thank her, I didn’t have time to do anything, because another light was already blinking on the board.
I reached down for another jack, then plugged it in beneath the light. “Number, please.”
“Tremont-4571.”
I found the corresponding number on the board and plugged the other jack into it. The line returned a busy signal. What was I supposed to do with a busy signal?
I closed my eyes and tried to remember the notes I’d written on the back of that old envelope. I was supposed to . . . I was supposed to . . . tell the caller the line was busy.
I told the caller.
There. I’d done it. But two more lights were flickering now. I wondered . . . what was I supposed to do when I had two calls come through at once? I picked up a jack and plugged it in. “Number, please.”
“Tremont-4649.”
I was starting to patch the call through when that other blinking light caught my eye. I might as well patch them both at once. Wouldn’t it be more efficient that way? “Number, please.”
“Tremont-4569.”
I took the first cord and found Tremont-4569. The call rang through and I flipped the switch. Then I took the second cord and found Tremont-4649. The line was busy, so I . . . huh. One of the old cords was still plugged in to where I’d gotten the busy signal before. I supposed . . . I should unplug it, shouldn’t I?
Sneaking a look at the girls on either side of me, I unplugged it, quickly plugged the new call in to Tremont-4649, and I flipped the switch.
There.
I leaned against the back of my stool, exhausted by my efforts. But then two new lights started blinking at me. Good gracious, was there nothing else people had to do in the city but make telephone calls? “Number, please.”
“Tremont-4649. And could you transfer it correctly this time?”
“I just—I did—”
“No, you didn’t. Just take the call.” The A operator didn’t have to be so mean about it, did she?
I patched the call through to Tremont-4649, just like I had before. Then I plugged a jack in beneath the second light. “Number, please.”
Love Comes Calling Page 7