Secrets of the Red Box

by Vickie Hall

  Bonnie shook her head. “If it’s so good, why aren’t you working there? Besides, I don’t consider myself the mechanical type.”

  Christine hunched a shoulder. “Me neither.” She went quiet for a moment and sipped at her coffee. “So what do you do? I mean what kind of work? Maybe I can help.”

  “What do I do?” Bonnie repeated, her thoughts grasping for an idea. What do I say? I haven’t had a real job in almost four years. She grew aware of the time lapsing between them. “A little of this and that. Some odd jobs. I mostly sing.”

  “You sing? Like in a nightclub?” Christine leaned over the table, intrigued.

  Bonnie nodded. “Yes, I sang in a band. We toured around the northeast, trying to work our way back to New York.”

  “Really?” Christine breathed. “You sure have the looks for a band singer.”

  Bonnie smiled, drinking up the flattery. “After Jimmy got drafted, we gave it up.”

  “Jimmy? That was your husband?”

  “Yes. He was a trumpet player in the band. And I tell you,” she drawled, “he was every bit as good as Harry James.”

  “Wow, your life sounds so glamorous.” Christine sighed. “It must have been hard for you to give it up.”

  The waiter brought their food and Christine consulted her watch. “They’re running a bit slow today. I’ve got to get back to work in a few.”

  “So what do you do?” Bonnie asked, cutting into her fried chicken.

  “I’m a secretary,” Christine said, stabbing a fork into her Cobb salad. “Iwork for a lawyer’s office. You know the type—high-toned lawyers who won’t touch a case unless they stand to make at least a few grand.”

  “Now that sounds glamorous,” Bonnie said with a raised brow. “Money has its own rewards.”

  “I guess,” Christine laughed, digging out the tomatoes from her salad, “unless you work for my boss. Not only does he pinch a penny till it squeals, he’s married.”

  Bonnie chuckled and cut another bite from the chicken. “No marrying the boss then, huh?”

  “He’s not my type anyway,” Christine said with a clipped laugh. “But there is a guy who just came into the office. He was deferred with a heart murmur, so the office scuttle goes. Now, him I could get used to. But I’m waiting for Joe.”

  Bonnie cocked an eyebrow. “A looker?”

  Christine came to attention as though she’d just been stabbed with an idea. Her wrists came to rest against the edge of the table and she leaned over her salad. “Hey! I could ask around the building, see what jobs are available if you want. Do you type?”

  Bonnie shook her head. She had no secretarial skills—never needed them. She’d only waited tables and worked as a housekeeper before leaving Long Beach and moving to San Diego. What she’d done in San Diego she hadn’t really considered work. But those days were over, she knew. Now she needed to find a respectable job, something she didn’t have to be ashamed of, something that might lead her to bigger and better things.

  “Well, that’s okay. I’ll check around. Are you staying at the hotel for a while?”

  “For now.”

  Christine checked her watch again. “I’d better run.”

  She looked at Bonnie and cocked her head to one side. “I’m sure glad we got together today. You know—I think we’re going to be friends.”

  Bonnie smiled. “You never can tell.”

  Christine slid out from the table, paid her bill, and was gone. Bonnie placed her elbows on the table and laced her fingers together as she watched Christine sashay out the door. She leaned back in her chair, a grin crossing her lips. She wasn’t much in favor of having friends—they complicated her life. But if Christine could help her find work, then it was worth using her for contacts.

  Chapter 2

  The phone rang, and Bonnie jolted with the sound. Her heart began to race and blood chilled in her veins. No one but Christine knew she was here. Who would be calling her? The ringing continued as she debated whether or not to answer it. It was probably the front desk, she thought, trying to calm her jangled nerves. She stretched her freshly manicured fingernails toward the receiver. Almost holding her breath, Bonnie answered. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Bonnie. It’s Christine,” the cheerful voice chimed over the line.

  Bonnie felt her fears subside. “Oh, hi, Christine.”

  “Listen, I’m on the tail end of my lunch hour, so I haven’t much time. But yesterday, after I left

  here, one of the switchboard operators quit! You should apply for the job.”

  Bonnie paused. “Oh, I don’t know…I don’t know anything about that.”

  “You don’t have to,” Christine gushed. “They’ll teach you. They taught the last one.” “They?”

  “The other switchboard operators,” she said as if it was obvious, “and their supervisor, of

  course.”

  Bonnie ruminated on the idea. It didn’t really matter what kind of job she got—not at first, anyway. She had to start somewhere. “Okay, where do I go?”

  “Get your purse and I’ll take you. Hurry.”

  Bonnie didn’t take time to question Christine. She hung up, grabbed her purse, and rushed to the elevator. For a minute, the same sense of panic she’d felt in San Diego came back to her. All her insecurities came bubbling to the surface: her spotty education, her lack of experience, every sentiment that made her feel inadequate. But she was clever, she told herself, clever enough to do what it took to get the job. Bonnie swallowed down her thudding heart and met Christine in the lobby.

  “It’s a big building,” Christine explained as she ushered Bonnie onto the busy sidewalk. “The switchboard handles all the internal calls as well as transfers to outside parties.”

  Bonnie looked askance at this stranger. It seemed inconceivable to her that someone she didn’t know was so willing to help her. Why is she doing this? What’s in it for her? She couldn’t make sense of it. She’d never known anyone who did something for nothing. Bonnie shook off her doubts, squelched her inner cynicism, and decided to take Christine at face value.

  ///////

  “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” Bonnie said with a nervous smile. She tugged on the new suit she’d purchased, a deep shade of blue that matched her eyes. She hoped it made her look a little like Lauren Bacall from a spread she’d seen in Harper’s Bazaar—capable, with an air of no-nonsense about her, and just an edge of mystery.

  The exchange supervisor motioned for Bonnie to take a chair on the other side of her desk and picked up a pencil. “These young girls who just quit on the spur of the moment, leaving me…well, never mind about that,” she said more to herself than to Bonnie. “I am Mrs. Kemp.”

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Kemp.” The woman appeared to be in her mid-forties, her hair pulled back for efficiency’s sake, her face lined with premature wrinkles. Bonnie was sure they weren’t laugh lines as she briefly studied them.

  “Now, as I said, this job takes a clear head and proper thinking. It’s a bit technical, but most girls pick it up quickly.”

  Bonnie’s stomach suddenly churned. She was neither technically skilled nor a proper thinker, whatever that meant. She cleared her throat and edged forward in the hard wooden chair. “I pick things up quickly. In fact, I was the first in my class to memorize the Gettysburg Address.”

  The woman appeared unfazed. She took out a form from inside her desk and placed the pencil lead to the page. “Your name?”

  “Bonnie.”

  Mrs. Kemp kept her head down, but raised her eyes. “You don’t have a last name?” Her voice was singed with sarcasm.

  Bonnie’s brain swirled only briefly, recalling the name she’d given to Christine. “Cooper,” she said, her voice ejecting the word with confidence.

  The supervisor’s pencil squiggled onto the paper. “Address?”

  Bonnie shifted again in her seat. “I’m staying at the Rome Hotel temporarily until I find an apartment.”


  She lowered her pencil. “You’re not from around here?”

  “No, I just came in from Ohio.”

  Bonnie saw a disapproving look scrawl across the woman’s face, intensifying the wrinkles around her eyes. “Are you planning on staying in Omaha?” Mrs. Kemp was unable to disguise the skepticism in her voice as she asked the question.

  “Oh, yes. I plan to make this my permanent home.”

  “I take it you’re not married?”

  Bonnie’s brows drew together with some irritation. “No, but—”

  “The reason I ask, Miss Cooper, is that training a new operator takes a great deal of my time, time away from supervising my operators, which is my primary responsibility. Training someone new and then having her leave to get married, or go off to heaven knows what, wastes my time again and again. I can’t tell you what this war has done to stability.” She shook her head and then fixed her cool eyes on Bonnie. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Bonnie nodded. “Yes, of course. That’s completely understandable. Your time is valuable. I can see you take your job seriously and you’re dedicated. Iadmire that in a person.”

  The supervisor’s face softened a bit. “Then you appreciate my position, Miss Cooper.”

  “Oh, absolutely. Iwas going to mention before that I was married, but my husband was killed a few months ago…he was a paratrooper. I have no intention of marrying again for some time, if ever.” Bonnie lowered her eyes for a moment, then looked at the supervisor. “I can assure you that I would be a steady worker for you, Mrs. Kemp.”

  The supervisor pursed her lips together and scribbled something on her paper. She raised her gray eyes and forced a smile. “Now, just a few more questions, and I’ll get you a headset.”

  Bonnie leaned back in her chair, stifling a grin with concerted effort. She knew just what to say to get results.

  ///////

  Bonnie sat before a high backpanel switchboard consisting of rows of female jacks. The supervisor pointed to the desk area in front of Bonnie with columns of keys, lamps, and cords. “This is your front key and rear key, your front lamp, and your rear lamp. This is your front cord and your rear cord. Now, each of these keys has three positions: back, normal, and forward. When a call comes in, the jack lamp lights up on the backpanel. You take a rear cord and place it into that jack and throw the front key forward.”

  Bonnie tried to follow the quick movements of the supervisor, training her eyes on the end of the pencil as each item was pointed out and described. The headset pinched her ear and made the top of her head ache. The looming backpanel seemed to mock her with its winking lamps and tiny, empty jacks. She let her focus stray and lost track of Mrs. Kemp’s instructions.

  “Miss Cooper? Did you understand what I just said?”

  Bonnie’s head jerked up toward the supervisor hovering over her shoulder. “When a call comes in, the lamp lights up on the backpanel. I take a rear cord, put it into the jack, and throw the front key forward.”

  Mrs. Kemp’s posture straightened and her face registered her surprise. “Well, Miss Cooper, I can see you’re going to catch on quickly. Tell you what. It’s almost five o’clock. Let’scall it a day and we’ll start fresh in the morning.”

  Bonnie removed the painful headset and fussed with her hair. She went to the back and opened the door to the coat room, where there were a few lockers, coat pegs, and a mirror. Her fingers continued to adjust her hair, working the curls and waves back into place as she gazed into the mirror. As she prodded and probed, a woman came in behind her.

  “Hi, I’m Janet,” she said, waving at Bonnie’s reflection of the mirror.

  Bonnie turned and smiled. “I’m Bonnie.”

  Janet reached into a locker, took out her hat, and joined Bonnie in front of the mirror. “Looks like you won over the old sourpuss.”

  “Did I?” Bonnie asked with amusement.

  “Of course, it won’t last,” Janet said, reaching back into the locker for her purse. “It usually wears off in a couple of weeks. Then she’ll be just as ornery with you as she is with the rest of us.”

  “I can take it,” Bonnie said, half-smiling.

  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be here.” Bonnie tucked her purse beneath her arm.

  Bonnie waded through the cluster of other operators who’d come to claim their things. She smiled congenially at each of them and offered them a brief introduction. As she made her way to the lobby of the building, Bonnie couldn’t help the smile that twisted her lips. I’m just a switchboard operator in Omaha, Nebraska. Who’d suspect that?

  She headed for the front door and felt a hand come to rest on her elbow. Her heart stopped beating and her flesh prickled beneath the foreign touch. For a split second, she considered running. Maybe she could lose herself in the evening crowd. She held her breath and turned, expecting to see a man with a shiny gold badge.

  “You’re still here,” Christine exclaimed. “Didn’t they interview you?”

  Bonnie’s blood began to warm again and her heart settled into a normal rhythm once more. “Oh, I got the job. She started me out right away.”

  Christine’s hand was still on Bonnie’s elbow. She squeezed it. “I’m so happy for you. We need to celebrate. Let’s grab a bite to eat and catch a movie. What do you say?”

  Bonnie didn’t know exactly what to say. She was still wary. Now here she was in a strange town, alone, and suddenly befriended by this woman who knew nothing about her. Her past consisted of shadows and secrecy. This was all too open, exposed. It was too normal, she thought. But wasn’t that what she’d come looking for? Wasn’t it about trying to fit in and become like everyone else— unremarkable, above suspicion?

  She looked at Christine and smiled. “All right, let’s celebrate.”

  “There’s a great Chinese place just up the street. How does that sound?”

  Bonnie nodded and allowed Christine to link her arm in hers. “Sure.”

  The two women entered King Fong Chinese Restaurant and waited. The tables were clothed in red, and colorful Chinese lanterns hung suspended over each table. A pair of gold lion statues sat beside the door, the male with the globe in his paw and the female with a cub. Most of the tables were already filled as hungry patrons eyed the menus.

  “I just adore Chinese food,” Christine said, adjusting her hat to make sure it was still in the right place.

  “Back in New York, there was a wonderful little place just around the corner from our apartment.” Bonnie pointed and rose up on her tip-toes. “Oh, look—they have chopsticks.”

  “I can’t use them to save my soul, unless you count using them to stab things.” Christine laughed.

  “My father taught me how to use them when I was little,” Bonnie said. “It just takes some practice.”

  “So you’re from New York,” Christine said with interest. “What part?”

  Bonnie turned and looked at Christine, one brow raised. “New York City.”

  Christine’s hazel eyes grew large. “Really? Oh, my goodness. I’ve never met anyone from New York City before. Is it really as wonderful as they say?”

  Bonnie took out a compact from her purse and opened it, glancing in the tiny mirror at her lipstick. “Isuppose it is, for tourists. It was just home to me. Oh, I’ll admit there’s nothing quite like the sight of the Empire State Building or the Statue of Liberty, but I guess I never really thought about them much.” She snapped her compact closed and peered at Christine. “You know, they sort of become fixtures.”

  “I guess,” Christine said. “Like driving down the same streets everyday. Pretty soon, you don’t see the buildings anymore.”

  Bonnie nodded. “Right. It becomes commonplace, you could say.”

  Christine let out a wistful sigh. “I don’t know if there’s anything commonplace about New York, though. Did you ever go to Central Park?”

  “I used to play there,” Bonnie said with a chuckle. “Our apartment building
was just across the street.”

  Christine’s eyes grew large with amazement. “She played in Central Park,” she murmured beneath her breath. “I can’t imagine.”

  A waiter appeared before them and escorted the two women to a table. They curled through the restaurant like a pair of sidewinders, snaking their way to a small table in the back. They glanced quickly at the menu, ordered, and picked up their conversation.

  “It must take a lot of money to live in New York,” Christine surmised. She suddenly blushed at the forward remark. “I mean, it just seems like, well . . .”

  Bonnie toyed with her chopsticks, opening them and closing them, clicking the tips together. “We were comfortable, I would say. But I didn’t really care. I left that life behind. I wanted to sing, not marry some businessman like my father and settle down.”

  “How’d your parents take it? I think mine would have been furious.”

  Bonnie laughed, her voice hinting at sarcasm. “Oh, you could say that. I turned down college to pursue my singing career. But my father was kind, and told me that if things didn’t work out, I could always come home.” She smiled as though recalling a memory. “You know, a lot of fathers would have just kicked me out and told me never to come back.”

  Christine nodded her understanding. “You were lucky.”

  Bonnie tugged on her earlobe. “Yes, except that even if I’d wanted to return, there was nothing to come home to. I’d only been gone about a year when my parents were killed in a car accident. It was then that I found out my father had made some bad business decisions and he was financially wiped out.”

  Bonnie fell silent and stared at the red tablecloth spreading before her like a crimson pool of blood. “Sometimes I wonder if he didn’t crash their car on purpose…”

  Christine reached across the table and touched Bonnie’s hand. “Oh, you mustn’t say that, Bonnie. I’m sure it was an accident.”

  Bonnie met Christine’s gaze and offered a fleeting smile. “Well, I like to think it was.” Christine repositioned herself in her chair as if signaling the end of the topic. “So tell me about the band, the one you sang in. Did you ever make a record? Would I have heard of you?”