Secrets of the Red Box

by Vickie Hall

  Bonnie completed the job application and waited until she caught the attention of the woman behind the counter. She let her eyes wander around the industrious room, catching glimpses of posters proudly displaying the company wares—boots and shoes, it seemed. Kirkendall, Jones & Company was only six blocks away from the Rose Building, but it felt like miles. There was something about the office she liked, a friendliness she observed in the way the employees interacted with one another, the way the woman at the counter had spoken to her.

  Bonnie turned and glanced at a coffee table placed in front of a long leather sofa. Copies of Life Magazine, Nebraska Cattlemen, a rumpled copy of the Farmer’s Almanac, and one stray Superman comic book were fanned across the table. Bonnie wondered why the comic book was there. Probably one of the employee’s children came in to visit now and again.

  “Mr. Hammond will see you, uh,” the woman glanced at the application, “Miss Cooper.”

  Bonnie turned and smiled. “Thank you.”

  She followed the woman, who was built rather like a pear, with broad hips and a slender waist, wearing sensible shoes with low heels and laces. Bonnie wondered if the shoes were company issue or the woman’s preference. She was led to a glass-fronted door that displayed the name of Harold. G. Hammond, General Manager.

  The woman tapped on the door and opened it. “Here she is, Mr. Hammond,” she said, then smiled at Bonnie.

  “Come in,” Mr. Hammond greeted. He got up from his desk and took the application from the pear-shaped woman. “Thank you, Beatrice.”

  Bonnie extended her hand with confidence. “Mr. Hammond, I’m so pleased to meet you.”

  Harold G. Hammond was a man of average height, but with a very broad chest and a slim waist. His suit coat seemed overly large to accommodate the width of the shoulders while dangling loosely about his hips. He wore circular, frameless glasses perched on the bridge of his wide nose, enlarging the appearance of his hazel eyes. “Please, sit down, Miss Cooper,” he said, pumping Bonnie’s hand. “We’re rather informal around here.” He brushed aside a well-read copy of the Omaha World-Herald from the chair facing his desk.

  Bonnie sat down, her eyes following him as he rounded the desk and took a seat. She noticed a picture frame tilted slightly toward her of a woman and three girls—his wife and children, she guessed. They were very pretty, she thought, all the girls dressed in matching pinafores and ruffled blouses. “Is this your family?”

  Mr. Hammond seemed to light up. “Yes, my wife, Esther, and my three girls.” He pointed at the photo. “This is Cathy, then Sharon, and the little one is Jennifer.”

  “They’re just lovely,” Bonnie replied. “You must be very proud.”

  Mr. Hammond’s eyes lingered on the photo as he smiled. “I am,” he said. “The little one there, Jennifer, she’s Daddy’s girl, that’s for sure.”

  Bonnie felt a tug at her heart from the empty space she harbored there, void of such pleasant memories. “You’re very lucky, Mr. Hammond, and so are your children to have such a caring father.”

  Mr. Hammond gave Bonnie a curious glance and then began to look over the application. “Isee you’ve been employed at the exchange in the Rose Building.”

  “Yes, I enjoy the work.”

  He continued to evaluate the paper in his hand. “You’ve only been there a little over four months.” He looked up and locked his eyes on Bonnie’s. “If you enjoy the work, then why are you leaving?”

  Bonnie didn’t vary her gaze. She nodded and swallowed down her sudden nervousness. “I assure you it has nothing to do with the job itself or the other operators, not even my supervisor, Mrs. Kemp. I—”

  Mr. Hammond raised his hand. “You don’t have to tell me, Miss Cooper. I have a keen sense about these things. You’re obviously a very attractive young woman, single, working in a man’s world. Am I on the right track?”

  Bonnie felt herself blush. Was she that transparent? “Yes, I guess so.”

  He smiled with a somewhat paternal look on his face. “Times aren’t what they used to be.” He sighed. “But tell me about your previous work experience. You state here that you worked as a receptionist in Colorado. Tell me about that.”

  “Yes, I answered phones there, opened mail, sorted the correspondence to the various managers, did a few odd jobs—you know, whatever was needed.”

  “And you were there for a year?”

  “Yes, the building burned down. There was a short in the wiring or something, they said. Anyway, they were going to re-build, but I couldn’t wait for that to happen. A cousin of mine lives here and she invited me to try Omaha, so I did.”

  “Do you live with your cousin, then?” he asked in a casual tone.

  Bonnie let out a half laugh. “Funny thing, she got married just after I came here and moved to Indiana with her husband. He’s in the scrap metal business. So, here I am on my own in a strange town. But I like it well enough.”

  Mr. Hammond nodded and returned to her application. “It doesn’t look like you have much other work experience, Miss Cooper.”

  “Oh, I can explain that,” she said quickly, bringing her finger to her earlobe. “I was in school, college for a couple of years. I didn’t graduate, then after that I moved back home to help take care of my mother. She had cancer…she died almost a year and a half ago now. My father died just three months later in a pedestrian accident. He was looking at the pocket watch my mother had given him, was reading the back of it where she’d inscribed, I love you more each hour. He stepped off the curb without looking…” Bonnie opened her handbag and routed for a hankie. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hammond. I didn’t mean to burden you with so many personal details.” She blotted at her nose and then peered over the desk at him. “The thing is, Mr. Hammond, I need this job. I’ll work hard for you and I’m always on time. I don’t complain and I keep to myself. You won’t be sorry if you hire me.”

  Mr. Hammond leaned back in his chair and studied her. He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat, then levered himself to an upright posture. “I have two other applicants to consider. May I call you later this week?”

  “I don’t get home until after five. Perhaps if I called here on my lunch hour?”

  He came to his feet and took a business card from his desk drawer. “That would be just fine. Give me a call at this number on Thursday.”

  Bonnie took the card and tucked it inside her purse. “Thank you, Mr. Hammond. I appreciate your time today.”

  Mr. Hammond followed Bonnie to the door and opened it for her. “Goodbye, Miss Cooper. We’ll talk again soon.”

  Bonnie nodded and patted her purse as if to indicate she had his card stored safely inside. “Goodbye.”

  Beatrice stood just outside the door, her hands folded in front of her broad hips, her face radiating a pleasant smile. She motioned toward the counter and to the half-door that would allow Bonnie to exit. “Thank you, Miss Cooper. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  Bonnie slipped past the little door and turned back to wave. “You too.”

  She turned north along the block that was mostly occupied by Kirkendall, Jones & Company. She drew in a breath and let out a long, breathy sigh. She’d had to lie again, hadn’t she? How else could she keep her secrets? She felt a slight disappointment in the lapse of her resolve, but she realized there was no alternative. She never wanted to be linked to California, to San Diego, to anything that might reveal who she really was, or what she had done. It was just so much easier to lie…so much simpler fabricating what needed to be said at any given moment. It kept her protected, she thought, anonymous.

  She decided to head to the Rose Building and go to work. There was no point in losing more income than necessary. The money she’d brought from San Diego seemed to dwindle more every day. Perhaps, she thought, she’d look for a less-expensive place to live. But then, she reconsidered, if she was going to keep to herself, she wouldn’t be spending money on new evening wear, hats, and shoes. With a little frugality, she could just
about make do on what she made.

  She turned east on Farnam Street and walked at a slow, deliberate pace. The summer sun beat down on her as she strolled, like a magnifying glass concentrating her thoughts into hot focus. She had to find some way to occupy her idle hours. If she didn’t, she’d go mad—that tiny hummingbird inside poking her with its needle beak to do something, go somewhere. She just couldn’t spend another night home alone. Perhaps she could get a second job. That would fill her empty hours. Maybe she could do some volunteer work, although what kind, she couldn’t speculate. She didn’t even know what sort of places needed volunteers. In San Diego, she’d volunteered as a hostess at the local canteen, serving coffee and doughnuts to the servicemen. But now that the war was coming to an end, that didn’t seem to be a long-term solution. But certainly there must be other opportunities out there; she just had to find them.

  The few blocks she’d walked brought her to the Rose Building before she knew it. She approached the door and saw Paul Warsoff heading straight for her. Her stomach plummeted to her toes and she briefly considered turning away and walking in the opposite direction. But it was too late. He’d seen her and made no effort to avoid their meeting.

  His eyes didn’t leave her face as she came through the door. She felt her stomach rebound and fly into her throat. “Hello, Paul,” she managed to say.

  “Bonnie. I’ve been thinking,” he began, his open palm gesturing toward her. “About what you said…”

  Bonnie turned her face and shook her head. This was exactly the thing she’d dreaded would happen. “Before you say anything more, Paul, I want you to know I haven’t reconsidered my decision. Nothing has changed.”

  “No, I know that,” he said. “I just wanted to tell you that if…” He drew nearer, lowered his gaze as if he was ashamed to look her in the eye, as if he knew what he was about to say was pathetic. “If you ever change your mind, Bonnie, I’ll be here for you.” He raised his eyes now, peered into hers with a marked intensity. “What I’m saying is, I’ll wait for you, Bonnie.”

  Bonnie felt a mixture of pity and disgust for him. She squared her shoulders and tried to keep her voice even. “Don’t do that, Paul. You can’t wait—you shouldn’t wait. I may never be ready—”

  Paul took her by the arms, his emotions dismissing reason. “I don’t care. I’ll wait for you, Bonnie. If it’s my whole lifetime, I’ll wait. No one has ever touched me like you. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you. I have to wait, Bonnie…”

  Bonnie peered over his shoulder at the number of people who had turned from the elevators to watch. “Paul!” she hissed. “People are staring…”

  He released her, straightened himself. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to embarrass you. But I love you, Bonnie.”

  She shook her head and pressed her fingers to her temples. “How can you love me? You don’t even know me.”

  “I know enough to know I love you.”

  “No,” she said with a bitter edge, “you just think you love me. You’re infatuated, not in love. You’re infatuated because Iwon’t give you what you want—what all men want. And if I did, you’d use me and leave me.”

  Paul’s face registered his utter shock. “That’s not true, Bonnie. I’d never use you like that.”

  Bonnie felt herself grow icy inside. “Didn’t you try? Didn’t you? The first night we went out?”

  Paul looked remorseful and pained. “No, I—”

  “Just forget me, Paul. Really, you’llbe better off if you do.”

  He barred her way, stepping in front of her as she tried to leave. “Bonnie, give me another chance. I just want to be near you—”

  She couldn’t hide her contempt any longer, not for his weakness, his pathetic pleas. She narrowed her eyes at him. “No amount of begging will ever change the way I feel about you. You want the truth?” she said, her words now as hot as her temper. “You disgust me. Every time you touch me, my skin crawls. I was never interested in you—only what your money could buy me. Is that worth waiting for, Paul? Is it?”

  He stood before her, his mouth open, his face paralyzed with the shock of her blunt revelations. Bonnie swerved and dashed back out the door, no longer interested in going to work. She couldn’t look at Paul’s face again, see the way he looked at her, or hear the pitiable tone in his voice. He reminded her of her mother, paralyzed to act, a victim of emotion. All she could see in Paul was weakness, especially after his pathetic and humiliating display. She’d been right about feelings—they made you lose control.

  Chapter 11

  Bonnie was still fuming when she reached her apartment. She couldn’t abide Paul’s flaccid framework, his sentimentality. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe now he’d leave her alone, wouldn’t try to approach her again. And if he did, he’d get slapped down once more.

  She kicked her shoes off and sank down in the comfortable chair. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back and sighed. Running away had been so much harder than she’d expected. But at the time, the desperation to leave had driven her, without planning, without thinking beyond the moment.

  She wondered about Paul and about her mother and what made them slaves to their feelings. It seemed they were both immobilized by them. Why couldn’t Paul just move on with his life? Surely he wouldn’t spend his days pining for her. He was exaggerating. And why couldn’t her mother just leave her abusive relationship? All those years trapped in a marriage of pain and suffering… It was fear, she knew. Fear of something, fear of everything.

  That was the look on her mother’s face the last time she’d seen her, the moments before she slipped out the back door…fear. Fear for her daughter, or for herself—Bonnie didn’t know.

  Thinking about her mother made her want to telephone. It was Monday afternoon. It would be a good time to reach her—she’d be alone. Without trying to talk herself out of it, Bonnie went to the phone and dialed the long-distance operator.

  The phone rang four, five, six times. It generally never took her mother that long to answer— her father wouldn’t allow it. He wanted the phone answered by the third ring. It was one of his rules, one of the many he burdened her mother with.

  On the seventh ring, she heard a voice. “Hello.” It was spoken more as a command than a genial question. It wasn’t her mother, but a male voice, her father’s. A shiver of panic chilled her spine and she began to hang up the receiver.

  “Hello!” he shouted into the phone. “Who is it? What do you want?”

  Why hadn’t her mother answered? She wasn’t allowed out of the house except on Saturday to do the grocery shopping, and then only in her father’s presence. Something inside Bonnie urged her to speak. “Is Jean there?” She tried to disguise her voice, though she doubted her father would recognize it.

  “Jean? Is this some kind of joke?” he spat. “Jean’s dead.”

  Bonnie felt the blood drain from her body. Her ears began to ring and her vision faded. She staggered back and let the phone fall from her hand. She could hear the faint buzzing sound coming from the phone line, and then it went dead. Bonnie’s knees buckled and she collapsed to the floor. A sort of keening forced itself from her throat in a sound she didn’t recognize, a sound like that of a wounded animal, visceral and primitive. Her body began to tremble as she rolled onto her side and clasped her knees to her chest. Scalding tears flooded her eyes, streaming down her cheeks in hot rivulets. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried like this, and so it seemed she cried now for all the times she should have, but didn’t.

  She cried until all her tears had been shed. Her throat ached and the muscles in her face felt cramped with the contortion of her pain. She cried until she was empty of everything but a sense of exhaustion. She lay on the floor, limp and spent as she wondered how her mother had died. She could only speculate now, but at least she was free of her painful life, free of all the wounds inflicted upon her, both physically and emotionally. If only her mother had come with her—maybe she’d still be aliv
e. Maybe Bonnie could have made a difference and her mother would be well and alive and free. She should have forced her out of the kitchen that day. She should have grabbed her by the arm and dragged her kicking and screaming from that house.

  “Happy birthday, Bonnie Blue.”The voice was tender and softened with a Southern drawl. “You’re six years old today.”

  Bonnie rolled onto her side in the back of the wagon, the sky still dark. “I am?” she whispered, afraid of waking her father.

  “You are, baby girl,” her mother said. “I have something for you.”

  Bonnie sat up, rubbed her eyes, and looked around. “Where’sDaddy?”

  Her mother ran her hand over Bonnie’s goldenhair. “Don’t you worry about him,” she said. “He’s already gone.” She stretched her fingers out and took Bonnie’s hand. “Come on now.”

  Bonnie stood up and moved closer to the edge of the wagon bed. Her mother scooped her up and held her in her arms. Bonnie nestled her face against her mother’s cheek. She always felt safein her mother’s arms, and even though her hands were rough and cracked from hard work, they always felt soft and reassuring to Bonnie. “Where are we going?”

  “Not far,” she said with a smile as the faint pink color of dawn crept over the horizon.

  Bonnie saw a small cooking fire blazing against the damp morning earth. The melon fields would soon be swarming with workers like a plague of locusts. But just now it was quiet, and it seemed they were the only two people in the world.

  Her mother brushed back Bonnie’s hair and kissed her. “I baked you a little cake,” she said, putting Bonnie on her feet as she hunched down beside her. “It’s all yours, Bonnie Blue.”