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her all of my life and I have never known her to fear anything
or anyone.”
“That’s what she wants you to think, sir. She knows I under-
stand her fears.”
“Well, you must be the first to have that distinction. On
that basis alone, you deserve a promotion.”
“Yes, sir,” Emma said, fearing she had said too much.
“So, you want this job, Emma George?” Lance continued,
“In addition to dealing with Charlotte and Daniel, you will
now have me to answer to. Are you up for that?”
“That and more, sir,” she said, looking directly at him.
Lance clearly saw the woman the girl had become. She’s
not afraid to go after what she wants, he thought. Her intensity unnerved him a little. “Fine, so you’ll train with Daniel. He
will work out the compensation details and let me know,” he
said, extending his hand to shake on the agreement. Emma
stood, grasped his hand firmly and gave it a good downward
snap that surprised Lance. Strong and confident, he thought.
“You won’t regret this, sir,” Emma said, backing out of
the room.
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“I don’t expect to, Miss George.”
Lance called after her, as she turned into the hall. “When
was the last time you were home?”
“This is home,” she said without hesitation, then closed
the door behind her.
(II)
For Lance, it started as lust, but he knew how to control
that and for years, he did. With Emma’s new responsibilities
came their frequent meetings on household matters. More
contact meant more opportunities to savor the smell of her hair
when she sat next to him, the way she bit her lower lip when
she pondered a question, her quick wit, her innate wisdom, and
her willingness to challenge him. He admired her courage in
dealing with vendors and her compassion with the staff—the
only family she had.
Because of Emma’s efficient preparation for their meetings
on house matters, they always concluded their business early,
leaving time to talk about other things.
“Miss Charlotte wanted me to read to her every day. The
war put an end to my studies, so my reading was just awful. I
practiced and practiced, read anything and everything. Miss
Charlotte said to me, ‘Don’t just read, study!’ So I did, through
six years of night school to earn my degree from City College.
Miss Charlotte had my diploma framed so I could hang it
in my room.”
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“No, I never thought about leaving once I graduated. Why
would I? Your household is like running a small business. I
doubt that working anywhere else would be quite as wonderful.”
“Now that I have a U.S. passport, I want to travel when
I have time off. I’ve already been to the villa in Jamaica with
Miss Charlotte, and I want to see how they rebuilt London,
but I’m not quite ready to go back yet. It’s still too painful—I
lost so much in the war.”
Emma spoke to Lance with ease, while managing to main-
tain the appropriate distance between employer and employee.
Lance found it more difficult to maintain that distance. The
more he learned about her, the more he was intrigued and
looked forward to their next meeting.
Emma was not the kind of woman Lance was usually
attracted to. His fascination with mature women started with
Bel e da Costa Greene and remained throughout his life. After
his physical relationship with Belle ended, he continued to
fulfill his need for sex and companionship with strong, mature,
independent women of means. Some of his companions were
rich in knowledge, others in connections, and every relationship
benefited both Lance and the lady in some tangible way. The
reciprocity proved useful in helping him keep his personal life
private, and his sexual encounters discreet. Women his age and
younger wanted commitment, marriage, and children; things
that Lance Withers could not, would not, give.
Emma George was not fashionable, and she was young—
nearly two decades younger than Lance Withers. She always
wore plain navy or black conservatively styled business suits,
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a white shirt buttoned to the neck, and low-heeled black
pumps—a work uniform she told him she modeled after the
one her mother wore when she was in service. Lance imagined
she had at least a week’s worth of the outfits hanging in her
closet waiting to be marched into service. Her skin was pale,
as if she still lived under London’s cloudy skies. She wore her
black hair pulled back, in a tight, severe bun at the nape of her
neck. A halo of curly wisps always managed to work their way
loose, giving a hint of the beauty that she suppressed under
her occupational attire. She wore no jewelry, except a watch,
which she checked frequently, and no makeup except for a
touch of lipstick. Emma was determined efficiency in a delicate,
porcelain package.
Though he tried not to, Lance found Emma’s strength and
independence attractive. He knew enough wealthy men and
women who indulged in unwise relationships with household
staff; those assignations always ended badly for everyone. He
tried to think of Emma as he did his priceless art collection—
something to be treasured, but not touched.
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• 19 •
Spring 1965
(I)
“So we’ll meet at one—no, one-thirty—and from
there we’ll go to W&J Sloane’s to see the furniture.
Sheila will be joining us,” Lance said, laying out
his plans for the day.
“Sheila, the decorator?” Emma asked, hoping he would not
hear the disappointment in her voice. She had hoped it would
be just the two of them.
“I’m not taking the car this morning, so have Charles bring
you when he picks us up from lunch. I have to make a quick
stop at a gallery on Madison then we’ll head over to Sloan’s on
38th street,” Lance said, then thought, “Why don’t you come
early and have lunch with us at 21? Sheila can tell us both what
she has in mind for the staff quarters—you’ll want to have a
say on that won’t you?”
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“I’d like to, but I don’t want to intrude on your lunch.”
“It’s a working lunch, Emma. You won’t be intruding,
you’ll be working. I’ll see you at noon then, 21 Club, Charles
knows where it is,” Lance said as he headed out of the door.
As Emma watched him cross Park Avenue, Mina, who
now ran the kitchen came up behind her.
“What are you lookin’ at Emma?”
“I just saw Mr. Withers off.”
Mina looked out the door to see Lance Withers
walk-running across Park Avenue. “Wherever he’s going he’s
excited about gettin’ there.”
“Probably meeting Shee-la,” Emma said, saying the na
me
the way the woman pronounced it.
“Damn, you don’t like her, do you?” Mina said as they
headed to the kitchen.
“I’m just tired of her disrupting my house,” Emma said as
she took the kettle from the stove, filled it at the sink and then
put it back on for tea.
“Oh, so this here is your house now?” Mina teased.
“You know what I mean. Every time I get a room in order,
she changes another. Here comes Sheila,” Emma said, mim-
icking the woman’s contrived way of floating and walking, “in
her tight little suits, gaudy and no doubt expensive jewelry and
her endless measuring, furniture rearranging, color swatching
and fabric draping.”
“And she does a whole lot of Sheila draping on Mr. Withers
too,” Mina said as she moved items from the refrigerators to
the stainless steel prep table to begin the day’s meals.
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“You noticed that too? I do not understand what he sees
in that woman, He could do better,” Emma said.
“I see,” Mina said, smiling.
“You see what?”
“Look over here a minute,” Mina said, squinting as she
looked at Emma. “Yep, you got the green eye.”
“What are you talking about Mina? My eyes are brown,”
Emma said, pretending not to understand.
“Uh huh,” Mina said. “Don’t be thinkin’ there’s more to
your relationship with Mr. Withers than there is, Emma. That’s
how you get your heart broken and lose your job. Mr. Withers doesn’t disrespect his staff like that. All the years I been here
he never has. You been here long enough to know that too.
Ain’t like what you told me went on where your Momma and
Daddy worked over there in London. No one here asks for or
gets those kind of special favors. Mr. Withers don’t fraternize
with the help, so you best use those moony eyes I seen you give
him on someone else.”
The kettle began to sing and Emma pul ed it from the stove,
poured the hot water into her teacup and plunged the infuser in.
“Why you don’t just use a tea bag I’ll never know,” Mina said.
“I’m British,” Emma responded. “We respect tea.”
“You’re not British any more, you’re an American now!”
Mina reminded her of her recently earned citizenship.
“Yep, working on that American dream,” Emma responded.
“A husband, a house, two kids and a car.”
“Well, I got the husband, three kids, too much house and
a temperamental car. I also got the bills and the worry that
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go along with it so, I don’t know how much of a dream it is,”
Mina said.
“But you also have the love that goes along with it, don’t
you?” Emma asked.
“That I do, that I do,” Mina said with a smile. “Don’t
know where I’d be without Charlie and my boys. Emma,” she
continued, “you be careful. Don’t go pretendin’ this here is your
house, your home, all you got. We all love you here but you
gotta have something for yourself. You a good lookin’ woman.
You go out and find a man to give you those two kids, the home
and that car if that’s what you want. What about that Ed, the
guy that works night security? He’s a nice looking Irishman,
told me he’s planning to take the police cadet test—wants to
become a detective like my Charlie. I seen how he looks at
you—why don’t you talk to him? You need to make more of
an effort, for your own sake.”
“I know,” Emma said as sipped her tea. “Ed seems nice
enough. He’s asked me out few times. Nothing special, for a
beer and a hamburger. I had a good time.”
“Emma, Ed could be the one. Mr. Withers is not an option
if only because Miss Charlotte don’t want no woman gettin’
with Mr. Withers. I’ve seen her work on ‘em until they give up
and go. Only one Queen Bee in this house and that is Charlotte
Bennett,” Mina added.
“I know that too,” Emma said. She sipped her tea in
silence while Mina began washing and chopping vegetables
for tonight’s dinner.
“Well, at least I’m going out to lunch today,” Emma said.
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“Now that’s a start. With Ed?”
“No, Mr. Withers—he’s taking me to 21.” Mina eyed Emma
but made no comment. “It’s a business lunch with Sheila and
Mr. Withers,” Emma conceded. “I’ve never been to the 21 Club
before. I don’t know, maybe I should cancel. I’m not exactly in
the 21 Club crowd.”
“It’s just a restaurant,” Mina said, “you know how to eat,
just go there and eat. What did Mrs. Roosevelt say, ‘Can’t
nobody disrespect you without your permission.’ Withhold
your permission Emma and just go.”
(II)
When the car pulled up in front of the restaurant, the
doorman greeted Emma as if she were a regular.
“Miss George, how nice of you to join us today. Mr. Withers
told us that Charles would be bringing you. Mr. Withers and his
other guest have not yet arrived, but your table is ready. Allow
me to escort you in.” Emma was surprised Mr. Withers had
called ahead to let the restaurant know she would be joining
them; the greeting and hospitality helped to calm her.
Seated at Mr. Withers’ table, she looked around at the
fashionably dressed women and prosperous looking men and she
felt self-conscious in her standard black business suit uniform.
She had put on a little makeup today, something she rarely did
since she spent most of the day with her staff and not out in
public. She put her hair in a French twist instead of her usual
bun and she wore the small gold earrings Miss Charlotte had
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given her for Christmas last year. As she waited for Mr. Withers,
she decided Mina was right, she would make more of an effort
with her appearance and she’d find someone with whom to
share her life. She would start with what she wore to work.
Perhaps it’s time to update the outfit and my life, Emma thought.
Just then, Lance Withers entered the restaurant with his arm
around Sheila’s waist. When he saw Emma, he removed his
arm, took Sheila’s elbow and guided her to the table.
“Emma,” he said, “glad you could join us, sorry to be a
little late.”
“We got tied up,” Sheila said as she flashed Lance a look
that left no question as to what delayed them. Sheila then turned
her attention to Emma, “I know you’re glad to get out of the
house for a change. And lunch at 21! This must be a real treat for you. Lance and I dine here all the time, don’t we darling?”
“I thought we could go over the design schemes together
since Emma will be implementing everything and I wanted
her input on the staff quarters,” Lance said ignoring Sheila’s
pettiness.
“Oh, of course, the staff quarters; that would be your area
of e
xpertise wouldn’t it, dear?” Sheila said, fixing a patron-
izing gaze on Emma who looked back at her with a stiff
smile. Fortunately, the waiter arrived and Emma didn’t have
to respond.
After they placed their orders, Lance suggested that they
talk about Sheila’s recommendations for the staff rooms on the
upper floor of the house.
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“We can do something appropriate, down market, wood—
maple or pine maybe? No upholstery of course. Simple single
bed, a chair, small chest of drawers, that sort of thing. I think
we can put two people in each room and that would create
space for the gymnasium you must have, Lance.”
“What do you think, Emma?” Lance asked.
“I think it sounds like prison,” Emma said. “Mr. Withers’
staff works hard. They are on their feet most of the day and
sometimes on call twenty-four hours when we have guests and
events. They need and deserve a private, quiet, comfortable place
whether they live in or out. It doesn’t have to be opulent but
it doesn’t have to be austere either.” Emma turned to Lance,
“It should reflect you, your house, your values Mr. Withers.”
“They’re servants,” Sheila said, appealing to Lance.
“They’re people,” Emma said firmly.
“Emma knows better than I do what’s best for the staff.
She’s the reason we have so little turnover and I have no com-
plaints about what she’s advocated for them in the past. So,
what are we talking about to upgrade the rooms as Emma
suggested?” Lance asked.
“Lance, are you sure you want to accommodate servants and
lose your gym? Everyone is putting a gym in these days—that’s
the perfect place for it, Lance darling,” Sheila cajoled.
Lance shot her a look that let her know that she was being
inappropriate. “I’ll defer to Emma,” Lance said. “She manages
every aspect of 580 Park Avenue.”
“Apparently she does,” Sheila snapped just as the waiter
returned with their meals.
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The three made polite small talk through lunch. Several
times Sheila tried to exclude Emma from the conversation but
Lance always brought the topic back so that it included the three
of them. When she realized that she was not making progress
in her attempt to make Emma disappear Sheila excused herself
to cal ahead to Sloane’s so they could pul some items together