Gloss

by Marilyn Kaye

  Martin went pale. ‘What have you been doing with it?’ he demanded.

  Shirley started yelling at him. Donna backed away and went into the bedroom.

  ‘Kids …’

  Kathy looked at her happily. ‘We’re going on a trip with our daddy!’

  So at least they’d been forewarned.

  The next few minutes were like watching a movie — Donna didn’t feel like she was there at all. Maybe she was in shock. But somehow she managed to help Kathy and Billy gather their things — their clothes and their pitiful toys — and place them in large bags. Then they were all outside, and Martin was putting them into the back seat of his sedan.

  Donna kissed and hugged the little ones, but she tried not to make a big deal about it so as not to upset them. They were so excited about being in this nice car that they didn’t seem at all aware of what was really happening.

  Martin handed Donna a small card. ‘This is my phone number. You call me if you need anything, OK?’

  Donna shoved the card in her pocket and didn’t even bother to nod.

  Shirley went back in the trailer. Donna just stood there, and watched the car disappear down the road.

  What time was it? she wondered. Hopefully Ron would be coming for her soon. She needed him. She needed to be held. And tonight she wouldn’t care where it led.

  ‘Sherry?’

  Sherry looked up from her desk.

  ‘Hi, Diane.’

  ‘I love your dress!’

  Sherry grinned. She remembered how, on their first day here, Diane had been wearing a light green version of the very same light blue tucked-front shirtwaist Sherry was wearing today.

  ‘Great minds think alike,’ Sherry quipped. ‘At least, great Gloss minds.’

  Diane lowered her voice. ‘Too bad we can’t say that about all the girls here,’ she said pointedly.

  Sherry knew who she was talking about. She hadn’t missed the occasional puzzled looks Diane and Linda had east in her direction when they saw Sherry sitting with Pamela and Allison in the Cavendish dining hall.

  She shrugged, and quipped again. ‘To each her own, I guess.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess. Oh, I just remembered, I’ve been wanting to ask you something. Do you play bridge?’

  Card games were very popular back home, and Sherry nodded. ‘I’m better at canasta, but I know bridge rules.’

  ‘We’ve been playing after dinner at the Cavendish,’ Diane told her. ‘Me and Linda, Ellen and Vicky. But now Vicky’s going out with some college boy she met, so we need a fourth. Want to join?’

  It wasn’t like she had anything more exciting to do with her evenings. ‘Sure, glad to.’

  ‘Great, see you later,’ Diane said. She started away and then turned back. ‘Ooh, where’s my brain today? Caroline just told me to fetch you.’

  Sherry jumped up, resisting the urge to scold her for not putting a summons from Caroline before an invitation to play bridge.

  She hurried to the editor’s office, where she was on the phone. Caroline beckoned for her to come in, and pointed to the chair across from her desk.

  The editor’s voice rose as she argued with whoever was on the other end of the line.

  ‘No, no, no! Pink won’t work at all, that’s not what I asked for! This is for the September issue, I need autumn colours! What you’ve sent me is absolutely worthless!’

  Sherry was very glad she wasn’t the recipient of that anger. Personally she thought Caroline’s tone was awfully aggressive. Mama always said a girl could catch more flies with honey than vinegar, and Sherry had always found that wheedling worked better than yelling.

  She supposed a woman had to give up some of her feminine wiles to do an important job like this. Maybe that was why Caroline had never married. It wouldn’t be easy for a man to have a wife who was accustomed to being a boss.

  ‘Rust, gold, maybe a warm brown … yes … OK, send down some swatches. Now!’

  Finally she hung up. ‘Sorry about that, Sherry. Now, I wanted to get your opinion about something.’

  ‘My opinion?’

  Caroline ignored the surprise in her voice. ‘We’ve never put any effort into covering the big fashion shows before. The kind of clothes they present aren’t meant for our readers, and they couldn’t afford them in any case.’ She leaned forward, and there was a sparkle in her eyes. ‘But — why shouldn’t we take a good look at what the designers are showing, the colours, the shapes, and then consider the trends in terms of how they could relate to our readers? So for example, if the major designers are showing empire waists, or shorter skirts, or lots of prints—’

  ‘Then we’d look for those trends in the junior collections,’ Sherry finished. ‘And suggest ways in which teen girls could adapt the look.’ Then she reddened. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.’

  ‘No, no, don’t apologize! I knew you were the girl to ask.’

  There was a light rap on the door. One of the editorial assistants stood there, with a perturbed look on her face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Caroline asked.

  ‘I just had a request from David for some items from the samples closet. And half of them are missing — a silk scarf, two charm bracelets, a cashmere sweater …’

  ‘Did you check to see if they’ve been borrowed?’ Caroline asked.

  ‘Of course. But there’s no record of anyone taking them.’

  Caroline frowned. ‘That’s the third time this month.’ She turned to Sherry. ‘That’s all for now. We’ll talk more later.’ She rose and left the office with the assistant.

  Allison joined Sherry back at her desk.

  ‘What was that all about?’

  ‘Caroline thinks Gloss should start attending the big New York fashion shows. Ooh, maybe she’ll let some of us go.’

  Allison made a face. ‘Do you know what some of those designer dresses cost? Thousands of dollars! And there are people right here in this city who can’t even afford a place to live.’

  ‘I still think it would be fun to go to a real show,’ Sherry said mildly.

  Allison brushed that aside. ‘Anyway, that’s not what I’m talking about. Caroline looked furious.’

  ‘Oh, right. Some things are missing from the samples closet.’

  ‘Does she think someone stole them?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ And then, as if they could read each other’s minds, their eyes turned in the direction of Pamela.

  Sherry drew in her breath. ‘You don’t think …’

  Allison bit her lip. ‘Well, she’s always talking about how she needs clothes.’ Then she shook her head. ‘No, I share a closet with her. I’d notice if there was a bunch of new stuff in there.’

  ‘Unless she’s hidden it all somewhere,’ Sherry murmured. Then she too shook her head. ‘No, that’s crazy. Pamela wouldn’t do that. OK, maybe she swipes an occasional lipstick, but she’s not really a thief …’ Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

  ‘Shh,’ Allison said. ‘Here she comes.’

  Pamela bounced over to them. ‘I picked up the mail this morning in the residence lobby, and you guys have letters.’ She handed each of them an envelope and moved on. ‘

  Allison looked at the return address on hers. ‘It’s from my mother. She probably wants to know if I’m wearing clean underwear.’ She stuffed the envelope in her pocket and went back to her desk.

  Sherry had a better reaction to her mail. There was no return address on it, but it was postmarked Washington DC. It was about time she heard from Johnny. She’d sent him a second letter the day after the movie premiere, but she’d heard nothing back.

  Looking around, she didn’t see Caroline or anyone else watching her, so she decided she’d take a few personal moments right then instead of waiting for the coffee break. She tore open the envelope.

  Dear Sherry Ann, How are you? I’m fine. I hope you’re having a good time in New York. How’s the weather? Here in Washington we’re having a lot of rain.

  She smiled
. Not very original, or personal, but about what she would expect to get from him. Writing wasn’t something Johnny enjoyed. It was pure agony for him after Christmas or his birthday, writing thank-you notes to relatives.

  But once the proper introductory remarks were finished, the letter actually did become personal. Very personal. So personal, so unexpected, so … so unbelievable, that she had to read it again. But not here. She needed to be alone.

  Moving stiffly, she put the letter in her handbag, left the office and went into the ladies’ restroom. Thank heavens, it was empty.

  She unfolded the letter again, and skipped over the first paragraph.

  I have to tell you something. This is really hard. The thing is, I’ve met someone. A girl who works in my building. I’m in love with her.

  I’m really, really sorry, Sherry. I feel terrible. I know you must hate me. But I guess these things happen.

  Anyway, I had to tell you. So now you know you’re free to date guys in New York.

  It was signed, Your friend, Johnny.

  Her legs felt oddly weak. She sank down on one of the little stools at the counter that faced the mirror. She read the letter again. And again.

  Your friend, Johnny.

  Slowly it began to sink in. Her friend. The friend she’d planned to marry, raise a family with, spend the rest of her life with. The friend who was the centre of her universe.

  She sat there, Very, very still. Then she looked in the mirror. Had all the colour drained from her face, or did she just imagine it had? All her plans, her vision of her life-to-be. Her hopes, her dreams, everything she’d assumed, taken for granted … gone, all gone. Just like that.

  Funny … she would have thought she’d be trembling, shaking. She touched her face, but there were no tears. Her eyes were dry too. Instead she felt very still, as if her body was an empty shell. No bones, no blood, no feelings.

  But there must have been feelings. She just couldn’t identify them because she’d never had them before.

  The door to the restroom opened, and she was dimly aware of Linda walking in. She strode into one of the cubicles without speaking. But when she came out she must have caught something in Sherry’s expression that made her pause.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  Sherry raised her eyes. Linda sat down on the stool next to her. Her eyes rested for a second on the letter lying on the counter.

  ‘Bad news?’

  Sherry didn’t trust herself to speak. She touched the letter, and gave it a slight push in Linda’s direction. Linda picked it up and read.

  ‘Oh no. Oh, Sherry, I’m so sorry!’ She leaned forward and wrapped Sherry in a tight hug.

  Sherry was uncomfortable in the embrace, but she made no attempt to extract herself. Finally Linda released her and examined her face.

  ‘You’re not even crying! You poor thing, you must be in shock!’

  Sherry wasn’t sure what shock felt like, but she nodded.

  There was a moment of silence, and then Linda asked, ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Mr Simpson gave me a stack of letters to file. That will keep me busy.’

  ‘No, I mean, about your life! You can’t go to that girls’ college now. What’s it called?’

  ‘Agnes Scott.’ Sherry looked at her blankly. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, it was different before, when you had a boyfriend. How are you going to meet anyone at Agnes Scott? You need a co-ed school, with fraternities and sororities and a social life. Think about your future, Sherry!’

  She could have been speaking a foreign language — her words weren’t even registering. But one word did stick out, and it kept running through Sherry’s head as she left the restroom and headed back to her desk. Her future. What kind of future would she have without Johnny?

  Back in the bullpen, Pamela had noticed her absence. ‘You sick or something?’

  ‘No.’

  But Pamela clearly wanted an explanation. ‘That letter, it was from Johnny. He broke up with me.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry about that.’

  Sherry sat down at her desk and pretended to be going through the letters she was supposed to file.

  ‘Did he break your heart?’ Pamela asked.

  Sherry looked up. ‘Of course!’

  ‘It’s just that, well, you don’t talk about him much. Were you really in love with him?’

  Sherry stared at her. ‘How can you ask that? He was my boyfriend!’

  Allison joined them. ‘What’s going on?’

  Pamela gave her the news. Allison, at least, had the courtesy to look more concerned.

  ‘Oh, Sherry, that’s awful. He was the man of your dreams, wasn’t he?’

  Now Sherry stared at her. Had she ever thought of Johnny in those terms? She must have!

  Mr Simpson approached and noticed the untouched correspondence still sitting on Sherry’s desk. ‘What’s going on here? Don’t you girls have work to do?’

  Pamela responded. ‘Sherry has a problem. It’s one of those female things.’

  Mr Simpson beat a hasty retreat, and Sherry couldn’t help smiling. ‘Pamela, you’re terrible.’

  Pamela grinned. ‘It always works when you’re trying get rid of a guy.’

  They both went back to their own duties, and Sherry attacked the stack of letters. She was glad to have work that didn’t require much concentration. On the other hand, it didn’t provide much of a distraction from her own thoughts.

  It didn’t help when Ellen stopped by her desk, a sorrowful expression on her sweet face. ‘Linda told me what happened. I’m so sorry for you.’

  Sherry gave her a half-smile and a soft ‘thank you’.

  ‘The thing is,’ Ellen went on, ‘you have to jump right back in the saddle. You know what I mean?’

  She did, but she wasn’t in the mood to hear more about that. So she simply nodded, and went back to the papers on her desk. That didn’t deter Ellen.

  ‘What about Ricky Hartnell? Didn’t you go out with him?’

  She wasn’t about to go into that story with an intern she barely knew. ‘It didn’t work out,” she said simply.

  ‘Give him another chance! I think he’s working in the accounting department now. Let’s see if we can find an excuse for you to go up there.’

  ‘Not now,’ Sherry said quickly. ‘I really have to get these letters filed for Mr Simpson.’

  Ellen took the hint and moved on. Sherry picked up the now alphabetized pile of letters, and headed to the filing cabinets. She passed Caroline on the way, and the editor stopped her.

  ‘I’ve already wangled two fashion-show invitations for Gloss!’ she announced, her eyes sparkling. ‘And I’ve left messages with three other major designers.’

  ‘That’s great!’ Sherry said, trying to match the enthusiasm in Caroline’s voice. She watched as the editor headed back to her office, and again she wondered about her. The woman certainly got excited about her job, she thought. But what was her life like after working hours? Did she go home to a tiny apartment, open a can of soup and heat it up over a hotplate? And then watch television, alone? Or maybe play a game of solitaire. She thought about one of her aunts, her father’s oldest sister, a spinster. She spent her evenings with enormous jigsaw puzzles. They gave her a new one every year for a gift when she came for Christmas dinner. Poor Aunt Agnes, they called her.

  ‘Sherry?’

  She hadn’t even heard Michael and his mail cart approach. ‘Oh, hi. How are you?’

  ‘OK.’ He pushed a lock of shiny black hair out of his eyes. ‘I was just wondering — you want to take a coffee break?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yeah, if you can leave your desk.’

  ‘OK. Sure.’ Suddenly she didn’t care about Mr Simpson’s filing.

  They found an empty table in the cafeteria, where they could sit across from each other with their coffees.

  ‘How’s your internship coming along?’ he asked.

  ‘Good,’ she replied automatically. ‘How�
��s the mailroom?’

  ‘Boring.’

  ‘Well, at least that gives you time to think about your novel.’

  ‘Actually I’ve put the novel aside, because I had this idea for a short story.’

  ‘Really? About what?’

  He hesitated. Then he took a long sip of his coffee, as if it might give him courage. ‘Would you like to read it?’

  ‘Sure.’

  He reached into the deep pocket of his work jacket and brought out some crumpled papers. ‘I hope you can read my handwriting.’

  She could see right away it wouldn’t be easy. But days of typing up Mr Simpson’s handwritten letters had given her some practice in deciphering scribbles.

  ‘I think I can manage. Would you like me to type it up for you while I’m reading it?’

  His eyebrows shot up. ‘You’d do that?’

  She nodded. He smiled. Was that a sparkle in those intense eyes? And those pouty Elvis lips looked even better turned up like that. At least now she wouldn’t have to feel guilty for feeling that little shiver travel up her spine.

  Maybe jumping back in the saddle wouldn’t be that hard after all.

  ‘I was thinking,’ Pamela said during lunch on Friday. ‘I’ll bet we wouldn’t need dates to go someplace like the Peppermint Lounge. There’s probably a cover charge, but maybe we could scrape up the money. And then we’d meet guys who’d buy us drinks.’

  Neither Allison nor Sherry looked particularly intrigued by the notion, but Pamela persisted.

  ‘What about tonight?’

  Sherry shook her head. ‘Michael is taking me to hear an author read from his work at the uptown Y.’

  ‘I’m meeting Sam down in the Village,’ Allison said. ‘Pam, why don’t you come with me? Sam has plenty of friends — maybe you’ll meet someone interesting.’

  Pamela sincerely doubted that any friends of a vagabond folk singer would appeal to her. It had been, what, almost two weeks since she’d arrived in New York? And she had yet to encounter anyone who resembled the men of her fantasies. Her one date, with that so-called doctor, had been a disaster.

  First off, it turned out he was only an intern at the hospital. Yes, he had a medical degree, but he wasn’t making any real money yet. He didn’t even have his own apartment; he lived in a residence like the Cavendish, only for hospital employees. Their double date had taken place at a boring old pizza parlour. No martinis or champagne, just beer and soft drinks.