by Marilyn Kaye
And Simpson had taken that away from her.
She wanted to scream, she wanted to tell someone — but who? She couldn’t complain to Caroline again. She would sound whiny and unprofessional. Her girlfriends back home wouldn’t understand. Her intern friends — they’d be sympathetic, but they wouldn’t get it either. Neither Allison nor Pamela was serious about writing. And poor Donna couldn’t write at all.
She wondered if Mike would understand. Things had been going well for them. That first kiss, so sweet and gentle, had led to more, not as sweet or gentle, and more exciting. And just last night …
They’d gone to a movie, near Central Park. It was just as they left the theatre that something caught her eye.
‘What are you looking at?’ Mike asked.
She was almost embarrassed to tell him. She nodded toward the horse and carriage that had just emerged from the Park. He raised his eyebrows.
‘OK, I know it’s corny and strictly for tourists,’ she told him. ‘But I saw that in a movie, and it was on my list.’
‘Your list?’
‘Things I wanted to do in New York this summer. Take a ride in a horse-drawn carriage through Central Park. It just seemed so, so —’
‘Romantic?’ he asked.
She nodded.
He took her hand and practically pulled her in the direction of 59th Street, where the carriages were lined up and waiting. Moments later, they were snuggled together under the carriage roof as the top-hatted driver steered the horse down a path.
Mike had his arm around her, and she laid her head on his chest. Was it the sound of his heartbeat that made her feel so close to him? In any case, within moments they were kissing with more passion than ever before. Then she felt his hand on her breast …
It was too soon to get to first base, Sherry knew that. They hadn’t been together long enough. But she didn’t care. Her whole body was quivering, and she wanted more. She ran her fingers through his hair, and he eased her down on the seat, until he was practically on top of her.
In a way, she was lucky he’d only been able to afford a twenty minute ride. Any longer, and she just might have broken every rule in the book. And just as the horse and carriage came out of the Park, and she was tucking her blouse back into her skirt, he whispered to her, ‘I think you’re going to be my muse.’
Her eyes widened, and he must have thought she didn’t understand.
‘My inspiration,’ he explained. ‘Every serious writer needs one.’
Yes, Mike might understand how bad she felt about not getting to write this article. He was serious about his work, he was a real writer … and if she was going to be his muse, maybe he could be hers.
A gleam caught her eye. Stretching, she reached out under the chair and her hand rested on something metallic.
‘Hello?’
Startled, she looked up and hit the underside of the chair. ‘Ow!’ She crawled out backwards, and rose. Rubbing the top of her head, she recognized the young man who’d come into the room.
‘Are you OK?’ Rafe Bryant asked.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she said automatically. He was still eyeing her curiously, and she explained. ‘I was looking for something my …’ She hesitated. She just couldn’t bring herself to say ‘boss’. ‘Something my colleague left behind.’
His eyebrows went up and he approached her. ‘You saw the show?’
She nodded. ‘I’m from Gloss magazine.’
‘I can see that,’ he said. ‘Sherry Forrester.’
She’d forgotten she was still wearing the name tag.
‘I’m Rafe Bryant.’
‘Yes, I know,’ she said with a smile.
‘I don’t think I’m familiar with your magazine,’ he said apologetically.
‘Gloss is a magazine for teenage girls,’ she told him. ‘They don’t usually cover fashion shows. This is a first for them. And for me,’ she added.
‘What did you think of it?’
Did he actually care about the opinion of a lowly intern from a magazine he’d never heard of?
‘It was wonderful. I loved it.’
‘Really?’
‘And not just because it was my first fashion show,’ she went on. Suddenly the words were rushing out. ‘I was expecting terribly elegant and sophisticated clothes, like I see in Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar, the kind you never see on real people walking down the street. But these were beautiful clothes that I would actually want to wear. You wouldn’t have to be a society woman to look good in those dresses. Women of any age could wear your clothes!’
If she couldn’t write about it, at least she could talk about the show.
And Rafe Bryant didn’t seem to mind at all. ‘This is exactly what I want to do, reach a younger clientele, not just society matrons.’
She had to point something out to him, ‘Only how would a younger clientele afford real designer clothes?’
‘Well, I’ve got ideas about that. I think my designs could work in ready-to-wear.’
Sherry’s forehead puckered. ‘I’m not sure what that means.’
‘The clothes could be made in factories, in large quantities, so they could be created and sold more cheaply. Hey, would you like to go to the hotel lounge and get a coffee? I’d love to hear your thoughts about this.’
Her eyes widened. ‘My thoughts?’
‘Sure, you’re the kind of person I want to reach with my clothes. You give me some feedback on my ideas, and I’ll buy the coffees.’
Suddenly she realized she wanted more than a coffee out of this. ‘And how about if I turn this into an interview for Gloss?’ she asked.
He grinned. ‘Why not? I could use the publicity!’
Thank goodness she hadn’t given Simpson her notebook. Because when she left the hotel, almost two hours later, it was packed with brand-new notes. And she was totally exhilarated, even more excited than she’d been when she left the fashion show.
Rafe Bryant’s ideas were interesting, and his clothes were amazing. He had a vision of teenagers becoming the future of fashion. He thought young people were becoming more daring, more willing to be original, and that they would lead the way in creating fashion trends.
Personally Sherry wasn’t completely convinced. Back home the girls weren’t very bold or adventurous in their choice of apparel. It was all shirtwaist dresses, A-line skirts with flower-print tops, or madras skirts with coordinating shell tops. Winter meant a cardigan and skirt ensemble bought together so the colours matched perfectly. And everything was a proscribed length — skirts and dresses hit at the top of the knees.
But maybe that was just because she lived in a small Southern city. Here in New York she’d seen more variety. The beatnik look had caught on — Allison was a good example of that. She’d been noticing that even outside of Greenwich Village girls were doing the black capri-pants thing. She’d noticed young women on the street with hemlines creeping upward, and she’d seen
long, ankle-length skirts too. Maybe Rafe Bryant was on to something. He saw young people as being less restrictive, more open to new ideas about everything — so why not fashion too? She couldn’t wait to get this down on paper, and she had a feeling Caroline would like It. And she could see Gloss readers devouring it.
She didn’t realize how late it was until she entered the Hartnell lobby and saw people coming off the elevators and heading out on to the street. One of them was Mr Simpson.
She took the cigarette case from her bag and approached him.
‘Mr Simpson?’
He stopped and turned. ‘Where have you been?’ he demanded. ‘I had some letters for you to type.’
She wasn’t going to let him kill her euphoria. She held her tongue and silently handed him the case.
‘It took you long enough,’ he muttered.
Not even a thank you. And just to point that out, she said, ‘You’re welcome,’ before striding off to the elevator bank. She couldn’t believe herself — she’d just been impudent! Mama
would have had a fit. Sherry felt positively great.
She rolled a sheet of paper into the typewriter.
Rafe Bryant has some big ideas, so watch out, readers! You just may want a whole new wardrobe in the not-too-distant future.
She was so engrossed she didn’t even hear the approaching footsteps.
‘Hi! Ready?’
She tore her eyes away from the paper and looked up to find Mike standing there.
‘Oh! Hi. Ready for what?’
‘Dinner, remember? I’ve got that two-for-one ticket for the Chinese restaurant.’
She’d completely forgotten their date. ‘Oh, right. Of course.’ But her eyes kept returning to the typewriter.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘I snagged an interview with a designer today. And I think it would make a great article for Gloss.’
He looked at his watch. ‘It’s five ten. The working day is over, the prison gates are open. Time for fun.’
‘I know, I know.’ But she didn’t move. ‘It’s just that … I’m really excited about this!’
‘Why?’
‘C’mon, Mike, you’re a writer, you know! When you have a fantastic idea, and you want to write it immediately.’
He looked puzzled. ‘A fantastic idea? About fashion?’
‘Well, yeah. This guy has some really wild plans, and if I can describe them the right way, I just know it could be a real article. Not just a review, Mike! A real feature article in a magazine! Wouldn’t you want that?’
That puzzled expression remained on his face. ‘Not really. That’s not why I write.’
‘You wouldn’t want to be published?’
‘Well, yeah, sure, some day. When I’ve written something worth publishing. Right now, I’m writing for myself.’
‘You can’t make a living doing that,’ Sherry pointed out.
Mike shrugged. ‘I make a living doing mindless work in the mailroom. Writing … I can’t think about writing in those terms.’
Now it was her turn to be puzzled. She’d just assumed he thought of writing as his ultimate career. Was it just a hobby for him?
‘Hey, it’s OK,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Write your article. The two-for-one is still good tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow would be great,’ she said sincerely. ‘You don’t mind?’
He shook his head. ‘Nah, I’m kind of beat. And my mother’s been complaining about how I haven’t been around for dinner lately.’
She smiled gratefully, and he smiled back. Oh, those eyes … so deep, so sexy. For a moment, she hesitated. Maybe she could just get up early and write … no, she had to be strong, this was important.
He leaned over her desk, she rose, and they kissed. Which didn’t make things any easier. Just that little kiss, it was so enticing.
‘Tomorrow?’ he said.
‘Absolutely,’ she replied fervently.
He started out, but he paused and looked back. ‘I never realized you were so ambitious!’
‘I guess I’m just, I don’t know … excited by this. It’s like … a challenge!’
‘OK.’ With a wink and a grin, he moved on.
Sherry went back to work, but Mike’s words rang in her ears. ‘I never realized you were so ambitious,’ he’d said.
Neither had she.
16 November, 1962
At six o’clock in the morning the high school hallways were dark and silent. As Donna approached the janitorial supply room the door opened and the school custodian came out. He nodded curtly, and held the door open for her to go in.
Alone in the room that smelled of disinfectant and bug spray, she took off her coat and hung it on a hook. From another hook she took a blue smock and put it on over her clothes. At the sink she filled a bucket with hot water and added cleaning liquid. She picked up a mop, and dragged it along with the bucket down the hall to a classroom.
She dipped the mop into the bucket, tugged at the mop’s ringer and then pushed it along the floor. With the first stroke she winced. The bruise on her upper right arm was fairly fresh and it was bothering her. But she could only grit her teeth and get on with the work. She needed this job.
She was still getting cheques from her father, but a week after her marriage, in a rush of euphoria, she’d made a big mistake. She’d opened a joint bank account with Ron. The idea was that they’d save money, so that after the baby came they might try to get a bigger trailer, or maybe even rent a small cottage.
But in the past month Ron had started withdrawing money and spending it rapidly, mainly on poker games and booze.
It wasn’t like this at the beginning. September had been an OK month. Dropping out of school was a relief. She probably could have hidden her pregnancy for a while, but what was the point? By the end of October she would have been showing and they’d make her leave anyway. She’d managed to get more hours at the diner, Ron had his work with the road crew, and while they weren’t exactly living in the lap of luxury, they were managing.
And then she woke up one morning in October with terrible stomach cramps. There was blood too. Ron had to take her to the emergency room, and there she learned she had lost her baby.
Even after that, things were all right for a while. She was very sad of course. She’d lost a lot of blood, and had to stay in the hospital for two nights, but when she came home Ron was kind and took care of her.
Then one day he’d shown up at work drunk, and he was fired. Then, just as she was feeling strong enough to go back to work, the diner caught fire and burned down. There was no job waiting for her there.
Or anywhere else. Those cheques from her father became their only support, and that was when Ron started withdrawing money from their joint account. When she found out and confronted him, he was drunk, and he hit her. And so began a new and horrible phase of their relationship.
In desperation she went to an agency that supplied cleaning workers to businesses. The only position they had for her was at her old high school. So here she was, back at the place she thought she’d escaped from. And it looked as if she’d never be able to make another escape.
At seven o’clock she started on the restrooms. She had just begun cleaning the four sinks when the restroom door suddenly opened. Four laughing girls, all clad in cheerleading uniforms, burst in. Three of them ignored her and went directly into the stalls. But one remained outside by the sinks.
‘Well, hello, Donna,’ Sandy Clement exclaimed. ‘I wondered what happened to you. When you didn’t show up in homeroom this year, I missed you.’
Sure you did, Donna thought grimly. You missed having someone to pick on. She concentrated on an imaginary stain in the sink and rubbed harder with her sponge.
Her silence didn’t bother Sandy. ‘So you left high school for a career! How exciting for you. Maybe you can be a real janitor some day.’ She peered over Donna’s shoulder into the sink. ‘I think you missed a spot.’
When Donna still didn’t respond, she must have gotten bored, because she called to the others, ‘Girls, come on! We’re here for practice, remember?’
Finally three toilets flushed and the others came out of their stalls. They all went to the sinks to wash their hands. Sandy remained by the sink Donna was scrubbing.
Excuse me, Donna, I’d like to wash my hands.’
Donna pressed her lips together tightly and stepped aside. Sandy made a big deal out of washing her hands, using a lot of soap so the scum would remain in the bowl. When she finished, she took a paper towel from the machine on the wall and dried her hands, before dropping it on the floor.
Donna couldn’t hold back any longer. ‘You couldn’t put that in the bin?’ she asked.
A silence fell, and the other cheerleaders looked at Sandy expectantly.
Sandy smiled. ‘I’m doing this for you, Donna. If we didn’t dirty up the restroom, you wouldn’t have a job!’ There was a chorus of giggles as she led the group out.
It wasn’t the worst nasty crack she’d ever receive
d. But Donna found herself gripping the edge of the sink so tightly her hand hurt.
Mechanically she resumed her work. In the first toilet stall she discovered a magazine lying on the floor, maybe left by one of the cheerleaders. It was a copy of Gloss, and it immediately brought back memories of cutting out pictures to make paper dolls for her little sister. She stuck it in her smock pocket. There was no one to make paper dolls for any more, but this would give her something to look at when she took her break.
The break came at seven twenty. She headed back to the janitor’s closet, retrieved the baloney sandwich she’d prepared that morning, and took it next door to the school supply room to eat. The scent there was less pungent.
As she opened the copy of Gloss, a manila envelope slipped out. It wasn’t sealed, so its contents fell out too. She picked them up.
The first page was some kind of form. It took her a while to read it, but eventually she realized that it was an application for something called an internship. She didn’t recognize the name of the person who’d filled it out.
Curious, she persevered and read on. By the time her break was over, she’d managed to figure the whole thing out.
It appeared that Gloss magazine invited readers to apply for summer internships at the magazine’s offices in New York. They wouldn’t be paid a salary, but they would be flown to New York and given a place to live there for the summer. All they had to do was fill in the form and attach something they’d written.
This applicant — Mary Something — had filled out the application form and attached a neatly typed three-page story about a trip to Disneyland. She’d already addressed the envelope too.
Donna knew what she should do with this. There was a lost-and-found box just outside the principal’s office. When this girl, Mary, realized she’d lost her application, that was where she’d go to see if someone had turned it in.
But an idea had begun to take shape in Donna’s mind. It was crazy. It was completely insane. It probably wouldn’t work. And it certainly wasn’t right.
It was a possibility, however. A chance to escape. A slim chance, to be sure, but a chance nonetheless.