Mildred Pierce - James M. Cain [20]
"How do I qualify?"
Mildred's lips were fluttering again, the way they had in Miss Boole's office. Miss Turner looked quickly away, then said: "Can I make a suggestion?"
"You certainly can."
"I wouldn't call you a raving beauty, but you've got an A-i shape and you say you cook fine and sleep fine. Why don't you forget about a job, hook yourself a man, and get married again?"
"I tried that."
"Didn't work?"
"I don't seem to be able to kid you much. It was the first thing I thought of, and just for a little while I seemed to be doing all right. But then, I guess two little children disqualified me, even there. That wasn't what he said, but—"
"Hey, hey, you're breaking my heart."
"I didn't know you had a heart."
"Neither did I."
The cold logic of Miss Turner's harangue reached Mildred's bowels, where the tramping, waiting, and hoping of the last few weeks hadn't. She went home, collapsed, and wept for an hour. But next day she doggedly registered at three more agencies. She took to doing desperate things, like turning suddenly into business places, as she was passing them on the -street, and asking for an opening. One day she entered an office building and, beginning at the top floor, called on every finn, in only two places getting past the gate. All the time the thought of July 1 haunted her, and she got weaker, paler, and tackier-looking. The print dress was pressed so many times that she searched the seams anxiously every time she put the iron on it. She lived on oatmeal and bread, reserving for the children such eggs, chicken, and milk as she could buy.
One morning, to her surprise, there came a card from Miss Turner, asking her to call. She dressed in about four minutes, caught the nine o'clock bus, and was in the familiar little office by nine thirty. Miss Turner waved her to a seat. "Something's come up, so I dropped you that card."
"What is it?"
"Housekeeper."
". . . Oh."
"It's not what you think, so don't employ that tone of voice. I mean, there's no sleeping in it, so far as I know. And it means nothing to me. I don't handle domestic help, so I won't collect a dime. But I was over in Beverly the other night, and got talking with a lady that's going to marry a director, and he doesn't know it yet, but his house is due for a big shake-up. So she wants a housekeeper. So, on account of all that fine domestic efficiency you were telling me about, I told her about you, and I think it's yours if you want it. Children O.K. You'll have your own quarters and I think you can nick her for one fifty if you get tough, but you'd better ask for two hundred and come down. That's over and above all your uniforms, food, laundry, heat, light, and quarters, and quite a lot more than most of my talented stable are making."
"I hardly know what to say."
"Make up your