Rules of Civility - Amor Towles [55]
Miss Markham smiled at the precision.
—I’ve asked you in to discuss your future here. As you may have heard, Pamela will be leaving us at summer’s end.
—I hadn’t heard.
—You don’t gossip much with the other girls, do you Katherine?
—I’m not much one for gossip.
—To your credit. Nonetheless, you seem to get along well?
—It’s not a difficult group with which to get along.
Another smile, this one for the appropriate placement of the preposition.
—I’m glad to hear that. We do make some effort to ensure a certain compatibility among the girls. At any rate, Pamela will be leaving. She is . . .
Miss Markham paused.
—With chy-uld.
She used two syllables to bring the word to life.
Such news may have merited celebration on the crowded blocks of Bed-Stuy where Pamela came of age, but it didn’t merit celebration here. I tried to adopt the expression of one having just learned that her colleague has been caught with her hand in the till. Miss Markham went on.
—Your work is impeccable. Your knowledge of grammatical rule excellent. Your comportment with the partners exemplary.
—Thank you.
—Initially, it seemed as if your shorthand might not keep pace with your typing; but it has improved markedly.
—It was a goal of mine.
—A good one at that. I have noticed also that your knowledge of trust and estate law is beginning to approach that of some of the junior attorneys.
—I hope that doesn’t strike you as presumptuous.
—Not in the least.
—I’ve found it helps me to serve the partners better if I understand the nature of their work.
—Just so.
Miss Markham paused again.
—Katherine, it is my judgment that you are quintessentially Quiggin. I have recommended that you be promoted to take Pamela’s place as lead clerk.
(Pronounced clark.)
—As you know, the lead clerk is like the first violin in an orchestra. You will have more than your share of solos—or better said, you will have a more appropriate share of solos. But you will also have to serve as an exemplar. While I am the conductor of our little orchestra, I cannot have my eye on every girl at every hour and they will look to you for guidance. Needless to say, this advancement will come with the appropriate raise in pay, responsibilities, and professional status.
Miss Markham then paused and raised her eyebrows indicating that some comment from me was now welcome. So I thanked her with professional restraint and as she shook my hand, I thought to myself: How quintessentially Quiggin; how nearly neighbor; how so simpatico.
Leaving the office, I walked downtown to the South Ferry stop so that I wouldn’t have to pass the storefront of Brannigan’s. A smell of spoiled shellfish drifted inland from the harbor as if the New York oysters, knowing perfectly well that no one was going to eat them in a month without an R, had thrown themselves onshore.
As I was getting on the train a lanky bumpkin dressed in overalls knocked my purse out of my hands while running from one car to the next; and as I bent to pick it up, my skirt tore a seam. So when I got off at my stop, I bought a pint of rye and a candle to stick on the cork.
Luckily, I drank half the bottle’s contents at my kitchen table before taking off my shoes and stockings, because when I stood to scramble an egg, I bumped the table and spilled the rest over a flawed finesse. Cursing Jesus the way my uncle Roscoe would have—in verse—I mopped up the mess and then plopped down in my father’s easy chair.
What was your favorite day of the year? That was one of the beside-the-point questions that we posed to each other at the 21 Club back in January. The snowiest, Tinker had said. Any day that wasn’t in Indiana, Eve had said. My answer? The summer solstice. June twenty-first. The longest day of the year.
It was a cute answer. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. But on cooler reflection, it struck me that when you’re asked your favorite day of the year, there’s a certain hubris in giving any day in June as your answer. It suggests that the particulars of your life are so terrific, and your command