The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [113]
And so you will, she thought, replacing the jewels guiltily in the valise, unless you get a job this week. She looked at her old gray coat hanging on the nail and her hat and the tired flowers drooping on top of it. To get a job uptown she would have to be smart. It would take an investment. She looked at Rosa’s five dollars and told herself that tomorrow morning she would go to Glanz’s store on Grand Avenue and buy herself a new coat. She would pay a deposit and when she got the job she would pay it off at so much a week, the way all the women did around here. It was a risk, she knew, because the odds were she would not get a job. But she squared her shoulders resolutely. This time she was going to start right at the top. On Park Avenue.
She was at Glanz’s as soon as it opened the next morning, choosing a simple coat of navy wool in the new, slim line. She bought a pair of kid gloves. Deciding she could not afford a new hat, she went back to Zabar’s pushcart and bought a single imitation white gardenia to replace the roses on her old one. She polished her black shoes and ran excitedly downstairs to show Rosa.
“Turn around,” Rosa said, inspecting her minutely from head to toe. “Give a look only, such a lady,” she marveled, “as smart as any rich Park Avenue person.”
Missie laughed excitedly. “Is my hat all right?” she asked, patting the gardenia doubtfully.
“Perfect,” Rosa declared. “You won’t need a job, you will get married when the employer sees you.”
Missie kissed her, laughing, and Rosa ran to the window, watching as she strode down the street. “Like a deer she walks,” she breathed admiringly. She leaned farther from the window. “Good luck, Missie,” she called, waving and wishing with all her heart that she would return a new person. A person with a job.
The door at the top of the immaculate white marble steps was enameled a shiny purple and in the center was a large brass plaque with the flamboyant signature “Elise.” A doorman in a smart buff uniform gleaming with gold buttons moved his bulk in front of it, folding his arms belligerently and glaring down at Missie, who stood hesitantly at the foot of the steps. “What d’ya want?” he yelled.
Missie flinched and said hurriedly, “I … I’ve come about a job.”
“What are ya? An idiot? Jobs go around the back, not in the front door! Get a move on, will ya. I don’t want ya hanging around here. Hurry, hurry!” After shooing her away, he ran down the steps to open the door of a long royal-purple saloon car, smiling unctuously as he helped the elegant red-haired woman alight. Missie turned to stare. The woman was older, tall and wafer-thin and dressed with an understated flamboyance that drew your eyes to her. She turned her head and her eyes met Missie’s, assessing her thoughtfully for a moment. She said something to the doorman and turned to look at her again; then she swept up the marble steps and disappeared behind the beautiful purple door.
“Hey, you!” The doorman waved his arm at her and Missie stepped closer reluctantly. “You got lucky with your cheek,” he said. “That was Madame Elise herself. She asked what ya wanted so I told her a job, and she said to go round to Mrs. Masters and tell her that Madame sent you. She’s the manageress of the workroom. Maybe she’ll need an extra hand.” He grinned suddenly, “Sorry I shouted, kid,” he said, “but I was expecting Madame and she hates anyone cluttering up her steps when she’s making her grand entrance. Tell Fred on the door I sent ya, and while you’re at it, ask him to put me a dollar to win on Mawchop in the two-thirty.”
“A dollar to win on Mawchop,” she repeated, and then she turned and ran around the corner before Madame could change her mind.
Mrs. Masters was a dragon. She kept Missie waiting half an hour, and when she finally flounced into the room in