On Isabella Street

Chapter Four Sassy

four SASSY

Swathed in an itchy wool tweed suit, her blazer tight around her upper arms and buttoned snugly around her waist, Sassy checked the clock on the wall. This was quite possibly the longest day of her life. To ease her frustration, she practiced her own private form of meditation. Davey called his cooking “art,” so she tried to think of her typing as music. She was a good typist, so her work had a rhythm. She just had to make up the melody.

Every morning at Jamieson, Baines, and Brown Law Firm, lists and letters appeared in the basket on her desk. Some were written in forceful capital letters, some in rushed handwriting that leaned excessively to the right, and some were printed in such light pencil strokes she had to squint to make out the words. Those pale scribblings came from Miss Drummond. When Sassy suggested the woman put a little more pressure on her pencil lead, she had been met with such a scowl of disbelief she’d given up and gone back to squinting. It wasn’t her fault if the writing was illegible and she got some of it wrong.

Her mind wandered. Davey had still been in the apartment when she’d left, his bare chest golden as he basked in the sunlight flooding through her living room windows, sipping his coffee and munching on Pop-Tarts. On her way out, she’d said to help himself to whatever he wanted to eat. Not that she had much in her kitchen, but after the love-in, they’d stopped on their way back from the park and bought the ingredients he needed so he could cook for her. Chicken, vegetables, rice… it was a bigger feast than she’d had in months. She hoped there were leftovers when she got home. She hoped he’d still be there, too.

Davey was groovy. He had a confident, contagious laugh, and he had lied about his musical abilities. Turned out he could sing, even manage a little harmony. She played for him that night, and he sang along. He told her she was really good, and she knew he was saying it for real because they’d already done what they’d come to her place to do, so there was no need for flattery. He told her she belonged onstage at the Riverboat, which made her laugh.

“Not quite,” she said.

“Maybe not, but soon,” he assured her, pressing a cool strawberry to her lips.

Davey hadn’t passed the “husband test,” though. Not that she was ever going to marry—she wasn’t—but she’d read somewhere that most girls “married their father.” Davey looked nothing like hers. Jim Rankin was tall and slim, whereas Davey was only a couple inches taller than she was. He wasn’t fat, but she could tell that he preferred food to exercise. She didn’t mind. A person’s physical body wasn’t important, after all. It was about their life force. Their aura. Their capacity for love.

But it didn’t hurt that Davey was the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes—or hands—on.

Mostly what people saw when they looked at Jim Rankin was that he was wealthy. Sure, he was tall and darkly handsome, with sad brown eyes that held deep thoughts, but mostly he looked like money. A lot of it. He had come home from the war with shrapnel scars all over his body, jagged, violent marks that Sassy rarely saw, and he had inherited his father’s real estate practice. He got married, had two kids, then his wife had died. After he lost her, Jim Rankin had put all he had into expanding his company in preparation for his only son to inherit it. But Joey didn’t want it. He never had any interest in the family business. Sassy hadn’t been surprised by that. She’d never been able to imagine him in a suit and tie.

“Wild oats, Dad,” Joey said, shaking his dark curls and wearing the smile of a romantic. “So many wild oats to sow.”

Her father had been quietly devastated by the news, she could tell. He had raised both children after their mother died of brain cancer when Sassy was six and Joey was four. Neither of them remembered her very well, and their father didn’t talk about her. He never dated after she died, or if he had, he never brought a woman home. From that, Sassy came to believe that her mother had been something special and her parents’ love unique. Even though Sassy had only ever known one parent, she based her marital goals on that lofty example.

Sassy was positive she would never find anyone like that, who filled her in every way. She doubted it so much that she had decided never to get married. Besides, marriage was such an outdated tradition. She had no interest in living monogamously, when everything happening these days was so much more liberating. The sixties suited her perfectly. Being single was much less complicated.

Her father hadn’t been completely on his own, raising them. Minnie, short for Minerva, was a fortysomething, wiry woman, just a little older than Sassy’s father. Minnie was a housekeeper, but she was also their nanny most of the time. Sassy loved her dearly. Monday to Friday, Minnie lived in a small room on the first floor of Sassy’s father’s house, then she was gone until the next Monday. Sassy remembered asking Minnie why she disappeared on weekends, and Minnie said she had two little boys at home who needed her. She’d had a little girl as well, but the baby had died. When Sassy was about ten, Minnie grew a belly then took a short time away from work to take care of her third son, who she cheerfully declared was “quite a surprise.” When she came back, Sassy asked if she would please bring the baby sometime. There was more than enough room in their house, after all. Minnie had shaken her head. Too much work, she told her.

“The two of you are more than enough,” she said.

Sassy’s father oversaw their childhood, but Minnie managed it. She stayed with them until Joey turned sixteen.

All her life, the only thing Sassy ever wanted to do was sing, and since her father gave her such a generous allowance, that’s all she really did. She sang, she read, she played guitar and sometimes the piano, and every day, she dreamed. Joey’s heart was set on playing pro baseball. He was very good, Sassy knew, since she’d seen him play at school and at the park with his friends.

Last January, Sassy had performed for her dad and Joey in their living room. She would never forget that night. It changed everything. When she finished playing, her father smiled and clapped, but she could tell he was doing it out of obligation more than anything else. He didn’t know anything about music. Joey, on the other hand, leaned back in his armchair the whole time, ball cap tugged low over his forehead, listening with his eyes closed. When she finished, he let out a whoop.

“Far out! My sister’s going to be a star!” He grinned. “I’ll be your roadie, Sass.”

Her father regarded Joey. “You already have a job lined up.”

“Come on, Dad,” Joey scowled. “She’s great. You know she is. Tell her.”

“Of course you’re good,” her father said. “Very good, Susan. You have your mother’s gift.” He turned back to Joey. “And you’re going to be very good in the real estate business. It’s time, you know. You’re old enough to hold down a real job.”

Joey chuckled and mentioned the wild oats again, then he hesitated, which was unusual for him. Joey wasn’t the kind of guy to think about things before he said or did them. The unfamiliar tension in his brow made her nervous.

“I ain’t taking your job, Dad. I got other plans.”

“I hope not as a roadie or a ballplayer,” her father said wryly. “Neither of those will cover groceries when you’re out on your own.”

She set her guitar down, recognizing the moment the spotlight moved from her to her brother. Joey didn’t look fazed on the outside, but Sassy felt a twinge of alarm when she saw a tightening at the side of his mouth. He was nervous about something, and it was something big. She hadn’t thought Joey was afraid of anything.

“I won’t be buying groceries where I’m going,” he said. “Won’t be cooking for a while, either.”

“No? You have a girlfriend I don’t know about?” Her father glanced between them with frustration. “I hate to break it to you two, but thousands of other kids want what you want. You’re not the only ones who dream of being rich and famous. The fact is, neither of you is going to get that coveted dream career. But,” he said, taking a breath, “even if I’m wrong and it does happen, I want you to have something else to fall back on. Something practical. Real jobs. And Joey, when it’s time, I want you to come work with me.”

“Not gonna happen, Dad. I have other plans.”

“So you said. Like what?”

“I wasn’t gonna tell you like this, but why not?” His casual smile looked forced. “I’m going to Vietnam.”

The words dropped like a bomb in their quiet living room, blowing their world apart. Sassy felt its impact like a shock wave slamming her chest. She couldn’t breathe.

“No, you aren’t,” her father replied quietly, his voice like steel.

Sassy continued to stare, mute with shock.

Joey dropped his gaze to his lap. “Sorry, Dad. Already done, paperwork complete, aced my physical exam. I’m on a bus to Buffalo next week. Already got my ticket.”

Her father was red-faced. “That is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said. You’d better get yourself out of this before it’s too late.”

“Can’t.”

Fear and fury blended together in her father’s expression. A wide-eyed, livid glower. Sassy felt the same emotions deep inside herself, but her face was frozen.

“You think you are going to do anything to stop the communists by going over there? You, Joe?” he spat. “Get over yourself.”

Joey met his father’s eyes. “Better dead than red, Dad. Somebody’s gotta protect the world. Might as well be me.”

Sassy finally found her voice, though it sounded high-pitched to her own ears. “Don’t be stupid. What the world needs is peace. You don’t belong over there.”

Her little brother faced her, his brown eyes pleading for understanding. “We gotta make that peace, Sass. The war will keep on blowing people apart until we go over there and put a stop to it. I’m doing the right thing. You gotta believe me.”

But she hadn’t. She never would. “Don’t you dare,” she whispered.

“I’m going, Sass. That’s how it is.”

And that’s how it was.

About a month after Joey left for Vietnam, the house echoed with emptiness. Her father was rarely home, and when he was, he barely spoke. One night, she told him she wanted to move out.

He glanced up from his desk and studied her. Dark half circles underlined his eyes, and she wondered if he was sleeping. She hated how her father had aged in only four weeks, and she would never forgive Joey for what he’d done to the two of them. She didn’t care that he refused to sell real estate. She’d never thought he would. Like her, he regarded that line of work as a prime example of capitalism, with the wealthy getting wealthier and the poor losing every time. Joey might never make it in the baseball world, but she could see him building bridges much more happily than he would have been selling houses. But Vietnam?

It would be interesting to see what he ended up doing when he got back from the war and started taking life seriously.

Because he was coming back someday.

“You want to move out. And do what?” her father asked her.

“I’m going to make something of myself.”

He huffed through his nose, then he set his pen on his green felt blotter. “You’re not talking about the music thing again, are you? I love you, Susan, but as I’ve told you many times, there is no future in that kind of career. No money, either. There are millions of girls just like you who want to be a star. You’ll never get to the top of that mountain.”

She’d heard it all before, but his words only encouraged her to try harder.

“I’m twenty. I want to live my own life in my own place.”

“You can’t afford it.”

“That’s why I’m speaking with you. I need a loan, Dad. I’ll pay it all back with interest.”

“You’ll never be able to afford that, either,” he muttered, scowling down at his desk. He paused, thinking it through, then he slowly raised his head. “I’ll make you a deal. If you get a full-time job and keep it, I will pay for an apartment for you. It has to be a full-time job that has nothing to do with your guitar or your voice. Something practical, in an office. You can type. I’ll find you a job at one of my clients’ businesses.”

Her stomach rolled at the idea of a nine-to-five job, but her dad was watching intently. She started visualizing what colour she’d paint her apartment walls.

“Are you being for real, Dad?”

“For three years, I will pay your rent for an apartment of my choosing, as long as you are working full-time at a real job.”

“Why?”

“Because you might have talent, Susan, but you also have a brain. You forget that you need to turn it on once in a while and use it for constructive work. So you will get a job, and when you are paid, you will keep that income. I will pay your rent, and every week you will write me a summary of how it went. If you quit or lose your job, all the money dries up. I will not pay for you to waste your life. Is that agreeable to you?”

It seemed too good to be true, but he had kept his word. He had chosen 105 Isabella Street for her because an old friend from the war was living there. Mr. Moore had lost part of one leg and badly damaged his spine, so he mostly stayed in his apartment with his wife. Other than her father’s requirement of holding down a full-time job, all he asked of Sassy was that she visit the veteran on occasion.

The arrangement worked out for everyone. She was working and making a bit of a living, the Moores were cheered when she visited, and her father seemed content to have the huge, quiet house to himself. She thought he might even be dating a little.

Miss Drummond waddled by and set three pages in Sassy’s basket without looking at her. Sassy strained to see what was written on them then gave up.

“Five minutes.”

Sassy hated Mr. Brown, one of the firm’s partners. She had never felt comfortable around the short, balding man. Two months ago, he had said he wanted her in his office to take dictation every Tuesday at four thirty sharp, and he paid her an extra dollar for doing it. Every penny counts, she kept telling herself. Working was tedious, but spending was simple.

“Of course, sir.”

Mr. Brown’s office was oak-panelled, his floor carpeted. The lamp and ashtray on his imposing oak desk were polished brass, and the chair behind it was leather. The odorous smoke from his cigars had ingrained itself into the wood and the flooring. It all seemed a little much for such a small man, but truthfully, he was a skilled lawyer. That was obvious from the status of his clients.

As Sassy went to her small chair and typewriter to take dictation, Mr. Brown observed from behind his desk. She pulled out the chair, tucked her skirt behind her knees, sat, then waited. She knew the routine. Once she was prepared, he strolled across the room toward her and clamped one bony hand over her shoulder. At first she’d flinched at his touch. Now she just rolled her eyes.

“Now then, Miss Rankin. Are you ready?”

Sassy had no idea what his letters were about. He composed them in his head, hands clasped behind his back while he dictated, then he flipped his fingers in the air and said, “Now sign,” which meant she was to put in the Sincerely part, leave a space for his elegant signature, then type his name. Sassy was there to type and get paid, and she didn’t care what he was going on about. Probably wouldn’t have understood it if she tried. Which she didn’t.

After the fourth letter, she pulled the paper from her typewriter then froze, feeling both of his hands on her shoulders. This was new.

“Um, Mr. Brown?”

His fingers squeezed, in and out, in and out, then he leaned over, his breath stirring the hair on the top of her head.

“Have I mentioned how pleased I have been with your work, Miss Rankin? Both professional and conscientious.”

She didn’t move. “Thank you, sir.”

“There is an opportunity for you to do very well here. Financially, I mean. I wouldn’t think your income is substantial at the moment, but we can work on that, if you’re interested.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand.”

Oh, but she did. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought she might be sick when he leaned down and pressed his cold lips to her bare neck, near her right ear. “The president of the company will be looking for a new secretary in a couple of weeks. I’d like to recommend you.” His fingers dug in a little deeper. “Let’s discuss it over dinner, shall we?”

“No, thank you, sir. I… I have plans.”

“You should change those plans, if you want to improve your position in this firm. I can explain all about it over dinner.”

Tears burned. She had heard girls complain about their bosses and the corners they’d been backed into, but Sassy hadn’t had to deal with that in all these months. This man was a toad. He revolted her.

And he was offering her a prime new job.

What if she said no? Would he fire her? If she lost this job, her father would stop paying for her apartment. Then what?

She inhaled and held her breath. “No, thank you, sir.”

His breath tickled her neck, and she shuddered. He must have misinterpreted, because in the next moment, she felt his mouth on her neck again.

“Well, I can explain it to you here, I suppose. The president will be pleased to meet you, once you receive my personal recommendation,” he said, kissing closer to her clavicle. Goose bumps rose involuntarily all over Sassy’s body.

“Sir, please stop.”

“Don’t be stupid, Susan.” His voice felt like a hum in her ear. “I can make you a wealthy woman. Well,” he said with a chuckle, “relatively wealthy, anyway. Besides, girls these days—”

Done with this awful thing, she put her hands on the edge of the desk and began to rise, but he shoved her back into her seat. His hands slid down the front of her awful tweed jacket and she shot out of her chair, shoving them off her.

“Stop!” she cried. “You… you have no right to do that, Mr. Brown.” She blinked away tears. This was no way to represent a strong feminist, crying in the hands of a man taking advantage. Still, she couldn’t stop her voice from shaking. She gritted her teeth. “You have no right.”

She backed toward the door, watching his greasy, patchy face turn the colour of a spring tomato.

“Now, Miss Rankin—”

“Don’t you touch me, you dirty old man,” she hissed. “I liked this job, but I don’t need it. I’ll find another where my boss has some respect.”

“Respect! For a girl wearing makeup and short skirts? You wanted special attention, didn’t you, Susan?”

She didn’t miss the emphasis on her given name. He was trying to make some kind of point, but she was way beyond caring about that. “I came to do my job. That’s all. You should be ashamed of yourself. You’re disgusting.”

She spun at the last minute and grabbed the door handle, wondering what on earth would happen next.

The problem solved itself. Mr. Brown’s choked voice caught her on the way out. “You’re fired. Don’t even think about coming back.”

She stumbled to her regular desk, ignoring the bug-eyed stares around her. She grabbed her purse and dashed to the door, out of breath and dizzy. Bursting into the sunlight, she stopped and took a shaky breath. The familiar street felt foreign. Everything felt different. In the past five minutes, so much had changed. First, she now understood the terror and humiliation other women had talked about. Second, she was unemployed. And third, she would have to face her father. According to their deal, he could pull her out of her apartment and force her to come home. He could cut her off financially. He could do whatever he wanted.

She walked slowly down the sidewalk toward Queen’s Park, where she’d often taken walks at lunchtime. A knot filled her throat as she realized she wouldn’t be walking here as often after today. The park was so pretty, even with the sight of a transient lying on a bench in front of her. Especially in the spring, with purple and yellow crocuses opening up around the still-waking shrubs. Feeling a little wobbly, she sank onto a different bench across from the huge bronze statue of Sir John A. Macdonald and pulled a pink box of Good & Plenty from her purse. Sir John A.’s life would have been much quieter than hers, she imagined vaguely, without the city noises and car horns she barely noticed anymore.

Maybe she should go back and ask to speak with one of the other lawyers about what had happened. See if they were looking for another secretary on their team. Surely they’d understand. They’d reprimand Mr. Brown, and…

Oh, for goodness’ sake. Who would take her word over Mr. Brown’s? Would either of the other two even be surprised if she told them? Were they just as guilty?

And what about the other girls there? How would they regard her, having crashed out of the building like a crazy person, only to come crawling back? The way they’d eye her: curious but too shy to ask, so they’d make up rumours instead… All over something that she hadn’t done. Something she had prevented from happening.

She shook a handful of licorice candies into her hand and threw them in her mouth. She would never go back to that office. Wouldn’t pass through those doors even one more time. They didn’t deserve her. She’d show them. She’d find a better place to work—

Except she had no idea how to do that. She wasn’t going to get much of a reference from Mr. Brown.

“Where are you, Joey?” she whispered to Sir John.

Her brother hadn’t been there to lead her out of the darkness this time. He’d promised he would always be there for her. Peanut butter and jelly. Better together.

It was all a lie. Sassy was on her own.

Still, she let his face come to her, let him ask her the question. “What are you gonna do now? Figure it out. You have to.”

She had no other choice. “It’s easy. Just two little steps,” she whispered.

Step one: Figure out how to tell her father that she was out of a job. By choice.

Step two: Beg for mercy.