7
The following morning, I set out, announcing to my mother that I was taking her car.
“It’s customary to ask,” she said, then flipped a page in the magazine she was reading at the kitchen table and took a puff of her cigarette. I swiped the cigarette, put it to my lips and took a quick drag, then stubbed it out in the ashtray in front of her. “I thought you didn’t smoke anymore.”
“I don’t want you smoking around the kids. And I need the car for a few hours.”
“I need it at two.” She pulled another cigarette from her pack.
“Not around the kids, please.”
“Do you see them anywhere near the kitchen?” she asked, lighting it. “They never leave that television set.”
“Amazingly, you’re the one who keeps turning it on for them. Try to get them outside, please.”
“I’ll have to,” Mama said. “How else am I going to smoke?”
“That’s the spirit. I’ll be back by two.” I picked up my handbag and turned to leave.
“Where are you going anyway?”
I stopped and looked back at her. I didn’t want to get her more entangled in the details of my marriage falling apart than I had to, and I wasn’t looking forward to the fight that was sure to come if I told her about Larry’s threat to downsize. She would tell me to move home with the kids, and the idea of moving back into my childhood bedroom with my two children in tow was much worse than the idea of raising them alone. Which she would never understand.
“I have an appointment,” I said lightly.
“Is that code for a date or a lawyer?” she asked, flipping another page of the magazine. She glanced up at me to see the effect of her words. “I’m sure you’re wonderful at lying to other people, darling, but I see right through you.”
“Lawyer,” I lied, gritting my teeth.
“Fine, don’t tell me, then.”
“I’ll see you at two, Mama.”
“One thirty.”
“But you just—oh, forget it. One thirty.” I hoped she kept more of those cigarettes in the car. I had gone six years without one. Another week with her and I would be smoking two packs by lunch.
Of the two divorced women I knew, one of them, Francine Keller, had also gone to work and was currently employed as a receptionist at Emory Estates Country Club. And while I wasn’t willing to go and ask our club if they were hiring, I thought checking the other local clubs would be a good place to start. I couldn’t type, but I could certainly answer phones and direct people to the changing and dining rooms.
The first two clubs I tried weren’t hiring, but the second told me that Emory Estates was. I thanked them, then debated if that was a good idea or a terrible one. Francine and I had never been particularly close, and I wasn’t sure if she would forgive me for letting that distance grow when she and her husband separated—even if I was now coming crawling to her on the same terms. But if she was willing to overlook my ignorance, it might be nice to have a friend who understood.
I turned the key and started the car. Emory Estates it was.
The long driveway was tree-lined, and I squared my shoulders as the whitewashed brick of the clubhouse came into view. This was the new beginning I needed. I could feel it. They’d be fools not to hire me. Yes, it was more of a drive than Chevy Chase or Congressional, and being this far off the main road, I would need Mama’s car to get to work. But I also didn’t know any of the members here, so my employment was less likely to be a cause for gossip.
I gave the keys to the valet and adjusted my hat before walking inside, making sure it had the perfect Jackie Kennedy dent that my mother would purse her lips at. Between my new hairdo and the pink dress, perfectly belted at the waist, I turned heads as my heels clacked on the marble floor.
Francine was seated at the desk. She looked up, and it was a moment before she recognized me. “Beverly?”
“Francine,” I said warmly, holding out a hand. “How are you? It’s been way too long.”
She looked at my hand suspiciously before taking it. “Are you meeting someone here today? I didn’t see you on the list.”
“Darling, I’m not. But I was hoping I could speak to the manager.”
She eyed me warily. “I suppose so. I’ll go see if he’s available.”
“Thank you so much.”
“What is it regarding?”
I had been planning to ask her to put in a good word, but the welcome I received was far too cool to hope for that. So I felt it best to keep my cards close to my chest. I could always win her over later, once I had the job. “Just a business opportunity.”
“Business? Is Larry trying to host an event here?”
I blinked but shook my head, unperturbed. “I promise I’ll tell you after I speak with him.”
Francine shrugged, then disappeared through the door behind her desk.
A minute later, she returned and then directed me through the same door. “He’s in there,” she said, pointing down the hallway to an office, before returning to her own desk.
“Francine,” I said to her back. She angled her head in my direction but didn’t actually look at me. “It’s very nice to see you.” Her shoulders softened slightly, and her head dipped infinitesimally in a nod.
Buoyed by the knowledge that she had already begun to thaw, I marched into the manager’s office, noting the name, John Harmon, on the door.
“Mr. Harmon,” I said from the doorway. He looked me up and down, then rose. “Beverly Diamond.”
“What can I do for you today, Miss Diamond?”
“ Mrs . Diamond,” I corrected out of habit. “I heard you’re looking for a receptionist, and I believe I’d be perfect for the job.”
He held a finger to his lips, then came behind me and shut the door. “Sit, sit,” he said, gesturing toward a chair across from his desk. “Where did you hear that?” I named the club that had told me. “We are, but it’s a bit of a tricky situation,” he said. “Have you worked in reception before?”
“Mr. Harmon, I have not. But my husband works for a politician, and I’ve been tasked with hosting duties so many times now that I feel like I have.”
He smiled at that. “I suppose you’re personable enough all right. Do you have children?”
“I do.”
“And they’re in school?”
“Not yet, but my mother is watching them.”
“And your husband is being stingy with the money for clothes and frills, I assume.” I inclined my head slightly but didn’t exactly nod. “Yes, I believe you’d do well in the job.” He leaned back in his chair. “As I said, it’s a little sticky right now. We couldn’t hire you officially for a week or so.”
That was just fine. It gave me time to figure out getting a lawyer and warm my mother up on the job front.
“We need to get rid of that one first,” he said quietly, gesturing toward Francine’s general direction. “It turns out she’s Jewish.”
The room tipped upside down. “Excuse me?”
“I know. I couldn’t tell by looking at her either. But she is. And that just won’t work.”
“I see,” I said slowly. “Yes, I imagine that would be a problem here, wouldn’t it?”
Mr. Harmon exhaled. “I’m so glad you understand.”
“Mr. Harmon, I understand you perfectly.” I rose. “But unfortunately, you would have the same problem with me, so I’ll just save you the trouble.” I walked out, slamming the door behind me.
Francine had turned around at the noise, her mouth slightly open as I reached her. “Come on, Francine, let’s go grab lunch.”
“I can’t. I’m working.”
I shook my head. “They’re firing you. They wanted to hire me because you’re Jewish. I didn’t know.”
She stared at me for a moment, then stood. “Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere but here.” Francine nodded, took her purse from a desk drawer, and came around to me. “Wait,” I said, pulling a lipstick from my own bag. I uncapped it, then used it to draw a large Star of David on the desk. “Might as well. They’re probably going to burn it after we’ve touched it anyway.” Francine let out a choked laugh. “Come on. Lunch is on me. Larry and I are splitting up, but I still have his Diners’ Club card for now.”