Chapter 9 Help Wanted—Female
Help Wanted—Female
been able to find, four blocks from where she was going, required five attempts. She turned off the ignition and sat behind
the wheel, rubbing the neck kink she’d gotten from looking over her shoulder to back up, thinking this interview might end
up being a colossal waste of time.
Did she really want to drive all the way into DC for a part-time job?
But it was too late to back out now, so she got out of the car, double-checking to make sure the doors were locked, and started
walking.
The neighborhood wasn’t rough, exactly, just different from the generic, rigidly regulated surroundings she’d become used to in Concordia.
Houses with weedy yards, fences missing pickets, and sloping porches sat next to other homes that boasted fresh coats of paint, manicured lawns, and flower boxes at the windows.
There was clearly no master plan in effect here, and no palette of approved colors, which was nice.
It reminded her of the neighborhood she’d grown up in back in Tacoma, Washington.
However, unlike her childhood home, the palette of Brookland’s residents was as varied as its dwellings.
People of every color passed her on the sidewalk, all minding their own business and not the least bit interested in her.
Crossing the street and entering a more commercial area, she saw her destination, a shop front in a low-slung brick building
with a painted front window that read: “F. E. Giordano, MD, General Practice.”
Dr. Giordano’s waiting room was packed and very noisy, a cacophony of coughs, sneezes, crying babies, and conversations, some
in English and some not. The receptionist was a thin, wiry woman in her late fifties with an understandably harried demeanor.
When Viv gave her name and the purpose of her visit, the woman, who introduced herself as Dorothea Harris, smiled and said
she’d let the doctor know she’d arrived.
The chairs were occupied, so Viv leaned against a wall to wait. A very young mother with a fussy, dark-eyed baby who kept
tugging at his ear—Viv diagnosed an ear infection—sat nearby. After catching the little one’s gaze, Viv lifted her hands to
cover her eyes, initiating a game of peekaboo.
The baby stopped fussing but didn’t respond for the first two peeks, watching Viv with a skeptical expression. Finally—on
the third “boo!”—the baby let out a delicious laugh and pressed his fat fingers to his own eyes, taking lead of the game for
three more rounds, until Dorothea popped her head in to tell Nurse Buschetti that the doctor would see her now.
* * *
Minutes later, Viv found herself sitting on a plastic chair in front of a desk awash with folders, charts, and medical journals,
being interviewed by her prospective employer, Francesca Elena Giordano, MD.
Dr. Giordano was a bit taller than Viv, perhaps five foot seven.
She had a long and elegant nose, a head of thick, curly, salt-and-pepper hair that seemed intent on escaping its bun, tanned skin that made Viv think of strong tea or ancient parchment, and fanlike creases in the corners of her large brown eyes and full lips.
Watching quietly as Giordano scrutinized her application, Viv had a fleeting thought that with a bit of lipstick, rouge, and
a good jar of face cream to soften the wrinkles, the doctor might be beautiful. This was followed quickly by another thought
that said no, this would only serve to make the physician look like everyone else, ordinary. And if Dr. Francesca Elena Giordano
was anything, it was not ordinary.
Viv knew women doctors existed, of course. There had been two at the hospital where she’d done her training, one who worked
with pediatric polio victims and another who did research in one of the labs. But Viv had never been treated by a female physician
and never would have imagined herself working for one.
What was Dr. Giordano’s story? How had she ended up studying medicine? And what would it be like, working for a lady doctor?
Viv had reported to some female officers during the war, as all nurses did. Some were good eggs. But she’d sometimes found
them to be rigid, humorless, and unnecessarily tough, women who acted as if they had something to prove. They weren’t wrong
about that. Leaders must always prove themselves.
The problem was that most of those women had no role models, no one to demonstrate that the formula for good leadership was
nine parts discipline to one part mercy—and that the one part was equally as important as the nine. With no example to follow,
some of the women Viv had served under relied on rank, inflexible adherence to regulations, and sheer meanness.
Would working for Dr. Giordano be anything like that? If so, Viv might need to rethink the idea of going back to work.
The doctor laid Viv’s application down and looked across the desk.
“You live in Concordia?” she asked. “That’s quite a commute. Why are you interested in taking a job so far from home?”
The truth was, she wasn’t. But at this point, Viv was getting a little desperate—and something about the tone of the help-wanted ad she’d seen in the newspaper, which listed few requirements but promised “rewarding and meaningful” work in a busy DC practice for a nurse who could start immediately, gave her the impression that whoever placed the ad might be a little desperate too. But of course she couldn’t say that.
Viv smiled. “Well, it sounded like such an interesting position. I’m someone who likes to keep busy,” she said, which was
entirely true, “and I was impressed that you talked about the job being personally rewarding.” This, however, was stretching
the truth. Viv had always been a terrible liar, and the look in the doctor’s eyes told her nothing had changed. Viv sighed.
“Okay, I’ll come clean. If I hadn’t been turned down for seven other jobs closer to Concordia, I wouldn’t have applied.”
Dr. Giordano propped her elbows on her desk, resting her chin on her clasped hands.
“Seven interviews and not one offer?”
Irritated by the doctor’s tone and feeling combative, Viv crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin.
“Not one. In fact, it’s gotten so bad that I’ve stopped telling my family and friends when I have interviews just to spare
myself the humiliation of having to admit I didn’t get the job again. When my friend Bitsy called this morning, asked if I’d drop by and try some weird vegetarian recipe she wants to bring to
book club, I made up a story about a dental emergency.”
“Seven interviews . . .” The doctor sounded almost impressed. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing!” Viv said, then thumped her chest. “I am a terrific nurse! The best! Gunshot wounds, gangrene, cholera, compound
fractures, viruses, infections, tropical diseases—I’ve seen it all and can handle it all. Nothing fazes me.”
“Good to know,” the doctor said. “Because in this neighborhood, we deal with it all. Maybe not tropical diseases but just about everything else. But look, if you’re so star-spangled stunning, why hasn’t anybody offered you a job?”
“Because I’ve been out of the field for eighteen years. And because I have six children.”
“Six?”
“Six.”
In her previous interviews, this was the moment when, no matter how well qualified and willing she might be, or how well things
had gone up to that point, Viv had been informed she wasn’t right for the job. Since it was undoubtedly about to happen again
and she had nothing to lose, Viv decided she might as well lay all her cards on the table.
“And I’m expecting a seventh.”
“When?” the doctor asked.
“Late October.”
Dr. Giordano frowned, tilting her head to one side and doing a little mental math. “So you’re about eight weeks along?”
“More like ten,” Viv said.
“Huh. And you’re absolutely sure you’re pregnant? How old are you anyway?”
“Forty-one,” Viv said. “And after six previous pregnancies, believe me, I’m sure.”
The doctor shrugged. “Fair enough. Tell me about the other pregnancies. Any complications? Morning sickness? Varicose veins?
Gestational diabetes? Fatigue?”
“Some nausea in the first two months,” Viv said, “but nothing else. Easy deliveries. I’m one of those weird people who actually
feels more energetic when she’s pregnant.”
“Good thing, with six kids at home.” Dr. Giordano narrowed her eyes and tapped a finger against her lips. “So, assuming this
pregnancy goes like the others, there really shouldn’t be anything standing in the way of you doing the job. I’d have to find
somebody to fill in for you come fall, assuming you’d want to come back. That’s less than ideal, but if we—”
“Hang on a second,” Viv interrupted, shaking her head as if trying to clear water from her ears. “Are you actually thinking about hiring me? Why?”
“Because you’re an experienced and obviously capable nurse. Anybody who’s spent as much time in a military field hospital
as you did really can handle it all. Do I wish your service had been a little more recent?” the doctor asked, nodding to answer
her own question. “Sure I do. But people who’ve practiced combat medicine tend to be fast learners and very resourceful. I’m
sure it won’t take you long to get back up to speed.
“Also, I like that you aren’t afraid to stand up for yourself. My patients are good people, by and large, but they can be
a little rough around the edges. I need a nurse who won’t put up with any guff.”
“Well, being a mom trains you for that,” Viv said. “Kids are like horses. They can smell fear. You’ve got to know how to hold
the line.”
Dr. Giordano spread her hands out wide, as if thanking Viv for making her point for her.
“Now, since you were honest with me, I’ll be honest with you. To be frank, nobody else seems to want this job. The salary
is less than you could make working just about anywhere else. Because, in addition to being rough around the edges, most of
my patients are poor. Very few have insurance, and most of those who do only have coverage for hospitalizations. I bill on