Chapter 4
4
“ W hatever they ask if you can do, say yes.” Mary Lou touched Ginger’s shoulder as she spoke. “Typing, filing, dictation, and shorthand?—”
“What is shorthand?” Ginger asked, looking between her mother and Beatrice Carter, her trusted teacher. They sat in Miss Carter’s classroom after school hours.
“A type of rapid writing,” Beatrice replied, lowering her glasses. “You will learn it quickly. Until then, take notes as you would in class.” She held up a finger and smiled. “Whatever they dictate, it won’t hurt to make it sound better than what they might have said.”
“Thank you, Miss Carter.” Ginger admired her teacher, who always seemed to have the answers. Beatrice Carter was the most capable, accomplished woman she knew. “What else might I be asked to do?”
Beatrice sighed. “You’ll probably be asked to make coffee or have lunch brought in. But never do anything against your better judgment, no matter how attractive the man might be. Morally speaking, I mean.”
“Of course not,” Ginger replied, surprised at that. She fiddled with the top button on the starched white shirt her mother had made.
She glanced at her mother, who nodded solemnly and returned her attention to the teacher.
“With your height, you look older, and with your bright ginger hair, you’ll stand out among the applicants,” Beatrice said. “Make sure your intelligence shines through. That will set you apart from other young ladies. Most of them will not have a background in science or mathematics, and certainly not to your level.”
“How many appointments have you scheduled for me?” Ginger asked.
“Two, so far,” Beatrice replied, glancing at her notepad. “Both are in Los Angeles. I know a woman at the California Museum of Science and Industry. She is expecting you. I have also arranged an interview with a man who consults for IBM, although that might require travel to New York at some point.”
“Absolutely not,” her mother said with a stern expression.
“Mrs. Sheraton, it would be an excellent opportunity for her.”
Mary Lou frowned, looking conflicted. “What is this IBM?”
“It stands for International Business Machines,” Beatrice replied.
Ginger looked doubtful. “Business? I don’t know anything about that.”
“They need mathematicians for the computers they are developing,” Beatrice replied.
That sounded exciting to Ginger. “They’ll pay me to do that?”
Beatrice shook her head. “This is for a secretarial position. First, you must prove yourself efficient, indispensable, and of good character. Then, you’ll find a chance to show them what you can do. In the meantime, keep studying. And keep your eyes open for opportunity.”
“A chance is all I want.” Excitement sizzled in Ginger’s chest. “I wish I could tell Pa about this.”
“Once you have a job, I’ll tell him,” her mother said, sounding weary.
“Yes, ma’am.” Ginger folded her hands in her lap. Her mother had pleaded with her to be on her best behavior with her father until she had secured a position.
Beatrice brought out a folder. “I took the liberty of securing applications for you. Your mother can help you complete these. Where it asks your age, put down eighteen.”
Ginger’s heart plummeted. “But that would be lying. I’m sixteen-and-a-half.”
“You’re tall enough to be considered eighteen.” Beatrice glanced at Mary Lou.
“It was a home birth,” her mother said quickly. “There might have been a mistake on the year. I can correct that.”
“But Mama,” Ginger whispered, mortified at what her mother suggested.
Mary Lou glanced at Beatrice. “Would you excuse us one moment, Miss Carter?”
“You stay here. I need a break anyway.” Her teacher rose and excused herself, closing the door behind her.
Ginger shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I’m not going to lie.”
Her mother sighed heavily. “Your father is arranging your marriage.”
“I’m not getting married either,” Ginger said, folding her arms.
“Your choices are limited,” her mother replied, pitching forward in the hard wooden chair. “That’s why we’re here. Miss Carter believes in your ability. You are so much like my father; you have his brain. But your father will never understand how much more you could be.” An unwavering expression sharpened her words. “You must seize what opportunities you can. I’m an honest woman, but if you choose to marry that dreadful young man your father picked for you, I will?—”
“I’m eighteen, Mama,” Ginger said, nearly trembling at her mother’s fierce determination. “I remember now.” Like her mother, she would do whatever it took to secure this chance.
Beatrice returned with a slip of paper for them. “Here are the addresses. Your mother will go with you on the train and wait while you have your interviews. I have written letters of reference, which both parties have already received. And I wish you the very best of luck. It has been a pleasure being your teacher.”
Ginger embraced her. “Thank you, Miss Carter. I understand everything.”
Outside the fancy office on Wilshire Boulevard, Ginger paused to steady her nerves. She clutched the black leather purse her mother had given her.
“Hold your head high and enter first,” Mary Lou said. “You can manage this. They’ll be lucky to have you.”
Ginger strode into the office, hardly believing she was there. Other young women sat waiting in a line of chairs, their perfume heady in the enclosed area. One man in a suit smoked while he read a newspaper. Typewriters clacked in a nearby room, and a telephone rang at the front desk. She paused, waiting for the receptionist, who answered the phone in a chirpy voice. She looked only a few years older than Ginger.
After giving her name, Ginger said, “I’m here to interview with Mr. Kurt Powell.”
Her mother had followed her into the waiting room. She wore her Sunday best dress with her only pair of pumps. Ginger wore a taupe skirt, an ivory blouse she’d made herself, and a rose-colored sweater her mother had knitted.
“I will let him know you’re here.” The woman peered around her. “May I help you, ma’am?”
“Thank you, but I’m with my daughter,” Mary Lou said. “I’ll wait here for her.”
Ginger clutched her application, taking care not to crease it. She sat beside her mother. If she got this position, she would live with a cousin on her mother’s side. How quickly her life would change.
She took her mother’s hand. In a whisper, she said, “Thank you for this. Pa will be very angry, won’t he?”
Mary Lou leaned toward her. “We both want what’s best for you.”
“But you have different ideas about that.”
“You should have all the opportunities you can manage. That’s what I want for you. When you’re ready to marry, it will be to a man you love. That’s too important of a decision to leave to someone else.” She paused, pressing Ginger’s hand for emphasis. “You have a fine mind, but you must also learn to trust your instincts. You’re in the city now.”
Another woman appeared, and the receptionist signaled to her. “Miss Mary Ellen, please follow Mrs. Bingham. Mr. Powell will see you now.”
Carefully balancing on her new pumps, Ginger followed the other woman.
As they walked through the hall, laughter spilled from an office. The other woman paused at the door, announced Ginger, and introduced Mr. Powell, a clean-cut man in a fine dark suit. Not unattractive, Ginger noted, but she wasn’t there to make such observations.
“I am pleased to meet you and thank you for seeing me.” She handed him her application. While Mr. Powell perused her information, she glanced toward another man who waited in an adjoining seating area. The beautifully decorated office featured a polished wooden desk with a hunter-green leather top, thick wool rugs, leather chairs, and a brocade sofa.
She had never seen anything like this.
Mr. Powell nodded and looked up, seemingly satisfied with her courses of study. “Have a seat, Miss Sheraton. Do you mind if I call you Grace?”
“I do, Mr. Powell.” She lifted her chin, determined to make a good impression. Still, it was imperative she be treated with respect, as her mother insisted. “I prefer Ginger.”
The man looked impressed with her forthrightness. “And I’m partial to Kurt. Now that we have that settled let’s talk about the position. Beatrice Carter speaks highly of your skills. She considers you at the pinnacle of the students she has taught.”
Past tense , Ginger noted, so she played along. “I enjoyed her class.”
Kurt splayed his hands on his desk. “We met when I gave a presentation at her alma mater. Since then, she has sent her brightest minds to me. I need smart young women with talents other than typing and filing.”
Was this one of the trick questions Miss Carter had warned her about? “I excel in mathematics. And science.”
“And English?”
“Top marks.” She wasn’t bragging—that would be unseemly. She was only stating a fact. Mrs. Windsor had rigorously enforced the study of English grammar, composition, diction, and rhetoric in her class and insisted students elevate the art of speech and pronunciation.
Kurt laced his fingers. “And what do you do in your spare time?”
“I read, and I like to solve puzzles.” She relaxed a little; she had practiced this response.
A smile touched his lips as if he found that amusing. “Like crossword or jigsaw puzzles?”
“Oh, they’re alright. I meant codes and ciphers. My young brother and I once created a secret written language.”
The other man looked up with interest, and Kurt said, “Your brother sounds as smart as you are.”
“Yes, he was.” Ginger was caught off guard this time, so she didn’t elaborate.
Kurt acknowledged that detail with a nod. “Good problem solvers are hard to find. Not many people look beyond the obvious.”
“No, sir. But they should.”
Kurt chuckled. “You’re direct. I like that. Now, I’ll tell you about the project I need help on. Do you know the meaning of data encryption?”
“It’s a process of encoding information in cryptography.” Relishing the conversation, Ginger leaned forward so she wouldn’t miss anything.
He lifted his brow and nodded. “I’m a consultant to the head of IBM and branches of the military. I work on projects for the company involving the development and use of new technologies. I imagine this is why Miss Carter recommended you so strongly. I often travel to New York and Chicago, so you’ll need winter clothes if I hire you. Can you manage that?”
Ready for any change, she looked at him squarely in the eye. “The travel or the wardrobe?”
Looking slightly amused, Kurt steepled his hands and peered at her. “Both.”
“I can manage both, sir.”
He grinned. “You pay attention to the details. That’s good. You’ll meet a lot of interesting characters. Starting with my friend from Harvard, Bertrand Delavie.”
“How do you do?” she said automatically as the other man acknowledged her, touching his forehead in a gracious gesture.
Kurt motioned toward an open door past Bertrand. “You’ll work in that adjoining office.”
Ginger wasn’t sure what he meant. “Do you wish to hire me?”
“If you want the job, I just did,” Kurt replied with a small smile. “You may start on Monday.”
“I can start today.”
“Monday will be soon enough.” Kurt jerked a thumb toward his friend. “I have to show this wandering cowboy around town.”
“You’re a cowboy?” she asked the other man, intrigued. The description didn’t fit with his manner or attire.
Bertrand grinned and wagged his head at his friend. “Kurt means that I’m always eager to travel, among other things. I work in diplomacy.”
“Which means Bertrand spends most of his time outside the country,” Kurt said.
“Only to stay clear of you, old man.”
Bertrand spoke with an accent that wasn’t from this coast. She had never met anyone like him. How he spoke and lived was fascinating. And he was a good ten years older than she was. She returned her attention to her new boss. “If that’s all, I should be on my way so you can continue your work.”
“Then it’s settled.” When Kurt rose, so did Bertrand. He shook her hand and promised he’d see her Monday morning.
Ginger was thrilled and delighted, as was her mother.
After much persuading by Mary Lou, Ginger’s father accepted her work grudgingly, although he disapproved of it.
Nevertheless, Ginger immersed herself in a new world and loved it. Kurt treated her as an equal, though she had much to learn. In her free time, she devoured books on various subjects, including mathematics, engineering, and emerging computational technologies.
When Kurt’s friend Bertrand visited, he often invited her for coffee in the diner in the building, insisting Kurt didn’t pay her enough, which Ginger protested against. Still, buying coffee for her soon became a regular occurrence when Bertrand was in town.
When Kurt traveled on business to New York, he brought Ginger, and she often met Bertrand for coffee in the hotel. He told her he was committed to helping her navigate her new surroundings and protect her from unsavory sorts.
Mary Lou was delighted to learn a man of Bertrand’s stature was looking out for her daughter. Ginger told her that he was always correct with her, which was true. She enjoyed their intelligent conversations. There was no one she’d rather spend time with, so she turned down invitations from other young men who seemed to have different ideas in mind. Her time was too precious to waste.
Ginger and Bertrand had known each other for two years when he asked if she would accompany him to an event hosted by the American ambassador to France. Kurt had business in New York with IBM. As usual, she was there to assist him and take notes.
“Before you answer, I would like you to attend as my date,” Bertrand said, stirring his coffee. “People will assume that, so I wanted to clarify. You may take a few days to think about it. If you don’t wish to go, I’ll accept that.”
However, the idea appealed to Ginger. She sat up straighter at the table. “I understand. I don’t need time.”
Bertrand drew his brow. “Then, you’ll go as my date?”
“Yes. I would like to see what one does on a date.” She’d seen couples on the silver screen and heard the gossip of other secretaries, so she was somewhat prepared.
“I hope you’re not disappointed.” Bertrand chuckled. “You’re a rare treasure, dear Ginger. I knew it the first moment I saw you in Kurt’s office. Now, you’ll need a specific type of dress, so I will make an appointment for you at a store where I shop.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Surely not for men’s clothing?”
“They have a department for ladies. You’ll be in good hands, I assure you.”
When Ginger visited the store with multiple departments, the saleswoman treated her like visiting royalty. While models paraded the clothes she had selected for Ginger, the woman served tea in thin teacups and offered her cucumber sandwiches. The woman told Ginger that Mr. Delavie insisted on paying for her evening gown. It seemed a waste of energy to disagree, so Ginger selected a mint-green dress she thought Bertrand would like that also accented her hair.
She could hardly wait for their first date.