Chapter One Susie #3
My heart goes pitty-pat, but I remain calm and professional.
“I think those wages would be wonderful, especially since this is not a large office with a lot of ‘bosses’ to attend to. You’ll find me thorough, helpful, and able to cope with all of your demands.
If you’d like to see my letters of reference and my transcript from Beezledorf’s Secretarial School, I have them here.
” I unclasp my handbag, whip it open—and throw my cheap novel at his feet.
Of course, it fell out of the other more respectable book I concealed it in, and naturally, the cover side up.
I don’t blush, but only because my face has drained of all blood.
“Are you a bookish young lady?” Mr. Silverman says pleasantly. “Pine Ridge has a library that is very well-maintained. I go there myself from time to time.”
“I love to read,” I croak, color slowly returning. Perhaps he doesn’t know what kind of book that is. Perhaps he hasn’t looked at the cover properly. Or—
He stoops and collects the book, flipping through it with a smile. “Ah, Secret Adventures! Do you know the secretary I had before Hilda couldn’t get enough of these little books, but I think hers were called... What was it? Forbidden Tales.”
“Oh.” I take the book back, but not before I see Silverman read something on the page. His eyebrows raise, and he looks at me with an air of surprise before his expression returns to one of sweet geniality.
“I’m afraid that may be someone else’s book, sir.
I prefer this.” I hold up my secretarial guide like a shield, trying not to think about the copy of Forbidden Tales Joanie Knickerbocker lent me when we roomed together at Beezledorf’s.
Mother wouldn’t have just tossed it in the woodstove; she would have lit the room on fire to purify it.
Forbidden Tales didn’t stop at shoulder-grabbing and kissing.
Men in those books do so much more—and the women in the books seem to love it.
I don’t want to think about how I felt when I read that one copy. I didn’t dare bring it home.
“Of course, it’s a simple enough thing to pick up someone else’s book, isn’t it?” Mr. Silverman gives me a chivalrous escape, and I take it with a frantic nod.
“My roommate at Beezledorf’s,” I babble. “Joanie Knickerbocker. She had quite a collection of books, and I believe she may have lent me that one, knowing I do love to read, sir, as I always strive to improve my mind.”
“Good. Good,” Mr. Silverman smiles, but there is something very sly about it now.
Not sly in a mean way, but sly as in we’re both sharing some secret.
“I prefer a good Sherlock Holmes, myself, or anything at all by P.G. Wodehouse. I met him, once, in London, at a friend’s club.
” Mr. Silverman flips through my letters and transcript, then hands them back.
“More than satisfactory. And people lie on references, you know.”
“I didn’t!” I snap, shocked, suddenly not caring if he’s got long eyelashes and thick dark hair that’d make a mink at Bergdorf Goodman’s look shabby. I fix him with an indignant frown.
“I didn’t mean you, Miss Spade.” his voice oozes charm, but the smile is still sincere.
Maybe Mother would be right to march me right away from him. Oh, but... he’s got a dimple in his chin, sweet butter beans...
“What I was going to say was that I’m not worried about your references as much as how you get on with the job. Can you start on Monday? I have to go into the city for the weekend.”
“I’ll be here on Monday, sir. What time would you like me to arrive?”
“Nine on the button, please. Let me just type up that letter of introduction for you, and I’ll drive you to the old Dullahan place and then out to meet the Kincaids on their farm. I’m sure they’ll snap a nice, respectable secretary up on the spot.”
“Thank you, Mr. Silverman. I’ll type if you’d like to dictate, sir?” I offer, sitting down at my new desk.
“Oh, that’s a great idea. I like that. Initiative. I like to work with people with gumption.”
“I’ve got plenty of gumption, sir.” I almost tell him the whole story of saving up money for the secretarial course in secret: all my prize money from the county fair cross-stitch competition I entered and selling all my Green Stamps to Hattie Mitticker so she could cash them in for new luggage before her honeymoon.
At the last second, I stop. Type. Smile.
Pleasant, efficient, and above reproach.
Mr. Silverman smiles. “You have to stop calling me ‘sir.’ It’s too much like the army and dealing with all those big boys in Washington. Just Mr. Silverman is fine. Or even Sam.”
The way he says his name, while perching on my desk...
It’s like being in one of my books. I want to turn the page, to get to the part where he takes me in his arms, and smothers me with kisses.
All of those things that nice girls don’t do, that are forbidden...
I want to do the naughty things with a nice man, the right man—and Mr. Silverman sure strikes me as the right type, right off the bat.
I blush and wind the paper into the typewriter’s feed, fingers poised. “Go ahead, Mr. Silverman.”
“All right. To Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid...”