“She sure is, Mrs. Stark,” Irene said. “Go on back.” A rather casual atmosphere, you see.
“Well, hello,” the rangy redhead behind the desk said whenI appeared. Her name was Jean Willingham, she appeared to be in her mid-thirties, and her hair was cut rather daringly short and her sheath dress rather daringly simply. She was married and had two children, but didn’t do housework or cooking. “I have a housekeeper for that,” she’d said. “I’d have her even if it took every penny I earned, which fortunately, it doesn’t.” She also did not, she had informed me, wear a girdle. “Ever. Torture devices. No, thank you.”
Now, she said, “Did you bring me ice cream?”
“No. For it would certainly have melted.”
“Don’t I know it,” she said with a sigh. “I’m sweltering, and all this fan is doing is moving the hot air around. Come on, Fall! Sit down and tell me, because you’re bursting with something. The sale?”
I sank into a chair opposite her. “Scheduled at last. October fourteenth.”
“Oh, happy day,” she said. “Still interested in that apartment building on Forest? It’s not moving. Nobody wants to put in the money to fix it up, not with all the new development going up. Good bones, though, and quality construction. It’s all cosmetic—well, that and the odd bit of dry rot around the windowsills—but what a lot of cosmetics it needs!”
“Yes,” I said, “I’m still interested in this building, and in the tract of land to the south as well. I’m trying most diligently, however, not to attach myself too firmly to any one place, as I don’t know what will be available when I can afford to buy it. And one mustn’t count one’s eggs.”
“Count … one’s … eggs.” Jean snapped her fingers. “Count your chickens before they’ve hatched.”
“Yes,” I said. “When they’re eggs.”
“Have faith,” she said. “You’re going to get the money—I’ve only seen your pictures, but that necklace is to die for—and we’ll find what you need.” I hesitated, and she said, “Out with it. I’m happy to take a break. Husband trouble?”
“What? No. Of course not.” As if I would gossip about Joe, even if heweren’tthe best husband in the world! “I’m feeling rather angry, that’s all, and also rather foolish, and I need … I believe I need advice.”
“Oh, goody,” she said. “I love giving advice. Tell.”
I explained about Professor Franklin, and she said, “Jew-hater?”
“I think so. Also, perhaps, a woman-hater?”
“Goes without saying. So. Are you going to tell mewhyyou want to take classes in finance and accounting?”
“For the investing, of course. It’s surely more complicated than merely keeping a ledger. Calculating whether a project is a good investment, when one could instead buy government bonds, for example.”
“Not as difficult as all that,” she said. “You learn as you go along. That’s how I’ve done it, anyway.” She sat up straighter, then. “Say …”
“Yes?” I enjoyed how Jean’s mind worked; it seemed to lurch forward in great leaps, and by some process of intuition rather than my own careful reasoning.
“You know what you should do?” she said. “You should come work for me. I’ve been trying to hire somebody, but every man that’s come through this door has seemed mighty uncomfortable the minute he’s realized that there’s no man behind the curtain.”
“But I don’t know anything about finance and accountancy,” I tried to explain, “or about real estate, either, other than what I’ve learned going around with you and the others.”
“Less about the others, please,” she said. “You ask all the right questions, though. Where are the highways likely to be? That’s the big one, you know. That Federal-Aid Highway Act may not be funded yet, but it’ll happen, and where else will it start but in sunny California? What’s the water table, and the zoning? Same thing with houses, but it’s also about how wellthey’re built. Some of these developers just throw up any old thing and hope nobody notices that the roof is going to be leaking in the first good storm. Anyway, that’s the point. You work with somebody whodoesknow about real estate, and when you have enough hours under your belt, you study for the licensing exam and take it. Mostly, though, it’s about working with people. That’s the real reason I haven’t hired anybody yet. You have to listen more than you talk, so you can find out what matters most to them, and that’s exactly what the people I’ve interviewedcan’tdo. What do you say?”
“But I—” I tried to say. “I?—”
“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.” She grinned. “Better than scooping ice cream, anyway. Or sitting in a class about accountancy. Buy a ledger book instead, and pay attention to what’s going into it and all the different ways you can look at the numbers. I can show you a few tricks. And see? I just saved you hundreds of hours. We’re already operating more efficiently, and we haven’t even started.”
29
IN WHICH I ATONE RATHER IMPERFECTLY
Wednesday, October thirteenth. The day before the auction.
And the beginning of the Jewish Day of Atonement. Yom Kippur, the holiday was called; the most sacred holiday of the faith. I was in the synagogue again tonight, and as always, not fitting in.
Joe had only thought to mention as we were leaving the apartment that I would need to cover my hair tonight. Why do men never think of these things beforehand? With no other choice, I’d brought along my mother’s Hermès silk scarf, all pale blue and gold, in a design of rainbows and hot-air balloons. Not the correct tone for such a solemn occasion, one must admit, and I’d seen a few shocked glances.Na ja,if it had been good enough to cover the outline of Dr. Becker’s yellow Star of David after I’d unpicked it from his coat and thus save us from the tender mercies of the Gestapo, surely it was good enough for this. Also, I’d taken it from my mother’s belongings in the cellar where she’d died, and when I’d put it on tonight, I’d felt, as always, wrapped in the love of my parents, with the strength to go on despite any hardship. In that sense, it was the perfect garment.
I’d attended synagogue services once before this. Just ten days ago, that had been, for Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. The congregation—was this the correct word?—had been studiously polite to me, and the rabbi also, but I’d seen the sympathetic glances tossed the elder Starks’ way. I was seeing them again tonight. It was quite a calamity, I gathered, having this blonde Germanshiksathrust upon one’s family; possibly not unlike the Ten Plagues of Egypt. The Plague of the Daughter-in-Law.
