Astor Place Vintage: A Novel Read Free Page B

buyers were women, and within professions open to females, they earned the highest salaries. Although I didn’t presume to be qualified to step right into such a job, surely someone would be seeking an assistant. Yet I hadn’t come across one single listing for an assistant buyer since I’d begun the search.
    Finally, that morning, my eyes landed on an advertisement that I could almost hear shouting directly at me. Seeking assistant buyer, shirtwaist department, apply Macy’s department store.
    I pictured myself meeting with a salesman from Chicago showing me shirtwaists for next season. After we were done, I’d speak with the copywriter about new advertisements for the circular. Then I’d find out if I could go on the next buying trip to Europe.
    Of course, I couldn’t do any of that until I snapped out of my dream world and got the darn job. I went to run my bath. As water gushed out of the shiny nickel-plated spout, I thought of our horrible bathroom back in Cold Spring. The ancient tin-lined tub was encased in a wood box that reminded me of a coffin, and the linoleum floor looked dirty no matter how vigorously it was scrubbed. Now I could enjoy soaking in a sparkling clean porcelain tub. The white tile walls gleamed, the water heated almost instantly, and a full-length plate-glass mirror was built in to the door.
    Actually, I could’ve done without the mirror. It had always been easy to avoid looking at my body naked, and now I kept catching glimpses of myself. I’d never felt comfortable unclothedand had no memory of anyone seeing me that way, either. Even my doctor had always let me wear a petticoat and camisole if I had to be examined. By the same token, I’d never seen another person naked. If not for museums, I’d have no idea what lurked under a man’s union suit.
    While luxuriating in the warm water, I debated over what to wear for my interview and decided on a smart navy blue dress that had a matching bolero jacket trimmed with a white band of lace. Thanks to Miss Hall’s, I knew how to look refined when I needed to. The interviewer would see a tall young lady, handsome if not beautiful, with good taste and breeding.
    By the time I finished dressing and was ready to go, my confidence had been replaced by a bad case of nerves. I hastened to my bureau, where I kept a journal hidden inside a muff that used to belong to my mother.
    October 2, 1907
    I’m finally going to my first interview. Must not doubt myself. Why the deuce wouldn’t they hire me? I’m more than qualified—that shall be obvious. I simply need to stay calm and stop being a ninny.
    The elevator took me down to the marble-floored lobby of the Mansfield. The red-haired doorman wished me a good morning. “Cab, miss?”
    “No thank you.”
    I never asked for one, yet he posed the same question every time I stepped outside. Perhaps he disapproved of a young woman walking about the city by herself—or perhaps I imagined his disapproval because I wasn’t used to such freedom. At any rate, it was ridiculous to worry over the doorman’s opinion.
    As I passed the Madison Square Garden, banners for thehorse show flapped in the wind. I probably should’ve brought an umbrella. Rain clouds blocked every bit of sun. I continued past an imposing church on the corner and remembered that Aunt Ida’s letter still needed a response. She’d asked which church Father and I had decided to attend. My pious aunt, Father’s younger sister, had come to live with us after my mother’s death. I couldn’t admit to Aunt Ida that we hadn’t bothered going to services since moving to the city.
    Up ahead, the steel framework of the Metropolitan Tower rose to the sky in its odd, half-built magnificence, set to become the tallest building in the world. The construction site blocked the sidewalk with piles of marble and steel, so I crossed the street and cut through Madison Square Park.
    I heard the woman shouting before I saw her. Was she in trouble?