Noon at Tiffany's Read Free Page B

who seemed as bewildered as they.
    He cleared his throat. “Well then, ladies, follow me if you would to our new elevator.” To Clara’s chagrin, Josie insisted they use the stairs.

    The Window and Mosaic Department was an open workroom, one wall of which was made up of enormous windows that filled the room with light. Awed by the sheer size of the place, Clara let her eyes wander to the partially completed leaded windows spread out on huge easels, and then to the finished ones hanging from the ceiling, sending rays of color in all directions. Racks of colored glass in every shade one could imagine were placed in the center of the room. It was, she thought, like wandering into a thieves’ cave and finding a mountain of treasure.
    Mr. Belknap pressed a handkerchief to his neck. “You should takecare not to wear your best clothes, and don’t forget to bring aprons and comfortable shoes.”
    A dour-looking man approached. Not waiting for introductions, he took the instructions out of Belknap’s hand and began to read, his expression one of vexation.
    Well-acquainted with the prejudice men held against women who sought jobs rather than husbands, Clara saw her work would be cut out for her trying to sway this man into thinking of her as a colleague rather than an enemy out to steal jobs away from men.
    For the better part of an hour, Mr. Bracey lectured in his Irish brogue as to where each tool was stored, and to whom they were to speak and to whom they were not. He was particularly adamant that they take their instruction from him and only him, adding at the end that any ‘female nonsense,’ such as unnecessary talking, giggling, smiling or flirting, would be grounds for immediate dismissal. He punctuated the end of his discourse with an emphatic ‘bah!’ and strode away.
    Clara was about to wish the back of his head a sour good day when Josie marched after him, chatting cheerfully as she went: “I detect from your accent that you must be from Ireland, Mr. Bracey. I’ve heard that your country is beautiful with all those green hills surrounded by nothing but ocean and sky. I hope to see it for myself someday. Surely you miss your homeland?”
    The Irishman eyed Josie as he would if he were seeing her for the first time. His gruffness eased, and he swiftly removed his cap as if he had just remembered his manners. “Aye Miss, ’tis a grand place, but there’s no good in missin’ it now. I’m here an’ this is where I’ll be when I meet me Maker.”
    “But still,” Josie smiled, “I’d love to hear about your Ireland and the people there. Perhaps someday you might tell me about it?”
    Mr. Bracey hunched up his shoulders, fighting the smile that threatened to make a mockery of his well-practiced scowl. “Aye, perhaps.”
    “Lovely. I look forward to seeing you on Monday. I’m sure my sister and I will learn a great deal under your capable direction.”
    Clara tried to duplicate her sister’s smile, though she knew it held none of the same magic. For her efforts, Mr. Bracey managed to reward her with the barest of nods.
    It was a start.

    Mr. Belknap was waiting for them in the hall. “May I escort you ladies to the station?”
    Clara opened her mouth to accept his offer when she changed her mind. Mr. Belknap was obviously a man of culture—it might do well to impress him by demonstrating her interest in the performing arts. After all, hadn’t she just professed a love of theater?
    “I’m sorry, but we’ve made plans to meet friends at Madison Square. We have tickets to attend the rehearsals at the Metropolitan Opera House this afternoon.”
    Puzzled, Josie turned to look at her. “But we aren’t going to—”
    “Of course we’re going to make it on time—if we hurry,” Clara quickly cut in. “Besides, the …” she threw out the fanciest name she could think of, “… the Vanderlings said they’d wait for us.”
    Belknap looked baffled. “Rehearsals? I wasn’t aware there were