bored man behind the counter. The line moved up one. It's like musical chairs, Caroline thought, except no one is having a good time and they all want to get out of here soon so they won't be fired. She looked at her watch and began to glance through a leaflet the woman ahead of her had left on her chair.
Protect your future, the leaflet said. Sixty-five years old for women. It seemed so long away. Caroline could hardly imagine what she would be like at twenty-five. Last year, even six months ago, she had been sure. Now the future was a mystery. She wondered whether it could ever be for her the same thing it once was going to be.
She came back to her desk at two o'clock with her lunch in a paper bag, her Social Security card in her wallet, and Miss Farrow's dusting powder (gift-wrapped) in a gold-and-white-striped box. Mary Agnes was sitting at her own desk, looking contented. Brenda was talking animatedly on the telephone, making use of the office to save on her personal phone bill. The desk next to Caroline's, which had been unoccupied that morning, now bore a straw handbag with flowers sewn on it and a pair of white cotton gloves with a hole in one of the fingers.
"Hi," Mary Agnes said. "Did you get everything all right?"
"Yes," said Caroline. "Is Miss Farrow back yet?"
"Are you kidding?"
She sat down at her desk and began to eat her sandwich. The coffee container had already leaked through the bottom of the bag and now was making rings on her new blotter. Looking at them, she began to feel as if she'd been at this desk for a long time.
"The third new girl finally came," Mary Agnes said, gesturing toward the other desk. "She told Mr. Rice she was sick this morning and he was very nice about it. But she told me that she forgot to set her alarm clock! Can you imagine such a scatterbrain? I was up all night the day before I went to my first job."
"Oh, is it her first job too?"
"Yes, and she's only been in New York for a few weeks. She comes from Springs, Colorado. She just got out of junior college."
Mary Agnes, the Louella Parsons of the thirty-fifth floor, Caroline thought.
"Her name is April Morrison," Mary Agnes went on. "Tliat's a pretty name, isn't it—April. That's her with the long hair."
She nodded toward a girl crossing the bullpen from one of the side offices to another, carrying a shorthand pad, one of the oddest girls Caroline had ever seen. April Morrison had an almost breath-takingly beautiful face, and she wore no make-up except for some pale-pink lipstick. But her hair, which was a tawny gold, cascaded down her back to the middle of her shoulder blades, thick and tangled, making her look like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. She wore a shiny baby-blue gabardine suit. She had big blue eyes and freckles on her delicately sculptured nose, and Caroline almost expected to see her carrying a sunbonnet.
"It's lucky for her she hasn't got your job," Mary Agnes whispered, as April went into an office and closed the door. "Miss Farrow would eat her alive."
"Well, thank you," Caroline said. "You mean I look like I could hold my own against Miss Farrow?"
"You should be able to if anyone can. But if she asks you if you want to be promoted out of the typing pool to be her private secretary, say no, no, no."
What would I ever have done without someone to give me tips and advice on my first day, Caroline thought gratefully.
"Were you ever her secretary?"
"Oh, I worked for her a few times from the pool, that's all. But everyone knows what a terror she is."
"What were her regular secretaries like?"
"Sophisticated," said Mary Agnes. "Like you, a little. College graduates. Usually pretty. She always hires a secretary who has the
qualities to make a successful career women eventually and then she always hates the poor girl's guts."
"I guess working for Miss Farrow is kind of like hell week for getting into a sorority, is that it?"
"Hey," said Mary Agnes, "that's cute."
"Doesn't anyone else need a private
Protect your future, the leaflet said. Sixty-five years old for women. It seemed so long away. Caroline could hardly imagine what she would be like at twenty-five. Last year, even six months ago, she had been sure. Now the future was a mystery. She wondered whether it could ever be for her the same thing it once was going to be.
She came back to her desk at two o'clock with her lunch in a paper bag, her Social Security card in her wallet, and Miss Farrow's dusting powder (gift-wrapped) in a gold-and-white-striped box. Mary Agnes was sitting at her own desk, looking contented. Brenda was talking animatedly on the telephone, making use of the office to save on her personal phone bill. The desk next to Caroline's, which had been unoccupied that morning, now bore a straw handbag with flowers sewn on it and a pair of white cotton gloves with a hole in one of the fingers.
"Hi," Mary Agnes said. "Did you get everything all right?"
"Yes," said Caroline. "Is Miss Farrow back yet?"
"Are you kidding?"
She sat down at her desk and began to eat her sandwich. The coffee container had already leaked through the bottom of the bag and now was making rings on her new blotter. Looking at them, she began to feel as if she'd been at this desk for a long time.
"The third new girl finally came," Mary Agnes said, gesturing toward the other desk. "She told Mr. Rice she was sick this morning and he was very nice about it. But she told me that she forgot to set her alarm clock! Can you imagine such a scatterbrain? I was up all night the day before I went to my first job."
"Oh, is it her first job too?"
"Yes, and she's only been in New York for a few weeks. She comes from Springs, Colorado. She just got out of junior college."
Mary Agnes, the Louella Parsons of the thirty-fifth floor, Caroline thought.
"Her name is April Morrison," Mary Agnes went on. "Tliat's a pretty name, isn't it—April. That's her with the long hair."
She nodded toward a girl crossing the bullpen from one of the side offices to another, carrying a shorthand pad, one of the oddest girls Caroline had ever seen. April Morrison had an almost breath-takingly beautiful face, and she wore no make-up except for some pale-pink lipstick. But her hair, which was a tawny gold, cascaded down her back to the middle of her shoulder blades, thick and tangled, making her look like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. She wore a shiny baby-blue gabardine suit. She had big blue eyes and freckles on her delicately sculptured nose, and Caroline almost expected to see her carrying a sunbonnet.
"It's lucky for her she hasn't got your job," Mary Agnes whispered, as April went into an office and closed the door. "Miss Farrow would eat her alive."
"Well, thank you," Caroline said. "You mean I look like I could hold my own against Miss Farrow?"
"You should be able to if anyone can. But if she asks you if you want to be promoted out of the typing pool to be her private secretary, say no, no, no."
What would I ever have done without someone to give me tips and advice on my first day, Caroline thought gratefully.
"Were you ever her secretary?"
"Oh, I worked for her a few times from the pool, that's all. But everyone knows what a terror she is."
"What were her regular secretaries like?"
"Sophisticated," said Mary Agnes. "Like you, a little. College graduates. Usually pretty. She always hires a secretary who has the
qualities to make a successful career women eventually and then she always hates the poor girl's guts."
"I guess working for Miss Farrow is kind of like hell week for getting into a sorority, is that it?"
"Hey," said Mary Agnes, "that's cute."
"Doesn't anyone else need a private
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