7: Yet Another Monday

Evelyn followed Lily across the trust’s lobby towards the lifts. Her head throbbed dully and her heart pounded, products of the deep-seated, unshakeable dread she’d been harboring since Russell James’ death a week before. She waved with a weak smile as the doors to Lily’s lift closed, sighing heavily at the soft chime of her arriving one. 

Just make it to your desk, Evelyn urged herself mentally. After that, you can figure out the next step. She repeated the mantra over and over as the doors opened releasing passengers, closed, and the lift lurched upwards again. When they reached the ninth floor, she hesitated, almost missing her stop.

As usual, the office was empty. Evelyn was nearly always the first one here. A heavy rock fell into the pit of her stomach, as memories of the previous week flashed into her head. Breathing in small pants, she moved slowly to her desk, tucked her belongings into her drawer, then stood, lost.

She stared at the low stack of papers on the desk—work she’d completed what seemed like a lifetime ago. Signatures, Evelyn reminded herself but she had no idea who would sign them now. And there would be no need to make coffee this morning. Which was good, since she couldn’t recall what had become of Mr. James’ cup after she’d dropped it.

I can still start coffee, she thought. Seeking purpose, she headed for the small kitchenette. There, she moved through the process by rote, listening as the elevator chimed the arrival of other coworkers. A familiar flow settled over her as her hands moved through her task and, relieved at the returning sense of normality, Evelyn began to relax.

Stepping out of the kitchenette, she glanced towards the other secretaries’ desks, smiling as she made eye contact with one of her coworkers. Turning towards her desk, she froze. The rock in her stomach lifted, dissolving with her dread.

Mrs. Stiles’ eyes were flinty beneath her steely gray brows. Primly dressed with her gray hair pulled severely into a tight bun at the back of her neck, she waited, hands tucked behind her back. Behind her, another younger woman watched the silent exchange, her dull brown eyes flicking back and forth between Evelyn and Mrs. Stiles as though watching a tennis match.

Drawing a deep breath, Evelyn exhaled slowly. At least it’s over, she thought. No more anxiously awaiting this moment—it had come. It was clear in the disapproving glare in Mrs. Stiles’ eyes, the set of her chin and lips pulled thin. Mustering all the dignity she possessed, she returned to her desk. “Good morning, Mrs. Stiles.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Stiles drawled. “Yes, it is.” The corners of her mouth turned up slightly, casting a malevolent pleasure to her expression. “Though I must say, I am surprised you bothered to come in.”

“I spoke to Mr. James over the weekend. He told me he would see me today.”

The glint in Mrs. Stile’s eyes softened with confusion. “Mr. James is dead.”

Drawing a steadying breath, Evelyn smiled weakly. “Mr. Russell James is dead, yes. I was referring to his brother, Andrew James. He spoke to me. At the funeral.”

A second of surprise flashed on Mrs. Stiles’ face and was quickly suppressed. The lines around her mouth and eyes deepened with her frown. “Unfortunately, he’s been delayed. So it’s incumbent upon me to advise you to collect your things and see yourself out of the building at once. Your services are no longer needed.”

Though she’d expected it, Evelyn was surprised at the cruelty of the delivery. In these times, with unemployment rampant, and unemployment for women even higher, her termination was scarcely above a death sentence. Mrs. Stiles had entered the workforce as a widow just over a year ago. Her lack of compassion was mystifying.

Nodding, Evelyn removed her personal items from her desk drawer. She dressed in her coat without looking again at Mrs. Stiles. Then, head held high, she moved towards the elevator, deliberately ignoring the rushed whispers and stares so hard she could feel. They would not see her cry, nor would she accept their pity. She refused to give them either satisfaction.

Going down, the lift was less crowded than it was going up before business hours began. Suited men and uniformed building staff hurried past her the opposite direction as Evelyn made her way across the lobby and out onto the sidewalk, numbness of shock holding the knot of her anxiety at bay.

“Miss Evelyn?”

Evelyn faced the speaker, her eyes glazed. His identity came to her slowly. “Good morning, Mr. Smith.”

“It’s Mickey, miss.” He smiled derisively. “No sense wasting good manners on the likes of me.”

“There’s always sense to good manners, Mickey.”

At her faraway look and the slow tempo of her words, he frowned. “What’s happened, miss? Are you sick?”

Shaking her head, Evelyn gave him a weak smile and stepped around him heading for the subway station. “No. Have a good day, Mr. Smith.” She stopped, feeling him catch her arm.

“Have you lost your job?” he whispered, the sound barely above the noise of the street. The tears that wavered in her eyes were all the answer he needed. Mickey nodded once. “After all you'd done? After all you'd been through? Right then. I’ll take you home.” Tugging her with him, he opened the door to the shining Rolls he drove for the financers at the Trust.

Resisting, Evelyn shook her head. “You’ll get in trouble.”

Mickey tucked her inside with a warm smile. “The car needs gas and a wash. I can do that after I take you home.”

The car’s interior was as expensive, quiet and warm as she remembered. Mickey gave her a gentle smile in the rearview mirror as he slid behind the wheel, started the engine and eased into traffic. Evelyn listened disinterestedly to the sounds of the streets as he drove towards her apartment in the Village.

“Does Lily know?”

“No. I was told to leave the building at once.”

“I’ll find her as soon as I get back and tell her.”

“Don’t do that,” Evelyn sighed. “She’ll only worry needlessly the rest of the day.” In the rearview mirror, she watched his eyes flick towards the road again under bunched brows.

“Right. I’ll catch her by the fountain at lunch then.”

For the first time that morning, Evelyn perked up. Mickey Smith was paying a great deal of attention to Lily, even more than she'd let on. If he knew they met at the fountain in the Trust’s lobby for lunch, how much else did he know? “I’d prefer if you only told her something came up and I won’t be able to meet her.”

“With the way gossip travels, she’s like as not to know by then anyway.”

“I understand. I’d rather talk to her about it myself when she gets home tonight.”

The rest of the drive whirred by in silence. “Thank you, Mickey. This was generous of you.” Evelyn smiled as he opened her door and helped her out in front of her apartment.

“After what you’ve done, the least the Trust can do is give you a ride home. I still can’t believe they let you go.” He waited as she stared at the stairs to the building’s lobby, confused when instead of starting up, she headed around the building towards the alley. “Where are you going?”

“Mrs. Lancaster will hear if I come in the front,” she explained. “I’ll use the fire escape. Thank you again.”

**

Evelyn’s feet dragged as she climbed the metal stairs to the fourth-floor window between she and Lily’s apartments. Even in the cold, she couldn’t make herself hurry. It was a decision she would regret as she raised the window and found the rotund Mrs. Lancaster waiting on the inside landing for her, hands on her hips, huffing with the exertion of climbing four flights of stairs.

Easing over the sash, Evelyn dropped lightly to her feet, then drew the window closed behind her. “Is there something you need, Mrs. Lancaster?”

“I saw that boy drive you home in that fancy car. You’d best not be smuggling him in here.”

“No. Of course not.” Only attempting to avoid you and your interrogation, she thought, though she hardly owed Mrs. Lancaster that explanation. Evelyn moved towards her door. Her keys jingled as she pulled them from her purse. “Have a good morning, Mrs. Lancaster.”

“You’re home early,” the older woman panted, despite the polite dismissal. “I assume that means you’re unemployed now. Best pack your things. There’re no handouts here.”

Sapped of her patience during an already trying time, Evelyn pivoted on her heel. “I haven’t asked for any handouts,” she snapped, “and I’m paid through the end of the month. Unless, of course, you intend to refund the difference.” Her eyes roamed the ceiling above her to the right. “Let’s see, there are twenty-two days left in the month. At $0.80 per day, you will owe me—hmm— $17.60 if you wish me to leave at once. And that’s only if I decide to go. I do have a lease, Mrs. Lancaster.”

The beligerent landlady’s face scrunched up in a scowl. “Best watch yourself, missy. Have the rent in full on the last day or you’ll be out on the street. Understand?”

“Of course.” Quickly turning the key in the lock, Evelyn ducked into the shelter of her apartment, closing the door between them before she gave herself away to the foul woman with her tears.

**

There was still something surreal about stepping off the lift at the ninth floor and seeing the secretaries busy at work at desks in front of their respective financer’s offices. Especially after what had happened only a week before. Andrew's insides began to twist as another person exited the lift, then hurried around him with a quiet ‘excuse me, sir’, while he simply stared. I think I’ll have Russell’s records moved to my office upstairs and with the thought, his nausea ebbed.

Decided, Andrew turned, facing his late brother’s office. He was expecting to see the lovely, dark-haired Miss Moore but instead, the steel-haired woman he’d shoved aside to get into the office to try to save Russell was there, an obviously forced smile on her face.

Though her hair was completely gray, the lines on her face, particularly around her mouth, suggested she wasn’t much older than Russell and had been a comely woman in her younger years—now time and undoubtedly a hard life had etched her with a perpetual frown and a head of gray typical of those well beyond her years.

Behind her stood a rather dull looking girl with a blank stare. Though there was something familiar about her, Andrew couldn’t identify what. Frustrated, he dismissed it.

A memory flashed to the forefront of his mind—the steel-haired woman’s expression as she’d blocked the door to his brother’s office. Though he hadn’t had time to consciously process it the day Russell died, the realization had fortified itself in a stronghold in his unconscious, remembered now with startling clarity when other details were forgotten.

“Good morning, Mr. James,” the steel-haired woman began, “I’m Mrs. Stiles, the manager of the secretary pool. I’ve assigned Miss Stephens to you.” She gestured to the young woman behind her. “Take his coat, please.”

Of all the audacity! As though a manager would 'assign' anything to a vice president at the Trust. Avoiding the girl’s grasp, Andrew stepped around her, opening the office door. “Mrs. Stiles, was it?” When the steel-haired woman nodded, he gestured inside. “Step inside. Immediately,” he added with cold menace.

When the older woman complied, he closed the door behind him, but didn’t move away from her. “Where is the young woman who was my brother’s secretary? Evelyn Moore. Where is she?” Andrew didn’t like the anger he saw spreading over the woman’s face. He crossed his arms over his chest and fixed her with a determined stare of his own.

“Mr. James, I must advise you, that young woman, Miss Moore, had several performance issues and was, in fact, on her way to unemployment when the unfortunate situation with your brother occurred,” Mrs. Stiles stammered. She gestured towards the door. “I hand-selected Miss Stephens for you, I think you’ll find—.”

Andrew had the distinct impression the woman was lying. “This Trust doesn’t pay you to think, Mrs. Stiles. It pays you to ensure the documentation needs of the financers are met,” he interrupted. “As a Vice President over accounts here, I assure you, the only secretary from the pool who will meet my requirements is Miss Moore.”

When Mrs. Stiles opened her mouth to argue, Andrew held up his hand. “I must advise you,” he tossed her own words back at her, seething with barely contained loathing. “I saw you standing in this very doorway, preventing others from aiding while Miss Moore struggled to keep my brother from falling to his death. Perhaps if you’d been less intent on furthering your own agenda and more on being a decent human being, my brother would still be alive. So we’re clear—there is absolutely no way I will have you or anyone of your choosing work for me. Ever.”

Opening the office door, he shoved Mrs. Stiles out into the common area. “You’ll get me Miss Moore’s address in five minutes or less or find yourself on the soup line. Do you understand?” Andrew glanced at Miss Stephens, seeing her nod vehemently, her eyes wide. “You’re both dismissed.”

He glanced at his watch, then gave Mrs. Stiles a firm eye. “Five minutes.” As he closed the office door, he smiled to himself with some amusement and vindication seeing the wicked old woman running to find Miss Moore’s address. Taking a seat at the desk, he dialed the lobby. “Bring the car for Andrew James around.”

**

Andrew brooded in the back of the car as his driver navigated the New York streets to Evelyn Moore’s apartment.

To say he’d been surprised to see Mrs. Stiles again was an understatement. To find her so vehement about removing Miss Moore compounded his confusion though. He’d thought, perhaps arrogantly, that Mrs. Stile’s behavior was about Russell. But while there was no saying it wasn’t in part, finding her so quick to remove the one woman Andrew most needed certainly created new questions.

He shook his head silently. Women were so strange. On the surface, many seemed calm, serene, a portrait of graceful fortitude, but underneath, they were raging violently, their inner turmoil shaking the foundations of their own building and indiscriminately spewing vitriol onto everything around them. Like volcanos. His mother and Charlotte were fine examples, Mrs. Stiles, yet another.

And still, that wasn’t the impression he’d gotten of Miss Moore. In fact, she seemed remarkably fixed, her tranquility never wavering, even when her emotions were overwhelming her. More like a star. As the car pulled to stop in front of the four-story brownstone in Greenwich Village, Andrew opened the door himself and stepped out.

His harried driver, Mickey, rushed around the Rolls. Taking the stairs two at a time, he opened the building door, following Andrew inside.

Glancing around the simple, clean lobby and seeing no elevator, Andrew headed for the stairs.

“Sir.”

Andrew didn’t pause as he climbed to the first landing. “What is it, Mickey?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Just where do you think you’re going!”

The screeching response was not what he’d expected. At the second floor, Andrew turned. Below him on the bottom stair, a rotund, motherly-looking woman stood glaring up at him, her hands on her ample hips. Confused, Andrew stared at the woman. “I’m here in search of my secretary. Evelyn Moore. I understand she’s in apartment forty-one.”

“This apartment is for respectable women. No men are allowed.” The heavyset woman pointed at a large, poorly hand-lettered sign hanging on the wall above the mailboxes. Crooking her finger at Andrew in a come-here motion, she gestured at the front door, snapping loudly. “Get out.”

“I beg your pardon. Do you know who I—.” Above him, doors were opening, and excited whispers bounced about in the stairwell. He glanced up, seeing a couple shy faces peeking over the railing to peer at him, drawn by the commotion. Under his scrutiny, they withdrew quickly, popping into visibility again when his eyes shifted to a new face, the way rabbits outwit a fox in a field.

“I don’t care who you are,” Mrs. Lancaster interrupted. “I didn’t stutter. You aren’t allowed in here.”

“Excuse me.” Annoyed, a deep line appeared between his brows and Andrew raised his voice over the woman’s interruptions. “Do you mind if I get in a single word in explanation? Good, thank you.” More faces were appearing overhead, and rushed footsteps were followed by rapid knocking at other doors on other floors. “What is your name, madam, if you please?”

**

Despondent, Evelyn sat at her tiny bistro table, staring into the coffee can that held her entire life savings, her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee that was slowly growing cold. She had enough for another month of rent and it had taken over a year, scrimping and saving to get even that. If she and Lily moved in together, she might be able to stretch the money out for few months of food while she looked for another job, but there was no guarantee of any of that.

Startled when a rapid knocking started on her door, Evelyn jumped, sloshing the cold coffee. Suddenly aware of a commotion outside it, she rose. Unlocking the door, she peered around it, bewildered to see one of the young women from the second floor standing there.

She pushed the door open, grabbing Evelyn by the arm and physically dragging her towards the stair railing. “Evelyn! You have to see!” She pointed over the rail.

Below them in the lobby, Mrs. Lancaster was yelling at a man in a fine gray suit standing on the second-floor landing, her shrill voice echoing painfully in the stairwell.

“I’m not hearing any of it!” Resting one foot on the second stair, the shrew of a woman twisted, yelling up the stairs. “If she thinks she’s paying the rent by entertaining johns, she’s got another thing coming! Evelyn Moore! You get your stuff and get out this instant!”

Stunned, Evelyn stared. “What on earth? Why? Who is that?” she sputtered at her neighbor. Getting only a shrug as reply, she started down the stairs slowly, staying against the wall and out of view while she struggled to figure out what was happening and listening to the ongoing conversation below.

“Sweet Jesus, you are absolutely out of hand.” Furious now, Andrew started down the stairs to stand over the woman.

“Don’t you take the Lord’s name in vain, you—you—.” clearly, she was struggling for suitable insult, “shyster!”

Disappointed, Andrew stopped where he was, a few steps above the woman and cast a glance over her at his driver. “Mickey, where am I? Is this 141 Waverly?”

Mickey? Evelyn thought, stopping to lean over the rail and search what she could see below her. Oh no. He’s in trouble because of me!

Mickey nodded, gesturing towards the woman below his boss on the stairs. “This is Mrs. Lancaster. She runs the building.”

“Tenth and Waverly?”

Below, near the lobby door, Mickey confirmed quietly.

More faces were appearing over the railing above him, and Andrew studied each as he talked. “I thought so. Mrs. Lancaster, my Trust owns this building. As such, any representative of the Trust may make inspection at any time and without notice. I am that representative and today I’m going upstairs to apartment forty-one.”

Glancing up, he spotted the face he sought among those above him. So she is here, he thought. Andrew leveled a threatening gaze at Mrs. Lancaster. “Cross me again, and I’ll see to it you’re no longer the landlady. Do I make myself clear?”

Taken aback and finally silent, Mrs. Lancaster stumbled off the bottom stair and Mickey rushed forward to stop her fall.

“Miss Moore, will you kindly come down here, please?”

In the silence, Evelyn’s footfalls echoed as she descended the stairs, the other young women in her building watching wide-eyed as she passed. Trembling, she stopped on the second-floor landing. At this angle, she recognized Mr. James as he came towards her, stopping a couple steps below, his piercing blue eyes level with hers.

Not for the first time, Evelyn was struck by his looks. Though she hadn’t missed Andrew’s resemblance to his brother, of the two, Andrew had been the more fortunate. His broad brow shaded striking blue eyes filled now with a gentleness that softened the strong lines of his face, the stubborn set of his clean-shaven jaw. A proud face and a fit for the fine proportions of his body, she thought, and felt his masculinity acutely, her body responding instinctively to his undeniable presence and attraction.

For a few seconds, Andrew could say nothing, only stare at the fair oval of her face, into her pale blue eyes, red-rimmed again from weeping. Though she couldn’t know what was happening here, she’d come to him, prepared to bear whatever doom he brought with the stately grace of a queen.

Again, he was struck by her stillness. Detecting the faintest quiver in her frame, he realized she was terrified. “I understand Mrs. Stiles advised you your services were no longer required,” he said soothingly, intimately, his voice low so only she would hear.

“Yes.” The word whispered past her lips, and Mr. James took another step up. Though a step below her, he was taller now than she, but there was no intimidation meant in the way he looked down at her. His eyes were clearly focused on her, seeing her, and full of gentleness.

“She was mistaken and entirely out of line.” Glancing down, he adjusted one cufflink, confused by Evelyn's effect on him. He caught the time on his watch. The whole morning had been wasted repairing this debacle. Now, by the time he returned to the office from his luncheon meetings, there’d be no time to talk to her. Andrew sighed. “Take the remainder of the day. With pay. For your troubles. I’ll expect you at your desk promptly tomorrow morning at nine. Am I understood?”

Evelyn’s mouth fell open then her expression melted into an achingly beautiful smile and Andrew’s heart lurched. Above them, excited whispers echoed from the young women along stairs. Seeing her nod, Andrew started down the stairs, focusing an icy glare at Mrs. Lancaster.

“Mr. James?”

Andrew froze, then looked up the stairs. The light from the window on the second floor landing backlit her slender frame, casting a halo about her and his impression of an angel returned more strongly. “What is it?”

“Thank you.”

Andrew smiled, studying her “It’s my pleasure to work with a young woman of such fine character.” Pivoting smartly, he swept past Mrs. Lancaster in the lobby and exited through the door Mickey held for him, then paused.

He had no reason to trust Evelyn Moore, but somehow, he did. And with each second he spent around her, he felt more confident in that trust. Turning, Andrew caught Evelyn’s eye where she still stood on the stairs, watching him. “Nine o'clook, Miss Moore.” Smiling, he nodded. “Good day.”

**

Her circumstances reversed and her mood lifted, Evelyn spent the afternoon in her apartment. Though it was already spotless, Evelyn wandered through with a dustrag, swept and washed the few dishes from breakfast. Since she was in the kitchen, she started bread baking and decided what she would fix for dinner for she and Lily.

She was selecting a few ripe tomatoes from her kitchen garden when the pounding started on her apartment door. “Lily, for pity’s sake, will you stop pounding on the door!”

As Evelyn opened it, a scrap of paper pushed into the jam floated to the ground.

Stooping, she picked it up and looked about in the hall. There was no such note on Lily’s apartment, but on the third one on their floor, there was. She turned it over, reading. “I can’t believe this.”

Storming past Evelyn, Lily dumped her coat over the back of a chair in the kitchen and tossed a similar scrap of paper distastefully onto the table. “She’ll price us all out and then what will she do? No one who can afford what she’s charging would want to live here.”

“But we’re rent controlled!” Carrying the note, Evelyn followed Lily into her kitchen, closing the door behind her. “And this is twice in less than a year.”

“Apparently, she can push it all the way to the rent control cap whenever she chooses.” Storming into the living room, Lily flopped like a ragdoll onto the sofa.

"I don't remember that being the case with our lease." Sitting down beside Lily, Evelyn hugged her friend around the shoulders. “The budget will be a little tighter, that’s all. I’ll see what else I can do to cut our food expenses.”

Lily fumed for a moment longer, then reaching some silent decision, perked up. “Never mind that.” She shifted to sit sideways facing Evelyn eagerly, tucking her legs up under her. “Mickey found me at the lobby fountain today. He told me he brought you home this morning thinking you’d been fired.”

“Yes,” Evelyn chuckled. “1939 has been entirely too strange of a year so far, especially given we're not yet through March.”

“So it’s true! Mickey said he’d only just returned when Mr. James thundered into the lobby and handed him our address. He thought he’d been caught taking you home and was fired too. He didn’t have time—or perhaps the inclination—to give me the details. What happened, Evie? Tell me everything.”

“Well, that might be my fault. I asked him not to tell you anything.” At Lily’s offended expression, Evelyn justified quickly, “I didn’t want you worrying at work.”

After, she summarized succinctly what had happened with Mrs. Stiles, Mrs. Lancaster and Mr. James. “Mr, James absolutely tore Mrs. Lancaster apart. After that, he gave me the afternoon off with pay and said to report to work tomorrow.”

Comprehension glinted in Lily’s eyes. “Ah, so that’s why the old bat raised the rents.”

“If that's the case, her beef is with me. Why punish the rest of you?”

“Why not? There are nine apartments in this building. If she raises rent for all of them, it’s that much more money in her pocket.”

“Maybe. You know, Lily. Perhaps we should consider moving in together after all. I know when we talked about it when your mother died, you weren’t ready. But we might both be better off in the long run. We’re both here most of the time anyway,” she giggled.

Lily considered a moment and Evelyn could see her mind working. “Maybe. I want to look at the lease agreement again.” Distracted, she sniffed at the air. “Is that bread baking? It smells wonderful.”

**