The Life She Wanted: A Novel(19)

After he left, Pandora put away the book and tied on her apron. She loved her father; she could live with his anger but not his disappointment. She had squandered everything he had saved for their future. She had to get the money back and make him believe in her again. If only she knew how.





Chapter Five


July 1926, Hyde Park, New York

On Monday, Pandora sat in the reception area of Thomas Maisel Dresses on Broadway in New York. She wore a V-necked blouse with a pleated skirt and short white gloves. Four girls sat on the chairs beside her, all wearing cloche hats and clutching the same folded-up newspaper in their hands.

The moment that Pandora had seen the advertisement, she began planning how to get to New York for the interview. The opportunity was too good to pass up. Pandora hadn’t told Virginia about the fight with her father. She didn’t want to ask for Virginia’s help again. She got a ride with the Van Luyens’ chauffeur into New York, and now she waited alongside the other girls for the receptionist to call her name.

Thomas Maisel wasn’t a well-known designer like Paul Poiret or Norman Hartnell, but Pandora had seen his dresses in the window of a boutique in Hyde Park. He had a showroom in New York, and he was looking for a girl Friday. Pandora hadn’t heard the term before. She looked it up and found that it meant a woman who did many different jobs in an office. Pandora thought she’d be perfect for the position. She might not have had secretarial training, but she was well organized, and she knew everything about dress design.

“Miss Carmichael,” the receptionist put down the telephone. “You can go inside. Miss Patterson will see you now.”

Pandora tried to hide her disappointment. She had hoped Thomas Maisel would interview her so she could impress him with her knowledge and passion for design. Instead, she was greeted by an older woman wearing a navy dress.

“Please have a seat.” Miss Patterson pointed to a wooden chair. She flipped through the papers on her desk. “I didn’t receive your résumé.”

“I didn’t bring one.” Pandora gulped.

“You can tell me about your experience instead.” Miss Patterson took out a long notepad. “Where did you attend secretarial school?”

“Well, I didn’t,” Pandora began nervously.

“That’s all right, not all girls have,” Miss Patterson cut in. “How fast can you type?”

“I’ve used a typewriter before, but I’ve never timed myself,” Pandora answered honestly. She had used a typewriter a few times to type up the plays that she and Virginia had performed as teenagers.

“Dictation?”

“I’ve never taken dictation, but I’m a fast learner.”

“That’s odd, most employers give dictation.” Miss Patterson frowned. “What kind of filing systems have you used? Mr. Maisel is particular about his filing.”

“Well, none, but . . .”

“Miss Carmichael,” Miss Patterson interrupted. “What have you done at an office?”

Pandora pulled at her gloves. “I haven’t worked in an office, but I know everything about dress design. I’ve been designing dresses since I was fifteen. I can show you my sketches if you like.”

Miss Patterson leaned forward in her chair. She had narrow cheekbones and brown eyes that seemed too large for her face.

“I don’t care if you’re the protégé of Coco Chanel.” Her tone grew impatient. “Do you know what a girl Friday is?”

“I had to look it up,” Pandora admitted.

“It means a secretary who also does all the other things in an office. Mr. Maisel is very busy; he needs someone who can make his lunch reservations and pick up his tickets to shows on Broadway and type and file. The one thing he doesn’t need is a girl who aspires to be a fashion designer. Secretarial skills are the main requirement of the job, and you don’t have any.”

Pandora looked past Miss Patterson to the framed photos on the wall. She had to get this job. She had no other options.

“I plan to use part of my salary to take night courses in typing and dictation,” she said. “I know I can do it. You just have to give me a chance.”

Miss Patterson wrote something on her notepad.

“I was your age once; getting that first job seems impossible. How can one gain experience if one doesn’t have any to begin with?” she sympathized. “But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I hired you over more-qualified applicants.” She handed the piece of paper to Pandora. “This is the address of a dress factory on Thirty-Ninth Street. They’re always looking for girls to work on the assembly line, and you don’t need any previous experience.”

Pandora slipped it into her purse and stood up. She had to maintain her dignity.

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“Don’t thank me yet. The hours are long and the pay is low.” She glanced at Pandora’s lace-up pumps that had once been Virginia’s. “You might want to get more comfortable shoes. Good luck, Miss Carmichael. I hope it all works out.”

Pandora walked out into the street. The feeling of rejection washed over her. She couldn’t work in a factory—the salary wouldn’t cover her rent for a room in New York, and if she commuted, all the money she earned would go to train fare to Hyde Park, and there would be no time to work on her designs.