Pandora hung her head. She twisted her hands nervously. She had hoped to have something to show for her plan by the time he found out, but it was too late. “I bought fabric to sew some dresses.”
Pandora explained her plan and how it hadn’t worked. When she finished, she could see a vein pulsing in her father’s forehead.
“That money was for secretarial school, so you’ll have some way to support yourself. I’m getting older, the arthritis in my shoulder is worse. Last week, I had to cancel one of my tennis lessons because it hurt too much to move my arm.” He glared at her. “What will you do when I can’t teach tennis and the Van Luyens let me go?”
“That’s why I want to open a boutique,” Pandora said urgently. “So I can take care of both of us.”
“Do you really think that’s possible? We have no means, and you have no clientele. You’re only invited places because of the Van Luyens,” he scoffed. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have raised you this way.”
“I don’t understand,” Pandora said, perplexed.
“When your mother left, I took this job because I wanted to protect you from living in poor circumstances in New York. But living at Riverview has only filled you with fanciful notions. Secretarial school might not get you a prestigious degree, but you’d learn skills that are worth something. Now you’ll end up working at a factory or married to someone you don’t love.”
“It’s not your fault, and I want to be a designer because I love creating dresses.”
“Your mother loved dresses, and look what happened,” he snapped. “You’ll end up like her. You’ll get a job in a department store. You’ll grow tired of being on your feet all day and being talked down to by women who used to be your friends.” His eyes flashed. “Then what will you do?”
“I’ll find a way to pay you back,” Pandora said determinedly. “I promise. Then I’ll figure out how to open a boutique in Hyde Park and a bigger one in New York.” She waved at the book she was reading. “Madeleine Vionnet has a salon in Paris, and last year she opened one on Fifth Avenue. If she could do it, why can’t I?”
Willie’s expression was filled with rage and something new. It took a moment for Pandora to realize what it was. It was the look he had whenever he talked about her mother. Pain mixed with defeat.
“Because you’re Pandora Carmichael, and your father is a tennis instructor.” He stood up. “The only life I could offer you isn’t good enough. Now you’ve wasted your only shot at a decent future. And you’ve put my future in jeopardy too. That money was going to benefit both of us. It’s gone, and there’s no way to get it back. Esther is waiting for you in the kitchen. She needs help with the meatballs.”
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.”