STARTING OVER by Janet Feldman
I must find a new job. Annie had been waking with this thought for weeks but was lacking motivation. She did not want to think of herself as a victim, but the war had demoralized her, and positions for women, even young women, were scarce. She knew she was fortunate to have anything at all, but working for a greengrocer was no career. She could, she would, do better, but where?
Today she would push herself and go to the place she most hoped, and least expected, would have a position for her. She chose her very best clothing, pre-war style but clean and barely worn, and began the long, money-saving walk to the American Embassy.
Almost immediately upon entering the imposing and partially reconstructed building, Annie was approached by a young woman just a few years her senior.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Oh, I do hope so,” replied Annie, trying to summon her now subdued natural enthusiasm. My name is Annie Andrews and I’m looking for a new position. I hoped something would be available here.”
“I see,” said the woman, “and are you currently employed elsewhere?”
It was time for the story Annie had rehearsed. Please be to God it would be accepted.
“Up until last week, I was employed by Mr. Bellfort, a watchmaker, but he had to close his shop.”
“Was he ill?” asked the woman, who had yet to reveal her name.
“No, not really,” replied Annie, “but after the death last year of his poor wife, Gladys, he was never really the same. Just him and Gladys moping around the shop.
“Gladys? I thought Gladys was his wife who had died.”
“Well, she was,” said Annie, “but Mr. Bellman was so distraught that he changed Freddie’s name to Gladys.”
“Freddie is?”
“His dog,” said Annie, “and more devoted than Gladys if you ask me.”
“Let me see if I have this right,” said the woman, who appeared somewhat amused by the turn the conversation had taken. “Mr. Bellfort, who is also known as Mr. Bellman, is a watchmaker whose wife Gladys died last year, leaving him with his dog, Freddie, a devoted male dog I assume, who is now called Gladys in honor of a wife who may have been unfaithful. Is that correct?”
“Well, yes,” said Annie, realizing she had messed up badly by forgetting Bellfort’s name.
“And so,” continued the woman, “Mr. Bellfort/Bellman decided to close his shop, leaving you unemployed.”
“Um, yes,” Annie muttered. Knowing all was lost now, she was about to turn and walk away.
“My name is Phyllis Morgan, and I think what you have told me is, quite frankly, a load of rubbish, Annie Andrews, if that really is your name. I do, however, give you high marks for imagination, but why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”
“Because I don’t know who you are, Miss Morgan, or if you even work here. I see you have an ID badge, but it could be from somewhere else. You could be at the Embassy today delivering a message, or even looking for a new job yourself.”
“Fair enough,” said Miss Morgan. “I do indeed work here. I see you observed that I’m not wearing a wedding ring. You are correct—I am unmarried,” and a veil of sadness covered her face. “I think you are perhaps suspicious, certainly cautious, but then why would you tell a stranger your personal business? Would you consider telling me the truth now?”
Annie looked at her feet. This Phyllis Morgan was giving her a second chance. Just tell the truth.
“I am Annie Andrews. I work for a greengrocer and want to improve my life. I know I’m capable of being more than a grocery clerk. The war showed everyone that women are equal to men, and I believe we should strive for careers to improve ourselves, using our brains and talents. I’m sorry I was dishonest with you and wasted your time. I’ll just go now.”
Phyllis Morgan digested this information and looked at Annie. “Thank you. I believe you. My position here at the Embassy happens to be the screening of job applicants.” Annie thought she would melt into the floor; she hoped she would melt into the floor. An involuntary “Oh, my Lord,” escaped her lips.
“I must say,” continued Phyllis,” this is the most peculiar screening interview I have ever conducted. Should you go for more interviews, you might want to lead with the truth, or at least make up a more plausible story,” she added with a smile.
Annie, now feeling completely mortified, quite miserable and even a little indignant, wanted nothing more than to leave. Why was this woman toying with her?
“Please, Miss Morgan, can you just allow me to leave with the shred of dignity I still have?”
“Miss Andrews, it’s my turn to apologize. Forgive me for taking advantage of what appears to be a difficult situation for you. Can you return at two o’clock? I’d like you to meet Mr. Patterson. We may have something for you after all.”
Annie, who had not melted into the floor, now put her hand on the wall to steady herself, slightly dizzy from the unexpected proposal. “Two o’clock sharp; I will be here. I cannot thank you enough, Miss Morgan.”
“One more thing, Annie. I conduct cursory screenings and am not privy to the details of the positions. The officials conduct their own interviews. I can tell you that up until this week, Mr. Patterson had a very competent assistant. Her pregnancy requires her to stay at home now, and I don’t think she’ll be returning after the baby arrives.”
Annie practically floated out of the building and down the stairs to the sidewalk. She bought a mug of tea and sat on a park bench to review what had happened. I really must have a guardian angel, she thought. Do not mess up the interview, Annie. Do not mess up.
Having three hours to wait, and filled with anticipatory anxiety, Annie began to walk through the city streets. She tried not to think about the war but could hardly escape it amidst the ruins of bomb-shattered buildings, stark, silent sentinels waiting to be razed.
They were testimonials to lunacy, reminders of how evil was not solely the possession of the devil. The insatiable thirst for power, the bigotry of small-minded people, the complacency of those not willing to stand up for what was right—all contributed to allowing a crazy man, his allies, his sycophants, and his minions to uproot an entire world, altering and destroying millions of lives forever with unspeakable acts that could never be undone.
Now the tears flowed. Annie could not stop them, nor did she wish to. She had lost her brother Bertie and her cousin Robbie to the war. The three of them had been a family, all orphaned at younger ages. They lived together, played, schemed, talked, ate and worked as a family, sharing fears and sorrow and joy. The Three Musketeers, they had called themselves. Now, only Annie remained.
Her thoughts returned to the present. Miss Morgan, she had lost someone too. The look was unmistakable. Who had not suffered from this senseless war?
Annie was hungry, but too nervous to eat. Still, she thought, it wouldn’t do to have a rumbly, grumbly stomach during her interview. Tea and toast would be fine. A light drizzle had begun to fall, and the teashop she spotted looked warm and welcoming.
“Is there something I can do for you, miss?” said a male voice with an American accent. “You seem to be staring at me.” It was more an observation than an accusation, but Annie, once again, was on the defensive.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I have been staring. So impolite.” Tell the truth, her new mantra reminded her. “I have an interview at the American Embassy this afternoon and I was trying to read your badge to see if you’re from there.”
“It so happens, I do work there. Who is interviewing you?”
“A Mr. Patterson. That wouldn’t be you, would it?” she asked with trepidation.
“No,” the man chuckled, “but I know Patterson. Good man. I’d heard he has a position open.”
“Would it be too much for me to ask, since you know him, if you have any advice for me? I want and need this interview to go well.”
“Hmm,” said the man. “I’d say just be yourself; emphasize your strengths. Show confidence and a willingness to learn. Don’t flirt, flatter, or joke. Patterson is a serious guy and doesn’t appreciate trivial conversation.”
“That’s very helpful. Thank you very much, Mr. Umm?”
“Clark, Richard, but my friends call me Rick.”
“Well, Mr. Clark, Richard, when we become friends, I will also call you Rick.
“Good show of confidence there, Miss.”
“Andrews. And when we become friends, you may call me Annie.”
Mr. Clark laughed, showing his even, white American teeth. Annie left the teashop with a smile, liking Americans, ready for her interview and filled with determination and confidence. You will get this job, Annie, she told herself. You will get this job.
