I Am a Woman in Love With a Woman(2)

The next morning she was in the office of Dr. Hollingsworth, talking to his secretary. The secretary, a tremendously tall girl with big bones, a friendly face, and a sort of uncomfortable femininity, liked her right away.

"I'm Jean Bergman,” she said. “Come on in and sit down. Dr. Hollingsworth isn't here yet; he gets in at nine."

Laura introduced herself and said she'd like to have the job. She was a hard worker. Jean was disposed to believe her, on a hunch. It was one of those lucky breaks.

"I've talked to some other girls,” she said, “but nobody seems to have had any experience. The girls with training want permanent jobs. So I guess I'll just have to find a bright beginner."

Laura smiled at her. She spoke as if it was settled. “The job will last till June first, Laura,” Jean went on. “I'll be gone two months. We'll spend the time till then teaching you the routine. Sarah will be coming in in a minute-she's the other secretary. There'll be plenty for the three of us.” She paused, eying Laura critically. “Well? Do you think you'd like a crack at it?"

"Yes, I would.” Laura felt her heart lighten.

"Okay.” Jean smiled. “I'm a trusting soul. You strike me as the efficient type. Of course, I'll have to introduce you to Dr. Hollingsworth. You understand. Now don't let me down, Laura."

"I won't. Thanks, Jean."

"You might make yourself indispensable, you know,” Jean said. “I mean, they really need three girls around here. If they like you well enough-well, maybe they'll keep you on in June. It's just a chance; don't count on it."

Laura felt really worthwhile for the first time since she left home. She had never considered turning back, but there had been moments when the barren want-ads discouraged her and the wet biting weather dragged her spirits down. Now, the sun was shining through the rain.

* * * *

It turned out to be a fine office to work in. Doctors have a crazy sense of humor and they are often tolerant. Dr. Hollingsworth was small and quiet, quite dignified but tender-hearted. He had two young assistants, Dr. Carstens and Dr. Hagstrom. They were both fresh from medical school-pleasant young men. Carstens was married, but with a wildly roving eye. Every female patient fascinated him, even if he saw no more than her lungs. Hagstrom had a permanent girl friend named Rosie with whom he conducted endless conversations on the phone. Both were devoted to Dr. Hollingsworth and considered themselves lucky to be with him.

Laura fell into the routine rapidly. She was much slower than the other girls at translating the mumbo-jumbo on the dictaphone at first. She spent nearly half the time looking up terms in the medical dictionary and the rest beating the typewriter.

The problem of finding a place to live before the hotel bills broke her was urgent. She discovered in a hurry, like most newcomers to New York, that it was a real struggle to find a decent apartment at a decent price. She asked Jean about it.

"I'm stuck,” she said. “Where do people live in this town?"

"What's the matter with me?” Jean said. “I should have asked you if you had a place. I know a girl who's looking for a roommate. The one she had just got hitched. I'll call her."

Later she told Laura, “I talked to her. She says a couple of gals have already asked her, but to call if you want to. She hasn't made up her mind yet. She's a doll, you'll like her. Here's her number."

"What's her name?"

"Marcie Proffit! Mrs. Proffit!” She laughed at Laura's consternation. “She's divorced,” she said. Laura called at once.

"I'm at West End and a hundred and first,” Marcie said when Laura got her. Her voice was low and appealing. Laura hoped she looked like she sounded. “The penthouse,” Marcie said. “It's not locked. You have to walk up the last flight."

"A penthouse?” Laura said, taken aback. “Jean said—"

"It's not as fancy as it sounds,” Marcie laughed. “In fact it's falling apart. That's how I can afford it But it has a wonderful view. Come over tonight. I'll give you some dinner. I may be late, though, so I'll leave a key for you under the doormat."

"Thanks, Marcie, I'd like to.” Laura wondered, when she hung up, if Marcie's hospitality was always so impulsive.

It was dark and getting windy when Laura got off the subway at 99th Street. She walked the two blocks up Broadway to 101st, holding her coat collar close around her throat

The apartment building was a block off Broadway, up a hill at the corner of West End Avenue. It had been a chic address once, some years ago, when West End was an exclusive neighborhood. But it was deteriorating now, quietly, almost inconspicuously, slipping into the hands of ordinary people-families with lots of kids and not much money, students, working girls. And the haut monde was quietly slipping out and heading for the other side of town.