29

ALL THROUGH THE day Ginny dreamed. Her hands and feet worked on their own. She’d made two mistakes already and it wasn’t even one o’clock. Nickels and dimes had lost their significance. They were hardly worth worrying over. Esther was beginning to look at her strangely. Ginny didn’t care. Each time the elevator door rumbled open her heart danced in her chest. When Mike came she’d leave with him and never look back.

Her lunch was eaten in big tasteless lumps, hardly chewed, washed down with a bottle of Moxie. Esther and the other women chattered and gossiped as usual, but Ginny didn’t join in.

“Your head’s someplace in the clouds today,” Esther said. Ginny shrugged as if she had no idea what Esther was talking about.

“A man’s in your head, maybe under your skirt too from the look of you.” Ginny blushed. “He’s good to you, too?”

Could Ginny say Mike had been good to her, or nice in a conventional way? They’d had only one afternoon together, one afternoon without sex and money to tip the scales. But Mike had been good to her and kind in almost every way, so for now that had to be enough. Ginny smiled.

“And he’s nice between his legs, too,” Esther said, holding her hands six or so inches apart then slowly widening the gap till they both broke into gales of laughter. The bell rang, ending the lunch break and they went quickly back to their machines, the shop whirring to life again and the lint billowing like mist.

As the day wore on Ginny’s mood turned. With each opening of the elevator doors her hope dwindled. She tried not to think that Mike had gotten her message and ignored it. She imagined the sort of stories he might have heard about her at the house, from Gertie, or some of the other girls. Had he believed them?

The sun sank slowly in the western windows and still Mike did not come. One by one the machines stopped and the women went home, until there were only a few, making up for the day’s mistakes. Ginny couldn’t continue past eight. Her heart wasn’t in it. Even her foreman could see that. “Go home, girlie. Come back ready to do a day’s woik. No more days like today, eh,” he grumbled, holding a perfectly good shirtwaist. Ginny just nodded and left her machine without a word. He watched her go with a shake of his head.

The elevator sank to the lobby with Ginny wondering how it could be that Mike hadn’t come. It was possible he’d never received the message, that somehow it had gotten lost or placed on the wrong desk or even that Mike had not been back to his office. It was all possible and she clung to the possibilities, fearing she’d drown if she didn’t. As Ginny stepped into the street, she resolved to leave another message for him.

“Pardon, miss,” a man’s voice said softly by her ear. The voice startled and thrilled her beyond anything she could have imagined. She turned wide-eyed, her breath catching in her throat, but realized before she’d even seen the man that it had not been Mike.

“Sorry ta bother ya, miss,” the man said when she’d turned, “but these streets ain’t safe after dark, specially not for a lady as pretty as yerself.”

Ginny saw a solid, honest-looking face under a raked straw boater, a full mustache above a gentle mouth. The eyes were wide and hazel brown, the brows high, lending the face a hint of refinement. He wore a well-cut suit and a silk bow tie. White spats topped his polished shoes.

“I could walk wit you a ways, keep da lowlifes from gettin’ too fresh,” he offered. He was almost charming when he smiled, not that she was interested.

“Suit yourself, I suppose,” she said and continued on her way.

“I’m Carl Woertz,” he said, catching up to walk at her side.

“Ginny.” She didn’t want to give her last name, but extended a tentative hand.

Carl took it with surprising gentility. “Pleased,” he said.

They walked to Broadway, then south toward Houston. Ginny usually rode the El, but decided against it. The cramps that had crippled her the first few days at the job had eased, the evening was fine and cool, and the man at her shoulder was not unpleasant to look at, so she walked.

Carl gabbed almost nonstop. Ginny didn’t feel much like talking and was content to have the company of a man even if it wasn’t Mike. She had always enjoyed men’s company and thought nothing of allowing Carl to rattle on at her side. She began to realize after a few blocks that she’d needed the companionship and was surprised to find herself smiling at Carl’s observations.

They strolled on, past Houston with its dangerous traffic, past organ-grinders, a German street band, kids selling stolen fruit, newsboys with late editions, vendors of apple cider, ice cream, and confections, all trying for the last few customers of the night. Ginny was surprised to find herself responding to her newfound friend, and when he insisted they stop for ice cream in a waffle cone, she began to really look at Carl, to take inventory in a way.

Perhaps it was the disappointment of the day, the many small stabs at her heart with each opening of the elevator doors, but when Carl Woertz handed Ginny her vanilla cone, she took it with just a tiny bit more on her lips than a mere “Thank you.” Carl noticed and caught her eye to be certain, a rakish grin canting his mouth at the angle of his boater. “My pleasure,” he said, touching the brim. She thought at that moment she’d seen him somewhere before. She was almost certain he hadn’t been a customer. But there was something illusively familiar about him that she just could not place. She thought it might be the boater, which reminded her of the man she’d nearly fallen out of the window looking at the day before. But she hadn’t seen that man’s face, so it couldn’t be that. She strained to remember, eating her ice cream too fast and freezing the roof of her mouth. She forgot her doubts in her huffing attempts at thawing herself out.

“I have a cure for that, but I ain’t so bold to do it,” Carl said.

“What, what?”

Carl leaned toward her and kissed her on the mouth. Ginny pulled back, but he said in almost a whisper, “Trust me,” and she let herself be kissed, feeling his warm breath melt the glacier she’d formed. It was not a kiss to stir the passions or quicken the blood, just a breath exchanged, as if she’d been drowning. Still, it had been a kiss and could not be called anything else.

“You mustn’t do that again, Carl,” Ginny said, not certain that she meant it, but feeling that a good girl should say it, a factory girl, a girl whom a man like Mike might some day come for should say it.

“Of course not. Only when yer tonsils are froze.”

Ginny smiled back and licked at a dribble of ice cream escaping her cone. “It did work though,” she admitted. “I’m all thawed out. Thanks.”

Ginny let Carl walk her all the way to her door, a thing she’d not have done if she’d taken the time to consider it. After they’d said their good-byes, Ginny went up the dark stairs to her room, but hesitated before opening the door. She tiptoed back down and opened the door a crack, peeking out at the dark street. The road and sidewalks were almost deserted, save for the glow of a cigarette in a doorway on the other side. Ginny closed the door and locked it.