Chapter Seven

Monday morning rolled around, and Norma couldn’t contain the adrenaline that rushed through her body as she waited in the back of her taxi ride to the Daily. The whole time sitting in the cold motorcar, she caressed the rogue pearl she’d found. She needed to show it to Mr. Chapel. She needed to prove to him she was right. Why hadn’t she shown him the evidence that night? Too much had clouded her judgment. Seeing him. Being in his arms. He pulverized her defenses, but she couldn’t let him do it again. Shoving the pearl in her coat pocket, she thought about how she would convince him to let her cover the story as a crime reporter.

One foot in front of the other, she entered the Daily. The press room was buzzing as usual. Reporters ran around like chickens with their heads cut off, dashing in and out of the grand hall into the elevator. Deadlines were tight, yet the all-male staff seemed to handle the pressure well. Norma moved into the interior of the perfect square of metal desks, the heavy smack of Woodstock typewriter typebars and cartridge release levers went off constantly. The jingle of the reverberating bells startled her—she could have easily jumped out of her skin. Luckily, she had one task to accomplish—besides show Mr. Chapel the pearl—and that was to report the weather, which had been the same for the last month.

Norma strode to her desk as controlled as she could and put her coat over the back of the stiff chair. Ingrid flounced in behind her, decked out in a structured skirt suit with a short pearl necklace decorating her slim neck. A smile stretched across her face as if she awoke on a cotton candy cloud with Valentino himself feeding her grapes. This annoyed Norma.

“Good morning, doll face.” Ingrid threw her coat over the back of her chair. She fell hard in the seat, immediately crossing her legs, the hem of her silk skirt rising over her delicate knee. Her wingtip burgundy pumps shined under the light as she swung the hinge at her knee.

“Morning.” Norma sat as well, rethinking her old-fashioned wool jacket and long skirt.

Ingrid’s eyes flickered. “You’re in a mood.”

Norma loosened up her face. “Sorry…I just have some things on my mind.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “That’s our Norma Hill.”

That wasn’t the first time someone accused her of thinking too much. If she wasn’t thinking, then she was acting, and acting without thinking wasn’t smart. If she’d acted on her impulse to kiss Mr. Chapel, she’d be in a heap of trouble.

Norma’s gaze shifted to her interweaving fingers laying on top of the round metal keys of her typewriter. “I have to talk to you about Friday.”

Ingrid’s narrowed eyes widened, and her smile deflated. “What about Friday?”

“It’s about your date, Ralph.” Norma’s gaze lifted to Ingrid who hung on her every word.

“Isn’t he a dream?” She found her smile again.

“No,” Norma began carefully, “he was a…dread.”

Ingrid’s face fell but perked up again just as quick. “How do you mean?”

With a thudding heart, Norma glanced over to the printing press room, watching Mr. Chapel walk in with grace. His large body glided over the tiled floor.

He spoke to the typesetters with such authority. His blank eyes slowly shifted around the room, though the wide spread of his straight shoulders dared someone to defy him.

Her heart stopped completely when he turned his glance her way. His eyes lit like emeralds in the sunlight, and his lips curved in a slight smile for the briefest moment. And just as fast, he was Mr. Chapel, the man whose hard exterior was difficult to penetrate. He pivoted on his heels and returned to his office.

“Norma?” Ingrid leaned over and tapped Norma’s desk.

She blinked her eyes, trying her best to remain uneffected. “Um…sorry.”

“What about Ralph?”

Norma cleared her throat; she’d gone hoarse all of a sudden. “Ralph is a dreadful person.”

“Why? What did he do?”

“He had the gall to make a pass at me,” Norma said, though without the zeal she’d hoped for.

Ingrid shrugged. “That’s just Ralph. He likes pretty women, but he’s harmless.”

Norma gasped. What woman would want her man to make a pass at another woman—or save another woman from a dreadful womanizer? “He caused a terrible scene. He…kissed me.”

“He what?” Ingrid’s eyebrows knitted together under her cloche hat.

“Yes. He stole a kiss from me.” And Mr. Chapel saved me from him. Ingrid didn’t need to know that.

Ingrid looked down at her feet which had become motionless beneath her chair. “I don’t remember a thing of that night.”

“You passed out before we arrived at…” Norma lowered her voice. “The Jazzy Cat.”

Ingrid lifted her empty eyes. Apparently Ingrid wasn’t good with unpleasantries. “Ralph has the right connections.”

“Ralph isn’t the only man with connections.” Norma wished she wasn’t the bearer of bad news.

“Ralph had the Big Four’s stamp of approval.” Ingrid shrugged her shoulders.

The “Big Four” was a tight group of privileged “it” girls in Chicago and had been married off to well-connected and wealthy men. Ingrid, who tried desperately to run with that group of girls, didn’t have a sincere suitor in sight.

“Really, Ingrid, you’ve got to look beyond the dough,” Norma said.

“No bohunks or rubes for me, doll face.” Ingrid licked her lips, wetting the matte brick-red lipstick. “I’m on an egg hunt.”

“You and every other deb in Chicago…but Ralph? He’s a sap.”

“A keen sap.” Ingrid grinned. She completely ignored what Norma said.

“A trifling sap whose good looks are terribly wasted on him. Really, Ingrid, he’s an odd bird.”

Ingrid’s mouth hardened into a straight line, eyes glazed over. Norma didn’t think she’d ever seen her mouth do that in all the years she’d known her. She sat back against the hard chair.

“Well, Too-Dry-Two-Shoes, not everyone can attract her wealthy, gorgeous boss. Some of us actually have to kiss a few frogs before we find our prince.” Ingrid’s eyes were cold with a voice to match.

Norma stilled at the harshness of Ingrid’s tone. The words stunned her. How could Ingrid think something so ridiculous? Did others in the office think it too? Norma couldn’t immediately respond, heart pounding. Could she possibly attract someone like Mr. Chapel? No. She’d have to dismiss that notion fast. Nothing was more ridiculous and dangerous.

Ingrid looked away, chin trembling. Her forehead creased, and her shoulders sagged after moments of silence. “I’m sorry, Norma. I-I didn’t mean that. That was a terrible thing for me to say.” Her navy eyes pleaded as they latched on to Norma’s again. “Will you forgive me?”

“Of course…but…you know that’s absurd, right?” Norma’s voice was scarcely above a whisper.

Ingrid shrugged. Her face lit up, the color seeping back into her face. “I think Mr. Chapel has his eye on you, and I know you have your eye on him.” She winked and squeezed Norma’s arm before she jumped up and strode out of the press room.

No way.

Norma stared at the back of Ingrid until she was lost in the vast hall way. Mr. Chapel has his eye on me? Her mind rolled around the notion of it being true. And it didn’t take long before she was daydreaming about his touch again. His eyes were so intense; even as she thought about it, she had to close her eyes a moment to get centered. How different would their realities be if she had kissed him Friday? Would she have to continuously prove she was capable in the workplace? And other things, too.

But he turned her off just as fast as he turned her on.

She was conflicted. How could she have such rivaling thoughts of a man who she despised for his unfair practices in the workplace, but also a man who made her weak in the knees? He refused to see her as an equal but put himself in harm’s way to save her from the likes of Ralph. Why was he so gracious then when at the Daily he clearly enjoyed exercising his authority over her? He’d saved her, for the good Lord’s sake!

No one had ever saved her. Her father didn’t even save her when she was ten years old and found a spider in her doll house. No. He’d left her to trap and get rid of the spider by herself. A “lesson in self-preservation” her father had said. Because of that, she captured the spider and ultimately freed it. It probably was the best thing she had learned from Charles Hill. Come to your own rescue because no one else will, he had said to her. Mr. Chapel was a shrewd paper man—everyone knew it. How could he play her knight, too?

She looked down at her hands, which were knotted up again. How can I convince Mr. Chapel to let me cover the story? She pressed a palm to her pocket, the small budge of the pearl safely inside. Slowly, she found the courage to approach Mr. Chapel’s office.