2

       To wear with the shorter skirts, there were light tan "tights" which looked like stockings with underwear. Darlene had pinned a note on these saying, "No more girdles!" Giving me dictation was going to be a whole new experience for Bradley.
       At the bottom of the box, Darlene had packed the most groovy thing of all: A pair of white go-go boots! I loved those boots! I tried them on and danced around in front of my full-length mirror, feeling happy and a little naughty. If anyone had seen me, they'd have thought I was nuts.
       I might have to refrain from wearing the boots to the office, though Ryan Modeling was cool. Maybe one day if I felt particularly daring . . ..
       "Hey there, Miss Sweet Face, don't you look . . . different this morning," called Harry, the wino who slept across the street behind St. Vincent Ferrer Catholic High School. In the almost two months I'd lived in New York City, I had never been able to figure out why Harry didn't clean up, get a job and a decent place to live. But Harry had proved himself a friend, and I dashed over to see him, digging in my purse for quarters.
       "Good morning, Harry. Do you like my new look?" I twirled around for his inspection. I had on a doubleknit, A-line dress with three-quarter length sleeves. Diagonal hot pink, white and black stripes made up the body of the dress, which ended about four inches above my knees.

3

       Harry scratched his gray hair. Then he stroked his scraggly beard. "Kinda short, isn't it? I mean for a nice girl like you."
       I laughed and handed him two quarters. "No, silly. This is the new look from London. You know, in England where The Beatles come from."
       "Bugs?" Harry said, looking around, confusion making his wildly bristling eyebrows come together.
       "Oh, Harry, you make me sad that you don't even know who The Beatles are. They were on the Ed Sullivan show in February, singing and making every girl fall in love with them. You should get into the world again. I'll help you," I assured him.
       He began to move away, "Bebe, I like my world. Takes away the pain. Thanks for the dough."
       I walked down to Lexington Avenue, putting Harry's troubles aside for the time being. Now that I had finally mastered the subway, I made my way to the nearest station and dashed down the steps. I smiled as several people turned to look at me in my cool dress.
       I rode the train down to 199 Lafayette Street where Ryan Modeling, second only to Ford Modeling, had offices on the seventeenth floor. On the eighteenth floor, we had a studio for photo shoots, making commercials, and we leased space for a live TV show.
       Riding along with the occasional jolt, I thought back over the past few days of my new job.

4

       Bradley and I had taken a tour of our new quarters. The agency's décor was the height of modern, even in the typing pool, where brand new Selectras were on every desk. The supervisor, Mrs. Seeds, assured me that I could call her if I needed any help with typing or covering the phones during lunch.
       On the eighteenth floor, we looked at three large shooting areas separated by steel walls, the makeup room, dressing areas, a holding area for clothing sent over from stores or clients, and then we met Gina Simmons, the woman responsible for dealing directly with the models. A former model herself, now a highly maintained woman in her forties, Gina looked at us with hard eyes. She had portfolios spread out on her desk and replied to Bradley's introduction with a chilly, "I look forward to working with you."
       We had moved over to the leased space.
       Bradley said to me, "I've heard that Debbie Ann's a perfectionist, gossipy and can be opinionated, but she's had a rough life."
       "Oh?"
       "Her husband committed suicide, leaving her with a boy just out of high school."
       "How terrible," I said shocked.
       "It gets worse. Her son left her not long after that to join the army and fight in Korea. Later, she learned he was killed there," Bradley said.

5

       "A double tragedy."
       Bradley nodded. "I'm only telling you this so that you'll be patient with Debbie Ann."
       "I promise I will. I watched her show last Friday at four o'clock. I'm eager for an introduction."
       Inspired by Julia Child's successful program on cooking, Debbie Ann aired Fun In The Kitchen with Debbie Ann.
       Debbie Ann Allard was a well groomed woman in her fifties with brown hair (dyed?) swept back from her forehead and ending beneath her ears in rows of flipped up tight curls. She wore a shirtwaist dress and an apron with colorful flowers on it. With natural charm, a constant smile, and non-stop chit-chat (I didn't know how she managed all three) she demonstrated how women could whip up easy, delicious meals that were much less complicated than Julia Child's.
       Advertised as Every Homemaker's Friend, Debbie Ann began each show promising that the viewer could follow along and have a scrumptious meal waiting for her husband when he came home from work. A grocery list for the following week's dishes was posted on Friday afternoons before the show started, so that women could shop for upcoming recipes.
       I was amazed seeing "the kitchen" set.

6

       Debbie Ann's set featured a modern kitchen complete with a new Philco Galaxie Range in turquoise. The "walls" were covered in a cheerful wallpaper of turquoise and orange stripes with small yellow flowers between the lines. A new Presto mixer, Deluxe Toaster, a set of orange Tupperware, and a copper planter with artificial buttercups gave the set a homey feel.
       It was about two in the afternoon, and Every Homemaker's Friend scurried about, checking off items for the day's show on Deviled Chicken. A harried-looking girl I thought must be her assistant helped.
       Debbie Ann saw us and, as fast as a rocket, she came shooting over, all smiles and charming greetings.
       "Did I mention, Mr. Williams, that Fun In The Kitchen with Debbie Ann has consistently drawn a wide audience from the day we first went on air? I remember it well," Debbie Ann said in a nostalgic, sweet voice, one hand over her pointy bosom, not giving Bradley a second to speak. "I showed women how to make Crab Meat Norfolk with Harris's Crab Meat. For only ten cents postage and a label from any Harris can, one could get an adorable re-usable sea shell for baking and serving crab dishes. Women loved the idea!

7

       "After that first show aired, I received hundreds of grateful letters from housewives. In fact, while I don't want to seem immodest, my fan mail has grown into the thousands. Today's busy homemaker needs all the help she can get. I'm so proud to assist them," Debbie Ann finished, finally out of breath.
       Bradley smiled looking as if he wished Debbie Ann didn't chatter so. "I know you are, Debbie Ann. The show is very popular according to the figures I've seen. Advertisers love it."
       "I'm so glad. Without the trials of long hours in the kitchen, a woman has time to dress and look her best for her man. My true aim, you see, is to help the ordinary woman please her husband when he comes home from the office."
       I felt sorry for Debbie Ann. Clearly she was trying to please the husbands of New York City, because she'd failed to please her own and he'd committed suicide.
       Jolting to a stop, the train I rode picked up more passengers. I couldn't wait to get to Bradley, er, work. I thought with pleasure of the position of my Danish Modern desk and credenza in our new office. The placement of the funky furniture at Ryan gave me a direct view into Bradley's spacious executive suite. He'd had his furniture from our stint at Rip-City Records moved here: Arts and Crafts desk and seating arrangement, lovely rugs done in blue, cream and rust, and his bar, hidden away in a cabinet.

8

       When we'd moved in on Monday, I couldn't stop thinking grinning. My desk offered a complete panorama of Bradley's gorgeous self, offering me many opportunities for covert visual delight. All I had to do was lift my gaze from whatever I was typing on my Selectra, and there he'd be at his desk, working hard, his St. Louis Cardinals mug waiting to be filled with fresh coffee.
       And he could see me, too. My desk didn't have a back, so my legs were fully visible as I sat there, oh so innocently trying to drive him insane with desire.
       While that was terrific, this arrangement also afforded me a front row seat at something I didn't want to see: The Problem.
       The train stopped, cutting off any further musings. I ran up the subway steps and hurried to Ryan. Arriving breathless in the office, I put my purse in my credenza, and immediately began to brew coffee. Bradley was in his office, wearing a medium blue suit with a hint of iridescence. My favorite. Of course, there was also his navy suit, his gray one, and his black one . . . Ooops! Here was my chance to show off my dress.
       Not exactly posing, but close to it, I stood in Bradley's doorway, smiling. "Good morning, Mr. Williams."
       Bradley looked up from his newspaper. His gaze slid slowly down the dress to my legs, where it lingered, before he raised his eyes to mine.

9

       I barely held back a giggle. It seemed he was concentrating on what was right in front of him, ready for the taking--after we were pronounced man and wife of course.
       In an instant, though, his normal unflappable demeanor was back in place. One thing about Bradley: He was always cool.
       "Coffee, I need coffee, kid."
       "I have a pot brewing. It'll be ready in a minute," I replied cheerfully, though I wished he'd stop calling me by that stupid nickname.
       Couldn't he see I wasn't a "kid?" Okay, maybe there was about eight or nine years difference between us. So what? Lots of women married slightly older men. Mama told me it was because men didn't mature as fast as women.
       "You're ever efficient, Miss Bennett," he said, giving me a wide smile that made me completely forgive him for the "kid" remark.
       "Thank you, Mr. Williams," I said, reeling from that smile.
       "By the way, Miss Bennett, your title here at Ryan Modeling is executive secretary," he told me. "I'm the boss, and I feel you've earned the promotion."
       My heart filled with pride. The training I'd received at Charlotte Marie's Secretarial School, my jobs back home in Richmond, and my hard work at Rip-City Records had paid off! "Thank you, Mr. Williams. I'm very pleased."
       "I am too," he said. "You're an excellent secretary. One I wouldn't want to lose for any reason."

10

       "I'll get your coffee now." I walked out of his office floating on a cloud. A bonus, an increase in pay, his appreciation of my legs, and now the title of executive secretary! Just wait until I told Darlene--especially that remark about not wanting to lose me!
       My parents would be so proud. I wouldn't tell them the part about my legs. Maybe now Daddy would get off my back about living in the Big Bad City.
       At lunchtime, humming One Fine Day by the Chiffons as I went about my work the elevator dinged, and the person who got off had me crashing back to earth.
       The Problem arrived in a low-cut, orange sherbet-colored mini-dress a good two inches shorter than mine. Without a glance at me, she swept directly into Bradley's office as if she owned the place.
       Struggling not to let her bug me, I sat at my desk with its sunny yellow blotter, and tried to study the memo I had been typing for Debbie Ann's weekly grocery bill.
       It was useless. I looked at the woman in the mini-dress. She was the one giving me nightmares: Suzie Wexford, the agency's top model, a star whose every new photo shoot was eagerly anticipated by the whole country.
       "Bradley, darling, it's utterly lovely and so feminine. How did you know Tiffany's is my favorite little shop?" exclaimed Suzie, loud enough for me to hear. She was the stunning blonde model Bradley had taken out every night this week, breaking his own rule of only dating a girl once.

11

       That's what really had me scared, worried to the point that I was grinding my teeth in my sleep. Surely, Bradley was not ready to give up his bachelorhood, his key to the Playboy club, his nights out with a string of blondes, his man-about-town reputation. Surely he wasn't prepared to settle down, no less with a model.
       When he decided to marry, I was supposed to be the pure girl he turned to with Tiffany's engagement ring. And my dreams were not groundless. A few weeks ago Bradley and I had shared a flaming hot kiss, even though he apologized for it, and said there could be no office romances in his life. Suzie was repped by Ryan, but I guessed he didn't consider her an employee.
       "Tiffany's is the only jewelry store for someone as exquisite as you, honey," came Bradley's low-timbered voice. "Here, let me put it around your delicate wrist."
       Suzie pressed her tall, skinny, orange-clad body against Bradley. From the side, she looked like a creamsicle. She held out her right wrist. Bradley kissed her temple, then focused on clasping the gold bracelet on her like a mark of possession.
       I sat with my right index finger pressed down hard on the "m" key on my Selectra. Little "m"s for murder--Ooops! I meant little "m"s for Bradley and my marriage--ran across the paper.
       Gossip about the new boss and his preference for the famous model had flown around the office since Tuesday. Apparently, Suzie had dropped a word here and there about how "taken" she was with Bradley. Suzie's frequent trips to Bradley's office--sometimes with the door shut!--confirmed their relationship.

12

       While I had unpacked a box of file folders earlier, Nellie, Debbie Ann's mousy young assistant, had stopped by my desk. About my age, Nellie was plump and had medium brown hair in need of a good cut. She wore glasses, but still squinted.
       Nellie gabbed about famous celebrities before gossiping about Bradley and Suzie. I'd heard all the details of a candlelit dinner at the 21 Club (Bradley's fav) Monday night, a Broadway play Tuesday night, dinner at the Rainbow Room followed by a stroll around Rockefeller Center last night.
       I had ended up with a knot in my stomach.
       Now, here was Bradley handing Suzie an expensive bracelet.
       How Suzie had managed to twirl him around her manicured pinky with seemingly little effort was a mystery. I'd give up all my Beatles pictures and records to find out how she did it.
       I reminded myself that Bradley was too intelligent to spend his life with a model whose looks would fade and who, most likely, had no conversation or morals.
       Suddenly it hit me that they were talking about Tiffany's. I took a deep, frustrated breath. Tiffany's was my jewelry store, had been ever since I saw Breakfast at Tiffany's back home in Richmond. The movie had played a big part in my desire to move to the city of my dreams.
       In fact, one of my dreams was to have breakfast in front of the exclusive store with its blazing, glittering, perfect diamonds displayed in the heart-shaped window. Diamonds that made a girl dream of the man she loved.

13

       I guess you could say I fell in love with Bradley at first sight, though since then that love had grown, as I'd come to know him. He had interviewed me for the position of secretary after he had run through half a dozen other secretaries in the previous months. I couldn't figure out at first why he'd had so many. After working with Bradley for a while, I thought I understood. They all wanted him, his sexy build, his dirty blond hair, his full lips, and the icing on a delicious cake: his incredible blue eyes.
       Apparently Bradley had gotten in trouble for dallying with them. Then he had hired me. The Kid.
Darlene had left me a copy of Helen Gurley Brown's Sex And The Single Girl. Wide-eyed, I'd read the book, but nothing in it had changed my views. I wanted Bradley for keeps, and I wouldn't get him if he thought I was easy.
       Bradley came out of his office, Suzie in tow.
       "Miss Bennett, have you met Ryan's top model, Suzie Wexford?"
       Be nice, I told myself. "Why, no, Mr. Williams, I don't believe we've been formally introduced."
       "Suzie, this is Miss Bennett, my secretary-er, my executive secretary, I should say," he said, smiling at me.
       I smiled back, then reluctantly turned to Suzie and held out my right hand.