Life at the new office coincided with some changes to the roster of regulars who make up Miss Cousins' life. Back to my usual chores of school, study, art and--ugh--work I was happy to receive a call from The Secretary who informed me that "Miss Cousins wants to see you Tuesday at 10AM VERY SHARP."
The regular shlepper had left town and Miss Cousins was in dire need of some "additional help" on a laissez-faire basis.
I actually skipped a class to attend and truly fretted over what to wear. What would work best? My options were limited to either looking like an artist (not hard) or looking like a student who needed a job (also not hard). I opted for artist and hoped for the best.
I showed up--before 10--and waited quietly while The Secretary read from the stack of newspapers on her desk. She skimmed with precision, silently clipping and circling certain items. From time to time she would exclaim "Ridiculous!" or cluck disapproval over some snippet she had read.
At precisely 10Am the door opened and Miss Cousins walked in. She gave me a welcoming glance of hello and indicated with her eyes that I should follow her.
Tagging along behind AC and The Secretary (who had lost weight; I noticed) I accepted a number of items to carry. Newspapers, magazines, some file folders, a stack of mail and a large satchel. Adelaide issued orders in her signature voice: deep, husky, unmistakable and well-seasoned from smoke and drink.
The new digs were larger, and it was obvious that Miss Cousins had spent some coin on the decor. Her own office had a grouping of low-slung leather chairs surrounding a glass cocktail table. Near the desk four chairs for visitors were arranged in a semi-circle (perfect for her disciples) and I observed--quickly--that these chairs were lower than her own. Supplicants visiting Miss Adelaide Cousins would all look up. All of the art on display was good, and not all of it bore the signature "Adelaide Cousins." The view encompassed a large swath of the city and there was a door on each side wall. The door to the main lobby was always left slightly ajar, exposing the hive of activity outside her private office. The overall effect was one of refined good taste, punched with bright lights from art and furniture.
In silence a contract was placed in front of me. I would have signed any job offer but spent a few moments looking over the "terms" to indicate that I was a man with options. Adelaide sat down behind the desk and rummaged for a lighter. (Smoking laws and regulations be damned; Adelaide always had a burn on the go.)
The job could not have been more loosely defined. I could not tell if I was being recruited to be a personal assistant, a Guy Friday, or a flunky with good table manners.
"I need an assistant," exhaled Miss Cousins. "You need a job."
Eight words sealed my fate. Assistant to Adelaide Cousins, or assistant to The (dreaded) Secretary?
"You'll work directly for me, and I have enough to keep you busy. I can work around your schedule." Adelaide looked at me over her sunglasses, tinted for brightness but capable of hiding the fine lines that now surrounded her eyes and--to be honest--were no longer merely fine.
The first order of the day was my wardrobe, which was deemed "lovely" and The Secretary advanced me a cheque and gave me a business card for a men's clothing store that was way out of my snack-bracket.
How do you get a discount from a top clothier when you can't afford a thing? You accept a job with the store-owner's landlord.
Reported today from the office of (Miss) Adelaide Cousins.
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