For starters, I feel like a fool. Did I truly waltz in here with Serene, believing I would get a job? In my inexperienced mind, it was that simple. It was far more complicated than I imagined. When Serene and I walked into the building earlier, I was so focused on what I would say to Asa when I reached his office, I merely gave the ladies on the first floor a passing glance. Standing before them now, I take them in with wide eyes. To my left and right, switchboard units cover the walls as well as desks with an array of switches extending to the operator. All the ladies sit in what appear to be uncomfortable stools. The women wear headsets, and the way they swiftly move the cords from one place to the other is intimidating. I watch their mouths move, but the room maintains a jarring quietness.
I’m beginning to doubt myself again. Can I do this?
Étienne and Serene stand in the hallway. Serene leans against the wall, while my brother paces in front of her as though he’s been waiting for me for hours. Once Étienne spots me and Asa, he strides over, just as angry as he was when he left Asa’s office. “Are you finished?”
“No, I wanted to show her around the first floor and introduce her to the floor supervisor,” Asa replies.
“Does that mean she’s hired?” Étienne asks.
“I did not say that,” Asa replies smoothly.
Serene places a hand on my brother’s arm. “Let him show her around. We can wait outside.” Étienne looks at his wife as though the suggestion is ludicrous. “Nat’s a grown woman. She can handle it.”
At that, Étienne grunts and glances at me. Finally, he relents and sighs. “You heard Serene. We’ll be outside waitin’ for you.”
I watch as Serene has to nearly push Étienne out of the front door. Once they’re gone, I turn to Asa, and with my fingers linked in front of me, I wait for what comes next.
Asa scans the room with a sharp eye. From the set of his shoulders, I can tell this is where he feels most comfortable. Everyone in the room knows it too. The operators move a bit faster, and the ladies that studiously watch them pace the floor with quicker strides.
“Can you do this, Nat?” Asa asks, never taking his eyes off the room.
I swallow loudly, not bothering to look at the ladies. It will simply make me question myself. “Yes.”
Asa turns to me and arches a brow. Doubt lingers in his brown eyes. He crosses his arms and faces the room, his shoulder touching mine. “I’m callin’ over one of my floor managers, Nat. Do not give her a reason to question you. Be confident and quick with your answers. Show her you are the girl for the job.”
I didn’t expect Asa to give me advice or to say such encouraging words. Before I can say thank you, Asa crooks his finger and a stern woman standing on the opposite side of the room immediately strides toward us. As she does, her eyes scan the telephone operators as though she’s a teacher administering a test. With her hair severely pulled back in a bun, an unsmiling face, and bland clothes, she looks more like a mortician than anything else.
The floor manager stands before us, with a clipboard in hand, and severely regards me. She reminds me of my grandma Livingston.
“I would like you to meet Ms. Louise West. She is the chief operator and looks over the ladies workin’ on the floor.”
“Hello,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you.”
The only acknowledgment I get from Louise is a slight dip of her head.
“Speak,” she demands.
I veer back, slightly taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“Speak slowly and carefully for me.”
I look at Asa. Has this woman gone mad? He remains there, with his hands crossed in front of him, as though this is a perfectly normal inquiry.
Reluctantly, I turn my attention back to Louise and fulfill her unusual request. “My name is Nathalie Claiborne.”
Several seconds go by before she nods. “Very well. No need for elocution training, but your dialect is prominent.”
“This is Charleston. Everyone’s dialect is prominent,” Asa murmurs under his breath. Even so, Louise still manages to hear him.
She resumes looking at her clipboard, jotting things down that I’m certain are related to me. What could she possibly have to say?
I understand I have no experience. Or have never worked for that matter, but Louise is inspecting me as though I’m a vagabond, begging for food. The last time someone regarded me in such a manner was in Savannah. I never wanted to be looked at that way again.
Louise makes a circle around me. Her thorough inspection doesn’t stop for one second. “You’re not too tall. That’s good.” She writes something and then looks at me for a fleeting second. “Of course, we’ll need your exact height.”
“We will?” I blurt.
Immediately, Louise looks perturbed by my question. “Yes, we will. Our ladies cannot be under five feet tall.”
My word. That is a bit excessive. I keep my lips closed and nod. It seems like the wise thing to do.
“Extend your arms out.”
I do as she says, and Louise makes another circle around me. “Why is this a requirement?”
“Because your arms need to be long enough to reach the top row of lines. If you struggle to reach the lines, you will be delayed. Delays means less calls answered, and we cannot have that.” She stops in front of me and looks between my arms, then writes something down, appearing less than impressed before she nods. “That will do.”
Before I can even lower my arms to my sides, she fires off her next question, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight?” Somehow my answer comes out as a question.
Louise clucks her tongue. “I would prefer younger. Are you married?”
My mouth opens, preparing to tell her I’m widowed, when Asa says, “No, she isn’t.”
In unison, Louise and I turn to look at him. His tone was brusque, offering no room for argument.
Louise regards the two of us uncertainly, as though maybe she should direct all her questions to Asa instead of me.
“I’m not married,” I confirm.
After a beat of silence, she looks back at her clipboard. Apparently, my answer appeased her.
“There’s a girl who quit on me this morning. Work was not a priority for her, but if it is for you, then the job is yours.”
I cannot believe it.
Very rarely do I set my mind to something and achieve it. But I did it.
I actually did it.
I may not need this job in the way most people do. But it’s deep inside me that’s barren, desperate for support.
“I will make the job my priority,” I say with as much conviction as possible.
Louise is unmoved, as though she has heard these words before. “Minimum wage is fifteen dollars a week. If you work overtime, you will be compensated, but the maximum you can make in one day is four dollars.” She arches a thin brow. “Are you okay with that?”
Fifteen dollars? Only fifteen dollars? Just fifteen minutes on the first floor, watching the women work the switchboards, and I could tell they deserved more than that. I can’t very well say that though. It would only highlight how ignorant and inexperienced I am to the working world. I don’t need Louise looking down on me anymore than she already does.
“Fifteen dollars sounds wonderful,” I reply.