YES/NO (1943)
He kissed her like he was trying to breathe the very air out of her. At least that’s how she thought of it afterwards; in the moment, she couldn’t think sensibly. It had been a long time since she’d been kissed like that. If ever.
With reckless abandon, she thought, smiling to herself. He kisses me with reckless abandon.
Julie’s life had very little abandon in it, reckless or otherwise. The war was on, which meant that everyone stayed buckled down. No room for frivolity. The news was grim, and the pleasant things in life were in short supply. Even the necessary things, such as meat, stockings, rubber. Fuel. Eligible young men.
Julie did without, uncomplainingly. She was a girl of nearly thirty, and had always been sensible, even before the war. When none of the boys she liked had proposed marriage after high school, she had enrolled in a business course at the junior college: typing, filing, shorthand. And when none of the boys in junior college had proposed either, she had taken a job with an insurance company.
All of the young men at her company had fiancées, and then wives. It was not very long before Julie stopped thinking about marriage and children. For herself, anyway. Her brother’s wife had given him two beautiful little darlings, and Julie was happy to be their doting aunt.
She took two small rooms downtown, closer to her job, when her parents had gently suggested that they were thinking of selling their big house and moving somewhere warmer, and didn’t she want to be with other young people anyway?
Then she surprised herself by actually enjoying her job. She had worked more than seven years for the same company, slowly rising from the typing pool, to junior supervisor, to becoming senior supervisor of all the office girls. The girls liked her, and recommended the company to their friends. In addition, she’d been there longer than many of the young salesmen and account managers. Mr. Robertson, president of the company, sometimes joked that she knew his job better than he did. “Julie, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said, which made her proud, and a little sad.
When the war came, all of the young men enlisted, of course. The company tightened its belt, and the older men took on extra work. The need for insurance, alas, did not diminish during wartime; quite the opposite. A few of the younger office girls came to Julie, sounding her out about the idea of trying out sales. “Just for now, until the men come back, of course,” Ruby, their spokesman, had said. But the eager light in her eyes spoke of a far greater ambition, and something else behind it.
Julie had tried to hide her shock. She didn’t like to say no, and she didn’t like to appear stodgy and schoolmarm-ish. But it was only common sense that the insurance-buying public would not have confidence in a girl salesman. Steelworkers and riveters were one thing; insurance was quite another. And Ruby would have known that, if she’d been only a little older. “I’m sorry,” Julie had said to her. “I cannot support that.”
Then Mr. Robertson happened upon Ruby and one of the married salesmen in the office late one evening, in a compromising position. Naturally, he fired her on the spot, and spoke very severely to the man.
The resultant exodus of office girls, supporters of the hapless Ruby, was no less disappointing for its having been anticipated. “It’s all right, Julie,” Mr. Robertson told her. “We’ll muddle through somehow.”
She worked longer hours, as did everyone else. There was really nothing else to do but work. And she took pride in her labors. It was an important service the company provided. Solace in times of trouble. A helping hand.
Mr. Robertson took on a new man early in 1943. He’d been honorably discharged from the army after being wounded in Europe. “I don’t know what’s the matter with him, though, he looks perfectly all right to me,” he told Julie.
“It’s wonderful that we’ll be getting more help,” she said, and she meant it.
Irving Brown did indeed appear healthy. He was missing no limbs; he didn’t even walk with a limp. He had no visible scars, two blue eyes, and a fine head of thick sandy-brown hair. Of course Julie could not ask him about his war experience. He would talk if he wanted to. Meanwhile, there was much to be done.
She had the charge of getting him settled in his office, explaining to him how the typing pool assignment system worked, introducing him around, scavenging for what little scraps of office supplies could be had. He was gracious and kind to her, thanking her for her help at every opportunity.
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Brown,” she said, at the end of the first week. “Really, there’s no need to keep thanking me.”
“Please, call me Irv,” he said, looking at her and smiling. She noticed then that his eyes were a rather striking shade of bright blue, then quickly looked away, chiding herself for such foolishness. She had already noticed the golden band he wore on his left hand, and she had seen the framed picture of his pretty little wife, which he had placed on the corner of his desk, beside his telephone.