I help you?” she asked in a crisp, but friendly, voice. It was the perfect tone for a secretary to adopt in my humble opinion, and already I admired her.
She looked the perfect secretary, too. Her dark hair was modestly shingled and shone in the electrical lighting. She wore a sober, lightweight gray suit and dark-rimmed spectacles. Her brown eyes were quite pretty behind the glasses, but her overall attractiveness did not diminish her businesslike appearance. Anyone entering Mr. Carstairs’s outer office would instantly know this was a professional woman working for a professional man. Indeed, she personified the image I strove to achieve. In fact, since I had no role models of my own to follow, working outside the home being anathema to my family, I wondered if perhaps I hadn’t just found a model in this woman.
I walked up to her desk, extending my hand. “How do you do? I’m Mercy Allcutt, and I work in number three-oh-three, for Mr. Ernest Templeton. Mr. Templeton is a private investigator.”
She shook my hand warmly. “It’s so nice to meet you, Miss Allcutt. My name is Sylvia Dunstable.”
We remained smiling at each other for a second or two, I on my feet, she on her chair, before she said, “Won’t you be seated, Miss Allcutt? I’m happy to meet another tenant here.”
“Thank you.” I took the proffered seat, pausing only to remove from it a couple of files. I was terribly impressed. Ernie and I had a couple of files, too, and I kept them in pristine order, but I doubt they were as interesting as these. Even if they were, Miss Sylvia Dunstable had ever so many more of them to work with than did I. Ernie’s business wasn’t exactly booming. “I’m so glad the Figueroa Building seems to be attracting more people.”
“Yes,” she said. “I must admit I was rather surprised when Mr. Carstairs said we were moving in here, but the building is ever so much nicer than when I saw it last.”
“Indeed it is. We strive to improve our image all the time.”
She looked at me with lifted eyebrows, and I think I blushed.
“I mean the management is taking much better care of the business than it once did.”
“I see. Well, the management seems to have done a smashing job so far. Mr. Carstairs was perfectly correct to move here. The rent is lower than it is in some more fashionable places, and it’s certainly not what you might call fancy, but that’s a good thing in my opinion, since Mr. Carstairs’s clients prefer to maintain a degree of anonymity that can be difficult to achieve in some parts of the city.”
“My, yes,” I said, thinking it interesting that Ernie’s clients weren’t the only ones who didn’t want the world nosing into their business. It crossed my mind that perhaps Ernie had selected this building for that same reason, but that notion only lasted a second. The low rent was what had attracted Ernie; I was certain of it.
We smiled at each other again.
“Your work must be so interesting,” I said, hoping to hear all about the stars, which was silly, really, since I lived with Harvey Nash and saw picture people all the time. But when those picture folks were at Harvey’s house, they just seemed normal. I guess I wanted to think that movie stars were different from the rest of us, even though I knew they weren’t. I swear, Los Angeles has a lot to answer for. Imagine the whole world having its perception warped like that!
“It’s not interesting very often,” she said with a laugh.
I’d actually read about Mr. Carstairs in the newspaper a time or two. He seemed to be establishing himself as an attorney to the people in the motion-picture industry. I’d seen his name in connection with Mr. Thomas MacCready, a fellow who’d acted in a couple of cowboy pictures, and Miss Jacqueline Lloyd,
She looked the perfect secretary, too. Her dark hair was modestly shingled and shone in the electrical lighting. She wore a sober, lightweight gray suit and dark-rimmed spectacles. Her brown eyes were quite pretty behind the glasses, but her overall attractiveness did not diminish her businesslike appearance. Anyone entering Mr. Carstairs’s outer office would instantly know this was a professional woman working for a professional man. Indeed, she personified the image I strove to achieve. In fact, since I had no role models of my own to follow, working outside the home being anathema to my family, I wondered if perhaps I hadn’t just found a model in this woman.
I walked up to her desk, extending my hand. “How do you do? I’m Mercy Allcutt, and I work in number three-oh-three, for Mr. Ernest Templeton. Mr. Templeton is a private investigator.”
She shook my hand warmly. “It’s so nice to meet you, Miss Allcutt. My name is Sylvia Dunstable.”
We remained smiling at each other for a second or two, I on my feet, she on her chair, before she said, “Won’t you be seated, Miss Allcutt? I’m happy to meet another tenant here.”
“Thank you.” I took the proffered seat, pausing only to remove from it a couple of files. I was terribly impressed. Ernie and I had a couple of files, too, and I kept them in pristine order, but I doubt they were as interesting as these. Even if they were, Miss Sylvia Dunstable had ever so many more of them to work with than did I. Ernie’s business wasn’t exactly booming. “I’m so glad the Figueroa Building seems to be attracting more people.”
“Yes,” she said. “I must admit I was rather surprised when Mr. Carstairs said we were moving in here, but the building is ever so much nicer than when I saw it last.”
“Indeed it is. We strive to improve our image all the time.”
She looked at me with lifted eyebrows, and I think I blushed.
“I mean the management is taking much better care of the business than it once did.”
“I see. Well, the management seems to have done a smashing job so far. Mr. Carstairs was perfectly correct to move here. The rent is lower than it is in some more fashionable places, and it’s certainly not what you might call fancy, but that’s a good thing in my opinion, since Mr. Carstairs’s clients prefer to maintain a degree of anonymity that can be difficult to achieve in some parts of the city.”
“My, yes,” I said, thinking it interesting that Ernie’s clients weren’t the only ones who didn’t want the world nosing into their business. It crossed my mind that perhaps Ernie had selected this building for that same reason, but that notion only lasted a second. The low rent was what had attracted Ernie; I was certain of it.
We smiled at each other again.
“Your work must be so interesting,” I said, hoping to hear all about the stars, which was silly, really, since I lived with Harvey Nash and saw picture people all the time. But when those picture folks were at Harvey’s house, they just seemed normal. I guess I wanted to think that movie stars were different from the rest of us, even though I knew they weren’t. I swear, Los Angeles has a lot to answer for. Imagine the whole world having its perception warped like that!
“It’s not interesting very often,” she said with a laugh.
I’d actually read about Mr. Carstairs in the newspaper a time or two. He seemed to be establishing himself as an attorney to the people in the motion-picture industry. I’d seen his name in connection with Mr. Thomas MacCready, a fellow who’d acted in a couple of cowboy pictures, and Miss Jacqueline Lloyd,
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