“Oh, stop flirting, Carmichael!” Max swatted at him. “This is Beatrice.”

“Beatrice, welcome to my pub. What can I get you lovely ladies? Your first round is on me.” His merry eyes and rosy cheeks made Beatrice grin back at him as if he were a long-lost uncle.

“I’ll have a stinger. How about you?” Max looked over at Beatrice.

“Me?” Beatrice squeaked. She had never been in a bar before. “Uh, a stinger sounds great.”

To her relief, Carmichael didn’t ask for proof of her age; he just bowed deeply and disappeared back to the bar.

“So, what did you think of your first day?” Max slid into a booth and lit a cigarette.

“It was great.”

“Great? Oh, come on now.”

“Okay. It was pretty dull.” Nothing had happened all day. Ms. Cunningham seemed to have forgotten about her, and none of the men in the offices asked for her help. “I guess I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing yet.”

“Old Cunny will have to assign you to one of the middle men if you want to get busy and keep this job.”

Beatrice flushed at the unflattering nickname Max gave their boss. The mention of losing her job helped maintain her composure.

“The middle men?”

“Yeah, the little guys that work for Bill. The ones in all the offices. No one really knows what they do. They sit in their offices and take calls, and every once in a while they want you to type something. If you want to stay at the bank, you need to find one that likes you and stick with him.”

“Who do you work for?”

“Well, seven years ago when I started, I was working for this mouse of a man named Miner. He would scamper around and stare at me with these little beady eyes. But he got the ax four years ago.” She paused as Carmichael brought over the drinks. The tall fluted glasses were filled to the brim with something pink and fizzy, and each was topped with a cherry. “Come to mama.” Max grinned as she sipped off the top of the glass and popped the cherry in her mouth.

“Thank you,” Beatrice said to Carmichael, and waited until he left to turn back to Max. “So what happened after Miner left?”

“Well, old Cunny tried to get rid of me, but Bill convinced her to keep me on a special assignment, and I’ve been working for Bill ever since.”

“A special assignment?”

“I can’t really discuss it.” Max waved her hand.

“Does he let you call him Bill?” Beatrice debated whether to ask about the assignment. Maxine seemed nice enough, but she couldn’t help but wonder about the cleavage falling out of her tight blouse.

“Oh God, no!” Max laughed. “But what he don’t know can’t hurt him, right?”

Maxine took a deep drag off her cigarette and began to fill Beatrice in on the office gossip. The stern librarian, Francine, was Mr. Thompson’s cousin, and a spinster. One of the heavy ladies was a divorcée. The other was a widow. “The Sisters Grim,” as Max called them, were always together. “They eat together, work together, go to the bathroom together—it’s a little queer, if you ask me,” Max said with a smirk and a wink.

Beatrice nearly spit out her drink. “But I thought you said this was a family business!”

“Well, sure, but what family doesn’t have its secrets?” Max’s eyes twinkled. “So what about you, kid? What’s your story?”

Beatrice turned her eyes to her glass and drank the sweet fizz slowly as she stalled for time. She didn’t know how much she could trust this new friend who loved to gossip. Her glass was suddenly empty, and she was still struggling with what to say.

“Garçon! Another round!” Max called to the bar, and turned her giant, probing eyes back to Beatrice. “So, where are you from?”

“Marietta.” That was an easy one.

“How long have you been in Cleveland?”

“About two years. I came to live with my aunt.” She was careful not to mention Doris’s name, and Max didn’t ask. The lies were becoming so natural to her that Beatrice almost believed them.

Apparently, that was enough information for Max to piece a few things together. She nodded as if she understood what could happen to a girl in a small town that might make her leave.

The next round of drinks came. Max stirred hers and began to chew on the little red straw. Beatrice took a long drink of the sweet stuff and felt her head begin to lighten and drift.

“I’ve lived in Cleveland all my life. I grew up on the west side. My dad was a cop.” Max took another sip and changed the subject. “I think you might do well working for Randy Halloran. The girl that had your job last used to do everything for him, and now he’s a bit lost.”

“You mean the one that had . . . ?” Beatrice pointed to her stomach.

“Yep. I’ll find a way to introduce you. But watch out, kid. That man’s a shark.”

“A shark?”

“Just keep an eye on his hands, especially after long lunches. He’s a bit of a lush.”

“Like a drunk? But won’t he get fired for drinking on the job?”

“Of course not. His father is the vice president of the bank!” Max laughed. “He’s got a job for life.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“What’s fair about anything?” Max’s eyes flickered. “These rich bastards grow up in their east-side mansions, go to their private schools, and never do a hard day’s work in their little privileged lives! The important thing is that if he likes you, your job is safe.”

By the time they left the bar, Beatrice was more than a little dizzy. The cold wind felt good on her warm cheeks. The streets of Cleveland were empty at 8:00 p.m. Not even a taxicab could be found. The two of them made their way to the corner bus stop and sat down on the bench. An empty paper bag blew by and landed in the dirty snow in front of the shelter.

Max lit another cigarette. She gazed down at the bag and then surveyed the empty street. “Man, this town is dead! I would love to live in a real city, like New York or Chicago.”

“Why don’t you?” As far as Beatrice could tell, Max could do anything.

“Oh, someday I’ll leave this dump.” Max stared up at the factory soot in the streetlights.

She waited until Beatrice was safely on the bus. “Are you going to be okay by yourself?” Beatrice asked, looking at her beautiful new friend and then around at the empty sidewalks.

“I told you. I’ve lived here all my life.” Max smiled and sauntered away toward Terminal Tower.

CHAPTER 9

“Beatrice? Can you take a memo?” Mr. Halloran poked his head out of his office after lunch. Max had made good on her offer, and Beatrice had been working for Mr. Halloran on a regular basis for almost two weeks. He met her at the door and led her toward the desk with his hand on the small of her back. It was getting more and more difficult to overlook the way his hands and eyes lingered on her body.

“Something’s different,” he said with a half smile. There was vodka on his breath.

“Hmm? Oh, I have a new blouse.”

Max had taken her shopping the week before. “I’m not looking at your sad, flea-bitten wardrobe for one more minute!” Max had cackled, and swiped Beatrice’s paycheck out of her hand. “We’re going shopping!”

“Shopping? But . . .” Beatrice frowned at her oversized plaid skirt and the run in her panty hose she’d tried so hard to hide. Standing next to Max’s sleek, flared pants and skintight blouse, she looked utterly ridiculous.

“What’s the matter? Doesn’t your aunt let you out of the house?”

Beatrice shrugged. She had been ducking out of work a few minutes early each day to avoid going out again with Max. Her aunt had been furious when she’d come home drunk two weeks before.

“Come on, Bea! You’re a grown woman. You can’t let your aunt run your life.”

“But I don’t have any money for shopping.”