Penny shook her head and turned to gaze at the second girl she was considering as a temporary replacement for herself. Marie D’Ghastidi was her name. Although she was a few years older than Penny, there was a superficial resemblance between Marie and her boss.
Like Penny, she was a natural blonde of medium height with a good figure. But in Marie’s case the figure was apt to be underplayed in the tweed suits she was fond of wearing. Her golden hair was likely to be drawn back severely, and the rimless glasses she wore gave her pretty but thin-lipped face a pinched look. There was something almost asexual about Marie’s appearance, and most men responded to her negatively because she seemed to have created this air of asexuality on purpose.
This was related to the reason Penny hesitated to name Marie as her replacement. The reason itself harked back to the fact that Marie had once confided some details of her personal life to Penny. In confidence, she had told Penny that she was married. Despite the fact that this was a direct flouting of company policy, Penny had never betrayed the confidence. Still, the details of that marriage which Marie had related to her made Penny move cautiously in considering Marie as temporary editor of Lovelights.
“The man I married is a perverted sex maniac!” That’s what Marie had told Penny. But as she continued to explain her reasons for saying it, Penny began to doubt the judgment. What it boiled down to was that Marie’s husband wanted sex two or three times a week and Marie found even once a month repugnant. He wanted to experiment with certain mild innovations, and such things struck Marie as “depraved and filthy.” It was at this point that a question from Penny had pinpointed the marital problem as Marie’s, rather than her husband’s. “Of course not!” Marie had answered the question indignantly. “I thought only men—-” she sputtered. “What decent woman would-—-? I mean, I didn’t even know it was physically possible for a woman to have that sort of experience. I’m sure you must be wrong. After all, you’re just a girl and I’m a married woman, and I never felt anything like what you’re talking about!”
Penny hadn’t pressed the point. But she had remembered it. Thinking of it now, in the context of this day and age, she couldn’t help feeling that it would hinder Marie in putting out a magazine which dealt frankly with the love problems of young girls. On the other hand, Penny had to admit, there had never been any sign that Marie’s obvious frigidity interfered with her job on the magazine. So why assume it would if she took over the helm of editorship?
Reserving decision, Penny turned from Marie to consider the third and last of her assistants, a petite and bouncy red-headed girl around her own age. As Irish as corned beef and cabbage; Annie Fitz-Manley was Penny’s personal pet, although Penny tried not to let the preference show. On the business level, Annie was always bubbling over with enthusiasm and it was obvious that there was nothing put on about her enjoyment of her work. As far as Annie’s personal life was concerned, Penny was aware of no problems which might interfere with Annie’s business performance.
Yes, definitely, Annie was a strong contender. Appreciating this, Penny called on the office intercom and asked Annie to have dinner with her that evening. “I’ll probably have to be out most of the morning tomorrow,” she told the young Irish girl, remembering her date to go to the draft board with Balzac Hosenpfeiffer and seizing on it as an excuse to provide a sort of test run for Annie’s executive abilities. “And there are some things I’d like to go over with you so they won’t be held up until afternoon.”
Annie readily accepted the invitation, and Penny hung up. It was about four-thirty by then, and Penny devoted herself to manuscript reading until six o’clock. She just wanted to call the doctor before she and Annie left for dinner.
“Ahh, good news I have for you, Mrs. Candie,” the doctor greeted her.
“Miss Candie,” Penny corrected
“Miss Candie? I see. Well—” His tone changed. “Bad news I’m afraid we have, Miss Candie. The rabbit is dead.”
“Dead?” Penny absorbed the import of the loss. “You mean I’m definitely-—?”
“Pregnant. Yes. But despite your situation, Miss Candie, cause for rejoicing there is in the advent of a new life. Of the seed within you should sing songs of praise. Very important is the pre-natal attitude. So be glad, Miss Candie, of this life budding within you, no matter how illegitimate your child will be.”
“Oh, I am,” Penny told him. “Hallelujah!” she added as she hung up the phone. Halle—--cotton-pickin’—-lujah!
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS still early when Penny and Annie finished dinner. By that time their discussiony of Lovelights had gone from specific problems to general aims. Annie suggested that they go up to her place where they might relax, have a glass of wine, and continue their talk. Still looking for clues as to how Annie might function if she took charge during her absence, Penny accepted the invitation.
Annie lived in the East Eighties, in a section of York-ville which was mainly Irish. Her apartment consisted of living room, bedroom, bathroom and kitchenette. It was simply furnished, sparsely utilitarian, rather than with any particular artistry. It confirmed Penny’s impression of Annie as a girl who might have a bubbly personality but was more serious-minded than flighty at heart.
Annie poured them each a glass of sherry, put a subdued Irish medley on the stereo, and settled down on the couch alongside Penny. The blonde girl sipped her wine and smiled at Annie. “So you live here all by yourself,” Penny observed idly.
“Yes. I like it better that way. I value my privacy.”
“So do I,” Penny agreed. “Room-mates have a way of interfering with a girl’s personal life. Particularly where men friends are concerned.”
“Well, that’s really no particular problem with me,” Annie sighed.
“No? That seems hard to believe. A girl as attractive as you, I’d think the men would be battering down your door.”
“Oh, I’ve had lots of opportunities, I guess. But I’m a one-man-girl. And did I ever pick the wrong man!” Annie confessed with a sigh.
“Don’t we all?” Penny thought of Studs Levine. “Want to tell me about it?” she added sympathetically.
“Oh, I don’t want to bore you.”
“I won’t be bored. But I don’t want to intrude on your private life, either. I just thought that talking about it might help.”
“Maybe it would,” Annie murmured with a speculative look at Penny. “It just might help. Well, it all began about a year ago. . . ”
It was Annie Fitz-Manley’s twentieth birthday, the night she first met Brian Henannigan. A tall, rangy lad he was, just off the boat from the Auld Sod, and with the bloom of County Killarney still fresh on his cheeks. A few years older than Annie, his curly golden hair crept down the nape of his neck like ripe wheat bursting over a field at harvest time. His eyes were a guileless blue, with a permanent twinkle and a long-lashed shyness in the presence of a colleen so pretty as Annie.
Brian was a cousin of the girl friend of Annie’s who had thrown the surprise party to celebrate Annie’s birthday. That’s how he came to be there. Throughout most of the evening he stayed back on the fringes of the party, seeming to enjoy the good time the others were having while shyly holding himself aloof from actually participating in it.
Perhaps it was this very shyness which attracted Annie to him. She had been watching Brian out of the corner of her eye for a long time before she finally approached him. A small girl, she had to toss her head back so the bright red curls glittered in the light from the chandelier when she spoke to the lanky lad. “You’re the only fellow here who hasn’t kissed me Happy Birthday tonight,” she told him, her cheeks flushed with good Irish whiskey, her green eyes flashing up at him impudently.