It was a good thing that I’d taken an extra $20 when I left the bank. A taxi ride (even in those days) wasn’t all that cheap. I settled for a stale sandwich at Grand Central Station for my dinner and headed upstairs to my room. It was like an oversized closet but it was clean and cheap. In the morning I took a walk around the area before heading for the meeting. This was way before the vaunted ‘clean-up’ and in daylight it was possible to see just how squalid the area was. The meeting went well. The primary focus was on sub-committee appointments and all those present were encouraged to speak up about their concerns as it pertained to personnel matters. My main concern had to do with teller training especially for medium to smaller sized banks. We (they) didn’t have the monetary ability to go out and hire a trainer like the city banks did. In speaking to those present I told of how I’d tried to single out one person to do it but there was no one to train that person. Well, you know what happens when you open your mouth to identify a problem… you end up being put in charge of finding the answer. That, for sure, was not what I needed at that time. But, it was nice to know that in just a short time on the committee the ‘powers that be’ thought highly enough of me to give me the recognition.
One of my new bank acquaintances heard me express concern about getting a taxi at that time of day so I could retrieve my vehicle and offered to drive me to the location. I explained the situation and I remember a comment he made as we drove up to the front entrance… “She must’ve had a good job to afford to live here.” I knew her parents were upper middle class but his statement put her status at a higher plane. The doorman was there to give me access to the garage and as I got in I saw him sort of hover by the drivers side window. It took a few seconds for me to realize he was looking for a tip for having taken care of my station wagon and the contents. I reached into my wallet and pulled out $5. When he saw the amount I sensed he wasn’t thrilled with my generosity. However, I wasn’t going to be intimidated by someone I’d never see again.
Traffic, as expected, was horrendous. Three hours to go 85 miles. If the trip did nothing else it pretty much guaranteed that all my subsequent city visits would be by public transportation. It was definitely the lesser of two evils. At home Elle was all excited to take a look at the ‘loot’ I’d brought back from the city. With plenty of time to think on my way home I was able to put a couple of things together about the deceased woman. First off, as I said, her parents were fairly well off but not rich. However, seeing just a small part of her apartment was an ‘eye opener’. But the clincher was when the man who’d driven me to the apartment made his comment about her having to have had a really good job to live there. My thoughts were about what was hidden in those cartons in the back of the wagon. If she really was rich then most of the stuff would be good quality. I was almost as excited to see it as Elle was. But, like my grandfather would say, “First things first” and that was supper.
The boxes were fairly well marked. We knew which ones held blouses and tops as well as the ones with pants and shorts. After we all ate I took them into the house and put them in the living room. We didn’t have a plan as I’d expressed to Elle that if she were rich all of the stuff would be of good quality. I have no concept of numbers as we went through each carton… but there was a lot of stuff. In chatting with each other we decided to suggest to the minister that he put out a little of it at a time rather than create a ‘feeding frenzy’ if it all went on the tables at once. From a marketing standpoint I felt that ‘word of mouth’ about there being more to come might be a good thing. I'd brought in everything but the box marked “misc” and, with it being time for the 11pm news we decided it could wait. The woman was one size larger than Elle so there was little that she could pull out to keep. That was OK by me. If we had a concern it was going to be in pricing the things. Most came from big name department stores… Saks 5th Avenue… Best and Co… Lord and Taylor (when it was still a premier store) and Bergdorf Goodman. I told Elle that probably 95% of the women who came into the Thrift Shoppe had never been in any one of those stores so the names wouldn’t mean all that much. Therefore, whoever was pricing the goods had to “dumb the prices down” so it would sell. It might mean that there would be some really good bargains. But… I wanted no part of it.
The phone ringing at 7am was a real surprise. Elle had only been called in to teach once since school had started. Up to the beginning of the school year the secretary for the principal was a good friend of ours. But, when the school year began she’d been replaced so Elle no longer had an “in” when it came to knowing what was going on at the school. After the principal and his wife (and kids) had moved from next door into their new house we had no contact with them. I’d written that Barbara, their daughter, who’d stayed with us for a period of time back in the Spring had become ‘distant’ and avoided us. I had a theory as to why but neither of us followed up on it. However, it was now looking like we should’ve because Elle was being left out of the ‘loop’ when it came to getting calls to come in to teach. But, on this particular morning it was a positive call. Elle was all excited and we both forgot all about the clothing donation piled up in the living room. As Elle went out the door I told her to follow up with some of the teachers that she’d been called in for in the past to see if they had any idea what was going on.
I was anxious to get home to find out if Elle had any information on her situation. She didn’t have anything ‘concrete’ but had been told to get in touch with her friend, the principal’s ex secretary. She’d gotten a new job at the local bank in town. Elle told me she’d called her and been invited to come over after supper. To me, it was a start. Elle left me in charge of the kids (and the supper dishes) and headed off. She was back in just a minute wanting me to get the last carton I’d picked up in the city out of the station wagon. I’d forgotten about it, more concerned with repacking all the clothes we’d gone through the previous evening. Pulling it out from the back of the wagon I remember it being heavy and almost dropping it. I had no idea what was in it and decided to at least take a look while Elle was gone.
The older girls, thankfully, had some kind of homework which took them out of the way. Kaye, ever curious, wanted to see if anything in the box was for her. I got the tape off and lifted one corner of the top and all I saw was shoes. I remember thinking “Oh, no!”. When she saw them she went off to get a coloring book. Looking at the shoes stacked on top they all looked to be in good shape. The ladies at the church had decided against offering shoes for reasons I don’t remember but looking at the condition of these I was about to ask that they change their minds. I pulled at least a dozen out and they were of all types… and some looked new. As I pulled more out I saw some small boxes under them. I wasn’t expecting that so pushed some shoes aside to pull one out. To my great excitement it was a lingerie box. Popping it open I saw two full nylon slips. That made me reach down for another box only this one had no markings on it. When I opened it… well it was like my own special Christmas present… panties… and they weren’t new.
To be continued…
 |
| Just one of them... |
2 comments:
Well, that was worth a trip. I suppose those did not make to the sale.
OB... they're still in my 'stash'... :-)
Post a Comment