she’s going to come in looking great, and I’ll look a hundred and ten years old.
A few days later at breakfast Susie said, “Hey, I heard about a job opening that might
interest you. One of the girls at the party last night said she’s quitting to go back to Texas.
God knows why anyone who ever got away from Texas would want to go back there. I
remember I was in Amarillo a few years ago and…”
“Where does she work?” Catherine interrupted.
“Who?”
“The girl,” Catherine said patiently.
“Oh. She works for Bill Fraser. He’s in charge of public relations for the State
Department. Newsweek did a cover story on him last month. It’s supposed to be a cushy
job. I just heard about it last night, so if you get over there now, you should beat all the
other girls to it.”
“Thanks,” Catherine said gratefully. “William Fraser, here I come.”
Twenty minutes later Catherine was on her way to the State Department. When she
arrived, the guard told her where Fraser’s office was and she took the elevator upstairs.
Public Relations. It sounded exactly like the sort of job she was looking for.
Catherine stopped in the corridor outside the office and took out her hand mirror to
check her makeup. She would do. It was not yet nine-thirty so she should have the field to
herself. She opened the door and walked in.
The outer office was packed with girls standing, sitting, leaning against the wall, all
seemingly talking at once. The frantic receptionist behind the beleaguered desk was vainly
trying to bring order into the scene. “Mr. Fraser’s busy right now,” she kept repeating. “I
don’t know when he can see you.”
“Is he interviewing secretaries or isn’t he?” one of the girls demanded.
“Yes, but…” She looked around desperately at the mob. “My God! This is
ridiculous!”
The corridor door opened and three more girls pushed their way in, shoving
Catherine to one side.
“Is the job filled yet?” one of them asked.
“Maybe he’d like a harem,” another girl suggested. “Then we can all stay.”
The door to the inner office opened, and a man came out. He was just a little under
six feet, and had the almost-slim body of a nonathlete who keeps in shape at the athletic
club three mornings a week. He had curly blond hair graying at the temples, bright blue
eyes and a strong, rather forbidding jaw line. “What in hell’s going on here, Sally?” His
voice was deep and authoritative.
“These girls heard about the vacancy, Mr. Fraser.”
“Jesus! I didn’t hear about it myself until an hour ago.” His eyes swept over the