special. She was beautiful, bright and very proud. Jesus! he said to himself. Don’t be a fool! One murder on your conscience is enough.
Emma Lazarus was a sentimental idiot, Jennifer thought. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…Send these, the homeless, tempesttossed, to me.” Indeed! Anyone manufacturing welcome mats in New York would have gone out of business in an hour. In New York no one cared whether you lived or died. Stop feeling sorry for yourself! Jennifer told herself. But it was difficult. Her resources had dwindled to eighteen dollars, the rent on her apartment was overdue, and her share of the office rent was due in two days. She did not have enough money to stay in New York any longer, and she did not have enough money to leave.
Jennifer had gone through the Yellow Pages, calling law offices alphabetically, trying to get a job. She made the calls from telephone booths because she was too embarrassed to let Ken Bailey and Otto Wenzel hear her conversations. The results were always the same. No one was interested in hiring her. She would have to return to Kelso and get a job as a legal aide or as a secretary to one of her father’s friends. How he would have hated that! It was a bitter defeat, but there were no choices left. She would be returning home a failure. The immediate problem facing her was transportation. She looked through the afternoon New York Post and found an ad for someone to share driving expenses to Seattle. There was a telephone number and Jennifer called it. There was no answer. She decided she would try again in the morning.
The following day, Jennifer went to her office for the last time. Otto Wenzel was out, but Ken Bailey was there, on the telephone, as usual. He was wearing blue jeans and a veeneck cashmere sweater.
“I found your wife,” he was saying. “The only problem, pal, is that she doesn’t want to go home…I know. Who can figure women out?…Okay. I’ll tell you where she’s staying and you can try to sweet-talk her into coming back.” He gave the address of a midtown hotel. “My pleasure.” He hung up and swung around to face Jennifer. “You’re late this morning.”
“Mr. Bailey, I—I’m afraid I’m going to have to be leaving. I’ll send you the rent money I owe you as soon as I’m able to.”
Ken Bailey leaned back in his chair and studied her. His look made Jennifer uncomfortable.
“Will that be all right?” she asked.
“Going back to Washington?”
Jennifer nodded.
Ken Bailey said, “Before you leave, would you do me a little favor? A lawyer friend’s been bugging me to serve some subpoenas for him, and I haven’t got time. He pays twelve-fifty for each subpoena plus mileage. Would you help me out?”
One hour later Jennifer Parker found herself in the plush law offices of Peabody & Peabody. This was the kind of firm she had visualized working in one day, a full partner with a beautiful corner suite. She was escorted to a small back room where a harassed secretary handed her a stack of subpoenas.
“Here. Be sure to keep a record of your mileage. You do have a car, don’t you?”
“No, I’m afraid I—”
“Well, if you use the subway, keep track of the fares.”
“Right.”
Jennifer spent the rest of the day delivering subpoenas in the Bronx, Brooklyn and Queens in a downpour. By eight o’clock that evening, she had made fifty dollars. She arrived back at her tiny apartment chilled and exhausted. But at least she had earned some money, her first since coming to New York. And the secretary had told her there were plenty more subpoenas to serve. It was hard work, running all over town, and it was humiliating. She had had doors slammed in her face, had been cursed at, threatened, and propositioned twice. The prospect of facing another day like that was dismaying; and yet, as long as she could remain in New York there was hope, no matter how faint.
Jennifer ran a hot bath and stepped into it, slowly sinking down into the tub, feeling the luxury of the water lapping over her body. She had not realized how exhausted she was. Every muscle seemed to ache. She decided that what she needed was a good dinner to cheer her up. She would splurge. I’ll treat myself to a real restaurant with tablecloths and napkins, Jennifer thought. Perhaps they’ll have soft