666: Ariane stood . . .
What a Piece of Work I Am, Chapter 9 concludes
Ariane stood outside the room, in the echoing hallway, hesitating, listening to the men arguing, biting her lip, grimacing, wondering whether she should go ahead with what she had planned or turn around and leave. She turned away. She turned back. She adjusted her dress. She raised a leg fetchingly and adjusted the strap on her shoe. She started forward, lost her nerve, and turned away again. She kicked a block of wood and it skittered across the floor, and she decided that her die had been cast.
“Hello,” she called out, trying to give her voice an alluring brightness, trying to hide her nervousness.
“Who’s that?”
“It’s—um—me,” she said, peeking around the door frame. “Ariane. My name is Ariane.”
No response.
Nervously, she added, “Hi.”
“What can I do for you?” asked Mr. Murray.
She took a breath and decided to get right to the point, to release herself from the awful anticipation of rejection. “Well,” she said, “you could hire me—”
Mr. Murray made a circular motion with his forefinger, to indicate that he wanted her to turn around so that he could look her over. She began slowly to turn, and as she did she drew herself up, tightened her muscles, presented herself for inspection, very much as if she were a farm animal, and she realized how closely she was being inspected and didn’t mind, not at all. This is going to be the sort of place where the girls are going to have to look good, after all, she told herself. They’re going to be on display, part of the atmosphere, and they have to look very good, as good as the place itself, and as good as the people who come in, practically, so it isn’t at all surprising that he’d want to look me over and consider the impression that I’d be likely to make. It’s right.
“Say! I recognize you!” said Clarence from behind her back.
“From the clam bar,” said Parnell Waite.
“Yeah, and you’re the girl who comes by sometimes. I see you sometimes across the street, looking the place over,” said Mr. Murray.
“That’s me,” Ariane confessed.
“You’ve been waiting for your chance, haven’t you?” asked Mr. Murray.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Where are those forms, Clarence?”
“Here.” Clarence pulled a form from the bottom drawer of Mr. Murray’s desk.
“I like the way everything looks,” said Ariane, with a tilt of her head. She wanted them to understand that she was on their side. She wanted them to think of her as one of them. “It’s so—curvy.” Parnell Waite burst out laughing. Ariane blushed and shrugged and began to slip a little into Tootsie Koochikov before she caught herself. “That little cove you made, I like that.”
“Here,” said Mr. Murray. “Fill this out.”
She leaned over the desk and filled out the form while the men watched in silence.
“Will you call me?” she asked when she had finished.
Mr. Murray took the form from her and said, “Be here a week from Thursday.”
“Really?” said Ariane.
“Four o’clock,” said Mr. Murray.
“Thank you,” said Ariane. She wanted to say something more, but she couldn’t think of anything, so she said “thank you” again and left.
When the sound of her footsteps had receded down the hall, Parnell Waite let out a nearly silent wolf whistle.
Clarence said, in a whisper, “What a piece of ass!”
Mr. Murray said, “Come on, get your minds back on your work,” but at the top of Ariane’s application he lettered “POA,” just so he wouldn’t forget.
[to be continued]
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