Ellie's Advice (sweet romance) (2 page)

Even this much would be an impossible luxury for so many people; Ellie knew she was fortunate indeed. B
ut the cozy apartment seemed so wonderfully charming and simple after the social whirl she'd lived by her aunt's side. Leticia's grasping, confining love had suffocated Ellie as much as the big, cold mansion overwhelmed her. When feeling poorly, Ellie had been confined to only one or two rooms, the rest of the mansion as far beyond her reach as Everest. And during those times she had been even more helpless to gain any independence from her aunt.

Slowly improving health and a firm restructuring of her independence to thought and correspon
dence instead of outward action had given her some freedom: but it was useless to deny that the rest of it came with Leticia's death.

The relief she had felt made her heart ache
sometimes with guilt. It had been impossible to leave while Leticia was alive. The tears, recriminations, shouts, and guilt attacks subtle or strong were always there, strong enough that the quiet, physically weak Ellie ended up backing down before her aunt, either in a short amount of time or a long one.

I may always wonder what my life would have been like if I had been healthier and braver
, she thought.
But now I am about to find out what, if anything, I can do on my own.

Even the lovely brownstone apartment was not her own, really: it was paid for by her inheritance, the money that would keep her in comfort for as long as she lived. But if she got this job, it would be one thing she had done completely on her own.

And that was enough to make anyone's hands tremble.

Dear Miss Goldman,

I was deligh
ted to read your letter. I'd certainly love to have a modern day Austen working for the paper, as I am sure such writing would increase circulation. (I must think of such mercenary matters, I'm sorry to say.)

I found your le
tter to be just in the friendly, talkative style I believe would do well in the paper. I was left in no doubt to your enjoyment of words and correspondence, and I think you would be an excellent choice as a columnist for our paper.

I
must tell you that the position has already been filled, but since you've so kindly offered to work for two months for free, I can gladly accept. I see no reason the paper can't run two such columns at present, and we'll see where it goes after that.

Of course you can quit any time
you wish. I can hardly fault a volunteer for leaving, if it doesn't prove to your taste.

If this is all agreeable, please come to the newspaper office on the
twelfth before noon and I'll give you some letters to answer.

I look forward to reading what you have to say, and I promise not to hold you to the standard of Jane Austen. Although you have now made me wonder
just how that authoress would have answered questions about marital problems and etiquette concerns! I can't help but think she'd be completely uninterested, simply laugh at our problems and go back to writing her novels.

But perhaps I am too hard on her and she would
n't think so little of us after all.

Sincerely,

Sheldon Silverberg, Editor

Ellie dropped the letter to her desk. She brought her shaking hands up to her face. A strange little laugh escaped her, and she was trembling all over. She felt as though her smile had never stretched further. Normally she had a small, tidy smile; this one stretched her whole face. She kicked her heels lightly on the floor and laughed.

I'm going to have a job. I'm going to write for the paper. I'm going to do something for myself!

She jumped up, swirled around in a circle like a young girl who'd just tried on a new dress, and then hurried to her closet. What did one possibly wear to a newspaper office for her first assignment? And what sort of letters would she get? She couldn't wait to find out.

A passing taxi cab splashed water up on Ellie's dress, and she gasped at the cold that soaked her legs. She stood quite still for a moment, shivering, and then moved closer to the large, intimidating buildings that lined the street.

It had seemed safe enough to walk the five blocks from her home to the newspaper's office, since the rain had stopped and the
sun come out. She'd relished the adventure of arriving without fanfare, simply on her own. Now she dearly wished she'd taken a taxi after all.

Shivering with the wet, she hurried on. The spring day seemed less welcoming all the time. People clogged the
streets, angry, hurried people who brushed past. She shied from them, feeling exposed and in danger. Her heart began to pound, that frightening feeling that left her breathless and reminded her of her own weakness.

Sometimes she hated her body for betraying her, for making her coddle it simply to survive. For being so weak, where others were so strong.
Most anyone else with her advantages would have been set for life. If only she had good health and the confidence to follow it up, why, surely she would have been married by now with a family of her own. Or at least
doing
things. As it was, her activities were still curtailed, and she would probably never wed, unless she gave in and married a fortune hunter out of loneliness. And even then, she could likely never have children.

She was obliged
to stand aside next to a large gray building and wait for her heart to calm and her breath to catch up with her. Then, slowly, feeling defeated already, she continued on.

At least her hands and head were warm, and walking warmed her soaked legs as well. She'd worn a
purple dress, a pale aqua coat, and a delicate blue hat and scarf, white gloves and a black fur muff to keep her hands warm. It had seemed a pretty but professional outfit to her at the time. Now she wondered miserably how she'd look when soaked and winded. Probably not professional at all.

She stopped on the steps of the newspaper building, staring up at it.
Am I really going to do this?
It looked so large, and she felt so small. Well, there was nothing for it but to try; her one big adventure, and she must go through with it now! Clenching her hands together inside the muff, she started slowly up the stairs.

Inside, noise seemed to burs
t from every corner of the building. It was overwhelming to say the least. Men in shirtsleeves, with loosened ties and jackets flung over their chairs sat at desks, pounding hard on typewriters that made an incredible racket. Others talked on telephones, holding hands up to their free ears to block the noise. People rushed here and there. She saw a few women working among the crowd, but the majority was overwhelmingly male. Ellie shrank inside her skin even further, watching them all work so competently.

"Excuse me, doll," said someone, rushing past her, brushing her arm in
his hurry. She shrank away from him, wondering at her lack of nerve. She was ashamed of it, wished she could have the confidence of the women who worked among these strange creatures so effortlessly.

Someone met her gaze; it was a hostile stare indeed.

"Are you Goldman?"

It took a moment for her to register
his words. "Yes. Eleanor Goldman."

The heavy man at the typewriter looked her up and down and snorted. "Through there." He gestured with his cigarette.
"The editor."

"Yes. Thank you.
" She gave him a small nod, feeling flushed and frightened. Now others were staring, and the room's noisy volume began to fade as people showed more interest in seeing her than in typing and telephoning.

They regarded her a
s if she was a strange specimen escaped from a zoo, at least as strange to them as they looked to her. Would they notice she'd been splashed? That she was disheveled and out of breath? She walked to the editor's door, trying to stand as tall and confident as she possibly could, but feeling as mousy as ever she had when sitting along the wall during a ball, not getting asked to dance even once, at a certain much younger age.

She knocked lightly on the door that said EDITOR, but no one seemed to hear.

"Honey, just go on in," said a woman who looked at her sympathetically and knowingly, as if she realized just how frightened Ellie had become. She was a no-nonsense looking woman, the sort of person who looked as if she'd seen a lot but not lost her sense of humor, and wouldn't let anyone walk all over her. She wore cheaper clothes than Ellie, without anything frilly about them, and sensible shoes. Ellie began to wonder just how professionally she'd dressed after all.

Under the woman's encouraging
gaze, she grasped the doorknob, turned, and pushed.

"Come
— oh." A man sat behind the desk, putting down his phone as she entered. He looked up at her, and for an instant his face looked startled, open and vulnerable.

He
didn't look frightening in the least. In fact, he looked like a gentle, reasonably-sized man who wouldn't intimidate her even when standing at his full height.

He had startlingly blue
eyes and a pleasant, regular, rather youthful face, smooth-skinned and smooth-shaven. He had short, dark curly hair. It looked soft — the sort of hair a woman would like to comb her fingers through. Overall, to Ellie, he looked like a gentle, intelligent man. It was a lot to take in from one glance, but she tended to trust her first impressions of people, and she liked him immediately.

"I'm Eleanor Goldman," she found the courage to say. "You asked me to come."

"Of course. Of course." He stood up, reached across the desk, and shook her hand. Even through her thin white glove, his hand felt pleasant, sturdy and warm, but not lingering or crushing.

He was only a little taller than
Ellie, perhaps five foot six or seven. It was a good height for him, though. He looked trim and well put together, not awkwardly too large or uncomfortably too small, just exactly the right size and comfortable in his own skin.

He
wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled partway up his forearms. They showed the soft-looking lines of dark hair on his trim, muscular arms. The shape of his arms surprised and embarrassed Ellie, filled her with a strange, warm glow. It seemed so intimately personal, to be in here with him, to see him and notice him as a man. She was noticing him more than she'd noticed many quite gorgeous men who'd asked her to dance in the past, their expensive smiles gleaming, dollar signs in their eyes.

Perhaps that was it. She
was enamored with this new job and pleased to meet a man outside the strict confines of old life, where she'd been a goal to be attained, a nuisance to be ignored, or, it sometimes felt like, both at once.

"Miss Goldman." He gestured
toward a chair opposite his desk, giving her a smile. It was a nice smile, genuine and not too big. He had an interesting face, she decided, and suddenly found she wanted to look elsewhere so she didn't blush. She clutched her muff between her hands.

"Thank you." She sat down in the battered wooden chair. The marks and scars on it indicated
it had seen a lot of wear and a lot of humanity. It creaked as she sat, as if threatening to go on strike. She tried to perch near the edge and not get too comfortable in case it didn't hold up. Which was probably absurd, but she had never sat in a chair like that before. Even the comfortable, faded kitchen chairs at the old mansion had been too sturdy to ever creak so complainingly.

"Are you all right? Can I get you a glass of water?"

So he had guessed something was wrong. "No, I'm fine. I — I'm sorry. I'm just a little winded. A cab splashed me on the walk here."

"Walk." He looked alarmed; his smile faded. "I'm sorry. I'd no notion you'd try to walk here. It's very
busy out this time of day, and your outfit is too nice to… ahem… that is to say… I'll hire you a cab for the ride home."

"Oh, no, I'
m perfectly—"

"I insist." He gave her that
smile again, the bright one.

C
ombined with his warm blue gaze, it did strange things to her; she felt her cheeks warming. "It's only five blocks."

"All the more reason to take a cab, then, if it's not a long way.
Please let me. You're working for free. The last thing you need to do is catch a chill from walking here on a cold, damp day." He actually seemed concerned about her, not as though he was just lavishing attention on her to try to butter her up.

It made her feel both worse and better at the same time, because really, five blocks shouldn't be too much for anyone, even someone who had been an invalid for most of her life. She gave it one last try. "Well, I am perfectly able to get my own taxi, so there's no need."

"I didn't say there was a need. But I do insist." He smiled at her so disarmingly she couldn't take offense. "If you'll excuse me a moment." He picked up his phone and made a brief call asking for a taxi.

"There." Now he
faced her across the desk, smiling, folding his hands together. "Now where were we? Oh yes, thank you for coming! I enjoyed your letter a great deal."

"Thank you.
I enjoyed yours as well." She began to feel at ease, his friendly expression chasing away her intimidation and anxiety. His eyes and his smile simply put her at ease.

And she realized something as they looked at one another.
He seemed to like the look of her as much as she liked the look of him. But his attention didn't intimidate her the way some men's did.

He seemed to shake himself.
"Well. It was lovely of you to come. I'll get the letters. When do you think you'll be able to have some replies for me?"

He pulled open a desk drawer, glancing at her as he waited for her answer. His expression was calm, f
riendly, and mildly inquiring. He had a very likeable face.

She found herself wondering if he was married. And
then being ashamed of herself for getting back onto that footing already, when she'd been so glad to leave it. He was treating her like a professional. The least she could do was keep such foolish thoughts away.

"I should be able to answer at least a few letters by the end of the week. Shall I mail them back?"

"If you could come in again, just until we get settled into a routine, I would really appreciate it. I can send a taxi for you. May I call you to arrange a time?" He handed her a bundle of letters, and she accepted them.

"Yes, thank you
. Here's my card." She fumbled one from her dainty purse and handed it across. Their hands didn't touch; she found herself regretting it.

Again they were looking at each other, just looking.

He seemed to shake himself visibly. He glanced at the card and put it away in a drawer. "As you say, it's only five blocks, so it's no hardship to send the taxi, and this way you won't be put out as much, since this is a volunteer job at present." He smiled at her. "Thank you for coming, Miss Goldman." He stood, and offered his hand again.

She shook it
more slowly than the first time, it seemed to her. She couldn't seem to look away from his eyes or his gorgeous smile. "Thank you," she said.

And turned reluctantly to go.
Somehow, for the first time in her long, lonely life, Ellie had been around a man who made her feel like the most important and interesting person in the room.

The fact that she was the only other person in the room didn't occur to her till she was halfway home, wrapped in her coat, sitting in the taxi, and staring back in the direction of the newspaper office.