Working Dame

This is the start of an idea for a web serial that I may or may not continue. I think the idea may be a fun one to explore, but I want to know what those of you out there think about it, so comment away!

I suppose it was Tuesday morning. I say suppose because the light filtering in between the curtains was shooting daggers through my hung-over brain and I could hardly think. Last night had been Henry Stalworth’s and Ellen Roger’s engagement party. I had at least four glasses of champagne, two shots of scotch on a dare in the oak room, and two martini’s to close the night. My head was reeling.

Suddenly, I heard what sounded like a battery of machine gun shells being fired in the bathroom. The sound was deafening and excruciatingly painful. It took me almost a minute to clear the fog in my brain and discern that the artillery fire was actually the shower going. Good old Shannon, getting a bath going for me. That’s exactly what I needed, a nice cold shower to wash this hot sticky hangover away. Shannon was my personal assistant, although we have become such close friends in the past few years that I almost consider it an insult to refer to her as such. Personal assistants were fashionable among members of New York society and so I put an ad in the Times, hardly expecting such a friend as Shannon to turn up. Her almost anal level of organization helped compensate for my laissez faire spontaneity, or recklessness as it was sometimes called.

Attempting to heed the beckoning call of cool running water, I slowly lifted my head. Eyes closed, and breathing slowly, I moved upward and upward. A slow throb began to build behind my eyes that increased as I sat up. I knew opening my eyes would be sudden death. It was approaching eleven AM, and the curtains would be no match for the morning light.

“Sha…” I suddenly became aware of how dehydrated my mouth was, and I coughed as my tongue turned to sandpaper. I rubbed my eyes and swallowed, trying to work up some spit. “Shannon,” I croaked. If she was in the closet off the bathroom, she might not hear me over the shower, however I had to try. “Shannon!” I moaned. This time she heard me, I heard the clicking of her high heels on the bathroom tile. In a moment she was in the room.

“Quite a night huh princess?” I could tell she was smiling. I must have been so incapacitated last night that I fell asleep in my party dress.

“Don’t mock me,” I groaned, “just help me to the shower.” Another dehydrated cough. I felt her put her arms around my sides and gently help me to stand. Together we tottered into the bathroom. The cold of the white marble was sweet relief to my feet. I wanted nothing more to peel off that dress and lay down on the shower floor.

“You’re going to have to open your eyes now,” Shannon said. Slowly I ventured a peek. The pain was bad, but not as awful as I had feared. Grey light fell in through the skylight in the ceiling, as I lethargically began to undress. The ravishing backless forest-green dress with a daring split up the side became my enemy as I tried to remove the cloying fabric from my sweaty skin. That done, I proceeded to remove my undergarments and jewelry before sliding back the shower door and stepping inside. Cold water pounded my skin and washed away much of the throbbing migraine, while lilac soap cleansed the alcohol sweat from my skin.

“So,” Shannon piped up, “before I inquire about the dirty details of your society romp, I’m going to go over your schedule with you." I whined, but my achy plea was drowned out as Shannon started rattling off my activities for the day. After I had breakfast I was to be picked up by Richard (Dad's driver), and taken to my father's office at the stock exchange for a chat. Stocks was Dad's racket, and he'd amassed quite a fortune, so much so that I hadn't had to work a day in my life. I had the lease this condo overlooking Times Square all paid up for the year. I was currently jobless, but my name on his credit was plenty. My current occupation was that of a gallivanting socialite. I Caroline “Lina” Griffin, held court with the upper crust of New York City’s finest eligible bachelors and debutants, a free spirit. Daddy and I met every so often for casual talks, most of which centered around my appearances in the society pages.

Thus it made me curious about why he wanted to chat on such short notice, I was positive I didn’t do anything scandalous at the party the previous night. Sure I was pretty drunk near the end, but then again almost everyone was. I had rode home in Charlie’s car. I’m positive we did some necking in the back, but his chauffeur wouldn’t have let his drunken employer follow me into my building. Although he had been my beau for almost a year now, it would still be a scandal in the making.

In a blur I got dressed and went downstairs. Shannon was talking about something but my brain was still hazy. On an end table by the door was a paper cup of black coffee, an aspirin, and a piece of toast.

"Thanks for breakfast," I said. I think I must have cut her off in mid-sentence because that chattering noise had stopped. Shannon sighed.

"You're welcome Lina, but did you hear anything I just said?"

"Well I think I lost you after you told me Richard was waiting in the car." I smiled wanly. Another sigh from Shannon. In defeat she tore the page from her memo pad and thrust it into my hands.

"Well there you go then, I won't bother reiterating myself." With a smirk she straightened the collar on my blouse, and wiped away a stray fleck of mascara from the corner of my eye.

"Thanks," I winced as I took a sip of the pungent black brew and gulped the aspirin pill. "I'll see ya when I get back?"

"Well," Shannon replied, "if you had been paying attention to what I was telling you earlier, you would recall that I am leaving in a couple of hours to catch a show with my sister. So I probably won't be back until five or six."

"I might be back by then, it depends if this headache lifts or not." I reached for the door. "See you later Shannon."

"Take care Lina." I walked down the hall towards the elevator. My apartment was on the sixth floor, so by the time I got outside Richard would be getting impatient.

Outside the crisp fall breeze jarred my senses. The hum of automobile engines and the murmurs of hundreds of thousands of pedestrians assaulted my ears. Straight ahead at the curb was Richard. Leaning on the hood smoking a cigarette. I gave him a guilty wave as I approached, Richard was too good natured to be mad for long. Grinding out the remaining stub with his heel, he turned and opened the door.

"Mawnin' miz Lina," he said in his warm southern drawl. I mumbled a hello as I took another sip of coffee and slid into the leather seat. "It's a right busy day down there at the Exchange ma'am. Yessir dem brokers en such be flyin bout like mad bees!"

"That so?" I replied as we pulled out into the street. "Well we aren't running too late are we? Daddy's likely to be too busy to wait around for me too long."

"We'll make it jess fine, don't you worry. Ol' Rich has got it all undah control."

I sat back and tried to let my head clear, little did I know just how much this morning would change things forever. You might just say it was the last day of my life. My life as I knew it anyway.

It was October 28th, 1929. The day before Black Tuesday.