I let out my breath. Sitting and doing nothing was something I could probably manage as long as I didn't touch anything. I followed her about for a bit and she chatted at me. I tried to keep my answers monosyllabic. It was a pleasant moment. I had passed the dress test and was feeling a little cocky. Then the reporter arrived. I answered the door and showed him to the sitting room. He seemed to know better than to sit without being asked. Someone had probably tipped him off. Then Ms. Davis entered and I was whisked away to my little room. I wanted to whisper to him, "Don't call her ma'm," but I did not. I closed the door and I was on my own.
I could hear them talking in the next room and I tried to eavesdrop but couldn't catch enough to hold my attention. I began to nod off. In minutes I was sound asleep and probably snoring. I awoke just in time to hear the conversation ending and Ms. Davis showing the man out. I stood up and looked in the mirror. My serviceable brown dress was hopelessly wrinkled and I had a pillow crease on my face. I seemed to have curled myself up into a ball on the bed. I hoped that she wouldn't notice. Maybe she would make me iron my dress. She called me from the other room and I emerged rubbing my cheek. She took no notice of me for the moment but collapsed dramatically on an easy chair arms akimbo and legs splayed. The interview had taken a lot out of her it seemed. I stopped thinking about myself for the moment and looked at her. She looked quite fragile and completely human. She was, after all, in her seventies. She was smoking a cigarette. I dutifully noted the butts in the tray as I was to empty it when there were three. Then she noticed my dress. Those eyes were deadly.
"Well. I notice your dress is quite rumpled." She smiled. "That's good. Means you've had a full day at work."
I didn't know what to say so I smiled back.
"I think that's quite enough for one day. You may go now and come back tomorrow," she said obviously having had enough of strangers in her house for one day. I got my purse and she walked me to the door. The door clicked shut. As I turned to go, I heard my name called, followed by a string of harsh invectives. I knocked on the door.
"Ms. Davis? Did you need something?"
She opened the door and sighed. "Oh, good. You're still here. Help me with this damn zipper." She turned, I zipped. We said goodbye again and I left feeling thoroughly useful. I was supremely and completely happy. Ms. Davis and I would spend the next few months getting used to one another and in Spring I would travel with her to Washington D.C. and then perhaps to Europe.
Next morning I ironed my dress and set off for work. When I arrived, Ms. Davis wanted to talk about my future. I innocently told her that I was an actress and I told her that I had given two weeks notice at my other job.
"JOB?" she cried, as if I'd told her about an illicit child somewhere.
I still can't tell you to this day why she found this so upsetting.
"Yes, Ma'm, Ursula knows about it. I wrote it on my application,: I said meekly.
"Well, then, that's not your fault. It's HER fault."
Now we come back to "POSITIONING." She called up Ursula thrashing her verbally until she surely bled. I told Ms. Davis I had given my notice and that I would make this my last evening. She didn't tell me to wait. She really should have told me to wait. I arrived at the restaurant that night and impetuously told my boss it was my last night and I told her why. She was not amused or excited for me.
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