I love that scene in season one when Della is nursing Perry through a cold. It seemed to suggest that there was more going on between them than just a working relationship. After all, how many employees nurse their boss back to health when he gets sick? It started me thinking – what if his illness were more serious than a cold? How would our favorite secretary react?
*Warning* I know some of you may have lost family members or been very sick yourselves with COVID. While he does not have COVID, the description of Perry's illness may bring up unpleasant recollections for you.
Della had first observed the previous afternoon that Perry Mason seemed to be repressing coughs during court. Looking over at him, she noticed that he seemed rather pale, and that his cross-examination questions were particularly brief and to the point, as if he knew longer sentences would bring on a fit of coughing. Once the defendant was found not guilty and they were packing up their things, she prevailed upon Perry, with suspiciously little difficulty, to go straight home to rest.
She hoped that a good night's sleep was all he needed, but the next morning, she had not been at her desk for five minutes when the phone rang. It was Perry. In a raspy voice he informed her that he would not be coming in that day, and instructed her to cancel all his appointments.
The loyal secretary hurried through the tasks which needed to be done in the office, and by noon she was at the grocery store buying the ingredients for chicken soup. Half-an-hour later, she arrived at Perry Mason's apartment.
He seemed slightly surprised to see her, but she marched in and immediately took charge. Noting that he had not taken the trouble to change out of his white pajamas and black dressing gown all day, and looked miserable and extremely tired, she encouraged him to lie down on the sofa while she fixed him some tea and broth. As she cooked in the kitchen, she heard frequent, dry, hacking coughs emanate from the living room.
"Have you called your doctor?" she asked Perry when she brought out his dinner tray.
"Yes. Bill was out when I called, but I spoke to his nurse. She said a particularly bad cold was going around town and it sounded as if I had caught it. She said that I should rest and drink plenty of fluids and if I was not better in two days, to call back. Speaking of which, you ought not to be here. I don't want you to catch it."
"No, you are not going to get rid of me and avoid your medicine that easily," Della said in a tone that brooked no opposition. "You are going to drink your soup, and your tea, and take several doses of cough syrup and aspirin before I go anywhere." She fluffed his pillows so that it would be easier for him to sit up, and then handed him a cup of broth. As he politely, slowly, clearly without appetite, forced himself to sip it, Della walked to the fireplace, crumpled up some newspaper amidst the logs, and touched a match to it. A cheery blaze sprang up. After most of the soup was gone from Perry's cup, she made him take a few swallows of tea, accompanied by an aspirin and cough syrup.
"Close your eyes and try to get some rest," she coaxed as she put the dishes back on the tray.
By the time she had returned from washing the cups and cleaning the kitchen, the lawyer had obeyed her and was sound asleep. She gently covered him with a blanket, and retreated to an armchair which was stationed at the opposite side of the room. She curled up in it, and looked at the slumbering man. Calculating that his next dose of aspirin would be due around eight o'clock in the evening, she decided that she would stay until then, administer it, and send him to bed before she left.
She smiled softly to herself. Who would have ever thought that she and Perry Mason would be on such friendly terms that she would feel comfortable inviting herself over to his apartment, taking over his kitchen, and nursing him?
Four years ago, Della Street had just been another rather shy, twenty-three-year-old, small-town girl who had shocked her family and friends by moving to Los Angeles to pursue her dream of working and living and experiencing the excitement of the large city. In a matter of weeks, however, she found that the competition for good jobs was fierce, and she was forced to work in a diner at the outskirts of town, trying to make ends meet. After scraping up a little money, she put herself through a night secretarial school, and then entered the large temp pool after graduation. Life as temporary secretary was scarcely easier than life as a waitress. Not being able to afford a car on her meager salary, she spent a ridiculous amount of time traveling from one end of Los Angeles to another by bus in order to reach her jobs. She found herself working very hard for little appreciation or recognition. After all, why would anyone coddle or thank a secretary who would be gone in one to two weeks, at the most? Just as she was contemplating packing up and going home to rural Iowa and spending the rest of her life on her family's farm milking cows, one of her girlfriends stopped by her rundown, tiny apartment. In the course of the conversation, Rachel said,
"Della! Guess what. The lawyer Perry Mason has an ad out, he is looking for a new secretary! You should apply."
Ms. Street simply laughed out loud.
"I'm serious! You did say that you were looking for a steadier job and paycheck."
"I was thinking more along the lines of getting an office job in the meat warehouse on Jefferson Avenue when I said that," Della replied, flushing with shame as she remembered her failed interview there just a few weeks ago. The manager had taken one look at her resume, informed her that she was far too inexperienced to have the privilege of typing out his pork orders, and summarily dismissed her.
"But you were the only one in our class who passed the test in legal terminology the first time around!"
"Oh, please, Rachel! Passing a test in a second-rate night school hardly qualifies me to be the secretary of any lawyer, let alone one as famous and distinguished as Mr. Mason! Every experienced typist in town must be vying for the position."
"Don't you have an extra copy of your resume? Send it. What have you to lose?"
"The last bit of my confidence and self-respect," Della murmured.
"Come now, it would be an honor to even be able to say that you applied!"
Della took a look at her friend and threw her hands up in the air.
"You won't stop badgering me until you get your way, is that right?"
"Absolutely."
In a huff, Della marched to her desk, pulled out a copy of her resume, a stamp, and an envelope, and looked up at her friend.
"I presume you have the address?"
Rachel practically skipped over to her, and pulled a slip of paper out of her pocket.
"Here it is! I'll mail it for you on my way back home, if you like."
Della had dutifully written out the address on the envelope, sealed her pitiful resume inside, pressed it into her friend's hand, and promptly forgot about it. That is, until seven o'clock Saturday morning, when her phone rang.
"May I speak to Ms. Della Street, please?" a chipper woman's voice said at the other end of the line.
"Speaking."
"Mr. Perry Mason would like to see you for an interview regarding the job position in one hour, if you are available."
Della almost choked.
"Yes, yes, I'm available," she heard herself saying.
"Good, we'll expect you then."
Della hung up the phone and stared at it, doubting her sanity. Clearly, someone had made a mistake. There was no way that anyone from Perry Mason's office had meant to call her, if they had actually taken a look at her resume.
But she had agreed to come, and Della Street always kept her word. She hurried to the closet, pulled out her best professional attire, and looked up the location of Mr. Mason's office in the phone book. Then she took a cab to the Brent Building, and somehow managed to arrive with a few minutes to spare.
Sitting in the waiting area, she racked her brains, trying to recall all that she knew about the man who was about to interview her. Overall, she knew very little. Her hectic schedule had not permitted her much time to browse the gossip magazines or the newspapers which detailed the lawyer's courtroom antics, and she had never laid eyes on a picture of the lawyer. However, she had caught bits and pieces of conversation when she rode the bus and worked, and she had heard him described as the best lawyer in town, a man with a booming voice and a million sly tricks. Della pictured Perry Mason as a graying, middle-aged man, a genius prone to bouts of temper who would be extraordinarily difficult to please.
Great was her shock, therefore, when she was instructed by the receptionist to go into Mr. Mason's office. When Della opened the door, she beheld a man in his early thirties sitting behind an imposing desk. With his jet-black hair, his piercing blue eyes, and his broad shoulders, he was devastatingly handsome.
"Ms. Street?" he asked, rising, revealing himself to be at least six feet tall. Even more astonishingly, he said her name and met her eye with an easy smile, a novelty to Della. By this point, all her other prospective employers had narrowed their eyes and scrutinized her youthful, inexperienced face with disdain. "Please sit down." He gestured to a chair at the side of his desk.
Della stifled her surprise, quietly obeyed and removed her gloves, ready to answer questions about her education, other jobs – but all Perry Mason did was hand her a notepad and pencil and said,
"Please take a note, Ms. Street."
Confused, she nevertheless bent over the notepad and scribbled on it as he dictated a paragraph of what must have been a legal brief.
"Now type it up on that typewriter," Perry Mason said, standing up and nodding at the piece of equipment stationed on a coffee table in the back of the room. "And excuse me. I am going into the law library for a few minutes."
Left alone, Della saw that the coffee table was littered with files. Many of them bore the names of Los Angeles celebrities. Although the array of Mr. Mason's clients was impressive, it was none of her business. She quickly set to typing the paragraph, and finished it just as the lawyer was returning to the room.
She handed him the printed copy. He read it over, smiled, and stated,
"Professional modesty is a very welcome trait, however rare it may be nowadays."
"Sir?"
"You wrote in your resume that you can type seventy words a minute. Eighty-five per minute would have been a better estimation of your skill." Della was stunned. He had managed to time her, while walking in and out of the law library? "When can you start, Ms. Street?"
"As…as soon as you like. That is…if you are sure-"
"Of course I'm sure, Ms. Street," Perry Mason said. "You are the one candidate who passed all my tests. You made yourself available at a moment's notice. You did not overstate your qualifications. And most importantly, you did not so much as touch those folders on the coffee table. My confidential secretary must be reliable and self-controlled. So yes, I am sure."
Della had allowed herself a small smile, and their unforgettable partnership had been formed.
A million happy moments had followed. The time he had asked her to dispense with the formality of 'Mr. Mason' and call him 'Perry' instead; the dinners he had taken her to, in restaurants which, a few months ago, she would not have dared apply to be a waitress; the chuckle he had given when she, for the first time, had dared to sneak a desperate client onto his busy schedule. Della found herself blossoming, growing in confidence daily at his side.
Despite their close working relationship, however, she was shocked and overwhelmed when he asked her to accompany him to the Bar Association Dinner. Surely there were no fewer than a hundred socialites in Los Angeles who would have given their right arm for such an invitation from Perry Mason, and he must have known it! And he had chosen her, Della Street, instead? Either he was extremely lazy (which she knew he was not), or he truly thought her important enough to accompany him to the most impressive social gathering for lawyers in the city! She spent three weeks' salary on a new gown and a whole day at the beauty parlor, but the cost was worth it when she saw Perry's dimpled smile when he came to pick her up that evening. After dinner, Della found herself being escorted onto the dance floor as if she were the most beautiful, prestigious woman in the room. Cinderella herself could not have felt giddier. As Perry Mason gently guided her in the waltz, Della realized that the famous man in front of her had become her first love.
She did not dare to dream that Perry Mason returned her feelings. Despite the extravagant outings he took her on, he never once said anything to indicate that he would like her to have her as his wife, and Della was not one to build up foolish hopes. After all, she was just a farm girl from Iowa, and he was the most well-known, wealthiest lawyer in Los Angeles. She took solace in the fact that he was, as of now, still single, and that under the guise of a kind secretary and friend she could look after him.
The clock struck eight. It seemed to her as if no time at all had passed, so sweet it had been to sit in the same room as him and watch him sleep. Della rose, got an aspirin and some tea, and bent over the defense attorney.
"Perry, wake up, it's time for your medicine." He did not stir. "Perry?" She reached out and shook his shoulder. "Come now, wake up."
After a long moment, he dragged his eyelids open, and focused on her face with difficulty.
"Della?" he whispered in a raspy voice. "Very well, show the next client in."
The secretary suppressed a giggle, believing his confusion to be due to the fact that she had woken him up precipitously from sleep.
"We are in your apartment, not in the office. There are no clients here."
"Good. I need to finish the Dawson brief tonight," Perry mumbled as his eyes closed again.
"The Dawson – Perry, you already won that case, over a month ago. Oh, do wake -" Della bent closer to the lawyer, and suddenly stopped mid-sentence when she realized how much heat was radiating from him. Looking at his unnaturally-flushed face, she felt an ill-defined fear settling upon her heart. Dashing to the medicine cabinet, she fetched the thermometer and pried it gently between the attorney's lips. After waiting the prescribed amount of time, she withdrew it, and did a double-take when she saw what it read.
"That can't be right," she whispered, even though she knew it was.
In an instant, she was at the phone, dialing Dr. Hawley's number with shaking fingers.
Not all the chapters will be this long, but I wanted to give Della and Perry's backstory in this one!