Chapter 5
Wednesday
Della straightened her suit jacket as she crossed the lobby of the Brent Building. She hadn't been this nervous since... well, since her last job interview.
'You got that job,' she told herself, 'and now you have three years' more experience.'
Her internal pep talk faltered when her other half had to point out, 'Except that most of your experience is in a secretarial pool at a mid-sized law firm and this is for a one man office.'
Oh, she knew he had a small staff of typists and the on call services of a private detective agency but the majority of her time would be spent with the man himself.
The man who tested judges' patience and pulled confessions out of people the way a magician pulled rabbits out of a hat. Mason appeared very tough in court, questioning witnesses and sparring with the district attorney, but then she had seen him soften as he reassured his client at the recess.
After pushing the call button, she used the reflective surface of the elevator door to double check her appearance, gingerly patting her hair to make sure the small bandage was still concealed. There wasn't anything she could do about the wrap around her sprained right wrist. The stiffness she had awakened to this morning, in what felt like every muscle in her body, was mostly gone thanks to the two aspirin she had taken then and she had taken another two just before leaving the office.
"Nine, please," she told the elevator operator as she stepped into the small space.
Less than a minute later, she was standing in front of the door reading 'Perry Mason Attorney at Law'. The deep breath she took did nothing to settle her nerves, but she reached for the doorknob anyway.
The reception room was empty. A door to the left was open into the next office where another door opened into the larger office beyond. She caught a glimpse of Mr. Mason at his desk and looked away, feigning interest in the wall art.
Mason had left the doors open because his receptionist was still at lunch, and he had an interview at one o'clock. He watched as the new arrival tried to ignore the fact that he was there.
She was attractive - very attractive, actually - and while she was a few years younger than the other applicants he had interviewed this week, she had an air of poise that even the more experienced candidates had been missing. Maybe it was the single strand of pearls that draped just below the base of her throat; many girls these days viewed them as old-fashioned, their mothers' jewelry. This girl knew the pearls gave her a classic sophistication without slipping into matronly.
She removed her gloves, an action that appeared painful for a reason he didn't understand until he saw the bandage on her right hand.
Not his interview then. He was vaguely disappointed although he couldn't say why.
'I wonder who she wants to sue,' Mason thought as he went out to greet her. A large number of the clients he took on first showed up without an appointment. The fleeting sense of having seen her before passed so quickly that he almost didn't catch it.
At least she knew how to wear perfume, just enough to be noticed only when he stood right in front of her. His third interviewee had worn so much that it had taken most of the afternoon with the balcony doors open to clear out the noxious cloud.
"May I help you?"
He wore a dark suit, well-cut, but not frivolously expensive. She had noticed that the other day, guessing the wardrobe choice went a long way to projecting an imposing image in court. Seeing him face to face again, she didn't doubt he was well aware that his dark suits made his blue eyes all the more piercing.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Mason, I'm Della Street. I have a one o'clock appointment. I know I'm a bit early so if you need a few minutes..." She was smooth and calm, not the usual behavior of someone with a grievance that required an attorney to resolve.
He stifled a curse. His receptionist evidently had double booked the time and now he had to deal with this girl before his interview arrived. For all of Carol's flirting, she had been an excellent secretary who managed the office and his schedule without this sort of mix-up.
"I'm afraid you've wasted your time, Miss Street. I don't handle personal injury cases."
The odd declaration confused her - until she saw him looking at the bandage on her hand. "This? This is mostly my own fault and not in the least worth suing over. Besides, I'm more interested in working for a criminal attorney than hiring one."
"Working for a -" he broke off as processed her words. "You're here about the job?"
"Yes, as I said, I have a one o'clock appointment." He had been impressive in court, but he seemed rather scattered in his own office. Della hoped that was due to being short handed.
"I apologize, Miss Street. I thought an error had been made in the appointments since the name I have down is Delia Strait."
'A name taken by the receptionist who left the front office empty knowing there was an appointment scheduled? And his first thought was that she had double booked an appointment? That should be fun to work with.'
He could see the shrewd mind behind the intelligent brown eyes and wasn't sure he wanted to know whether Miss Street was silently chastising the absent receptionist for her actions or him for keeping her on. Mason made a mental note to talk with Miss Gentry this afternoon. "Please come into my office."
As she preceded him through what was clearly the secretary's office, she noticed files stacked on the desk and across the top of the row of file cabinets that lined the back wall. The small conference table in his office held more files, several law books, a scattering of paper coffee cups and an overflowing ashtray.
'Did Carol Fremont let him work this way or does he insist on it?" It was difficult to believe either scenario. 'Carol's last day was just Friday; surely he couldn't have let it get this bad in so short a time... could he?' He didn't apologize for the mess, but being a man, it was possible he didn't even notice it.
His desk was neater with only a few files and papers, no law books but its own brimming ashtray.
She unzipped her portfolio, pulled out two file folders and passed one across the desk to him.
He glanced over her resume and the letters of recommendation from her business school professors and counselor along with the letters from her old firm back home. They were impressive but rather out of date.
"Tell me about what you're doing now."
"I've been at Murphy and Young for three years in the secretarial pool working for whichever associate or junior partner needed extra help. Five months ago, I was assigned permanently to Martin Hays who specializes in wills and estates."
The detachment in her voice told him more than her words. "Not what you were looking for?"
"The frequent trips to the courthouse got me out of the office and running interference between warring family members makes for a certain amount of drama but on the whole, no, it's not what I was looking for." It was easier to let him believe it was the work that didn't interest her - which was true enough - rather than reveal the fact that Mr. Hays was a lecherous man with a jealous wife. While she had known when she was given the assignment that she wouldn't like the work or the man, she hadn't been in a position to refuse. A girl in the secretarial pool didn't have the luxury of picking and choosing; rejecting one permanent placement all but eliminated the chance of there ever being another one.
"Do you have any experience with criminal law?" The leather chair creaked softly as he settled back.
Della unconsciously mimicked his attitude as she relaxed into her own seat. "I've assisted on a few cases, mostly running background checks on witnesses. I've also done some organization of evidence and sat in on depositions when they wanted to intimidate with numbers. It's fascinating, but I never went to court, of course, so I didn't get to see any of them through to the end except in the newspapers. That's a drawback to working in a secretarial pool, you see a lot of different pieces, but rarely how they all fit together or come out. I always felt as though I was leaving things unfinished."
He asked her a few questions about background checks, and she briefly outlined her basic procedure. "Since I couldn't bring anything from the firm, I thought this was the best way to show what I can do," she said handing him the second file folder.
A raised eyebrow was his only reaction when he saw his own name on the tab.
Opening the file he found two pages, well organized, highly detailed. Place and date of birth; education from elementary school through law school; military service; the date he took the bar exam and his score; his tenure with a large firm, with a list of major cases along with their outcomes; the date he left to open his own practice; his financial status including charitable donations.
"You have some excellent contacts, Miss Street. Would you care to tell me how you got some of this information?"
"Is any of it incorrect?" she asked.
"No, it's all quite accurate." He noted the evasive non-answer in her question. "How long have you been working on this?"
"I started Monday after I set up the appointment. I didn't want to put the time in if I wasn't going to get an interview. You can keep the file; it's the only copy."
"You called on Monday? Did you see the ad in the paper?"
"Yes."
"Are you a regular scout of the employment ads?"
If he had kept the supposition to himself, she might have let the misconception stand. Lying in the face of a direct question, however, was unthinkable. "No, I was looking for your ad in particular. I actually heard last week that your secretary had given her notice."
"Do you always listen to gossip, Miss Street?"
"I think you'll find, Mr. Mason, that nearly everybody listens to gossip to some extent. The trick is knowing when to take it a face value and when to get outside corroboration."
"Such as making sure there was an ad in the paper?"
"Actually, that was merely a formality." She caught the barest flicker of surprise in his eyes. "In this case, while the source was impeccable, simply hearing that you were about to have an opening wasn't enough to make me decide to apply. I watched you in court one afternoon and then spent Saturday at the main library going through newspaper files researching some of your cases."
"What did you learn?"
"You believe everyone has the right to representation, but you prefer to keep innocent people from being railroaded than getting guilty people off on technicalities. You'll work out a plea bargain when there are extenuating circumstances and your client is truly remorseful. You choose your clients based on their need rather than their ability to pay your fee."
He considered her evaluation then asked, "What about all of that makes you want to work for me?"
"I want to work for someone who believes justice is for everyone, and who fights when the system tries to take the easy way out. I get the feeling that among the clients who can't afford your fee there are ones you turned down because they thought your integrity could be bought with enough money. You have..." she broke off, realizing she was getting rather more impassioned than a job interview called for. Verbalizing her opinion had made her realize just how much she wanted this job.
"I have what?" he prompted.
"You have a reputation for the..." Della paused, chewing her lip as she weighed her words then decided she couldn't ruin her chances any more by answering honestly, "unorthodox."
"And you equate unorthodox with exciting?"
"Perhaps not exciting, per se, but unorthodox isn't boring. I've done boring and I don't like it." She cocked her head, an impish glint in her eye. "Besides, shouldn't one 'pray that the way be long, full of adventures and experiences'?"
"Do you frequently quote Cavafy, Miss Street?" Mason asked. Greek poetry wasn't part of the usual high school or business school curriculum, yet here was this girl casually dropping it into conversation.
Della smothered a sigh of disappointment at the realization that he was just another powerful man whose ego didn't allow for him to be shown up by a mere secretary. "Not on a regular basis, but he did seem the most appropriate to the occasion."
"Most appropriate, hmm? You have others, I take it. A quote for every situation perhaps?"
"Almost. It comes from being raised by parents who were and still are voracious readers." Her eyes shone with affection she made no effort to conceal as she continued, "They passed their love of literature to me."
"Which of them has a particular fondness for O. Henry?" Her expression shifted to carefully blank. "You were named for the girl in 'The Gift of the Magi', weren't you?" he asked, doubt creeping into the certainty of his conclusion.
"He's my dad's favorite, but most people don't make the connection."
"Really? It is quite a well known story."
She gave him a concessionary nod. "Well known for the bare bones of the story: a husband and wife, hair and a watch chain but not that the characters are named Della and Jim. I've never cared much for the story myself."
"Why not?"
"Because, while that Della's sacrifice was noble, it wasn't permanent. She would be able to use the combs in a few months when her hair grew back but Jim's watch - his father's watch - was gone forever."
"An interesting perspective on the story; I hadn't ever considered it that way. Still, you ended up with a good name. Not many Dellas in the world."
"Says the man named 'Perry'." Her smile returned as she added, "Although, on the whim of a coin toss there could have been one less 'Della'."
"A coin toss? What was the possible alternative?"
"My mother's choice was another literary character known to cut her hair for money, Jo March."
"From 'Little Women'."
"Don't tell me you've read it?" she asked, her skepticism clear. Girls always had to read 'Huckleberry Finn' and 'Moby Dick' but boys never had to read 'Little Women' or 'Anne of Green Gables'.
"No," he said, unwittingly confirming her suspicion, "but I've seen every movie Katharine Hepburn has made, so yes, I know 'Little Women'. We've gone a bit astray. What were we talking about?"
"You're unorthodox and I don't like boring." She saw his lips twitch at her bare bones summation. "Somehow, I don't see you liking boring either."
"Regardless of what you might have heard, I'm not always rushing from one escapade to the next." His easy going demeanor faded as he continued. "This job comes with long hours and hard work. I do it myself and I expect the people I employ to do the same. For every time you're with me to meet a client in the middle of the night there will be a time when you're stuck here in the office waiting. There will be occasions when I won't have time to explain things. You'll have to trust my judgment and act accordingly. Can you do that?" He waited for her answer, instinctively knowing this could be the key question to the interview.
She didn't reply in an impetuous rush but she didn't think too long about it either. "Yes, Mr. Mason, I believe I can."
He continued to delve into her qualifications and personal philosophy. Della was challenged by the questions he asked; Mason was intrigued with her answers.
Eventually, Della had a query of her own. "Would it offend you if I asked questions about cases and strategies?"
"Why?"
"The more I know about the way you work, the better I can anticipate your requests in similar circumstances. The more I understand about a case, the easier it is to provide the information you need."
"I realize I wasn't clear. I was asking why you thought I would be offended."
Taken aback, Della paused before answering truthfully, "Well, because the majority of attorneys would be."
"Have you considered attending law school?"
Della shook her head with a smile. "As much as law interests me, I don't have the personality for court. I can cajole information out of people when they think it's a friendly chat, but I wouldn't be any good at cross-examining people in court."
"Don't sell yourself short. Cajoling can be a useful tactic in court as well."
"Mr. Mason, I can do the waltz, mambo and foxtrot, but I'm not even close to being Ginger Rogers. I know my strengths and my limitations. I'm not a lawyer, but I am a very good legal secretary. Besides," she raised a teasing eyebrow at him, "if you steer all potential secretaries to law school, who's going to work for you?"
"Point taken," he conceded. "You said the injury to your hand was mostly your own fault... how much of it was someone else's?"
The abrupt change of subject was bewildering and she took a breath before answering.
"It was a minor car accident last night," she said, squelching the impulse to check the bandage hidden under her hair. "It happened so fast I didn't have time to hang on to anything. I got jostled around more than anything else."
"Was the driver drunk?"
Della felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment. "Mr. Mason, I take full responsibility for being foolish enough to get in a car with someone I don't like very much anymore - a feeling which began well before the accident - but I assure you I'm not stupid enough to get in a car with a drunk, no matter how I feel about them."
"Even smart people have been known to get into cars with drunks in an effort to keep them from driving," Mason countered.
"Then they aren't smart enough to know that the only way to keep a drunk from driving is not let them get behind the wheel in the first place," she replied with a hint of defiance.
"On that we agree."
"Well, you should also know that I'm trying to cut back on the foolish part, too," she found herself confiding somewhat self-consciously.
"Glad to hear it. When can you start?"
"What?" It was the first conversational jump she didn't follow.
He smiled. "I was under the impression you wanted the job, Miss Street."
"I do, Mr. Mason." She figured if the man could make a decision about hiring her that fast, the least she could do was accept.
He wrote a number on a slip of paper and handed it to her. "That's weekly," he confirmed when her eyes widened. "As I said before, I don't keep normal office hours. My secretary doesn't just come in at nine and leave at five so I pay accordingly."
"Yes, you do," she agreed, "I guess I'll be getting a car a couple of months sooner now." She had been living on her old salary for the past five months and saving every penny of her raise, but this was going to advance the cause at a quicker pace.
"You don't own a car?"
She was still staring at what looked more like a phone number than a salary so her reply was bit distracted. "No, but I've already checked and there's a bus route between here and my apartment with no transfers. It runs until one a.m."
The attorney's brow furrowed in concern. "The bus is fine in the morning, but I don't like the idea of you riding it late at night."
"I can take care of myself, Mr. Mason." Della decided against submitting her injured wrist as evidence to prove it.
"I'm certain you can, but I think it would be best if you took a cab home at night."
"If I take a cab home every night, I'll be getting a car later rather than sooner."
"You won't be paying for the cabs, I will," he stated firmly.
The scene with Stephen flashed through Della's mind and determination flashed in her eyes. "Taking care of myself includes paying my own expenses. Perhaps this isn't a good situation for either of us."
Mason thought quickly, trying to find the argument that would change her mind. "I meant no offense, Miss Street, or to imply anything improper. My last secretary had a car so it never occurred to me that you might not. May I suggest a compromise - until you get a car, that is?"
"What kind of compromise?" Wariness colored her words.
"If you leave here any later than eight o'clock, you take a cab and pay for it out of petty cash. That makes it strictly a business expense."
Della searched his face for any kind of subterfuge but what she found made her understand why so many people trusted him with their lives.
"Make it nine o'clock and you've got a deal, Mr. Mason." At his agreeing nod, she continued, "I'm sorry if I sounded like a prig -"
"No apology necessary. When can you start?"
"Depends on what happens when I get back to the office." Martin Hays wasn't going to take the news well. She estimated it would take less than a minute for him to start yelling.
"You'll give two weeks' notice." It was a statement he was certain she wouldn't contradict. He already knew enough about her to expect she would follow standard business protocol to the letter. "I'll see you in two weeks at the latest. If they put up a fuss, I'll see you tomorrow."
She couldn't believe this was actually happening. "You aren't going to check my references?"
"I prefer my own opinions." Mason lifted the folder she had given him. "And you provided considerable evidence on your own. This is good work. It contains some things I'd forgotten. When I show it to Paul Drake, he'll try to steal you out from under my nose."
That put her a bit more at ease. "He needn't bother. I don't want to work for a private detective any more than I want to work for an estate planner."
"I'll tell him but he'll probably try anyway. He's a good friend, and as you're aware, I employ his agency exclusively. You should know, he frequently uses my private door. During the day, he'll knock in case I'm with a client. At night, he'll just come in."
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.
Della rose gracefully to her feet with a playful smile. "Let's see how well your favorite detective handles the unexpected." She opened the door, and even from the back, Perry could see the discomfort caused by using her injured hand.
"Perry, you -" Startled, his gaze dropped from where he expected to see a serious lawyer down to an unfamiliar face with teasing brown eyes. "You are not Perry."
"My, you are a good detective," she said struggling to keep a straight face. "Good afternoon, Mr. Drake."
"You have me at a disadvantage, Miss...?"
"Street, and I'm sure that doesn't happen often." She knew his type - smooth and charming, but he looked like he could take no for an answer without letting it dent his ego.
Drake looked to his friend for an explanation.
"Paul Drake, this is Della Street, my new secretary."
The ringing phone interrupted the introduction. By the third ring, they began to realize the receptionist had never returned.
"I believe my next task will be to hire a new receptionist," Mason said. He reached for the phone, but Della smoothly beat him to it.
"Perry Mason's office." She listened then reached for the schedule she had seen laying on the desk. "No, I'm sorry, Mr. Mason is in court all day tomorrow." She pointed to the name Hopson next to 4:00 on Friday afternoon and pantomimed moving it up to 10:30 in the morning. Perry nodded. "Would 10:30 on Friday morning do? Thank you, Mr. Hopson." Hanging up, she asked, "Do you have a service you can turn the phones over to for the rest of the day?"
"Yes," he replied, not sure where she was leading.
Della picked up the receiver again and dialed. "Adele Cooper, please. This is Della Street." She waited while the call was transferred, trying not to fidget under the curious gaze of the two men. "Hi, Adele, I need a receptionist at Perry Mason's office in the Brent Building tomorrow morning." She listened for a moment. "It's only been official for a few minutes, but yes, I will be working for Mr. Mason. Adele, Gertie Lade wouldn't happen to be available, would she? Really?" Another pause. "Well, let's see how things go but that's absolutely an option. Mr. Mason will fill her in since I won't be here. By the way, my new job isn't public knowledge yet so if you could keep it to yourself for a couple of days, I'd appreciate it. Thanks, Adele. Bye." She replaced the receiver and faced her audience with a self-satisfied expression.
"You know Adele Cooper?" He wasn't surprised she was familiar with one of the largest agencies in the city and was beginning to think he shouldn't be surprised that the owner immediately took her calls.
"I know a lot of people." She didn't mention that she had added a police officer, a doctor and a cab dispatcher to her list of contacts in the last twenty-four hours.
"Yes, you do," he agreed, darting a glance at the file she had given him. "Who is Gertie Lade?"
"Miss Cooper will set it up as a temp job to begin with, but if you like her, she's your new receptionist. She's been at Murphy and Young a number of times. I happen to know she's in great demand at several firms. She's very efficient, has a nice, outgoing personality, knows how to get names right and keep the office covered when appointments are scheduled. The better news is that she's tired of temping and wants something permanent."
"Is there anything you can't do, Miss Street?" he asked, clearly impressed.
She kept a straight face but couldn't suppress the mirth in her eyes as she replied, "Well, I've tried and tried, but I just don't understand the infield fly rule."
Mason laughed out loud. "Truth to tell, neither do I. You think fast on your feet, Miss Street. That's going to come in handy in this job."
Della fought back a blush. "I need to get back to work so I can give my notice."
"Let my service know when I can expect you."
"I will. Thank you, Mr. Mason."
He picked up a business card and scribbled a number on the back. "That's my private number; you'll need it later on."
Drake had followed the conversation with interest, but that last part floored him. He knew for a fact that Carol Fremont worked for Perry almost a year before he gave her his private number. Prior to that, she had to go through the service to reach him at home.
Mason walked her to the door then returned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"She's, what, your fifth interview?" Drake asked, lighting a cigarette. "What made you decide so quickly?"
It took several seconds for the attorney to come back from wherever his thoughts had taken him. "What? Oh, well, the truth is, she was the first one who acted as though I was interviewing her for a secretarial job rather than her interviewing me as husband material. She's been at Murphy and Young for three years and they don't keep fools - at least, not as secretaries. Also, she gave me a sample of her research work." He passed the folder to the other man.
Skimming the information, Drake's eyebrows shot to his hairline. He learned a couple of things about the man he thought he knew as well as a brother. "How long did she work on this?"
"She says she didn't start until she had the appointment - two days ago."
"I get first dibs on her if, for some unimaginable reason, she doesn't work out with you."
"I warned her you would try to steal her... and you might be considering what she's digging up on you."
"Me?"
"Now that she has the job, do you really think she won't have a file like that on you by the weekend?"
The lanky detective blanched.
~P&D~
The elevator deposited Della back in the lobby and she crossed over to the bank of phone booths she had seen on the way in. Slipping into one, she closed the door, dropped a nickel in and dialed a number from memory.
"Judge Helton's chambers."
"Hi, Elaine, it's Della. Are you free for dinner tonight? I need to talk to you."
"Sure, kid, what's going on?" Spur of the moment plans were usually initiated by Elaine. Whatever Della had on her mind was big.
"There's no way to tell part of the story. My place, 6:30? You don't mind leftover spaghetti, do you?"
"Not when it's yours. Can I bring dessert? Carrot cake?"
Having skipped lunch to make time for the interview, Della almost swooned at the sweet prospect. "Yes, please; see you tonight."
"I'll be there."
TBC
Author's Note
"Setting out on the voyage to Ithaca
you must pray that the way be long,
full of adventures and experiences."
Ithaca
Constantine Peter Cavafy
I, myself, do not quote Greek poetry off the top of my head - or any other body part. However, I do frequently scour my raggedy copy of Bartlett's Quotations in desperate searches for titles. One such search didn't help me in the title department but it did net me a half decent conversational plot point so I count it as successful.