Daughter of the Mob (Sample)

13 | First Date

PAMELA'S WORK WEEK LAGGED. Her mind was riddled with worrisome thoughts of Johnny and the deal she had accepted while she sorted countless buttons, mended drapes and cloths, and ironed textile sheets to creaseless perfection. She dreaded the day she would have to deliver twenty percent of the store's earnings to him, along with handing him the silver and brass keys that provided access to the delivery trucks.

She considered finding a new position as she had fantasized about before, but every time she scanned job advertisements in the newspapers, her search came out flat. No place in New York was hiring young unmarried women with minimal experience.

So, she resolved herself to silence, talking only when she was required to do so, and retiring to bed early for fear of exposing the truth to Caterina.

Pamela attempted to subdue her anxieties by keeping herself busy when she wasn't required to do so by folding, cleaning the countertops, and prepping the polished display cases. It seemed to work, as she forgot everything except what her hands did while they accomplished menial tasks.

Her fingers had become sore and calloused from needlework and stitching, long hours of labour imprinting themselves upon her flesh as if to serve as an eternal memory.

When she closed her eyes tight enough, she was transported to a simpler time: where she worked with Lorna in the kitchen, crafting scrumptious chocolate peanut butter squares and peach cobbler for her parent's dinner parties. Sometimes, she would lick the batter from the spoon and Lorna wouldn't scold her, though, of course, her mother would have a fit if she knew.

One day she was so embroiled in the role of mending a torn bolt of periwinkle-striped linen that she didn't hear Caterina calling her for supper.

Caterina shook her out of her stupor, drawing her to consciousness once again. "Pamela Anne Kelly! What has gotten into you lately?"

Pamela braved a timid smile and shrugged her shoulders halfheartedly. "I'm peachy, Caterina. Just a little tired. I haven't been able to sleep much lately."

"If you didn't work so much, maybe you would find the time to sleep." Caterina chastised. "The bags under your eyes are getting darker."

"I'm fine! Really!" Neuroticism took hold of Pamela, combined with a lack of sleep. "Sorry, Cat. I don't mean to sound crazy or anything. But, believe me, I am perfectly fine."

Caterina glared, making her incredulity known. "All I'm saying is there's no need to work when we aren't even getting paid. Some of the other girls are considering quitting, and finding jobs with steady pay. Johnny said we'd get our share at the end of the month, but some of us can't wait that long."

The news surprised Pamela. Surely she hadn't been so oblivious to the surrounding happenings.

When the two girls were upstairs, Caterina guided Pamela to the sofa, hooking an arm around her slender shoulders.

"What's bothering you? Is it poor Mr. Friedenberg?" Caterina inquired softly as she crossed herself.

All the girls had heard about Mr. Friedenberg and his untimely demise. They had received a formal letter from his family which included news of their employer:

Dear Albright Trimmings & Co. staff,

With great sadness in my heart, I am writing to inform you that my husband, Clyde Friedenberg, has passed away. We aren't willing to share the details of his death but remain assured that with great confidence, we will pass the position of store management onto a new hire. Please do not reply to this address, as we will be unreachable and are grieving.

Sincerely,

Ellen Friedenberg

"Not Mr. Friedenberg, though I am sad about his death..." Pamela said cautiously, "I suppose I'm just unused to the men, Mr. Friedenberg's former associates, who stand idly by and tease us as we work."