The Spy Who Loved Me

Chapter 9

"I'm sorry, Ms. Walker, we can't hire you at this time."

Her shoulders slumped with defeat; this was a phrase she had been hearing all too often. It seemed like nobody in New York City needed a maid. Manhattan—no luck; Brooklyn—no luck: Upstate—no luck. The fifty bucks she had taken from Michael would only last so long.

She couldn't tell Howard that she had lost her job. Everyday, she continued to leave in the morning, as though she were performing her daily work routine at the Redmond mansion. In reality, she often meandered around town, smoked, and looked for jobs. She figured there would several maid jobs in Queens or Richmond, but the bus fare was too expensive and the trip too long. 

Her legs burned with pain from miles of walking. She plopped down on a bench, her stomach rumbling with hunger. The smell of peanuts and hotdogs permeated the air,  but she forced herself to ignore the beckoning fumes. She occupied herself by intently reading the paper ads that adorned the light post by the bench. She scanned each of them, not entirely interested. That is until the big, black, bold lettering of one caught her eyes.

"SCREENWRITER'S ASSISTANT NEEDED" she read aloud, "Office of Jimmy White.". She tore off one of the tabs that had the address. "Why, it's only two blocks away..." she mumbled. She wasn't sure what an assistant did, or who Jimmy White was, but at this point, she was desperate. 

Five minutes later, she found herself outside a stately townhouse. She checked the address again to make sure she was at the right place. She shrugged her shoulders and rang the doorbell anyways. 

Silence.

Then shuffling.

Her eyes met a distinguished gentleman. He was dressed in a vintage burgundy velvet smoking jacket, embroidered with a black paisley print. His blue eyes sparkled, and his dirty blonde hair gleamed under the sunlight. He looked down at Ethel with confusion in his eyes. 

"I saw your ad for—"

"Ah, come in..." he hurriedly beckoned her in, rolling his eyes as if didn't feel like hearing her speak. "I was wondering if anybody would ever show up! I could sure use some help around here..."

Slightly flustered, Ethel followed in behind him, admiring the polished wood floors and spacious     parlor. "I-I haven't had any experience as an assistant, or screenwriting at that, but I learn fast—"

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. "I'm not sure if I heard you right" he cocked his head with a frown clouding his face. "You're not here for the maid position?" 

"Well—no" she stuttered, "I never saw an ad for a maid position..."

"You honestly believe that I'd hire you as my assistant? As a maid, yes, but as my assistant...never!" He laughed patronizingly. "Do you even know who I am?" He spread his arms wide and held his head high.

"No, I don't" she replied demurely.

"I write for Paramount studios, one of the biggest production companies in Hollywood" he boasted arrogantly. 

Paramount Pictures....that's who Michael worked for!

"Do you know Mr. Morrison by any chance?" she asked surprised.

"Michael?" he snorted, "Yes, I know him, but I can't say I like him...or trust him". He ran his fingers through his hair and stared at her. "How do you know Michael?"

"I've worked a little in the entertainment industry" 

"Singer, dancer?"

She nodded her head.

"I never caught your name, Ms.—"

"Walker" 

"Well, Ms. Walker...I can't say that I've ever heard of you" He snickered and raised his eyebrows condescendingly. "With that being said, I think that maid position would be more fitting for you!" He laughed as though he had told the funniest joke ever. 

Arrogant bastard...

His laughter died down when he noticed her scowling face. "I'm offering you my maid position, but you can take it or leave it" he winked at her and strutted down the hall. He must have been expecting her to run after him and beg for the job when he stopped in the hall midway and turned around questioningly. 

Ethel crossed her arms and gave him a smug smile. "Good day, Mr. White!" 

She hurried out of his home, shredding his address paper as she angrily stomped down the street. He was a chauvinistic and manipulative man. She couldn't believe he had the nerve to say that he didn't trust Michael, when he was the one who probably couldn't be trusted. She stopped at the curb to catch her breath

Michael...

She hadn't seen him, or bothered to call him. She didn't know how it happened, but she found herself staring at the business card Michael had given her the night they met. It was worn around the edges from being stuffed at the bottom of her purse. She but her lip as she ran her fingers across the black inky letters that spelled out his address. Her conscience was telling her to turn around, but her legs betrayed her, soon leading her to the steps of the luxury apartment building he resided in. She hesitatingly lifted her hand to pull the stately doors open. A young girl sitting at the front desk looked up curiously as Ethel walked through the entrance.

"How may I help you?" she asked Ethel with a sunny smile.

"I'm here to see Michael Morrison..."

The girl nodded her head, causing her honey brown ringlets bounce. "May I have your name?"

"Ethel Walker" 

"Hold on just one minute" she said as she pressed a button on the intercom. "Mr. Morrison? Ethel Walker is here to visit you."

The sound of his voice could be heard of the speaker, but lacked any annunciation, as his syllables were muffled and fuzzy. 

"You can go on up" the girl motioned towards the elevators. "His apartment number is on floor three, room number three twenty-two.

"Thank you" Ethel smiled and gave a quick nod.

Clutching her purse tightly, she entered the elevator and pushed the round third floor button.