S Is for Silence

her foot down, insisting he could find somebody in the fall when Kathy went back to school.
    Her responsibilities entailed answering the phone, filing, and “lite” typing, which she generally messed up. At the moment business was slow, so she occupied her time reading the movie magazines she kept in her lap. James Dean was already her favorite of the new Hollywood stars. Also Jean Simmons, with whom she completely identified. She’d seen Androcles and the Lion and, most recently, Young Bess , in which Jean Simmons had starred with her husband, Stewart Granger, who was second only to James Dean in Kathy’s mind.
    This was July and the office was small. Glass on all sides let the sunlight slant in, heating the space to unbearable temperatures. There was no air-conditioning, so Kathy kept an electric fan beside her on the floor, the face tilted toward hers for maximum effect. The air was still hot, but at least it was moving. She didn’t think it was possible to sweat so much sitting down. In the spring, her gym teacher had suggested it really wouldn’t hurt if she lost thirty-five pounds, but Kathy’s mother was having none of it. Girls paid entirely too much attention to superficial matters like weight, clothing, and hairstyles when what counted was inner beauty. It was more important to be a good person, setting an example for those around you. Kathy’s mother said her complexion would clear up in time if she’d just quit picking at it. Kathy used Noxzema every night, but it didn’t seem to help.
    Kathy took off her glasses and polished the lenses with the hem of her skirt. These were new glasses with stylishly tilted black cat’s-eye frames that Kathy thought looked especially wonderful on her. She found herself following Violet’s progress across the lot. She had vulgar dyed-red hair and wore a tight purple sundress with a deeply scooped neckline. Winston Smith, the salesman Kathy’s dad had hired the month before, had his eye on the crevice between her boobies. Everybody was always mooning over Violet, which made Kathy sick. Especially her friend, Liza, who thought Violet could do no wrong. Kathy was struck by a sharp emotional jolt, which later in life she might concede was a feeling of jealousy. At the moment she wondered if it was possible to have hot flashes at so young an age. She’d seen her mother fanning herself, suddenly dripping with sweat, and thought what she experienced might be similar.
    Winston worked strictly on commission, which probably explained why he was so interested in talking to Violet as she strolled between the aisles of used cars. Winston was twenty years old. His hair was dark blond with a ridge of curls on top. The sides were swept back and met at the nape in a style known as a DA, which was short for “duck’s ass,” though that wasn’t a term Kathy would dream of saying out loud. Kathy could see him gesturing, pretending to be knowledgeable when, in fact, he’d never made a sale. She found it endearing, how transparent he was to her. His goal was to make enough money to pay for his sophomore year in college, and he’d confided his belief that selling cars was the perfect way to jack up his savings. He admitted he didn’t have quite the knack for it that he’d hoped. He didn’t even enjoy it much, but he was determined to develop his skills, taking Mr. Cramer as his role model. Temporarily, of course.
    He was easily handsome enough to be a movie star himself. She thought he looked wonderful in his front-pleated slacks, open-neck shirt, and white bucks. He actually reminded her of James Dean—same cheekbones and long lashes, and the same slender build. His expression was soulful, suggestive of troubles untold. Kathy could picture him working for her father after graduation, but he had bigger dreams, possibly law school, he said. Kathy often asked him about himself, encouraging him to open up to her.
    In her pencil drawer, she kept the box of pretty pink stationery she was using for the volume of poems she was writing. She liked the roses around the edge and the pale blue butterfly in each corner. She did the actual composition on wide-lined tablet paper and then transcribed the finished verse onto good paper when she was finally satisfied. Originally she’d bought the stationery for Liza, whose birthday was coming up on Friday, July 3, but when she realized how perfect it was, she’d decided to keep it for herself. She could always give Liza the lily of the