The three of them stared at Alexandra.
"Well, I'll leave you to get acquainted with one another," Pinkerton said. He turned to Vince Barnes. "I'll expect the new perfume copy on my desk by tomorrow morning. See that Miss Blackwell has everything she needs." And he left.
"What do you need?" Vince Barnes asked.
The question caught Alexandra off guard. "I - I guess I just need to learn the advertising business."
Alice Koppel said sweetly, "You've come to the right place, Miss Blackwell. We're dying to play teacher."
"Lay off," Marty Bergheimer told her.
Alexandra was puzzled. "Have I done something to offend any of you?"
Marty Bergheimer replied, "No, Miss Blackwell. We're just under a lot of pressure here. We're working on a perfume campaign, and so far Mr. Berkley and Mr. Mathews are underwhelmed by what we've delivered."
"I'll try not to be a bother," Alexandra promised.
"That would be peachy," Alice Koppel said.
The rest of the day went no better. There was not a smile in the place. One of their co-workers had been summarily fired because of this rich bitch, and they were going to make her pay.
At the end of Alexandra's first day, Aaron Berkley and Norman Mathews came into the little office Alexandra had been assigned, to make sure she was comfortable. The gesture was not lost on Alexandra's fellow workers.
Everyone in the agency was on a first-name basis - except for Alexandra. She was Miss Blackwell to everyone.
"Alexandra," she said.
"Right."
And the next time they addressed her, it was "Miss Blackwell."
Alexandra was eager to learn and to make a contribution. She attended think-tank meetings where the copywriters brainstormed ideas. She watched art editors draw up their designs. She listened to Lucas Pinkerton tear apart the copy that was brought to him for approval. He was a nasty, mean-spirited man, and Alexandra felt sorry for the copywriters who suffered under him. Alexandra found herself shuttling from floor to floor for meetings with department heads, meetings with clients, photographic sessions, strategy discussion meetings. She kept her mouth shut, listened and learned. At the end of her first week, she felt as though she had been there a month. She came home exhausted, not from the work but from the tension that her presence seemed to create.
When Kate asked how the job was going, Alexandra replied, "Fine, Gran. It's very interesting."
"I'm sure you'll do well, Alex. If you have any problems, just see Mr. Berkley or Mr. Mathews."
That was the last thing Alexandra intended to do.
On the following Monday Alexandra went to work determined to find a way to solve her problem. There were daily morning and afternoon coffee breaks, and the conversation was easy and casual.
"Did you hear what happened over at National Media? Some genius there wanted to call attention to the great year they had, so he printed their financial report in The New York Times in red ink!"
"Remember that airline promotion: Fly Your Wife Free? It was a smash until the airline sent letters of appreciation to the wives and got back a flood of mail demanding to know who their husbands had flown with. They - "
Alexandra walked in, and the conversation stopped dead.
"Can I get you some coffee, Miss Blackwell?"
"Thank you. I can get it."
There was silence while Alexandra fed a quarter into the coffee machine. When she left, the conversation started again.
"Did you hear about the Pure Soap foul-up? The angelic-looking model they used turned out to be a porno star..."
At noon Alexandra said to Alice Koppel, "If you're free for lunch, I thought we might - "
"Sorry. I have a date."
Alexandra looked at Vince Barnes. "Me, too," he said.
She looked at Marty Bergheimer. "I'm all booked up."
Alexandra was too upset to eat lunch. They were making her feel as though she were a pariah, and she found herself getting angry. She did not intend to give up. She was going to find a way to reach them, to let them know that deep down under the Blackwell name she was one of them. She sat at meetings and listened to Aaron Berkley and Norman Mathews and Lucas Pinkerton tongue-lash the creators who were merely trying to do their jobs as well as they could. Alexandra sympathized, but they did not want her sympathy. Or her.
Alexandra waited three days before trying again. She said to Alice Koppel, "I heard of a wonderful little Italian restaurant near here - "
"I don't eat Italian food."
She turned to Vince Barnes. "I'm on a diet."
Alexandra looked at Marty Bergheimer. "I'm going to eat Chinese."
Alexandra's face was flushed. They did not want to be seen with her. Well, to hell with them. To hell with all of them. She had had enough. She had gone out of her way to try to make friends, and each time she had been slapped down. Working there was a mistake. She would find another job somewhere with a company that her grandmother had nothing to do with. She would quit at the end of the week. But I'm going to make you all remember I was here, Alexandra thought grimly.
At 1:00 P.M. on Thursday, everyone except the receptionist at the switchboard was out to lunch. Alexandra stayed behind. She had observed that in the executive offices there were intercoms connecting the various departments, so that if an executive wanted to talk to an underling, all he had to do was press a button on the talk box where the employee's name was written on a card. Alexandra slipped into the deserted offices of Aaron Berkley and Norman Mathews and Lucas Pinkerton and spent the next hour changing all the cards around. Thus it was that early that afternoon Lucas Pinkerton pressed down the key that connected him to his chief copywriter and said, "Get your ass in here. Now!"