Lessons in Chemistry
- Автор: Garmus Bonnie
- Год: 2022
- Язык: английский
- Год: Doubleday Canada
- Жанр: Современная русская и зарубежная проза
Электронная книга - «Lessons in Chemistry». Краткое содержание книги:
From all over the country women leapt from their sofas and pounded on kitchen tables, calling out in a combination of excitement for her words and heartache for her departure.
“Before I GO,” she shouted over the din, “I’d like to thank a very special FRIEND. Her name is HARRIET SLOANE.”
From Elizabeth’s living room, Harriet’s jaw dropped.
“Harriet,” Mad breathed. “You’re famous!”
“As you know,” Elizabeth continued, again quieting the audience with her hands, “I’ve always wrapped my shows by telling your children to set the table so that you might have a moment for yourself. ‘A moment for yourself’—that was the advice Harriet Sloane gave me the first day I met her, and that is the advice that has resulted in my decision to leave Supper at Six. It was Harriet who told me to use that moment to reconnect with my own needs, to identify my true direction, to recommit. And thanks to Harriet, I finally have.”
“Holy mother of god,” Harriet said, turning pale.
“Boy, Pine is going to kill you,” Mad said.
“Thank you, Harriet,” Elizabeth said. “Thanks to all of you,” she said nodding at the audience. “And so for the last time, I’d like to ask your children to set the table. And then I’m going to ask each of you to take a moment and recommit. Challenge yourselves, ladies. Use the laws of chemistry and change the status quo.”
Again, the audience rose to its feet, and again the clapping was thunderous. But as Elizabeth turned to go, it was obvious the audience was not going anywhere — not without one last directive. Unsure of how to proceed, she looked to Walter. He motioned with his hand as if he had an idea, then scribbled something on a cue card and held it up for her to see. She nodded, then turned back to the camera.
“This concludes your introduction to chemistry,” she announced. “Class dismissed.”
Chapter 42
Personnel
JANUARY 1962
It had been everyone’s assumption — everyone being Harriet, Walter, Wakely, Mason, and Elizabeth herself — that she would be flooded with employment offers. Universities, research labs, perhaps even the National Institutes of Health. Despite the mockery Life magazine had made of her life, she’d been a prominent personality, a television celebrity.
But it didn’t happen. In fact, nothing happened. Not only did she not receive a single call, but her résumés to research concerns were completely ignored. Despite her daytime popularity, the scientific community continued to entertain significant doubt regarding her academic credentials. Dr. Meyers, Dr. Donatti — very important chemists — were quoted in Life magazine as having said she wasn’t really a scientist. That was all it took.
And thus she was introduced to the other truism of fame: that it was fleeting. The only Elizabeth Zott anyone was interested in was the one who’d worn an apron.
—
“You could always return to the show,” Harriet said as Elizabeth came in through the door with Six-Thirty, her arms full of library books. “You know Walter would put you back on today if you’d let him.”
“I know,” she said, setting the books down, “but I can’t. At least the reruns are doing well. Coffee?” she asked, lighting a Bunsen burner.
“I don’t have time. I’m meeting with my attorney. But here,” Harriet said, pulling little notes out of her apron pocket. “Dr. Mason wants to talk about new uniforms for the women’s team and — are you ready for this? — Hastings called. I almost hung up. Can you imagine? Hastings. They have a lot of nerve calling here.”
“Who was it?” Elizabeth asked, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. For the last two and a half years, she’d been waiting for Hastings to notice Calvin’s boxes were missing.
“The head of Personnel. But don’t worry. I told her to go to hell.”
“Her?”
Harriet shuffled through the messages. “Here it is. A Miss Frask.”
“Frask isn’t at Hastings,” Elizabeth said, relieved. “She was fired years ago. She types sermons for Wakely.”
“Interesting,” Harriet said. “Well, she claimed she’s head of Personnel at Hastings.”
Elizabeth frowned. “She likes to kid.”
—
After Harriet’s car pulled out of the driveway, Elizabeth poured herself a cup of coffee, then reached for the phone.
“Miss Frask’s office, Miss Finch speaking,” said the voice.
“Miss Frask’s office?” Elizabeth scoffed.
“Excuse me?” came the voice.
Elizabeth hesitated. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but who is this?”
“Who is this?” demanded the voice.
“Okay, okay,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll play along. Elizabeth Zott calling for Miss Frask.”
“Elizabeth Zott,” the person on the other end said. “Good one.”
“Is there a problem?” Elizabeth asked.
It was the tone. The woman on the other end recognized it immediately. “Oh,” she breathed. “It is you. I’m so sorry, Miss Zott. I’m such a fan. It’s an honor to connect you. Please hold.”
“Zott,” came a voice a moment later. “About fucking time!”
“Hello, Frask,” Elizabeth said. “Head of Personnel at Hastings? Does Wakely know you’re making crank calls?”
“Three things, Zott,” Frask said briskly. “One: loved the article. I always knew I’d see you back on the cover of something, but there? Stroke of genius. If you want to reach the choir, it only makes sense to go where they worship.”
“What?”
“Two, I love that housekeeper of yours—”
“Harriet is not a housekeeper—”
“—the second I told her I was calling from Hastings, she told me to go to hell. Made my day.”
“Frask—”
“Third, I need you to come in as soon as possible — as in today — in the next hour or so if you can swing it. Remember that fat-cat investor? He’s back.”
“Frask,” Elizabeth sighed, “you know I love a good joke, but—”
Frask laughed. “You love a joke? Is that supposed to be a joke? No, Zott, listen. I’m back at Hastings — in fact I’m top of the heap. That investor of yours saw the letter I wrote to Life and contacted me. I’ll fill you in on the details later; I don’t have time now. I’m cleaning house. God, I love to clean! Can you come or not? Also, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but can you bring the damn dog? The investor wants to meet him.”
—
Harriet entered the law offices of Hanson & Hanson, her hands shaking. For the last thirty years, she’d confessed to her priest that her husband drank and cursed and never himself attended Mass, that he treated her as his own personal slave, that he called her names. And for the last thirty years, the priest had nodded, then explained that while divorce was out of the question, she still had lots of options. For example, she could pray to find ways to become a better wife, she could take a good look at herself and try to understand how she upset him, she could take more care with her appearance.
That’s why she’d subscribed to all those women’s magazines — because they were bibles of self-improvement and they would show her what to do. But no matter what advice she followed, things between her and Mr. Sloane did not improve. Worse, sometimes the advice backfired — like the time she’d gotten a perm, something the magazine claimed would “make him sit up and take notice,” but instead resulted in endless complaints about how terrible she smelled. But then Elizabeth Zott came into her life and she finally realized that maybe what she needed wasn’t new clothes or a different hairdo. Maybe what she needed was a career. In magazines.