Chapter 6

Nora spent the weekend organizing her best work with a variety of mechanical schemata and detailed cross sections. On Monday,

she awoke hours before her appointment with Mr.White. Double-checked her case for the third time, making certain she had

included all aspects of her education: facades, detail drawings, floor plans drawn to scale, electrical and plumbing installations.

Of course, on any actual projects there would be electricians and plumbers, but it was necessary for architects to have a

functional knowledge of these subjects and she didn't want Mr.White to have any reservations about hiring her.

The architectural firm of McKim, Mead, and White was located at Fifth Avenue and Twenty-first Street, only three blocks from

where she lived. Three long avenue blocks , she reminded herself. She planned to leave early so she wouldn't have to rush and appear disheveled and out of breath when

she arrived.

She paced back and forth in the narrow space between the beds until it was time to dress, which she did at the last minute,

taking special care not to wrinkle the tucks on the shirtwaist Mama had made. With the addition of a straw boater that Nora

had to borrow from Inez, and feeling very professional, she went downstairs.

She reached her destination early and, deciding that it did no harm to be more than punctual, she took the elevator upstairs

to the fifth-floor drafting room. Stood outside to take a fortifying breath, and, touching the rows of tiny pleating down

the front of her blouse for good luck, she opened the door.

She was in an anteroom. A bespectacled clerk looked up from his desk; his eyes widened and he shot out of his chair.

"May I help you?"

"I'm here to see Mr.White. He's expecting me."

He took in her outfit and her person and his expression changed as if he'd just bitten into something nasty. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

He sat back down, sprawling slightly. "What would this be about, then? You planning on building a mansion?"

"Several, if necessary, but my interest is in larger edifices." Nora gave him a fulminating look. And when he didn't react,

she continued, "I'm here on business."

He barked out a laugh and leaned forward. "How the mighty have fallen." He shook his head. "If I were you, I'd keep my business

where it belongs."

Nora gritted her teeth, corralling her indignation.

"My business," she said stiffly, "is in this portfolio and is with Mr.White."

"Give us a look, then." The glint in his eye sent a chill up Nora's spine. She'd seen plenty of those looks when she still

lived on the Lower East Side.

And from her jangle of nerves and desire to impress rose an anger she hadn't felt in a long time. She pushed it down. She

would have plenty of time for anger—after she got the job.

"I don't know what you're implying"—though she did; she just didn't understand why he would think such a thing, since she

was respectable to a tee—"but I have architectural plans in this case that I'm bringing for Mr.White's perusal."

A flicker of doubt passed across the man's face, then wariness.

"I guess I could—"

A door opened and another young man strode in. He was tall, but not so tall as to be intimidating, with long legs and arms whose shirtsleeves were rolled up almost to his elbows. "Kendricks, I forgot to tell you that Mr. White is expecting a—" He saw Nora and stopped. She could see his Adam's apple bobble as he swallowed.

"I beg your pardon." He hastily tried to roll down his sleeves, a hopeless proposition since he had taken off his cuff links

and the cuffs flopped around his wrists.

"You must be MissBromley. I must apologize. I..."

"You mean she really is an architect?"

"Yes, Kendricks, she is."

Nora could tell that he was holding back his opinion of the clerk, which he surely would have given, if Nora hadn't been present.

She liked him already.

The clerk bolted up, ramrod straight, crimson suffusing his cheeks. "Sorry for the misunderstanding, miss."

Casting him a last dagger look, the newcomer turned back to Nora. "I'm George Douglas, MissBromley. If you'll come this way,

Mr.White is expecting you."

He ushered her through the door and into a wide hallway. "It's just down here." They walked side by side in silence for several

feet until Mr.Douglas said, "Please forgive your introduction to the firm. We don't get very many, um, visitors here. We

usually see our clients in their own homes or offices and, um..."

"You don't normally employ women," Nora finished for him.

Mr.Douglas's step faltered.

"N-no. Of course not. I mean..."

"Of any kind."

"Uh, this is Mr.White's office." He opened the door.

Nora took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The room was smaller than she expected. Mr. White sat at a large desk, his chin resting on his shirt collar, his shoulders slumped, and looking a little worse for wear than the last time she'd seen him. His suit was wrinkled, his face seemed swollen, and there were heavy bags under his eyes. Nora had seen that look many times back in the old neighborhood. Men who worked too hard during the days and drank and gamed too hard through the nights. This did not bode well.

Mr.Douglas shifted uncomfortably. "MissBromley to see you, sir."

Mr.White didn't raise his head, merely opened his eyelids enough to squint at her from beneath his full eyebrows. Then he

pushed himself upright, said, "Hospital," and motioned for her to sit down in the chair across from him.

"Have you brought your portfolio?" he asked, tugging once at the lapel of his jacket, suddenly all business.

"I have it here," Nora said.

Mr.Douglas appeared at her side. "May I?"

Nora handed him the portfolio, which he opened, then carefully laid her drawings on the desk before Mr.White.

"Ah, yes," White said, lifting up her copy of the hospital watercolor to the light.

Beside him, Mr.Douglas's eyebrows arched slightly.

Nora held her breath.

White put down the first rendering and picked up a second, the floor plan of the first floor. He patted the other papers on

his desk and found a magnifying glass, which he used to compare the drawing to the inset of specs.

Nora found herself mesmerized by the mustache that spread across his upper lip and tilted up at each end as if it wished to

fly off his face.

A couple of grunts, a crook of his finger, and Mr.Douglas stepped forward to look more closely at her work.

Mr.White lifted the hospital floor plan out of the way to uncover several interiors of various mansions she'd done as exercises

in art class.

One page followed the next, the two men occasionally exchanging looks in some kind of silent communication.

Nora knew the exact moment when White made his decision.

He straightened up and stretched back against his chair. Mr.Douglas took a deferential step back.

"Not bad," White said. "Where do you work?"

The question startled her.

"Your studio," Mr.Douglas explained. "What studio do you work from?"

"Oh, I use the ones at the school. When they're open."

"And when they're closed?" asked Mr.White.

"I—" She glanced quickly at Mr.Douglas. What should she tell them? Not that she worked at a table among dirty dishes and

laundry.

Mr.Douglas frowned, then leaned over and said something in Mr.White's ear.

"Are you crazy? Charlie would have my head. Yours, too, dammit."

Mr.Douglas straightened up. "Mr.White, may I suggest?" He tilted his head toward the office door.

"What? Oh, certainly, my boy." White stood.

"MissBromley, would you please excuse us for a moment?" Mr.Douglas was already ushering White toward the door.

Nora watched them out of the corner of her eye as they left the room.

Mr.White limped slightly, his steps uneven as if he were in pain or had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Mr.Douglas

waited for him to exit, then followed him out.

They stopped just outside the door; Nora could see their shadows beyond the frosted glass.

Nora strained her ears to hear what they were saying. She couldn't make out the words, just knew the conversation quickly became more insistent; Mr. Douglas's voice strident on occasion, and Mr. White's answers gruff. She briefly considered sneaking over to the door and putting her ear to the glass, but didn't dare take the chance of getting caught. So she sat, picking at her nails while her fate was being settled without her.

It seemed an eternity before the two men returned. Mr.White stood for a moment, looking down at Nora, then continued around

his desk to settle heavily behind it.

"Mr.Douglas has convinced me to give you a try. You'll be given a desk in the drafting room temporarily and several assignments.

If your work is as exact and detailed as those you've presented and you can get the job done quickly and efficiently, we'll

see about finding someplace to put you permanently."

She was half aware of Mr.Douglas wincing, but Nora didn't care. She'd do anything to get this job. Well, almost anything.

"George here will give you your first assignment. Let him know when you've completed it and I'll take a look." His fingers

brushed the air as if he were flicking lint off a coat.

Then his eyes closed and his chin dipped once again to his chest.

"If you'll come with me." Mr.Douglas quickly gathered up her designs and returned them to her case.

Nora said a quiet thank-you, to which Mr.White didn't respond, and she hurried after Mr.Douglas.

It wasn't until they were in the hallway that Nora stopped and turned to face him. He was a nice-looking man, with blond hair

slicked down on either side of a center part.

"Am I..." She couldn't get the rest out.

"On trial."

Nora shivered.

"You're our first female draftsman—drafts woman? I'm not certain what the others' reactions will be. Don't you know anyone

with space for you in their studio?"

Nora shook her head. She didn't know anyone who even had their own studio.

"Just keep your head down and do your work until we can, um, find somewhere to put you."

Nora nodded and looked at the floor.

Beside her, Mr.Douglas chuckled; she twisted her head enough to see him.

"I didn't mean literally, exactly. I meant just mind your own business, but it's not a bad idea. We have no other women working

here, except the secretaries down on the fourth floor. McKim and Mead are dead set against women in the drafting room. They

think they will only distract the male draftsmen. So don't distract."

"I won't."

"We're stretched thin and losing draftsmen faster than we can replace them. You wouldn't be here except for your detail work

and watercolors."

"They won't know I'm there," Nora assured him and tried to make herself invisible.

"I doubt that." He gave her a quick smile that lit up his serious face. It was gone before she could appreciate more than

that he had nice, straight teeth.

He started walking again. "You'll be paid by the piece."

"Hopefully better than the shirtwaist factory girls," Nora mumbled.

He cast a glance over his shoulder. "Better than that, but not by much."

Nora, appalled that she'd actually said it out loud, ran to catch up.

"If you work out, you'll have all the work you can handle and they might put you on salary. Come on.

"This is my office," he said, stopping at another door to her right. He opened it and waited for her to go inside. It was practically the same size as Mr. White's, though whereas Mr. White's had a window overlooking the street, Mr. Douglas's had no win dow, just walls covered in sketches and diagrams, overlapping at the edges, pinned at awkward angles. Stacks of plans and sketches balanced precariously on top of a metal filing cabinet, a drafting table was wedged into the corner next to an easel. It was a wonder he could find space to draw.

"Pardon the disarray. Mr.White's private office is on the sixth floor and I take a lot of work up there. I'll just get you

started..."

While he riffled through several sheets of paper, Nora perused a design that was pinned on the easel. It wasn't a building

she'd ever seen in New York. But it was certainly interesting.

"Aha," he said and brought out several pieces of paper.

"Where is this building?" Nora asked, pointing to the high-rising structure.

"Still in my head, unfortunately." He quickly turned the easel around and placed the papers on top of another pile of papers.

"Here is a rough sketch for a set of columns. They need to be drawn precisely to scale. Also with a cross section of the capitals.

They're not standard Doric, so check your measurements. Can you handle it?"

Nora took the papers, compared them. It looked like straightforward copy work. "Yes."

"When you're finished, you'll bring them back here. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Then if they pass muster, I'll give you another assignment, and if that passes, I'll take them in to Mr.White, and if he

deems them to his liking"—he paused to give her another infinitesimal smile—"which I'm sure will be the case, I'll take you

down and set you up with the business department. You will be working solely for Mr.White, but paid through our offices."

Nora's eyebrows rose.

"Oh, it's very common. He has a whole cadre of artists and artisans working on projects; that's why he assumed you had a studio to work out of. But as it is... we'll find you a place here temporarily. Come on, let's get you settled."

"I like it—your building," she said and followed him out the door.

The drafting room was at the end of the hallway through a pair of double doors. Mr.Douglas stopped before going inside. "I

just realized. Were you told to bring your drawing implements with you?"

"Yes."

"Well, where are they?" he asked, his eyes flitting to her case and back.

"In my pockets."

"Your pockets?"

"Yes." She pulled out a ruler to show him. "My mother made special pockets. That way I always have my hands free."

"Ha, how clever. Ready?"

Nora nodded.

But he hesitated. "A word of advice? Watch your back; the waters are infested."

Before Nora could react, he opened the door to the drafting room.

It was huge and filled with rows of drafting tables, each occupied by a man, head bent over his work.

Mr.Douglas cleared his throat. "Gentlemen."

Those nearest him looked up, their eyes darting from him to Nora, their mouths slowly going slack. Gradually, in a wave across

the room, they all looked up. At seeing Nora, expressions slowly changed from attention, to annoyance, to apprehension, to

shock.

"This is MissBromley; she will be taking Mr.Firth's place. That is all."

He motioned Nora to follow him. Not only Nora but scores of other eyes followed him down the first three rows of desks, then behind the last row until he reached the very back corner and a shallow alcove where one lone desk was partially separated from the others.

"It's like it was made for you," Mr.Douglas said.

Or a leper , thought Nora.

"We just pushed it out of the way to make more room, but I think you'll be more comfortable here with a little space to yourself."

And a window , thought Nora.

"Thank you," Nora managed. She'd noticed several empty drafting tables in their trek to the outskirts of the room. He didn't

need to put her almost out of sight. But she wouldn't hold it against him. Actually, she looked forward to the solitude...

and the window.

"Paper sheets are in those shelves over there, size and thread marked on each shelf, tracing at the top, then down the scale

to the bottom." He indicated the cabinet, which was a good ten feet long and filled with compact shelves that reached above

her head. Fortunately, she spied the rolling library ladder, stationed at one end.

"...Correct size and paper type is denoted on the top-left corner of the sketches you've been given." Mr.Douglas turned

the paper on her desk so that he could point. His fingers were long and graceful and Nora had to blink a couple of times to

concentrate on the numbers scribbled on the corner of her column rendering.

"When you finish, bring your work directly to my office."

He nodded and turned to face the room. Some fifty-odd heads snapped back to their drawing boards. Mr.Douglas left the room,

and Nora took up the tools of her new life.

As soon as the door closed, heads began to turn her way again. She quickly relieved one pocket of pencil, straightedge, protractor, and magnifying glass. From the other, she extricated a small sketch pad and a pouch that contained a pen, a small bottle of ink, and her best erasers. She spread the pencil and erasers neatly in the trough at the bottom of the drafting board and placed the rest on the narrow shelf below.

Then, trying to ignore the curiosity of the others, she carried her sketch over to the paper shelf. She didn't miss the snort

from one of the men as she passed by. No matter; she wasn't in the least intimidated. That was one thing growing up on the

Lower East Side had taught her. How to ignore taunts and slurs and roving hands. A few snorts and catcalls might make her

uncomfortable, but were nothing to her.

She chose her paper slowly, methodically. She carried it back to her desk, ignoring the "Why aren't you home having babies?"

question from the second desk in the last row. She didn't look back; she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She'd have plenty

of time to put the face to the words. Her desk was behind them all.

She spread out the paper, sat down, and adjusted the angle of the table. Then she just studied her first assignment before

she even picked up her pencil.

A rough sketch of a Doric column, with an inset of a cross section of the capital. Simple enough. Still, she studied it closely.

Used the magnifying glass to read the scrawled numbers in the corner and found what she suspected.

Though all Doric columns followed the same basic silhouette, architects constantly adapted the form. The ratio of this cornice

frieze and architrave indicated that it would be bearing weight of some magnitude.

She moved the sketch to the side close enough for easy reference and got out her straightedge.

For the next hour, Nora graphed and measured, plotting out points and angles, and finally crafted the column with precision.

Then she moved on to the cross section of the capital.

When it was done, she wrote the specs in a ruled-off box in the corner, and sat back to consider her work. It had taken her longer than usual, but she'd been extra careful and she was satisfied. She rolled up the design and carried it to the door and into the hall.

She could hear the immediate buzz of conversation as the door closed behind her.

Nora sighed. If they just kept it to whispering, everything would be fine. In the few classes she'd taken at the Cooper Union

night school, the men had been more vocal and a few of them had been downright nasty. Night school at Cooper Union was free

and attracted all kinds, and those were the only courses open to women.

She wondered briefly if any of those men were now working in the room she had just left.

No matter. She knocked quietly on the door to Mr.Douglas's office. He was sitting at his drafting board, but quickly stood

up and, sticking his pencil behind his ear, came to meet her.

"Finished already?"

Nora's stomach did a flip and a flop. Had nerves made her rush too much? Had she missed anything? She held out the rendering.

Mr.Douglas took it over to the easel and tacked it on top of his building.

Nora held her breath and didn't let it go until Mr.Douglas whooshed out his.

He looked up at the wall clock, wrote something in a blue ledger book, and handed her another design.

"Think you can make a good start on this before lunch?"

"Lunch?" She barely squeaked out the word. She would actually get time for lunch? Not that she had brought a lunch.

"We usually take a half hour around one. If Mr. White approves this, I'll take you down to the business office to get you put on the books then. That should still give you a few minutes to..." He breathed out a laugh. "I was going to say wolf down a sandwich, but that doesn't sound very civilized, does it?"

Nora shook her head. "You don't have to watch your language around me. Just try to think of me as one of the men."

Mr.Douglas's lip twitched. "I'll take that under advisement. Now, about this next design. It's a facade for one of the secondary

entrances for the Pennsylvania Station."

"The new station?" A tiny thrill ran through her. This was something special indeed. "Yes."

He frowned slightly. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, I can get a good start on this before lunch."

"Oh, right. Specs in the corner as always." He nodded.

Nora stood for a moment. Was she dismissed?

Another slight frown. It made his eyebrows dip.

"Is there something else, MissBromley?"

"No. Is that all, Mr.Douglas?"

He laughed. "Yes, of course. We'll figure this out. Carry on, MissBromley."

She slipped out of the office. She just hoped that things weren't always going to be so awkward whenever she had to deal with

one of the men.

She returned to her desk and spread out the sketch. Chose the paper from the paper shelf, and returned to her seat to comments

of "Is she still here?" A groan, and a couple of snickers.

But it was the loud snort from desk number two that should have warned her. She positioned her ruler and her compass, but

when she reached for her mechanical pencil, it wasn't where she'd left it.

She looked carefully along the trough, thinking maybe she'd been distracted and not paid attention. But it wasn't there.

Felt along the shelf beneath. No pencil. She tried not to panic; she had a spare, but they were expensive items. She glanced up to find others secretly snatching glances at her. She stood, looked carefully on the floor around her stool, beneath her drafting table; there was no pencil, but she had already begun to suspect what had really happened to it.

It had been a favorite ploy of the male students at Cooper Union. Steal things, move them just enough to make her wonder.

She had thought these working draftsmen would be a little more mature. Obviously not. She'd give them a chance to return it.

She had another in her second pocket. She'd learned to always carry a second and a third pencil for just such mishaps. She

reached into her pocket and pulled out her second pencil, glanced up and caught several men watching her. She waggled the

pencil at them, gave them a tight smile, and started work on the station entrance.

She was still drafting when she began to notice men leaning back, stretching, taking bags out from under their desks and heading

for the door. Lunchtime. There were only a few stragglers left when she looked up to see Mr.Douglas standing over her.

She started.

"Sorry, I didn't want to surprise you and cause your pencil to slip."

"Fortunately, I was just rechecking my dimensions."

"It looks good."

She looked up at him. She felt like smiling, like singing, that a professional architect, and one definitely higher up in

the order than any of the men who sat at the now empty desks around her, would compliment her.

"If you're finished with that, we'll drop it off in my office and I'll take you down to the business office."

She hesitated, wanting to ask whether that meant she was hired or if they would no longer need her services and were paying

for the work she'd done. She didn't know how to ask.

"May I?" he asked, indicating the rendering.

She nodded and rolled up her drawing, and Mr. Douglas stepped back, waiting for her to rise. She slipped off her stool, quickly gathered all her tools, and crammed them back into her pockets.

"No need for that. You're hired. Didn't I make that clear? Sorry, I don't usually deal with business stuff. He liked your

work. You're hired for special projects. You can keep the desk until you or we find a suitable studio for you to join. And

you can leave your tools here."

She smiled, but still slipped the rest of her things into her pockets. She wouldn't tell him why she found it necessary to

carry her implements with her. That would really make her life impossible; not only would it create more antagonism among

her coworkers, but it might make Mr.White rethink hiring her.

She would bide her time, then deal with them in her own way. But not yet.

She and Mr.Douglas took the elevator down to the fourth floor and into a large office where three women were busy typing.

He stopped at the center desk and introduced her to MissHiggins, a buxom woman whose auburn hair was pulled back severely

from her face, making her appear older than she probably was. Rows of ledgers labeled with numbers and letters were lined

up on a bookcase behind her.

MissHiggins wrote down her name, then handed her several sheets of paper and pointed her to a small writing table in the corner where

she could fill them out.

Mr.Douglas followed Nora over. "If you're all set, I'll get back to work. Can you get yourself back upstairs..." He pulled

out a pocket watch and consulted it. "By two o'clock?"

"Of course, thank you."

But instead of leaving, he looked back at MissHiggins."Perhaps, MissHiggins, you could show MissBromley where the ladies,

um..."

"Take their lunch? Of course, Mr.Douglas."

He nodded sharply and left the office. His departure was followed by a round of tittering from the other two typists in the office.

"Girls," MissHiggins said sharply, but she was fighting a smile. "When you finish filling out those forms, MissBromley,

we'll show you the ladies' lunchroom and the other, more necessary facilities. This is MissWalker and MissSmith. In the

lunchroom or after work hours, we're Sadie, Lavinia, and Higgie."

Not having brought her lunch, Nora used the facilities and took the elevator back upstairs.

Men were beginning to drift back in from their lunch. Nora saw a large piece of paper on her drafting table and hurried toward

it, wondering if it was a new assignment and if it had been sabotaged while she was out. It was intact. She read the specs,

then selected the paper and began to work.

At six o'clock, the other draftsmen began packing up. Nora was hurriedly completing the corner specs on another set of columns

when Mr.Douglas strode across the floor toward her desk. "Did you get those finished?"

"Yes, sir."

He winced, but looked over her shoulder. "Good. Can I take them?" Not waiting for her answer, he rolled them up and was almost

to the door when he turned.

"Bromley, same time tomorrow." And he was gone.

Nora broke into a grin at the closed door. He'd called her Bromley. Not MissBromley, just Bromley. She was already one of

the guys.

And though her back ached, her neck was stiff, and a blister was developing on her index finger, she made her way home, walking

on air.