The morning was hazy, the sun still rising over the city. A redhead woman in her downtown apartment was getting ready for her job interview. Slipping into a short black pencil skirt and a maroon button-up, then put on red lipstick, which she had noticed seemed to help her get jobs. She ate a bite of breakfast and walked out into the bustling streets of Teplar. The walk to her interview was into a shady part of the city, and the ginger woman gripped her bag, not because she was worried someone would steal it, she held it so she could better swing it at someone if needed.
Arriving at a grungy looking building, she peered at the sign above the door and read, Primrose detective agency, crudely painted onto a wooden board. “Right,” she thought, “if I get this secretary job, one of my first tasks will be to make this place look a bit nicer” holding herself high, shoulders back, determined expression, she walked through the door. Ten minutes early.
“You here for the job?” said the detective sitting behind a large dark wooden desk. He wore a white button-up with suspenders, slacks, and clean black dress shoes as if he was trying to be the most cliche detective ever. Under his left shoulder was a holster for a gun that wasn’t there. His hair was dirty blond and combed back but still slightly messy. He was sitting with his feet up on the desk, smoking. She nodded in response to his question. “Then you’re hired”
The woman stood there in shock for a moment. She made a face at the cloud of smoke gathering in the room and went to a wall to open the window. After finishing that task, she went up to the desk and rested her hands on it, leaning forward, “Sir, with all due respect, shouldn't an interview be in order, or something like that, you don't even know my name, not only is it highly unprofessional to hire the first person who walks in, it doesn't make much sense. What if I'm a horrible secretary, what if you hated the sound of my voice? I hadn't even said a word”
He put out his cigarette in a small crystal ashtray on his desk “Well, you were the first person to show up. Are you a horrible secretary? If you don’t want the job I’ll just wait for the next person and hire them” he stood up and paced in a relaxed fashion. He was a slightly thinner man, tall, somewhere around six feet, he held out his hand “Achilles Primrose, private eye. And you are?”
She sighed and shook his hand with hers, “I like to think of myself as an average to above average secretary. My name is Finch Denman, nice to make your acquaintance.”
Achilles sat back down at his desk and gestured to another one in the room that had a phone connected to it and nothing else but dust “Good thing you’re here, I’m behind on paperwork and I need to hit the breeze to a spot on my next case” he grabbed some keys off his desk and pocketed them, then opened the drawer and pulled a snub-nosed six-shooter out of it, placing it in the holster under his shoulder, “Make yourself comfortable, this is your office now too”
Before he could leave, she stepped in front of the door, stopping his escape. “Now hold on sir, where is this paperwork, where are you going, what case are you currently working on, and why don't you have a filing cabinet?” she looked at him expectantly, growing more and more anxious about his carefree demeanor and the lack of organization and professionalism.
“The paperwork is somewhere in my desk, I’m going to ask some questions, the case is some missing person, and I don’t have a filing cabinet because I wasn’t filing anything. Satisfied?” he replied, raising his brow.
Finch sighed, sounding just a bit more than mildly distressed, “Alright, fine, I'm coming with you then.” She pulled a miniature notebook and fancy-looking, bejeweled pen out of her bag, “I can take notes.”
The detective saw the distress was affecting her quite poorly and decided she could use some air anyways “Yeah you can come with me, but you’ll have to wait in the car. Follow me” he walked out the door and across the street to a dark pine green 1955 Chevy Bel Air, with whitewall tires, leather interior, and god knows what else under the hood. “This is Aine, we like Aine, we treat Aine well. That’s my one rule” he walked to the passenger's side and opened the door for her “After you” she stood there for a moment and just stared, beginning to process what exactly she was getting herself into. Then Finch climbed in, settling into the seat.
Struggling to steady her breathing, as she didn't do well in situations without a plan or organization, she looked at her surroundings, “I like your car”
The detective glanced over, noticing her fidgeting and trying to stay calm, “You worry too much” he turned a corner and parked next to a diner. It was a very cliche diner, red with white trimming, stools lining the counter, and a sign up top reading Tom’s diner. “Wait here, I need to go ask them some questions. ''
Achilles turned off the car and walked through the front door of the diner, the bells hanging from the frame jingling as it swung. Finch immediately got out of the car, not wanting to be left alone, and caught the door with her foot before it closed, following him in. She held her notebook to her chest, ready to try and be a good secretary. The detective walked up to the counter “any news on the missing person’s case?”
The man behind the counter pulled a towel off his shoulder and started wiping down the counter “word is the Capriottis are getting into some sort of trafficking, they recently purchased a warehouse down by the harbor and they’re having a party next week to celebrate”
Achilles handed the man behind the counter some cash “keep me posted Tom, I’ll swing by again in a couple days” he turned around to leave and nearly ran into his secretary “I thought I asked you to wait in the car”
Finch was trying her very hardest, “I know but I thought maybe I could help, and I didn't know how long you'd be in here and if you're gathering information I need to write it down, that's what secretaries do.” She took a breath and stared up at him.
He raised an eyebrow in confusion “write things down? Nah, I’ll just remember it. Now come on, I need to get an invitation to some swanky party uptown” he made his way to the door and held it open for her.
She walked through and smoothed her skirt, before she could argue that writing things down is what a secretary was for, curiosity overtook her, “swanky party?” she questioned, regardless of what Achilles had said, she had already written down the little information tom had provided, “black tie?”
He adjusted his necktie that he wore loosely most days “the only good tie is a black one, I don’t see myself dressing up for it.”
She looked down at her own clothes, and then back up at the detective, “will I be coming to said ‘swanky party’?”
He looked at her face, down to her legs, and then back up “you could pull it off sure but it’s not safe for you to go with me for that type of work”
Finch looked a little crestfallen, you could almost see the wheels turning in her head, “but wouldn't you blend in better if you had a date? A loner at a fancy event would be pretty suspicious.” he opened his car door and thought for a moment
“yes I suppose so. First I need to go get us invitations.” He admitted. He climbed into his car, leaned over the center seat, and pushed her door open “if you’re sure you can handle it then you can come.”
She held her head up a little higher, “I can handle it,” then got in.
YOU ARE READING
1962
RomanceThe year was 1962, a lone woman walks into a detectives office, unaware that both of their lives were about to change. (Rough draft)
