All Good Women Read Online Free

everyone.’
    â€˜Yes, Mother had a hard time, but she didn’t want to return to Glasgow a failure. She met Daddy, my step-father, and they settled in Los Angeles.’ Moira heard her voice shaking and changed the tone. ‘It’s almost time to return to our fascinating work. How about lunch tomorrow? I mean I have an appointment today, but tomorrow?’
    â€˜Good.’ Ann nodded solemnly. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’
    â€˜Asdfghjkl;’ ‘asdfghjkl;’. Ann liked Moira. She had learned that a lot of girls who wore make-up and frilly clothes simply used their femininity as protective covering. Moira was bright and ironic. Ann suspected she would need friends to get her through two years of Miss Fargo’s lectures. Poor woman, what a caricature of the cold spinster. Yet she couldn’t be more than forty-five. Must be difficult to teach office skills to a group of women twenty years younger, most of whom wanted to be someone very different from their stern, gaunt teacher. Ann imagined herself ten years from now visiting Miss Fargo with her diploma in classics.
    Ann wouldn’t have selected Moira out of a crowd. She looked Irish with that red hair and the freckles. Ann remembered Mama’s stories about the Catholics in Europe, the worst anti-Semites. Why was she so conscious of race this morning? First day defensiveness. She couldn’t help noticing that there was only one other Jewish girl, Miriam Schwartz. She looked around the class now. Well, what’s-her-name Lentman could be Jewish, even with the blond hair and blue eyes and turned-up nose. Papa had warned her not to type people. ‘Jews come in all sizes and colors,’ he said, ‘as do Gentiles. Besides we’re in America now, where things like that don’t matter.’ Ann wondered often about her father’s capacity for self-deception.
    She sat straighter in front of the typewriter, aware of the strain at the base of her neck.
    â€˜And now the top row ladies, “qwertyuiop”, “qwertyuiop”, ‘qwertyuiop’. Let me hear it evenly, tapping to a regular rhythm. Practice. Practice, it’s all in the rhythm.’
    Ann obeyed, ‘qwertyuiop’, ‘qwertyuiop’. She had always been obedient. A loving daughter. A model student. She recalled how Mrs Bird punished the second grade class, making everyone sit with folded hands. Ann obeyed and half an hour later Mrs Bird exclaimed to the whole class what a good girl Ann was. Here she sat, after all this time, with her hands folded on her lap. Imagine, said Mrs Bird. Imagine, Ann did try, but it always seemed smart to follow directions. Occasionally Ann felt as if she were born middle-aged — ever responsible and even-tempered. No one would guess she had these terrorizing headaches, ‘qwertyuiop’, ‘qwertyuiop’. She hoped for some sentences, at least words, by afternoon, ‘qwertyuiop’, ‘qwertyuiop’.
    Ann was supposed to be grateful Papa was subsidizing business school. In fact she was grateful for the extra money because — with her part-time salary — it allowed her to move to Turk Street. Her throat caught at the thought of Turk Street; she had to forget the incident. After all, she had not been harmed; she had screamed so loudly the intruder had fled. Still, it was hard to sleep at night, imagining the man creeping in the side window with the paper bag over his head. All she could remember for the police were those big white hands with the long, well-manicured nails. She would like to move from Turk Street, but not so long as the only alternative was back to her parents’ flat.
    Ann nodded encouragement to Moira. Funny how this connection had become so important to her in the space of an hour. Ann had dreamed all her life of a few deep friendships. She thought she had found this in Ilse Stein in the third grade and then again with Carol Sommers in high