No Job for a Lady Read Online Free Page A

will be the last we see of each other.”
    I start to reply, but then turn around and shut my mouth. It’s rare that I walk away from someone when I should put him in his place. I don’t like it a bit, but it’s more important to get my sleeper, so I let it go.
    Putting the man behind me out of mind, I take out my notepad and start penciling some thoughts about El Paso, the main portal to Mexico.
    I am still at it when in a fog I hear “Next  … next …”
    “The ticket seller means you,” the annoying man behind me says.
    “I’d like a single sleeper, please.”
    “We only have a compartment for two left—husband and wife, mother and daughter, two people of the same sex—”
    A door behind him opens and a man sticks his head out. “Jack, come here. Sorry, miss, he’ll be right back.”
    I’m glad he was summoned. My mind is whirling. I need to think. What am I going to do? I want that sleeper. The thought of sitting up all the way to Mexico City makes me want to go collect my mother and go home.
    “Are you going to take the compartment for you and your mother?” my shadow asks.
    “My mother’s sick,” I blurt out. “I’m going on alone. I have to; my job demands it.”
    “What job is that?”
    “I—I—” For some insane reason, unbeknownst to even myself, I don’t want to reveal I’m a newspaperwoman, and my usual golden tongue is at a loss for words. “That, sir, is none of your business.”
    “I thought so.”
    “What do you mean by—”
    “It means you’re just trying to get sympathy, and that isn’t going to work with me. I’m going to take the compartment.”
    “You can’t take it. It’s for two people.”
    “That’s true, but”—he nods vaguely to the rear—“my, uh, traveling companion is back there catching up—”
    “You’re lying. You invited me to dinner last night when you didn’t have anyone else to go with you.”
    “He’s sick, too, and, frankly, having dinner alone was infinitely more entertaining than it would have been with you.”
    “You have a nerve—”
    “Excuse me!”
    The ticket seller is back.
    “Husbands and wives don’t get to argue in line. Now I have one last compartment to rent. If you two don’t want it, step aside.”
    “We’ll take it!”

 
    4
     
 
    Did I really say that?
    I freeze for a moment, paralyzed by the impact of what I have just said. I have just claimed that this stranger is my husband.
    I quickly shoot a glance at my “husband.” He looks a bit amazed and about to spill the beans. I try to jar him into acquiescence.
    “They’re the last tickets— dear. ”
    “I—I—” he stammers.
    The ticket agent holds up his hands palms out as a signal for him to stop.
    “Don’t argue with her. It won’t do any good; she’s a woman. Twenty dollars, or step to the side.”
    I quickly put twenty dollars on the counter and grab both tickets after the agent makes a pencil mark on each of them.
    “Let’s go,” I instruct my companion.
    My knees are weak as we walk away. I acted completely audacious and now I have to face the man. I need to say something clever to get over this hump— mountain —I have created, but nothing comes to mind.
    The truth is, I simply believe that if you want something, you must go full speed ahead. If I didn’t have that attitude, I would not have gotten a reporter’s job when I lacked both the experience and education required—and I would not have left after nine months as a reporter to establish myself as a foreign correspondent over the objections of my employer.
    I have the tickets gripped firmly in my fist. I paid for them and they are both mine. But I have to deal with this man and I am used to getting my way. I will start with sugar.
    “My mother will appreciate your kindness in getting her a sleeping berth. This trip has been so hard on her.”
    “You already told me that your mother is not traveling with you.”
    “She’s feeling better and will—”
    He lets out a loud