man,” Mel said, hooking his thumbs into his belt, shoving his stomach subtly toward her. “This is perfectly legitimate. No graft. I find you very attractive. You look a little bit like Lauren Bacali.”
“No,” Elizabeth said, moving from the desk. “No and no again. I don’t want to have anything to do with you at all,” and had, in some confusion, opened her fieldbook, trying to locate the names of the cases she had come to visit. The alcoholics looked at her in vague interest for a moment, then subsided again into their coma. Elizabeth wondered exactly how far along in her work she would have to get in order to consider the
Homeway Residence
merely another stop in her afternoon’s work.
“I could show you a good time,” Mel said, coming from behind the desk and pursuing her. “You may not think I’m much to look at but this is a responsible job and I make a good salary. Also I’m a college graduate. Being an investigator isn’t the greatest thing in the world you know; you could show a little manners.”
“I won’t,” Elizabeth said, “I won’t do anything for you; I don’t want to deal with you,” and her control had snapped, she had turned then and guessed that she had done some screaming at Mel (although this was hard to verify and her memory of that is gone) and he had retreated, apologetically, showing her his palms while the alcoholics twitched like fish in their chairs and looked at her with large, solemn eyes. Whatever went on in front of them seemed to make no impression at all. Elizabeth had found who she was looking for eventually and had taken the three of them off to a corner of the lobby for a confidential talk about their situation (respecting, as she must, the right of the recipient of public assistance to privacy and continued confidentiality about his condition) and as she looked at the three of them, Stark and two others seated like animals in a circus act, their dull, stupid beaten eyes radiating disinterest and fatigue she understood that there were limits to her dedication, she had found them right now and she was never, never going to be able to deal with the tenants of this hotel in the manner she wanted. It was the one small respite she had allowed herself, the one dead spot in her dedication but she felt that she was entitled to this. Later on, when she had found out that fully 50% of her cases by number were domiciled in those two hotels she had felt guilty about it — it was as if she had cut down her potential for achievement by exactly that much — but there was no way whatsoever in which she was going to be able to switch caseloads (no provisional worker could) and there was certainly no way in which she was going to be persuaded to fuck those disgusting old men so that was that.
Mel had pushed the issue of going out with her the next few times she had visited — and the nature of her statutory visits brought her in there twice a month — and then with disgust had dropped it. “The trouble with you,” he said the very last time they talked when she had turned down a fifty dollar bill and an offer to go with him to a clubhouse box at Belmont racetrack the following weekend, “the trouble with you is that you’re a cold bitch, that’s your problem. You have no sense of life. You bitches come out of Vassar and put in your six months in the Department of Welfare and then go off to marry and have no idea ever of what kind of place this is, not that I want you to take my calling you a bitch personally,” and then had abandoned her forever, only sitting at the desk to sullenly peep from newspapers at her subsequent visits.
Elizabeth had thought of laughing and telling Mel exactly how much of life she knew, how seriously she took her job … but she knew that this could only lead to complications and difficulties later on and so she had said nothing whatsoever.
X
She feels, the next day, that she should return to Felipe Morales and try to augment their new-found
“No,” Elizabeth said, moving from the desk. “No and no again. I don’t want to have anything to do with you at all,” and had, in some confusion, opened her fieldbook, trying to locate the names of the cases she had come to visit. The alcoholics looked at her in vague interest for a moment, then subsided again into their coma. Elizabeth wondered exactly how far along in her work she would have to get in order to consider the
Homeway Residence
merely another stop in her afternoon’s work.
“I could show you a good time,” Mel said, coming from behind the desk and pursuing her. “You may not think I’m much to look at but this is a responsible job and I make a good salary. Also I’m a college graduate. Being an investigator isn’t the greatest thing in the world you know; you could show a little manners.”
“I won’t,” Elizabeth said, “I won’t do anything for you; I don’t want to deal with you,” and her control had snapped, she had turned then and guessed that she had done some screaming at Mel (although this was hard to verify and her memory of that is gone) and he had retreated, apologetically, showing her his palms while the alcoholics twitched like fish in their chairs and looked at her with large, solemn eyes. Whatever went on in front of them seemed to make no impression at all. Elizabeth had found who she was looking for eventually and had taken the three of them off to a corner of the lobby for a confidential talk about their situation (respecting, as she must, the right of the recipient of public assistance to privacy and continued confidentiality about his condition) and as she looked at the three of them, Stark and two others seated like animals in a circus act, their dull, stupid beaten eyes radiating disinterest and fatigue she understood that there were limits to her dedication, she had found them right now and she was never, never going to be able to deal with the tenants of this hotel in the manner she wanted. It was the one small respite she had allowed herself, the one dead spot in her dedication but she felt that she was entitled to this. Later on, when she had found out that fully 50% of her cases by number were domiciled in those two hotels she had felt guilty about it — it was as if she had cut down her potential for achievement by exactly that much — but there was no way whatsoever in which she was going to be able to switch caseloads (no provisional worker could) and there was certainly no way in which she was going to be persuaded to fuck those disgusting old men so that was that.
Mel had pushed the issue of going out with her the next few times she had visited — and the nature of her statutory visits brought her in there twice a month — and then with disgust had dropped it. “The trouble with you,” he said the very last time they talked when she had turned down a fifty dollar bill and an offer to go with him to a clubhouse box at Belmont racetrack the following weekend, “the trouble with you is that you’re a cold bitch, that’s your problem. You have no sense of life. You bitches come out of Vassar and put in your six months in the Department of Welfare and then go off to marry and have no idea ever of what kind of place this is, not that I want you to take my calling you a bitch personally,” and then had abandoned her forever, only sitting at the desk to sullenly peep from newspapers at her subsequent visits.
Elizabeth had thought of laughing and telling Mel exactly how much of life she knew, how seriously she took her job … but she knew that this could only lead to complications and difficulties later on and so she had said nothing whatsoever.
X
She feels, the next day, that she should return to Felipe Morales and try to augment their new-found
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