Read Online Pish Posh by Ellen Potter - Free Book Online Page A

Clara walked in, Lila looked up briefly and commented, “A bit early today, aren’t you? Did you happen to see today’s edition of Hither & Thither?”
    The newspaper was on the bar, its cover featuring a large photo of several women with no eyebrows. The headline read “Jousting Match Will Benefit Medieval Costume Exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. ” Clara started to read the article out loud: “All of society’s most glamorous ladies have ripped out their eyebrows—”
    â€œNot that,” Lila interrupted. “Look at the article below.”
    The article below read,
    â€œSeen at Pish Posh! Who was the mystery woman who dined with the elusive and exclusive young Clara Frankofile? Miss Frankofile, who NEVER dines with anyone, even went so far as to give the mystery woman (who was dressed in an ultratrendy velvet pantsuit with a belt inscribed with ‘Sassy Lady’) a tour of the kitchen. Unheard of!! Is she foreign royalty? Is she an up-and-coming actress?
    All of New York City is dying to know!”
    â€œHow idiotic.” Clara rolled her eyes.
    â€œYou must bring your friend back to dine,” Lila said decisively.
    â€œBut she’s just an art teacher.”
    â€œDon’t be a snob, dear. Some Somebodies are born and some Somebodies are made. If Hither & Thither has made an art teacher into a Somebody, who will know the difference? ”
    â€œI will!” Clara was shocked that her mother could accept an imposter. She threw the newspaper down and went into the kitchen. It was empty, too early for the workers, or her father, to be there. Everything looked peaceful. The stoves were gleaming, having been scrubbed the night before by the workers. The massive dishwasher, which usually spewed out a thick wall of steam and sounded like a hundred electric pencil sharpeners all going at the same time, was now simply a quiet metal box. In just a few hours, it would be chaos here again.
    Clara opened a metal door in the back of the kitchen and went up a flight of stairs, a side entrance to the apartment on the second floor. At the landing was a short hallway, and at the end of the hallway was a door. Clara pushed the buzzer and waited. There was no answer, but she thought she could hear someone moving around inside. She pushed it again, three times in a row, and then knocked loudly.
    Finally, the door opened and Audrey the soup cook stood there in a pair of jeans, a sleeveless white tank top, and white canvas sneakers. She was wearing her glasses as usual, but her red hair, which was always pulled back into a tight ponytail at work, was loose. She squinted at Clara for a moment, as if she had trouble making out who she was.
    â€œOh, hi,” she said. “Do you need something?”
    Clara did not like the way she said that, as if Clara were inconsequential, or worse, simply a child.
    â€œI would like to talk to you,” Clara said.
    â€œWhat?” Audrey asked, tilting her ear toward Clara.
    Clara repeated herself, something she hated to do, and Audrey replied, “I’m a little busy at the moment. Can you come back later?”
    â€œNo.”
    Audrey sighed, and then stepped aside. “All right. Come in. ”
    The room was fairly large, but it was the only room in the apartment, besides a small bathroom off to the right. To the left, in a nook, was a teeny tiny kitchen, and it was the only modern-looking thing in the apartment. The rest of the room was furnished with what looked to be antiques. There was a tremendous bed, its wooden headboard beautifully carved with leaves and flowers, a pair of chairs whose mahogany legs were carved to look like an animal’s claws, and a mahogany vanity. Placed near the room’s one window, which faced Washington Square Park, was an elaborately carved rocking chair, its rockers terribly worn, and a sketch pad lying on its seat.
    An old fireplace had been boarded up, but its mantel was