Seeing a carriage stop and a well-dressed lady stepping out, they went up with umbrellas—one holding the umbrella, two lifting the lady's dress behind her—leaving her with no complaints.
They knew these ladies' positions, so they were much more diligent than the hotel waiters, not even minding a few raindrops.
Jenny also went out with an umbrella to receive someone. Turning her head, she saw several carriages crowding the roadside.
Those carriages were with the bridal couple's carriage, accompanied by many attendants. They didn't need her help.
She immediately knew the bosses had arrived. Their tables were in the front center of the hall.
Jenny turned back to the hall to guide guests. After seating several guests upstairs, she was stopped by an anxious-looking gentleman.
"Do you know where the restroom is?"
Just after showing him the way, she was stopped by a hurried lady.
"Look for me. Has my eyebrow makeup been smudged by the rain?"
Jenny led her to wait in the ladies' restroom, quickly fetched a dry towel and her eyebrow pencil, and handed them in.
The lady relieved, sat in the lounge next to the restroom, looked in the mirror, and glanced at Jenny for a while.
"Which department are you from? I haven't seen you before."
"I'm from the editorial department. I'm helping out today."
Hearing she was from editorial, the lady immediately lost interest. "Oh," she said, fumbled in her purse, and placed a two-dollar bill on the nearby table.
After the lady left, Jenny picked up the bill and thought. Could that be the wife of some leader?
She chuckled and went back to work.
By the time darkness painted the sky, all guests were seated in the hotel, and the rain had stopped. The gas lamps cast a dim yellow light, turning the puddles on the roadside into mirrors.
During the guests' dinner, these female clerks were still hungry. Donnie, as the leader, managed to get two suites on the third floor from the hotel.
The bedrooms were for the female employees to rest, and the living rooms were stocked with plenty of pastries and light meals for satiety.
None of them were spicy, just enough to fill the stomach without causing embarrassment.
Jenny ate a rose scone and drank a cup of hot black tea to freshen her breath.
Busy all afternoon, she had collected eighteen dollars in tips, which was a normal number.
Some distribution department clerks, who knew how to charm guests, had pockets nearly bursting.
Even Monique had to admit that those salespeople were different from honest folks like them from editorial.
Denise came to eat and, hearing Monique, laughed.
"Of course. They have no shame in getting close to the big bosses. Those bosses give generously. But they have to keep their heads down, careful not to be remembered by the wives."
Jenny and Monique covered their mouths.
They left the lounge. The dinner downstairs was already halfway through.
In the morning, Jenny hadn't felt much. Now, with the hall full of people, she stood by a staircase and craned her neck to look, feeling the grandeur.
A single publishing company had brought together this room full of upper-class society.
When would she be able to sit in the middle?
However, her editorial leaders—Mr. Baker, Mr. Alpha, Mr. York, and Eliot—were also invited. They sat at a round table on the left center.
Jenny went downstairs and asked them if they needed anything.
Mr. Alpha remembered Jenny. She had been quite prominent in the office lately.
"Are you helping them? You get along well in the dorm. It's rare for those distribution people to play with you. How is it? Have they been difficult?"
Mr. Alpha put on his editorial paternal face outside.
"No, my colleagues are very united. As for the guests, they are all most polite."
Mr. Alpha nodded with satisfaction, thinking Jenny could be cultivated.
She could handle writing, behaved gracefully, and was pleasant to look at. She was only missing a patron.
Mr. Baker, sitting next to Mr. Alpha and usually able to flaunt his authority as editor-in-chief in the department, was now just part of the crowd here.
Through Mr. Alpha's introduction, Mr. Baker learned she was his subordinate. He looked around.
"I heard Mr. Claude is here today. I haven't seen him. Do you know where he is?"
Jenny recalled the seating chart.
"I remember Mr. Claude's and Mr. Anar's seats are together, at the very front. But both seats are empty now. It's not yet dance time. They must be in the cigar room on the third floor, or in the hallway or lounge nearby."
"Editor-in-Chief, would you like to go upstairs? I can guide you."
Mr. Baker nodded, wiped his hands, and stood up.
"Yes, take me there."
Mr. Alpha looked pleased, thinking that his subordinate was indeed useful anywhere.
He stroked his chin, turned to look at Eliot, who was busy eating oysters with lemon juice.
"Eliot, how's Jenny working out?"
Eliot continued eating, not looking up.
"She's great. I plan to keep her. You know, I'm busy here. It's about the core content of our publication. I need capable people."
Mr. Alpha was stumped. He had no way to deal with Eliot, who was talented but hot-tempered. He settled and let it go.
Eliot snorted inwardly. A person like Jenny was like a piece of lean meat; everyone wanted a bite.
He had already figured out her path. She needed to endure hardship in the editorial department. Only then would her rise be firm, like Eliot's own.
Upstairs, Jenny led the chief editor through the corridor to the area where the cigar room was.
Jenny didn't see Mr. Claude in that small lounge, so she took the chief editor to a seat in the cigar room as usual.
She calmly went out, asked a waiter to bring fine cigars, got a newspaper for the chief editor, and whispered:
"Please sit here comfortably. I'll check around and come back to let you know when I find him."
"Alright."
Mr. Baker nodded, took the newspaper, and unfolded it.
Jenny left the cigar room. After a moment's thought, she walked to the long corridor connected to the terrace and looked around.
The rain had stopped, and the air was damp. A few sparse figures stood on the terrace holding cocktails, enjoying Manhattan's bustling night view. Among them was her target.
...