‘The hell I’m not!’ I said. ‘All women are actresses. How else do you think we’ve been able to survive in a man’s world? Tell you what — I’ll go ahead and create the new woman. You take a look, and if you say it won’t work, I’ll forget it and we’ll try something else.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Now what about this business of another apartment, a new home for the new woman?’
‘Let’s take it step by step. First, the new appearance, then the new name, identity, background, apartment, and so forth.’
‘Jannie,’ he groaned, ‘it’s going to cost a whole lot of money.’
‘Not so much,’ I said. ‘Besides, it’s all deductible as a business expense: research for my new novel.’ ‘I’d love to be there,’ he said, ‘when you try to convince the IRS.’
I found a lingerie shop on Sixth Avenue that apparently catered to the wives and girlfriends of underwear fetishists and sex maniacs. In the window I saw brassieres with holes cut out round the nipples, panties with open crotches, and negligees embroidered with obscene suggestions.
‘Good morning,’ I mumbled to a saleslady. ‘Do you have anything that will make me, uh, look bigger — up here?’
‘Sure, dearie,’ she said promptly. ‘Single, double, or triple pads?’
‘Uh, single, I guess.’
‘What size are you now?’
‘About 34-B.’
‘Take the double,’ she said firmly. She craned around to inspect my derriere. ‘You could use some fanny, pads too. Come back to the dressing room; I’ll make a new woman out of you.’
She did too. A triumph of engineering.
I bought a lot of freaky stuff in that place. Including red babydoll pajamas that had, embroidered on the crotch, the legend ‘All hope abandon ye who enter here.’
Elsewhere, I purchased two pairs of sexy sandals with three-inch heels. I could hardly stand in them, but the clerk assured me I’d soon learn to walk gracefully.
‘They make you look like a queen,’ he gushed.
I was about to tell him that he was way ahead of me, but thought better of it.
I bought sweaters too tight, blouses too small, skirts too short.
In the Times Square Wig-o-Rama I bought a metallic-blond wig, shoulder length, and one so black it was almost purple, came halfway down my back. Both wigs had the texture of steel wool and smelled faintly of Clorox. I figured a perfumed hair spray would remedy that.
Finally I bought two berets and a lined trenchcoat in red poplin. The salesgirl said the ‘in’ way to wear it was with the belt casually knotted and the collar up in back. When I came out of the store, I passed a hooker wearing a T-shirt that said: ‘The customer always comes first.’
I gave her a friendly nod. Sisters.
The only things left to buy were makeup and perfumes, and for these I went to Woolworth’s, where the prices were reasonable, the selections enormous, and where I let an enthusiastic salesman show me how to apply false eyelashes that looked like a picket fence, paint on green shadow, and apply a small black beauty mark. You just licked it and stuck it on your chin.
‘Makes me look like a skinny Madame Du Barry,’ I told the clerk.
‘Precisely,’ he beamed.
This shopping spree lasted a week. At home, at night, with the door locked and chained, and the shades drawn, I practiced walking my three-inch heels, stuffing the cotton pancakes in my bra, and applying just enough eyeshadow so I wouldn’t look like a victim of malnutrition. I started out giggling, but after a while I really worked at it, and rehearsed a voice change too, striving for a husky, sex-inflicted Marilyn Monroe whisper.
I was fascinated by what I saw in my cheval glass. Not only was my appearance utterly different, but I
After a week of practice that included going out at night to learn how to negotiate steps and curbs in those hookers’ heels (I received four propositions during those trial runs), I decided it was time for the final test.
I called Dick and asked him to come right over to discuss something important. I then went downstairs and sailed by the doorman, who knew me but didn’t give me a second glance, being too busy with the first. I figured he didn’t recognize me.
I took up station in the dim doorway of a Third Avenue store I knew Dick would pass. I lighted a cigarette, let it dangle from my lips. I stuck my hands deep in the trenchcoat pockets. I tried to jut my fake chest.
Along came Dick, walking fast. I blew out a plume of smoke from the corner of my mouth just before he came abreast of me. I stepped out into the illumination of a street lamp.
‘Wanna have a little fun?’
He looked at me. I mean, he didn’t just glance, he
‘Not tonight, thank you,’ he said primly and continued walking.
He took about three more steps, then stopped so suddenly he almost fell on his face. A classic double-take. He turned and came back. He stood in front of me, staring.
‘Change your mind, buster?’ I murmured.
He shook his head in disbelief.
‘All right, Jannie,’ he said. ‘You win.’
CASING
There were so many things I had written in those Chuck-Mike-Buck-Pat-Brick books of mine that I really knew nothing about. Like casing. I’d have my villains walk around the target twice, time the nightwatchman’s schedule, and maybe discover when the payroll was to be delivered.
But now, trying seriously to determine how Brandenberg amp; Sons might be robbed with profit and minimal risk required a laborious, minute-by-minute study, conducted with a stopwatch, that was gradually extended for almost a month. I filled two notebooks of observations, and from my jottings. Dick Fleming designed beautifully neat time charts of personnel flow, using a variety of colored inks.
By consulting these records, we could pinpoint the location of any one of the employees at any moment during the working day. Since we didn’t know their names, they were designated Manager, Salesmen 1, 2, and 3, and Repairmen 1 and 2. Each was described physically so we could tell them apart. In addition I discovered the presence of a seventh employee: an aged black man who apparently doubled as porter and messenger.
Most of my casing was done from the window of the luncheonette across the street. I varied the tables at which I sat and the times I was present. Fortunately, the place was usually crowded and seemed to have a heavy personnel turnover.
I changed the luncheonette routine occasionally by driving from my apartment to East 55th Street and doubleparking my XKE as long as I could, using it as an observation post. But the car was too noticeable to use frequently, so I borrowed Dick Fleming’s VW several times.
I noted several things of interest:
The store did not open for business until 10:00 A.M., but all the employees arrived between 8:45 and 9:00. In the hour before the public was admitted, the store was dusted and vacuumed by commercial cleaners who arrived at 9:00 each morning. Also, during this preparatory hour, the interior steel shutters protecting the window displays were raised. I was bemused to note that despite this protection most of the valuable items were removed from the street windows at night and presumably placed in the vault, to be returned to the window displays in the morning.
The two commercial cleaning men were admitted by the manager, who unlocked the front door to let them in
