forward. “Why did you want to meet me?” she asked quite determinedly and in a way that radically shifted what had seemed a secure balance of power: Danforth was now the one being evaluated, she the one with favors to grant.
“To satisfy myself, I suppose,” he answered. “I wanted to make sure you were a serious person.”
“And are you satisfied that I am?” she asked.
Her frankness surprised him, as did her impatience to get on with whatever task lay before her.
“Yes,” Danforth answered quickly, though it was not until that moment that he realized he was. “I’m not being asked to do very much, after all.”
“So we’ll use your place for the training?” Anna asked.
Danforth nodded.
She rose and began to gather her things, her movements quick but precise, not at all like the antic twitches of the character she’d played when he’d first seen her at the Old Town Bar.
“I thought we might have dinner,” Danforth said.
She shook her head. “I have work.”
With that she reached for her coat, drew out an envelope, and offered it to Danforth. “I’m to give you this. It’s from Clayton.”
Danforth took the envelope from her, and as he took it, he noted how small her hand was, how nearly doll- like and delicate, the slenderness of her bones. “Do you know what’s in here?” he asked.
She nodded as she put on her coat. “The next step,” she said.
~ * ~
Century Club, New York City, 2001
Here Danforth paused and drew in a slow breath.
“There are symbolic gestures, Paul,” he said. “They may be small, like taking that envelope from Anna’s hand, but they have the force of moral commitment.”
“Like that line Travis drew in the dust at the Alamo,” I said.
“There’s no actual proof that that ever happened,” Danforth said. “But it doesn’t matter. And yes, my taking that envelope from Anna’s hand was like that, a gesture that states quite clearly that from this moment on, there will be no turning back.” He paused again, then added, “With that simple gesture I committed myself to the Project. Not just to the rather unspectacular thing I’d been asked to do for it, provide a house in the country, but to the Project as a whole. It turned out to be a good thing, since Clayton was already asking me to take another step — to provide a cover identity for Anna — which I did after I read the note inside the envelope.” He took a sip from his drink. “And so the next day, following the instructions in that note, I put an ad for a special assistant in the classified section of the
“Then I waited,” he said.
~ * ~
Danforth Imports, New York City, 1939
Over the next few days, applicants for the special-assistant position came and went, mostly young men with sparkling credentials, some of whom were quick to mention their distinguished families and the prestigious schools they had attended. Fraternities were brought up, as were summers in the Hamptons or on Cape Cod. It was clear to Danforth that some of the applicants viewed importation as an attractive career choice, perhaps even, oddly enough, a step toward acquiring a position in the State Department. Several of these young men had traveled extensively, and all spoke at least one foreign language, though their proficiencies varied widely. Most were eager to be employed, though Danforth knew that very few of them would go hungry as a result of being out of work.
But a few less well-heeled applicants also showed up, always in suits they’d bought off the rack. These were first-generation men who had no claim to any distinctions they had not won by their own efforts. Danforth admired them in a way he could not admire the others or himself, and he would have hired them to fill other positions if any had been available. He liked the cut of them, their modest style, even the slightly beleaguered quality they tried to hide.
There were no female applicants until Anna showed up a few days after the ad appeared, a delay Danforth thought ordered by Clayton and for which no explanation was requested or given.
She wore a surprisingly professional ensemble: tweed suit, white blouse, a single gold chain at her neck, and a pair of matching earrings.
“Miss ... Klein?” Danforth asked when he looked up from her perfectly typed resume.
Her smile was quite bright, as were her eyes. “Yes,” she said. She thrust out her hand energetically. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
The transformation was stunning. There was no hint of either the frenetic female who’d snatched at her things in the Old Town Bar or the curiously aggressive young woman who’d slid into his booth at the Dugout Bar four days earlier.
She was more than an actress, Danforth thought; she was a chameleon.
For the next few minutes, they did the dance of prospective employer and prospective employee. Danforth asked the usual questions, and Anna gave the expected answers. He showed no hint that he’d ever met her, and neither did she. He maintained a strict professional air, and she an eager one, as if anxious to be offered the job.
Cautiously, as they neared the end of the interview, he asked a question he would have considered vital even if he’d had no knowledge of the woman before him.
