Holly nodded. That girl needed a good Mason Pearson brush to attack that tangle of brown hair, but there was no time for such things. Birdie pushed open the door, and soon, they were in the bowel-scented stairwell, then out into the sunlight of Monday morning.
Birdie led her silently up Brooklyn’s Fifth Avenue, past all the stores that were opening up, and down Twelfth Street. Allene finally broke the silence.
“Holly seems like a nice girl. I suppose she looks a bit more like Mr. Dreyer.”
“Yes,” Birdie agreed, but her face clouded over. Allene had never met Birdie’s absentee father. She was glad for that; life was easier with the menfolk out of the way. Allene was vastly happier when she hadn’t seen her father or Andrew all day. Of course, they weren’t dead, but perhaps that situation was the most convenient of all. Oh, stop it, Allene thought to herself. You’re such a monster. “Well. We’re here,” Birdie announced.
Allene looked up to see a factory building taking up an entire block. It was plain brown brick, four stories high, with arched windows regularly breaking up the facade and a row of homely trees on the sidewalk. A smoking chimney climbed from somewhere in the back of the building, dirtying the morning sky with a smudge of smoke. Women clad similarly in muted colors entered through a front entrance before being swallowed by the factory.
Birdie perked up. “Good, we’re not late.”
They walked through the darkened entrance, and Birdie led Allene down a corridor. Left and right, they passed rooms with metal working equipment. The scent of unfamiliar chemicals assailed Allene’s nose as she paused to stare at the contents of one particular room. Metal vats of liquid simmered, and above them hung metal armatures with countless hooks.
“Oh! What’s that?”
“You and chemistry! I suppose you might spend the whole day in the electroplating room if I didn’t—Allene! Where are you going?”
Allene had popped into the electroplating room, and Birdie stood at the doorway hissing at her to come back, like she was a puppy on the loose. Men in heavy aprons were tending to large industrial tanks. Wires and countless racks of watch cases hung over the vats. Allene ignored Birdie’s pleas and gazed into a tank the way another woman might gaze at an emerald brooch in the window of Cartier.
“What are you electroplating? Silver? Gold?” Allene asked, brash as can be.
An older man, white of beard, ambled over. “You one of the painting girls?”
“Yes,” Allene lied without hesitation. “What do you use for the solution? Silver nitrate?”
“Why yes. How did you know that?”
But Allene had already zipped over to a smaller assembly where gold clock hands had been freshly gilded, shining like molten sunlight. Before she could ask anything, Birdie appeared and hooked Allene’s arm, dragging her out the door.
“I apologize for my . . . coworker. Sorry to bother!”
“Did you see that? All it takes is electricity. Electricity! And you can gild anything. The most boring bit of base metal covered in a rich layer of silver or gold or copper. Isn’t it magic?”
“Oh, Allene. Only you would find magic in that chemical dungeon.”
“Can I work there today?” she asked.
“Of course not! Come on, or we’ll be late. We’re on the third floor, where the light is best.”
“Ugh, more stairs?”
Birdie ignored her. Before long, she showed her into a long, narrow room with a row of windows that brought in buttery morning light. A long table was sectioned on both sides into individual workstations. Tiny pots, bottles, and brushes lay at each station, and cases of watches and clock faces were stacked next to each stool. Birdie hung her satchel on a peg near the door, as did every other girl who followed. She led Allene to a station at the end of the table.
“Sit here. I’ll get another stool. And don’t touch a thing,” Birdie instructed her in a low whisper.
At the front of the room, an older man stood marking up a sheaf of papers. Allene immediately began to look over the little pots on the desk while leaning closer to hear Birdie’s conversation.
“Mr. Rizzoni? I’m sorry to bother you, but I would like permission to have my cousin work with me today. She wants to learn a little and apply for a job soon. I promise I’ll make my quota as usual and be responsible for her.”
The mustachioed man didn’t seem at all happy with the prospect. In an office nearby, an even older gentleman with a bushy beard raised his eyes at the exchange.
“Miss Dreyer, we don’t have the time to be anyone’s nanny. She’ll cost me even if she knocks over a bottle of radium. God forbid she breaks a clock.”
“I understand. But—”
The older gentleman from within the office had scooted his chair back to stand up. Oh no. Allene feared that she’d just cost Birdie her job and began to touch her feet to the floor. She watched sideways as the white-headed gentleman spoke a few stern words to the gray-headed man with the mustache. Birdie seemed to quake in her shoes before them. And then she was dismissed and sent back to her station.
“I’m sorry, Birdie,” Allene said. The other women were watching them from their stations. “I shouldn’t have forced this on you.”
“It’s all right,” Birdie whispered. “The manager said you may stay, so long as I keep up my quota.”
“What’s your quota?”
“Two hundred and fifty dials a day, six days a week. But I aim for two seventy-five.”
Allene dropped her jaw, but Birdie ignored her surprise. Behind her, the two men were talking closely, occasionally glancing at the girls.
“Well,” Allene said. “It looks like someone thinks highly of you. Maybe he wants to be your beau!”
“Don’t be a goose. I’m just a good painter. Just watch.”
So she did. Allene observed with fascination as Birdie’s thin hands picked up a tiny porcelain dish. She tipped into it a small quantity of radium powder mixed with a zinc compound. In the daylight, it didn’t glow one bit but had a greenish, yellowy cast to it that seemed altogether unnatural. Birdie mixed it carefully with paste so it would stick, then added a water-based thinner until she was satisfied it was just the right consistency—neither too runny nor too thick. Taking a camel-hair brush in hand, she drew the tip across the wet part of her bottom lip and twirled it until it came to a fine point. She lifted her chin at Allene.
“Hand me a tray of those watch faces next to you. Be careful!”