It had been an unusually warm and sunny day in mid-September. Many people had gone out in their long sleeves and jackets in the cool early morning only to find that the warmth of the day made such clothing unbearable. A blue sky with only a smattering of rolling white clouds encapsulated New York City. The night owls were still abed and the early risers had already, long ago started their day.
The instructions given over the phone had invited all accepted hires to meet at a penthouse flat in the Upper East Side at about 10 in the morning. Here it became apparent that wealth was casually flaunted. Cars were parked along streets with nary a nag in sight. The buildings were a mix of old, classic beauties and a new, modern style. The flat itself was located in a newly built complex that was in the Art Deco style which was still in its early stages. Bright shiny white contrasted starkly with a very business-like black.
At the front of a revolving door stood the Doorman. He was ready to judge with his eyes and watch all cool and collectedly as the commers and goers went about their daily business. It had been indicated at the end of the phone call that they should simply tell the Doorman that they were here to see Miss Hobbs at the top flat. Even if they were in rags he would let them through saying, “The elevator is located at the end of the hall at the left of the stairs. Last elevator. If you would prefer, to your immediate right are stairs leading up to the flat. That is, if you wish to climb the ten flights.”
Upon entering the building the ground floor held a lavish fountain and gorgeous plants of bright colors. There were stairs that started together at the bottom but split to allow a fine pear tree to show itself. They rejoined at the top, connecting to hall which lead to other apartments in the building. If directions were followed to the elevator, one would simply walk past the left side of the stairs and come to a line of four elevators with shiny golden, embossed doors. The last would take them on a short trip to the flat. If stairs were chosen, they would be going up a large and winding staircase with landings which held doors. At the tenth landing would be a door with a sign hanging on it that read, “Enter.”
The elevator would open to a perfectly white foyer with black curtains hanging on the walls, magnificent paintings, and statues of white or black marble. The statues depicted the naked human form of both sexes in many a pose. Here they would be greeted by the butler. “Welcome,” he would say in a bright yet soft tone. A gentle man of many years but without an ounce of cruelty in his visage. “I am Mister Foley.” Mister Foley was a tall gentleman, with salt and pepper hair, and a rather boyish sort of gangly to his body. His smile showed perfect teeth but was perhaps a bit too wide for his face. He dressed in a rather rich looking tuxedo and wore white gloves upon his hands.
“I will take you to meet our Miss Hobbs.” Then he would walk into the flat, the front circular room leading to a sparse hall which would then led to a living room with a fireplace, overstuffed chairs, a low coffee table, and a small television on a stand. It was not this room they would stop at. Instead, he would lead down another small hallway which stopped at a black door. Foley rapped his knuckles against the door before opening it.
If the stairs were chosen, an individual would be greeted by a short and overweight woman. The bob of her hair wouldn’t quite fit the wideness of her face or the extra chin. Her hair was greying but it was obvious from her face and demeanor that she had a liveliness beyond her physical form.
“Hooah! I suspect yer lookin for Miss Hobbs. Come in and follow me. No dawdlin’ or gawkin’. We best be getting’ on with things.” She had a thick, sharp, but friendly Irish accent. She wore a cream-colored blouse and black trousers with a matching vest that was in part covered by her stark white apron. The woman would lead them into the kitchen which looked as if it had come straight out of a Sears catalog before it had hit a recession. All the new bobs and bits could be found in a room made of black, sparkling marble and white cabinetry.
“I be Norma, if you be needin’ anythin’ don’t yeh be hesitatin’ to ask me or Mister Foley. Or let Miss Hobbs know, she'll call fer us.” Through the dining room with a long table and excellent wall adornments and into the living room, down the hall and a black door which opened to the study.
This room was also rather large. Bookshelves lined one wall, a fireplace against another, and huge windows which looked out onto the street below. There were several couches and chairs as well as a large desk littered with papers. Upon a divan lay Miss Hobbs, Lady Detective. Her form was clad in a stylish and short beaded dress. A sheer, feathered robe lay open allowing anyone who dared to look a peek at her stockings and garter. One arm lay languidly over the curve of her hip and the hand held a cigarette. The other supported her and flipped through what appeared to be a fashion magazine.
As her employees arrived, Miss Hobbs looked up from the magazine, searched them over and offered a playful grin. She sat up, her heeled feet hitting the floor and crossing at the ankles. “Welcome! Please sit, as soon as everyone arrives, I will go over, well, everything!” She made a fluid motion to indicate the two modern couches and three stuffed chairs.
