This afternoon we met a prospective employee. First there had been occasional hints, phone conversations where Charlie said “You’re two hours away? Well, you’re getting here.” Then I learned that someone named Gaye was coming to be interviewed. Then there was an unfamiliar voice coming from the front rooms and when I went there on some pretext, she was there, shoulder length blond hair, a pretty face, a cookie jar figure.

Charlie wasted no time in putting her to work, possibly because Faren wasn’t feeling well, first complaining about being headachy and woozy and lying down in Charlie’s room, finally going home at about 3:30. Charlie’s mood didn’t help, drifting into that combination of crabbiness and martyrdom typical at this point in every issue.

By the end of the day I was running out pages while Charlie and Gaye went through what they already had and tried to put them in order. Charlie kept coming back to berate me about the pages he couldn’t find, which made me shrug. Once I run them out I hand them to either him or to Faren. What happens after that is not my problem.

At 6:45 Tim, who had the car today, came to pick me up. I was still running out pages. Gaye came back to be shown how to do it once I left. She struck me as shy, but determined to show she knew her way around and could handle herself. I commented that she didn’t need to stay so late and she said, “Where do you think I’d be going? I’m staying here tonight.” She’d driven here all the way from Chicago! She told me she had some experience editing magazines, was mainly interested in writing poetry and had a couple of collections published.

“Have you warned her?” Tim asked me.

“Warned me about what?” she asked a bit sharply.

“Oh, it’s just that it’s a high pressure job,” I said. “People only stay here…”

“…about two years. My father commented on that when he read the anniversary issue. ‘They only stay two years.’ But I said, ‘Look Dad, they stay two years, learn a lot, then go on to better things.’”

Not a bad plan.

In the diary I note that, as we drove home, Tim asked me if I were worried about Charlie making a pass at Gaye while she stayed the night. I thought it unlikely, and still do. I’ve heard stories about Charlie when he was younger, but never once in my years at LOCUS did I see him make a pass at the women who worked for him. He already had a hard enough time getting employees. And it was a big house.