The Naked Typist

2

Tracy Garvin held the door open as Kelly Blaine padded barefoot into the office and settled into the clients’ chair. She started to cross her legs, thought better of it, pulled the overcoat around her and smoothed it down over her knees.

Steve Winslow had stood up to introduce himself when she came in, but so far she had avoided his eyes. Steve sat back down and sized her up.

Kelly Blaine was an attractive woman, somewhere in her early twenties. She wasn’t at all what Steve had imagined. But that, he realized, was wholly based on Tracy’s statement that the woman might be nude. Steve’s mind had immediately leaped to topless dancers, nude models, hookers. He’d unconsciously been expecting a woman with exaggerated makeup, false eyelashes, heavy eye shadow, red lipstick, too much blush. A woman exuding blatant sexuality.

Kelly Blaine was none of that. Her makeup, if any, was light and natural. Her brown hair was cut short and stylish, conservatively so. But looks, Steve knew, could be deceiving. His own secretary, with sweater and blue jeans and long blonde hair falling in her face, looked more like a college student than a legal secretary. And he, in T-shirt, corduroy jacket and blue jeans, with shoulder-length dark hair, looked more like a refugee from the sixties than a lawyer.

Kelly Blaine looked up at him and their eyes met. He could see doubt in hers. Steve was used to that. He was not used to women sitting in his office barefoot in an overcoat.

“Miss Blaine, is it?” Steve said.

“Yes.”

He motioned to Tracy Garvin, who drew up a chair and sat down. “My secretary tells me you were fired.”

“That’s right.”

“Is that what you want to see me about?”

“Partly.”

“That’s good, because I don’t do management/labor disputes.”

“This isn’t a dispute.”

Steve smiled. “It was an amicable firing?”

“Hardly.”

“Would you care to explain?”

Kelly Blaine took a breath. “All right. I was working for Milton Castleton.”

“Who is that?”

She frowned. “You’re an attorney and you’ve never heard of Milton Castleton?”

“I haven’t been an attorney long. And I have an unusual practice. Basically, I handle one client.”

She frowned. “But aren’t you the one? The one who got the Dawson boy off?”

“Occasionally I make exceptions. Jeremy Dawson was one of them.”

“Fine. Then I’m asking you to make one in my case.”

“I’m not promising anything, but I’m willing to listen. Now,” Steve said, “I’m who you thought I was-whatever that means. I’ve never heard of Milton Castleton-whoever he is. If that makes a difference to you, you should go see someone else. I don’t do corporate work. I don’t do management/labor. I don’t do domestic hassles. If I take on a case, it’s generally murder. If this case is the result of you being fired, it probably won’t interest me, and I tell you that in advance. If you want to tell me about it, I’m here and I’m willing to listen. But if you just want to get me on the defensive by making me feel inadequate for not knowing who Milton Castleton is, frankly you’re wasting your time and mine.”

Kelly Blaine drew herself up, stuck out her chin. “That’s not it. You’re who I want. You fight for the little guy. The rest doesn’t matter. I couldn’t go to another law office anyway. They’d laugh me out of there.”

“Why?”

She ran her hand over her face. “Because it’s bizarre. The whole situation’s bizarre.”

Steve shifted impatiently in his chair.

She held up her hand. “Okay, okay. But first off, you don’t know who Milton Castleton is. Well, he’s rich. Stinking rich. He’s a wealthy industrialist. Castleton Industries. That’s how you would have heard of him. Anyway, he’s retired now-he’s close to eighty-and his son runs the business.”

“Who’s his son?”

She waved it away. “Stanley Castleton. But that’s not important. Anyway, Milton’s an old man. He’s retired and he’s writing his memoirs.”

“His memoirs?”

“Yeah. Apparently in his day he was quite a character. Aside from being a cutthroat businessman-and he was certainly that- he was something of a rake hell. Women, booze, gambling. Lots of messy affairs involving court actions-paternity suits, breach of promise, named correspondent in half a dozen divorces.”

“And you worked for him,” Steve said, gently urging her to the point.

“That’s right. As I said, he was writing his memoirs. I was hired as a secretary to type them.”

“Oh, so you were working with him on the memoirs?”

“No. Actually, I never met the man.”

Steve frowned. “What?”

“I never met him. I was hired by his business associate. Or business manager, or personal manager, or whatever. That was never quite clear.”

“You’re saying you transcribed his notes but you never actually met him?”

“Not his notes. His dictation. He dictated onto microcassettes. I typed them up.”

“Where? At your apartment?”

“No. At his.”

Steve took a breath. “I’m sorry, but this is really not making any sense.”

“I know, I know,” she said. “That’s ’cause it is so bizarre. That’s why I couldn’t go to another lawyer. I worked in his apartment. That was the arrangement. But I never met the man. I had my own office. His business associate let me in and let me out. I never even knew if Milton Castleton was actually there.”

“And you were fired,” Steve prompted.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Today. This afternoon. Just now.”

“And you came straight here.”

“Yes. Well, I have to explain the situation. And it’s not easy. As I said, I never met Castleton, never knew when he was there. But I assume he was, because that was the whole idea.” She took a breath. “I had my own office. There, in his apartment. It was right next door to his office. But there was no connecting door. There were separate entrances-which is why I never saw him. His business associate, Phil Danby his name is, let me in in the morning. I’d go into my office. I’d close and lock the door. I’d be alone. The notes to be transcribed would already be on my desk. I’d take them and type them up. All straightforward and professional.”

She bit her lip, lowered her eyes. “Except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I typed them nude.”

Steve blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I was nude. When I came in to work, I’d take off my clothes, hang them in the closet, sit down and start typing.”

Steve found himself at a loss as to what to say next. He took a breath. “I see,” he said. Which was hopelessly inadequate on the one hand and not true on the other. “No, actually I don’t. What was the point? I mean, if you were alone, locked in this room … why were you supposed to do that?”

“There was a window. Between the two offices. You know, one-way glass. On my side it was a mirror. The other side, from his office, you could see through.”

“You mean-”

“Yes. He could sit at his desk and watch me type.”

“As well as anyone else who was in his office.”

“No. That was specified. There would not be business meetings with him saying, ‘Oh, have you seen my secretary,’ if that’s what you’re thinking. That was made very clear. It would be just him.”

“And you agreed to this arrangement?”

“Yes.”

“Had you done anything of the kind before? Posed as a nude model, for instance?”

“No.”

“Then why did you agree to this?”

“I resent the question.”

“What?”

Kelly Blaine stuck out her chin. “I resent that. You sit there taking a high moral tone. What do you make-two, three hundred bucks an hour? You know what I make as a typist? Ten to fifteen. For this job I got paid a hundred bucks an hour. It was work and I took it. If you want to sit there being high and mighty, making moral judgments, well, I know whose side you’re on, I might as well leave. The fact is, I took the job. You really want me to justify why?”

Steve held up his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. But you must admit, this whole thing is very unusual. I’m a human being. I’m naturally curious and I’m trying to understand the situation. Which, frankly, isn’t easy.” Steve smiled. “We have a peculiar situation here. You’re touchy, embarrassed and defensive on the one hand. I’m intrigued, embarrassed and tentative on the other. We’re both of us walking on eggshells. As a result, we’re getting absolutely nowhere. So, let’s try to set that aside and discuss this as if it were a normal, ordinary business deal, okay?”

“Fine.”

“At any rate, you agreed to this employment?”

“Yes.”

“When did you start work?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“You’ve been working there for two weeks?”

“Yes.”

“Same routine every day?”

“Yes.”

“And you never saw your boss, this Castleton fellow?”

“No.”

“How did you get the job?”

“I answered an ad.”

“What ad?”

“In the New York Times.”

“They advertised this in the Times?”

“Yes.”

“As what?”

“Under ‘Help wanted, female.’”

It was with an effort that Steve suppressed a grin. “Did the ad specify the requirements of the job?”

“No.”

“Or the rate of pay?”

“No. It just said, ‘salary negotiable.’”

“So you answered the ad and what happened?”

“I went for an interview.”

“Who was the interview with?”

“Phil Danby.”

“Where was it?”

“There. At the apartment.”

“You didn’t see Castleton then?”

“No. As I said, I’ve never seen him.”

“So what happened?”

“Danby explained the requirements of the job.”

“And you took it?”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” Steve said. “That was two weeks ago?”

“Yes.”

“You started work immediately?”

“The next day.”

“Did you have a contract?”

“Contract?”

“Yes. A written contract. With the terms of your employment.”

“No.”

“How were you paid?”

“In cash.”

“You trusted him to pay cash?”

She shook her head. “No. It was in advance.”

“Paid how?”

“On a daily basis. When I’d get to work in the morning there’d be an envelope on my desk with my name on it. In it would be my wages for the day.”

“Which was?”

“Eight hundred dollars. A hundred bucks an hour for eight hours.”

“Then you were fired?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“I told you. Today. Just before I came here.”

“Were you paid for today?”

“Yes, of course. Or I wouldn’t have started typing. I came in this morning as usual. The envelope was on my desk. I took the money, put it in my purse. Then I went to work.”

“And what happened?”

“I was sitting at my desk, typing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the door opening.”

“I thought it was locked.”

“It was. But of course they had the key. Stupid, but I never thought of that. I mean, I’d locked the door, no one had ever tried to open it-I thought, fine, the door’s locked. But of course you can open it from the outside with a key.”

“And someone did?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Phil Danby.”

“This ever happen before?”

“No. Never.”

“So what happened?”

“I looked up and the door was opening. I hadn’t heard it. I hadn’t heard the click of the lock because I had my ear phones on, transcribing.”

“What did you do?”

“I was shocked. Terrified. I ripped the headset off, scrunched down at the desk behind my typewriter. Tried to cover myself. This wasn’t supposed to be happening.”

“Go on.”

“The door opened and Phil Danby came in. I couldn’t believe it. I screamed at him, ‘Hey, get out of here!’”

“What did he do?”

“He acted like he hadn’t heard me. He just stood there a moment, then he turned and closed the door.”

“Then what?”

“I screamed at him again. But he just stood there. Then he smiled. The most smug, horrible smile. Then he walked over toward the desk.”

“What did you do?”

“I felt helpless. I couldn’t just sit there, but I didn’t want to get up either. I was horrified, embarrassed. I was covering myself as best I could. I got up from the chair, crouched behind the desk. I started screaming. Screaming for Mr. Castleton.

“Then he reached out and grabbed me. Grabbed me by the wrist. He said, ‘The boss ain’t here today. It’s just you and me.’”

“What did you do?”

“I slapped him. Slugged him hard. That startled him and he let go. I ran to the closet to get my clothes. I just got the door open when he came up behind me, slammed it shut, tried to grab me again.”

“Then what?”

“I slapped him again. Tried to knee him in the balls. I missed, but he got the idea. His face changed. Before it was gloating. Now it was angry. He said, ‘You little bitch.’ He grabbed me by the arms and dragged me. I was screaming, crying. Before I knew what was happening, he’d jerked open the door and pushed me out of the office.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. There I was in the hallway of the apartment. With this maniac grabbing me. I screamed for help, but there was no one there. I knew he had servants, a cook, a maid, what have you, but nobody came.

“I broke free, ran down the hall. He caught me in the foyer, right by the front door. He said, ‘Uppity bitch,’ and slammed me against the wall. Then he jerked the door open and pushed me out.”

Steve stared at her. “What?”

“That’s right.”

“He threw you out into the hall?”

“Yes.”

“Naked?”

“Yes.”

“And locked the door?”

“That’s right.”

Steve ran his hand over his head. “Good god.”

Kelly Blaine took a breath, calmed herself down. “Yes. So there I was in the hallway of this apartment building, and I couldn’t get back in and I couldn’t go out and I thought I was gonna die.”

“So what did you do?”

“I couldn’t just stand there. I had to hide somewhere. I went down the hallway, looking for help. I found the door to the stairs. So I went in there. The door closed behind me. It’s the type of door that’s locked from the inside. So there I was, trapped in the stairwell. I didn’t know what to do. I was almost hysterical. I went down the stairwell, trying all the doors. They were all locked. Even the one to the lobby. Not that I wanted to get out into the lobby, if you know what I mean.

“Anyway, there was another flight down. I took it. The door there was unlocked. It led into the basement. Thank god there wasn’t anyone around.

“I searched the place, found a storage closet.” She touched the fabric of the overcoat. “This coat was hanging in it. What a relief that was. I put this on, looked around for a way out. I found a back stairs that was unlocked. And I got out of there.

“So there I was, out on the street with no clothes, no money, nothing. I walked home. Twenty blocks. I didn’t have my keys, but the super would let me in. Only he wasn’t home. I didn’t know what to do. I was getting hysterical. I needed help.

“Then I thought of you. I remembered reading about you in the papers. A lawyer, yes, but not what you think of as a lawyer. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be insulting. I’m saying it badly. What I mean is, you’re not just concerned with legalities. You help people. I need help.”

She paused, took a breath, looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Can you help me?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve Winslow could see Tracy Garvin looking at him. From the look on her face, he knew that if he said no he would be in serious trouble.

Not that he had any intention of saying no.

“What is it you want?” he said.

She stared at him. What a stupid question. “Are you kidding? I want my clothes. I want my purse. With my keys in it, so I can get into my apartment.”

“I understand,” Steve said. “But it goes a little deeper than that. There are several legal ramifications here. On the one hand, you’ve been unjustly terminated from your job. You’ve been fired without cause and without notice. And you’ve been humiliated and forced out in the street with no wherewithal. All of which gives you a cause of action against your employer.

“On the other hand, you’ve been the victim of a sexual assault. Which means you could file criminal charges as well. When I say what do you want, I mean there are various avenues we could take on this, and we have to explore the possibilities.”

“I don’t give a damn about the legal ramifications. I’m sitting here in a goddamn overcoat. I want my clothes and I want my purse.”

“I understand. The question is how do we go about getting them back. Are we threatening to file criminal charges, a civil suit-”

“File?” she said. “What are you talking about, file? I don’t care about long legal procedures. I want my clothes back now.”

“And I’m going to try to get them,” Steve said. “But we have to consider possibilities. First off, I’m going to get your clothes back this afternoon. In the event that I don’t, the gentlemen in question will find they’ve bought themselves a great deal of trouble. If they do, we have to prepare for that contingency.

“Tracy, can you see about getting Miss Blaine some clothes?”

“Of course.”

“I want my own clothes.”

“I understand. But if they won’t give them up, we can’t have you running around naked. We’ll get you clothes. We’ll contact the super in your building and get you a new key. That’s just if worse comes to worst. Meanwhile, I’m going to put some pressure on these guys and see what I can do for you now. Before I do, I wanna know how you want to play this. Do you want to file criminal charges against this Phil Danby?”

“No.”

“That’s fine, but I don’t have to tell ’em that. I may have to threaten them with it to get your clothes. Now, with regard to the civil suit-”

“I don’t want to file a civil suit either.”

“Neither do I, but that’s not the point. This man is a millionaire. He’s done you irreparable harm. If I go in, talking civil suit, he’s apt to offer a compromise to avoid litigation. Particularly considering the circumstances of the case. It’s not the sort of thing he’d like to have made public. If he offers a settlement, how much would you be willing to take?”

“I don’t want a settlement.”

“Right,” Steve said, somewhat impatiently. “You want your clothes. You’re gonna get ‘em, but in addition they’re gonna compensate you for the humiliation you went through. From your point of view, how much would be enough?”

“I don’t care.”

“Maybe not, but I do. I’m a lawyer, not an errand boy. If I do this for you, I have to be paid.”

“I have money.”

“I wouldn’t touch it. If anybody pays me, it’s gonna be them. I’ll take your case, but only on a contingency basis. If they give us a settlement, I get a third. The rest goes to you.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“There’s one thing I want you to understand. To settle this, we have to release them from all damages. That’s why you should think about this. To accomplish anything, you’ll have to sign a release. That release will be legal and binding. Once you’ve signed it and they’ve accepted it, if you change your mind and want to sue them for damages, you can’t do it. You can’t go after them again. You understand that?”

“Of course. That’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Steve looked at her a few moments. “All right,” he said. “Tracy. I want you to type up a release for me. Have it release Milton Castleton and Phil Danby from all claims of damages resulting from the employment and termination of said employment of Miss Kelly Blaine.”

“Certainly,” Tracy said. She stood up.

“One minute. First get me Milton Castleton on the phone.” Steve looked at Kelly Blaine. “What’s his number?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“It’s not like I ever had to call there. I have his number. It’s in my purse.”

“Right,” Steve said. “All right. Call information. See if they have a Milton Castleton listed.”

Tracy called information, asked for the listing. She frowned and hung up the phone. “It’s unlisted,” she said.

“That figures,” Steve said. “Get me Mark Taylor.”

Tracy called the Taylor Detective Agency, said, “Steve Winslow for Mark Taylor.” She listened a moment, then handed Steve the phone.

“Mark, Steve.”

“Yeah, Steve. What’s up?”

“Milton Castleton.”

“What about him?”

“You know him?”

“I know who he is.”

“Fine. He’s got an unlisted phone number. I want it.”

“No sweat. Hang on.”

There was a pause and Steve could hear Taylor shouting at someone. A minute later he was back on the line with the number.

“Anything else?” Taylor asked.

“That’s it,” Steve said, and hung up the phone. He turned to Tracy Garvin. “Okay. Get going on that release. Take her with you. Check the details with her.”

Tracy nodded. There was no reason she needed Kelly Blaine to make up the release. She realized Steve just wanted her out of the room while he made the call.

Kelly Blaine got up to go. Steve picked up the phone. Kelly Blaine turned back in the doorway. “I have to warn you,” she said. “He’s going to give you a hard time.”

Steve smiled grimly. “That’s where you’re wrong.”