Confessions of a Personal Secretary. Rosie Dixon
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eyes at the waiter.’ I am feeling huffy because Penny has touched me on a sore point by mentioning how relieved my parents would be if she came to Learnfast with me. The ridiculous thing is that it is true.
‘You can’t have enough of a good thing,’ says Penny. ‘Also, men are so fickle. They’ll lead you up the garden path and then roger your best friend against the greenhouse. “Do as you would be done – frequently”, that’s my motto. Ah, waiter. Do you think you could be an absolute angel and find me an artificial sweetener? I’ve been an awfully silly girl and left my Hermesetas at home – 48, Riverside Gardens, telephone number: 444 3422.’
‘—3422,’ repeats the curly-haired waiter who has produced a pencil stub with the speed of light. ‘Y-a-a-ys, mad-oom. I think I can giva yow what yow want.’
I never find out whether he can or can’t because I have to leave to have my hair done. If you are five minutes late at ‘Hair Today’ they cancel your appointment.
The next time I see Penny is on the doorstep of ‘Learnfast’. It is on the Monday stipulated by Mr Kruger, and Sandor has indeed struck terror into my mother’s heart by ringing up and asking to speak to me. She is getting so sensitive that it worries me sometimes. Sandor may be a foreigner but, goodness gracious, there is nothing wrong with that. Even if he were asking me out to the pictures it would not be the end of the world. You would think that with the speed of travel and communications between countries we would all be becoming one big happy family, but it seems to be quite the reverse. The more we see and hear of each other the more we seem to dislike each other. It is sad, isn’t it?
‘Hi!’ says Penny. ‘I decided to take the plunge. Fascinating dump, isn’t it? Looks more like a back street abortion clinic.’
I blush and search my heart to find if I am truly glad that Penny is joining me at the Lft Sl o Fwt. Perhaps, in the interests of our friendship I should take a brave smile to my lips and say: ‘Penny! I didn’t expect to find you here.’
‘Neither did I,’ says the first girl at her finishing school to finish – she was expelled after three weeks when the under gardener became the over gardener behind the gardenias. ‘I did it on a whim. I don’t know what got into me – well, I do really. He was rather a divine—’
‘Quite,’ I say pressing the front doorbell. Could it be jealousy that makes me fed up with hearing about Penny’s endless sexual adventures? Or is it the note of rapture that always transcends them? Whenever I pick up a paper or magazine, people are continually complaining about their lack of sexual satisfaction or seeking advice on how to get more. Why should Penny always strike lucky with the love lollies? I can’t remember her expressing dissatisfaction with an ‘amorous joust’ as she is wont to call them since she purchased the silence of the night porter at Queen Adelaide’s Hospital Nurses’ Home with her body and found it wanting – wanting but not offering much in return by all accounts. Still, I must not be too unkind. We have been through a lot together.
‘Miss Dixon! Welcome to Learnfast. And you, dear young lady. Trip over our portal but mind your step if you understand me.’ Mr Kruger is clearly in a jovial mood and I see his eyes lighting up Penny like searchlights. ‘Have you come with your friend?’
‘That would be telling, cheeky,’ says Penny, gaily chucking Kruger under the chin. ‘I believe I have to fill in some dreary old forms before I’m allowed to pound the keys. Is that correct?’
‘Absolutely,’ purrs Kruger. ‘Come into my sanctum and I’ll take down your curricula vitae.’
I think I would have slapped his face if he had said that to me – especially after my near experience on my last visit – but Penny follows the man without a murmur. I suppose close examination of the petit point of life’s rich, varied tapestry has taught her how to handle people like that.
I am told to join ‘the others’ beyond a door bearing a card saying ‘Typing Class’ and when I enter, it is to find a group of girls and Sandor clustered round an upright piano. I think that perhaps we are going to start the day with a jolly sing-song but I am soon disillusioned. There are letters marked all over the keys and Sandor explains – with great difficulty since he hardly seems to speak any English – that these correspond to the arrangement of letters on the keys of a typewriter.
‘Listen carefully most,’ he says. ‘I now play you “Dear Sir, yours of the fifth ult to hand is,”’ and he begins to pound the keys making a din that bears no relation at all to music. The class listen hard and make notes – I mean the kind you take down with a pencil – but by the end of an hour and a half’s tuition there is not one of us that can play ‘Yours truly’. I can see why Kruger was stressing the importance of a musical background. There is also no sign of Penny. I am beginning to wonder if her interview with Kruger has made her think better of the whole enterprise when the door opens and she slips in looking rather flushed.
‘It’s hot in there, isn’t it?’ I whisper.
Penny nods and winks at me. ‘What a monster,’ she says. I nod understandingly. ‘Did he push it?’
Penny opens her eyes and flutters her knees in a gesture I find puzzling. ‘And how!’
At that moment, the door bursts open and Mr Kruger staggers in. I have never seen a man looking nearer to apoplexy. His face is scarlet and glistening with sweat and he feels his way along the wall to the goldfish bowl and gulps down most of its contents until the unfortunate fish is back-paddling against his lips. I noticed that the curls on the collar of his astrakan coat have all disappeared and that the fur now hangs limp and straight like André Previn’s hair.
‘Is he all right?’ I hiss.
‘It depends on your standards,’ says Penny. ‘I’d give him five out of ten for stamina with a two-point bonus for having a big one.’
Before I can ask her what she is talking about, I am called to the piano to play ‘We apologize for the delay’ without looking at the keyboard and the class is dismissed for ten minutes. When I get out into the hall where Sandor is selling doughnuts and paper cups of watery tea there is no sign of Mr Kruger, and Penny has gone to the toilet. The break is needed for I have found the morning’s work much harder than I had expected. At least there is some comfort in learning that most of the other girls feel the same.
‘I don’t know how I’m going to practise,’ says one of my fellow pupils. ‘We don’t even have a typewriter at home let alone a piano.’
‘A concertina will do the trick,’ says Sandor who seems to be able to hear any conversation that takes place within ten yards of him – though you can never get ten yards from anyone in the small semi-detached that houses Learnfast – ‘Your mother or other loved one can supply the squeezes. You apply the fingers to the notes. Maybe I sell you one, cheap, cheap.’
‘I wonder what you need for Fastwriting,’ murmurs another girl. ‘Probably a Lear Jet.’
But in fact you only need a pencil and a lot of inspiration. Sandor explains the principle, which is that you leave out all the letters that you don’t need in the words, and we copy out some texts and pass them round the form to be deciphered. Since all the texts are different nobody knows what they are going to get and very few people can understand anything. When I get mine back I cannot understand it either. It is all rather worrying. Especially as Sandor just shrugs and continues to read a book called ‘Open wider, please’. From the look of the cover I do not think it is about dentists. I would feel more reassured about Sandor if he did not wear a T-shirt with ‘I choked Linda Lovelace’ stencilled on it.
By three o’clock Mr Kruger has recovered sufficiently to pay us a visit and hope that we are all settling in well. He tells us not to worry if we find things difficult and says that both Fastwriting and Symphonic Typing – apparently that is what it is called – are such revolutionary techniques that we must approach them as if learning a new language.
‘You cannot take to them as a duck makes water,’ adds Sandor helpfully and Mr Kruger taps him playfully on the head with his clenched