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Florentyna frantically flipped the pages of the campaign handbook that she had been promised would reveal everything.
“Are you still there?” barked the voice.
“Yes, sir,” said Florentyna. “I just wanted to be sure you were given a full and detailed answer on the congressman’s views. If you would be kind enough to wait one moment.”
At last Florentyna found the Marshall Plan and read through Henry Osborne’s words on the subject.
“Hello, sir.”
“Yes,” said the voice, and Florentyna started to read Henry’s views out loud.
“‘Congressman Osborne approves of the Marshall Plan.’” There was a long silence.
“Yes, I know he does,” said the voice from the other end.
Florentyna felt weak. “Yes, he does support the plan,” she repeated.
“Why does he?” said the voice.
“Because it will benefit everyone in his district,” said Florentyna firmly, feeling rather pleased with herself.
“Pray tell me, how can giving six billion American dollars to Europe help the Ninth District of Illinois?” Florentyna could feel the perspiration on her forehead. “Miss, you may inform your congressman that because of your personal incompetence I shall be voting Republican on this occasion.”
Florentyna put the phone down and was considering running out of the door when the regular receptionist arrived back from her lunch. Florentyna did not know what to tell her.
“Anything interesting?” the girl asked as she resumed her place. “Or was it the usual mixture of weirdos, perverts and cranks who have got nothing better to do with their lunch break?”
“Nothing special,” said Florentyna nervously, “except I think I’ve lost the vote of a Mr. Crudick.”
“Not Mad Mel again? What was it this time, the House Un-American Activities Committee, the Marshall Plan or the slums of Chicago?”
Florentyna happily returned to licking envelopes.
On Election Day, Florentyna arrived at campaign headquarters at eight o’clock in the morning and spent the day telephoning registered Democrats to be sure they had voted. “Never forget,” said Henry Osborne in his final pep talk to his voluntary helpers, “no man has ever lived in the White House who hasn’t carried Illinois.”
Florentyna felt very proud to think she was helping to elect a President and didn’t take a break all day. At eight o’clock that evening, Miss Tredgold came to collect her. She had worked twelve hours without letting up, but never once did she stop talking all the way home.
“Do you think Mr. Truman will win?” she asked finally.
“Only if he gets more than fifty percent of the votes cast,” said Miss Tredgold.
“Wrong,” said Florentyna. “It is possible to win a Presidential election in the United States by winning more Electoral College votes than your opponent while failing to secure a majority of the plebiscite.” She then proceeded to give Miss Tredgold a brief lesson on how the American political system worked.
“Such a thing would never have happened if only dear George III had known where America was,” said Miss Tredgold. “And I become daily aware that it will not be long before you have no further need of me, child.”
It was the first time Florentyna had ever considered that Miss Tredgold would not spend the rest of her life with her.
When they reached home, Florentyna sat in her father’s old chair to watch the early returns, but she was so tired that she dozed off in front of the fire. She, like most of America, went to sleep believing that Thomas Dewey had won the election. When Florentyna woke the next morning, she dashed downstairs to fetch the Tribune. Her fears were confirmed: “Dewey Defeats Truman” ran the headline, and it took half an hour of radio bulletins and confirmation by her mother before Florentyna believed that Truman had been returned to the White House. An 11 P.M. decision had been made by the night editor of the Tribune to run a headline that he would not live down for the rest of his life. At least he had been right in stating that Henry Osborne was returned to Congress for a sixth term.
When Florentyna went back to Girls Latin the next day, her homeroom teacher called for her and made it quite clear that the election was now over and that the time had come to settle down and do some serious studying. Miss Tredgold agreed, and Florentyna worked with the same enthusiasm for her school exams as she had for President Truman.
During the year, she made the junior varsity hockey team, on which she played right wing without distinction, and even managed to squeeze onto the third-string tennis team on one occasion. When the summer term was drawing to a close, all the pupils received a note reminding them that if they wished to run for the Student Council their names must be sent to the headmaster of Boys Latin by the first Monday of the new school year. There were six representatives on the Council elected from both schools, and no one could remember a year when they had not all come from the twelfth grade. Nevertheless, many of Florentyna’s classmates suggested that she allow her name to be put forward. Edward Winchester, who had years before given up trying to beat Florentyna at anything except arm wrestling, volunteered to help her.
“But anyone who helps me would have to be talented, good-looking, popular and charismatic,” she teased.
“For once, I agree with you,” said Edward. “Any fool taking up such a cause will need every advantage possible to overcome the problems that come with a candidate who is stupid, ugly, unapproachable and dull.”
“In which case it might be wise for me to wait another year.”
“Never,” said Edward. “I can see no hope of improvement in such a short time. In any case, I want you on the Council this year.”
“Why?”
“Because if you’re the only eleventh-grade student elected, you’ll be a near certain for president next year.”
“Really thought the whole thing through, haven’t you, Edward?”
“And I would be willing to bet everything in my piggy bank that you have, too.”
“Perhaps,” said Florentyna.
“Perhaps?”
“Perhaps I’ll consider running for Student Council a year early.”
During the summer vacation, which Florentyna spent with her father at the New York Baron, she noticed that many of the big department stores now had millinery departments and wondered why there were not more shops specializing only in clothes. She spent hours at Best’s, Saks and Bonwit Teller—at the last of which she bought herself a strapless evening dress—observing the different customers and comparing their individual preferences with those of shoppers who frequented Bloomingdale’s, Altman’s and Macy’s. In the evening over dinner she would regale her father with the knowledge she had acquired that day. Abel was so impressed by the speed with which Florentyna assimilated new facts that he began to explain to her in some detail
how the Baron Group worked. By the end of her vacation, he was delighted with how much she had picked up about stock control, cash flow, advance reservations, the Employment Act of 1940, and even the cost of eight thousand fresh rolls. He warned George that his job as managing director of the Group might be in jeopardy in the not-too-distant future.
“I don’t think it’s my job she’s after, Abel.”
“No?” said Abel.
“No,” said George. “It’s yours.”
Abel took Florentyna to the airport on the final day of her vacation and presented her with a black-and-white Polaroid camera.
“Papa, what a fantastic present. Won’t I be the neatest thing at school?”
“It’s a bribe,” said Abel.
“A bribe?”
“Yes. George tells me you want to be Chairman of the Baron Group.”
“I think I’ll start with president of the Student Council,” said Florentyna.
Abel laughed. “Make sure you win a place on the Council first,” he said, then kissed his daughter on the cheek and waved goodbye as she disappeared up the steps to the waiting plane. As Abel traveled back in the car, he thought of his own ambitions for Warsaw and then recalled the understanding he had had with his daughter.
“I’ve decided to run.”
“Good,” said Edward. “I’ve already compiled a list of every student in both schools. You must put a check mark by all those who you feel are certain to support you and a cross by those who won’t, so that I can work on the don’t-knows and reinforce the backing of your supporters.”
“Very professional. How many people are running?”
“So far fifteen candidates for six places. There are four candidates you can’t hope to beat, but it will be a close contest after that. I thought you’d be interested to know that Pete Welling is running.”
“That creep,” said Florentyna.
“Oh, I was led to believe that you were hopelessly in love with him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Edward, he’s a sap. Let’s go through the school lists.”
