Winning Woman

CHAPTER ONE "That remains to be seen," the man snapped coldly in reply. "A social worker has certain responsibilities to the community. The police are a vital part of that community." "Yes," Wanda admitted as she unbuttoned the light tweed jacket and revealed the crisp white blouse with the high collar, "they are, but my people are more important to me. You've been a social worker longer than I, Bryce, I should think you'd understand that." Bryce Jenkins, head of the Welfare Bureau that included all of the city's social work program glared across the desk at the woman with whom he was usually on good terms. This time though, she was definitely out of favor. He had just spent the better, or worse, part of an hour in a meeting with the Chief of Police and the mayor. They had both given him a first class blistering and it still burned. "The fact remains, Miss Tupper," he dropped the first name basis he normally used in talking with Wanda, "that a girl told you Johnny Powers pulled that service station robbery. A man was shot there and almost died. In spite of that, you didn't notify the police or report it to me." "What would you have done if I had reported it to you, Mr. Jenkins?" Wanda decided to follow his lead in the matter of formality. "I would have done my duty and notified the police. You should have done your duty, Miss Tupper." "I did my duty, Mr. Jenkins. My duty as a social worker. If I had turned that boy in, it would have been all over the street the next day. When those people out there can't trust me, I may as well pack it up and, as head of this bureau, you should be aware of that." "Are you trying to tell me how to run the bureau, Miss Tupper? Is it possible that after making an error in judgment that heaped torrents of abuse and discredit on this bureau, you would dare try to tell me how to do my job?" "It's not up to me to tell you that, Mr. Jenkins," Wanda refused to back pedal. "I'm merely insisting that I did my job properly. If you can't see that, then you're so blinded by trying to keep on the right side of city hall that you've forgotten what a social worker is supposed to be." "If you will take that remark back, Miss Tupper," the man's eyes blazed with fury, "I'm willing to forget you made it." "But I have no intention of taking it back," she stared right back at him. "You know I'm right, Mr. Jenkins, regardless of what you say. If I'm faced with the same choice tomorrow, I'll do the same thing and if you hadn't forsaken all the things you once believed in for the sake of being the fair -haired boy at city hall, you'd understand it. Have I made myself clear?" "You have indeed, Miss Tupper. So clear that you leave me no choice but to dismiss you." "On what grounds?" Wanda snapped back. "On any or all of several," the civil service background was showing plainly now as Bryce Jenkins stung under the lash of her insubordination. "Inefficiency, obviously. Insubordination for another. Complicity in the commission of a crime, harboring a fugitive, accessory after the fact of a felony. The grounds are limitless." "You fail to impress me, Mr. Jenkins," Wanda spoke with the same calm assurance she had demonstrated throughout the interview. "Then let me put it this way," the man was actually hissing in anger now, "as of this moment, you are no longer employed by this bureau. You are to clean out your desk immediately and turn all files and notes over to me. You are fired, Miss Tupper." "And you, Mr. Jenkins, are a fool," Wanda stood and smiled as she threw the line at him. "If you dare to fire me on this issue, I'll devote the rest of my life to making you sorry. That isn't just an idle threat, Mr. Jenkins. I happen to care about those people out there. They're more important to me than your petty ambitions. If the bureau has stopped caring about them, I haven't." As if cowed by the way she was standing over him, the man pushed his chair back and stood across the desk from her. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. "I told you, you're fired, Miss Tupper. Don't you dare try to threaten me. I want every file and note you have on my desk within the hour. Now get out of my office." He was almost screaming by the time he finished. As she walked out of his office and down the uncarpeted hall to her own much smaller one, Wanda took time to wonder whether she had mishandled the interview. As a social worker, she was in a position to help a lot of people who needed help, she reminded herself. Out of the job, she could keep her philosophy strong, but how, she asked herself, could she apply it to help the people who needed help? If I don't believe the bureau is being operated properly? she threw another question at herself, am I helping anyone by allowing myself to be fired? Who will work for them then? Wanda knew that in spite of all that had been said during their bitter exchange, all she had to do was go back into his office and take back the things she had said. Armed with that, he could go back to the mayor and the police chief and tell them that he had brought his maverick social worker under control and that there would be no more trouble. Even as she thought of it though, Wanda knew she wouldn't do it. If I give in to him on this, then he'll dictate to me all the way. I won't really be a social worker at all, I'll just be a worker for him and for city hall. In her office, Wanda gathered up the files that had been left on her desk when she finished working just before midnight last night. Reaching into her purse, she picked up her notebook and was about to add it to the pile when she changed her mind. She slid it back into her purse and muttered a less than lady-like word under her breath. I'm going to have to go back and talk to a lot of those people out there, Wanda reminded herself, I'll need the notebook. There could be other uses for it too, she thought. Wanda knew that when she told her former boss she would fight him, she wasn't kidding. She was not only going to fight him and the system, she told herself firmly, she was going to win. After she had checked all the drawers of her desk and put the things that were hers into her purse, she walked to the door, pulled it open and walked down the hall. When she reached the office of Bryce Jenkins, she pushed his door open without knocking and felt satisfaction at his angry expression as he turned toward her. "My files are on top of my desk, Mr. Jenkins," she said firmly. "I instructed you to bring them to me, Miss Tupper," he roared as his face colored again. "That's right, sir," Wanda flashed a small smile, "but then again, I'm not exactly adept at following your orders am I? As I recall, that's why you fired me. If I were less of a lady, I'd tell you what you can do with your files, but I refuse to reduce myself to your level so I'll simply inform you that you may pick them up if you wish. Good evening, Mr. Jenkins." Without giving him a chance to speak, Wanda pulled his door closed behind her and walked out into the hall. As she walked toward the stairs, her heels echoed loudly through the deserted hallway. She wished they wouldn't make so much noise, but still, she didn't walk any more softly until she reached the worn stairs. In the parking lot, Wanda walked toward her three year old Corvair and realized, as she looked at it, just how dirty and beat up it looked. All of a sudden, it was as if she had looked into a mirror and saw herself there rather than a car in need of a wash. Is that what I am? she asked herself. Am I just a beat up old model who talks like a Cadillac and acts like a Corvair? Sliding behind the wheel, she turned the key, stepped on the gas and heard the car respond immediately. So what if I am, she snapped back in reply to her own question. Is there anything wrong with being a Corvair after all? Perhaps Bryce Jenkins is the Cadillac. He cares a lot about appearance and comfort, but surely there are other things more important to me. As she turned the car into the street, Wanda was still waging an argument within herself. She sensed though that no matter how long she argued, she would come up with the same answer. It would have been a mistake to turn that kid over to the police and an even bigger one to give Bryce Jenkins the promises he wanted about her future conduct. By the time Wanda whipped the car down the ramp into the basement garage of her apartment building, she knew the argument was over and she had won. She knew she had done the right thing and that she would still be able to look at herself in the mirror without feeling even a touch of shame. Of course, there was the matter of finding a new job, but that was a problem for tomorrow. Effortlessly, she slid the little car into the parking slot, turned off the key, picked up her purse and stepped out. As she walked to the elevator, she looked like anything except a woman who had just been fired. She carried her well formed body with pride. It didn't require any great effort, Wanda just did that without effort. To her surprise and relief, the elevator was waiting at that level so that there wasn't the usual waiting for it. Punching the button for the tenth floor, she felt it whir right past the main floor and go all the way without a stop. She turned the key in her door and walked into what was more than just an apartment. It was a place where she could kick off her shoes at the end of a long day and sit in a comfortable chair. When she didn't feel like sitting, she could walk over to the window or step out on the balcony and look at the city below. Right now though, she knew she wouldn't do either. There was an almost full bottle of Scotch in the kitchen and the thought of it offered more than the consolation she needed at the moment. She turned the tap on first, then reached up on the shelf for the bottle. The drink she poured was about two ounces and change and just right under the circumstances, she decided. She ran about four ounces of water into it and held it up for examination. It looked right and when she tasted it, she decided it was right all the way. Walking across the room, Wanda pushed open the front door and stepped out on the balcony. She was just in time to see the last of the sun as it began to slip out of sight through a mixture of cloud and smoke. There was just a trace of coolness in the air and she felt it comfort her after the heat of argument. Wanda stayed there until the sun and her drink expired at about the same time. When she walked back into the apartment, she pushed the door closed behind her. Food, she thought was the logical thing at this stage, but her stomach told her it wasn't in the mood. Searching for something to relax her fatigued mind, she thought of reading but dismissed the idea as quickly as it came. In her present mood, she knew, no book could possibly occupy her sufficiently. From there, her mind moved on to the thought of a nice long soak in a hot tub. That one worked. She was actually smiling as she hurried to the bathroom and began to run a tub. It was her favorite form of escape. In times of stress, Wanda liked to turn to the tub as her refuge. A drink helped, but with or without it, a hot tub provided her with the release from tensions that permitted her to think out her problems and come up with the right answers. This time though, she decided to combine the best of both by pouring a very large Scotch as her tub companion. Carrying it back into the bathroom, she felt the comforting, damp heat that was already permeating the room. Putting her glass down, she unzipped her skirt and pushed it down over her legs. Stepping out of it, she looked at it and tossed it into the corner before beginning to unbutton the blouse. A few seconds later, it landed in the same corner.