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between herself and the fellow who was closing fast. Addie hoped her move looked as though she were simply attempting a more direct route to the women’s coat room.
    It was clumsy at best. Surely Hamilton had seen through it. But her maneuver worked. If he were to adjust his path to meet up with her now, it would be a most obvious and embarrassing display. She knew Hamilton would never pursue her so blatantly.
    A vicious bite to her tongue kept the smug smile from her face. It was satisfying to have escaped this most persistent fellow. She had precious little time for herself these days, but if Hamilton Jensen had his way, she’d have none at all.
    Addie walked as quickly as she could without swinging her arms or losing her composure and made it to safety beyond the louvered doors of the women’s “robing room”. It took just seconds to unpin her hat and hang her summery shoulder cape in the narrow cubby assigned to her.
    She checked the bow she’d pinned at the base of her curls and straightened her grandmother’s opal brooch at her neck. The efficiency of her movements, the routine, always helped cement her transformation as Addie began another day at Chase National.
    Addie slipped her tan sleeve protectors on over her forearms and stopped at the vault to pick up her morning tray for Teller Station No. 8. She moved easily into her teller stall, made her own count of the tray’s contents, and began to slide the drawer into place.
    As always, it stuck on the right side, and Addie had to bend down to watch the runner as she lightly jostled the temperamental tray to the exact angle it needed to achieve before rolling into place.
    “Here. Let me help you with that, Miss Magee.”
    Addie did her best not to groan at the solicitous tone coming at her over her left shoulder.
    “Oh, thank you, Mr. Jensen, but I’ve just got it now. Thank you.” She gave an angry little tap and the runner clicked into place and the drawer slid closed.
    “Well, then. Very good. But Ridley should really see to getting that repaired. I see you wrestling with it every morning.”
    “I hardly wrestle, Mr. Jensen.” His choice of words embarrassed her, and her tone bristled out cold and hard. Surely she hadn’t made a spectacle of herself as she teased the drawer into place.
    “Of course not, Miss Magee, I only meant...”
    “My apologies, Mr. Jensen, I know you meant to commiserate. Please forgive me. Now if you’ll excuse me...”
    “Ah! Certainly.” Hamilton’s voice dropped to a whisper and he moved further into her station. “I shall forgive you if you accompany me to hear Scott Joplin this evening, Adelaide.”
    Scott Joplin! Could it be possible?
    “Mr. Jensen,” she whispered, bent on refusing and trying to find a way to do it cordially. “I’ve seen nothing announcing Mr. Joplin’s presence in the city this week. Surely you’re mistaken.”
    “Ah, ah, ah,” he whispered, “Hamilton. It’s time you called me Hamilton. And it’s a private affair. By invitation only. Now, I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Seven o’clock tonight. May I call for you at home?”
    Addie looked up into his square face. His handlebar mustache was perfectly waxed and his hair gleamed with just the right amount of pomade. Everything about his appearance was handsomely groomed. He’d mastered the look of successful, if a bit over-fed, bank officer.
    Scott Joplin. Was he really offering her an opportunity to hear this amazing fellow? She might never have another opportunity. He’d found the perfect carrot to dangle in front of her. She reached a hand to tidy her hair, stalling. Surely she could put up with him just one more time.
    But she’d intended to introduce herself to her father tonight, though her father knew nothing of her intentions. He had no idea she was even living in New York City. Probably didn’t even realize she was twenty-four by now and successful in her own right.
    Addie sighed, not so much in resignation but in