by M. S. Parker
The door opened again and I turned, ready to offer a polite compliment about his décor. Instead of Frank, however, a woman walked in. She looked like she was in her late thirties, but something about her dark eyes told me that her actual age was a few years older. She had dark hair with a few streaks of gray and the smile she gave me was friendly.
“Aleena Davison?” she asked as I stood.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, offering my hand.
“I’m Fawna Harris and I’ll be continuing this interview.”
“Oh.” I hoped I hadn’t done or said anything to Frank that had bothered him.
Either I was very transparent or she was a mind reader, because she gave me a faint smile. “I’m just making a few more specific inquiries, that’s all.” She gestured towards the chair again. “Please, have a seat.”
I sat, still not completely reassured.
“Tell me a bit about yourself, Ms. Davison,” Fawna said.
I did, skimming over the past few years and what had led me to New York.
“What do you think are your greatest strengths?”
I managed to smile, even though mentally, I wanted to groan. I hate this question.
“I’m organized, punctual and a bit of a perfectionist,” I said. “Based on performance reviews at my job back in Iowa, I’m a hard worker.”
“Those are all great job skills to list,” Fawna said. “But what about you? Personally. What are your greatest strengths as a person?”
“Ahhh…well, I’m honest.” I shrugged. As nerves jangled inside me, I smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle out of my skirt. “I try not to be rude about it and I know when not to say anything, but I don’t believe in sugarcoating things when the truth is just easier. Some people might see that as a weakness, but I think it’s a strength.”
As Fawna made a motion to continue, I straightened, feeling more confident.
“I already told Frank that I’m organized and I’ve mentioned that I’m punctual—those aren’t business traits—those are me traits. My life is just easier if I stay organized and I don’t like running behind. It throws me off balance, although I also know how to shift and go with the flow. Sometimes you have to make adjustments. I’ve got thick skin and I know how to tolerate people—sometimes you deal with some unpleasant types when you work with the public.”
At that, Fawna laughed. “Only sometimes.”
“Usually only once or twice a day,” I replied with a straight face.
“And clearly, you have a sense of humor.” Now she smiled at me.
“It helps with most things.”
“Doesn’t it?” She nodded, her expression revealing nothing. “And your weaknesses?”
I gave myself a moment to think. I could listen a dozen things—or more. But how many were real and how many were imagined? I just didn’t know.
“I’m still learning how to speak up for myself. That can be a weakness, but I’m getting better at it,” I said finally. “I put people ahead of myself, which can be a strength, but I sometimes take it too far, giving up something I want for reasons that most people would ignore. I don’t have a lot of experience outside of working in restaurants—”
“You get experience by working,” Fawna said, interrupting. She waved her hand as though this was the least of her concerns.
I managed a weak smile. “Well, I think that’s about it.” I hesitated and then added, “Although I’m not from here. I grew up in the Midwest. A lot of people seem to think that’s an issue here.”
“We don’t.” Fawna gave me that same easy smile. “Did you have a specific job in mind when you arrived?”
“No,” I said.
“One final question, Ms. Davison. How did you hear about the open interviews today?”
Shit. Dominic hadn’t said I shouldn’t tell anyone that he’d given me the information, but the fact that Fawna asked told me that something about me being here had piqued her curiosity. I supposed this was one of those times that being truthful was going to be a weakness, but I wasn’t going to lie. For all I knew, they hadn’t advertised and saying that would get me kicked out.
“A man named Dominic Snow told me about the open interviews,” I said. I thought I saw surprise flicker across her eyes, but then it was gone, if it had been there at all. “He didn’t mention that it’d be a problem for me to just come in.”
“It’s not,” Fawna said. She stood. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Davison. You’ll receive a call from us tomorrow regarding our decision.”
Well.
Okay, then.
Later that night, I had plans with Chinese food, beer and Molly.
It was the ideal way to get my mind off everything and it was even better since Emma wasn’t home.
If I was lucky, she’d stay out late—or maybe just spend the night with her boyfriend.
With one eye on the clock, I jumped in the shower and hurried through it, scouring off a day of walking around New York City. I’d hit what felt like a hundred other places, including one of the second interviews. I thought I just might get that one, which was good. I didn’t think anything was going to come of that interview at the Winter Corporation.
I was still dripping water when Molly knocked.
With a towel wrapped around me, I hurried to the door and checked the peephole. It was indeed her. I undid the series of locks and let her in. “Come on,” I said, staying behind the door as she came inside and then shutting it immediately behind her.
As she playfully leered at me, I darted back into the bathroom and finished drying off.
“Where’s the dragon?” she called through the door.
“Out. She wasn’t here when I got in.” I rubbed some lotion on and dragged on clothes before heading out with some cream and a towel for my hair. That was never a quick job and I needed it to be dry before I went to bed, even if that was a couple of hours from now.
Molly had the food set up on the coffee table and a case of beer sitting next to it.
“That looks perfect,” I said, rubbing at my hair with a towel. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to relax until now.
I plopped down next to Molly on the couch. The springs gave an overload squeak under my weight and I automatically shifted to find the spot that wouldn’t jab into my ass. The couch had been here when I’d answered Emma’s ad for a roommate and it had been here when she had moved in. No telling how old the thing was.
“How goes the job search?” Molly asked, passing me a can of beer.
It was frosty. The Chinese was hot. Maybe one night this week wouldn’t totally suck.
“So-so.” I shrugged as I cracked the top of the beer and took a drink. I wasn’t huge on the taste, but tonight, it didn’t matter. “I had a second interview at one place and it sounds promising. Then there was an open interview at the Winter Corporation.”
“What’s that?” Molly asked as she pulled her feet up underneath her. “Never heard of it.”
“Me either,” I admitted. “Guess they own hotels and airlines or something like that.”
“So they’re interviewing for pilots?” Molly grinned. “You holding out on me, Aleena?”
I broke open the take-out box and breathed in the scent of Kung Pao chicken. My favorite. “You’re a real comedienne, Mol. Seriously. Why you wasting time serving tables anyway? You ought to be headlining somewhere.”
“Here every day at six,” she said, nodding soberly. Then she saluted me with her chopsticks.
As the two of us ate, I told her about my weird interview and how I’d found out about it to begin with. True to form, she was more interested in hearing about Dominic Snow than my job possibilities. I was willing to oblige, preferring to ogle him in memory as opposed to worrying about how I would make ends meet.
Before I knew it, it was nearing midnight and we’d drank our way through most of a twelve-pack. I’d also forgotten all about the weird day I’d had or the shit that had come before it. It was just another night, hanging out with M
olly and talking about whatever happened to come to mind.
We were in the middle of a discussion about the most appropriate way for Gary to meet a painful death when the door opened and Emma came in. She stopped halfway into the room and looked around, taking in the cans and boxes we had scattered all around us. The expression on her face was more than eloquent.
“I’ll clean it up,” I said, holding a hand over my chest. “I promise.”
I could all but see the steam coming out of her ears.
“Well, I guess this is one way to deal with your shitty life.” Emma’s snide comment didn’t annoy me as much as it would have if I’d been sober.
Molly laughed, the loud raucous laugh of someone who was pretty well plastered. “Her shitty life? Why don’t you take a look in the mirror? Nah, I know what it is. You want everyone to be as fucking miserable as you are.” Molly stood up and she had to balance herself on the arm of the couch before she could take a step forward. With a snide grin in place, she pointed at Emma. “I get it. Really. You’re a miserable bitch whose life has gone down the toilet—but that doesn’t mean everyone else around you has to be that way too.”
I opened my mouth to tell Molly to lay off, but by the time my beer-soaked brain got the message, Emma had already stalked off towards her bedroom.
I looked at Molly and she shrugged.
“That was harsh,” I said.
“That was truth,” Molly pointed out.
“That doesn’t mean you need to say it,” I said, shaking my head. But I didn’t go after Emma.
I felt bad for her. Really. It had to be hard, coming to New York with a specific dream and never reaching it.
But Emma was so negative, about everything. Nothing was ever good enough and nobody ever did anything to her satisfaction.
You are late on the rent, a small voice pointed out. Guilt twisted in me. Yeah. There was that. She had a reason to be aggravated with me.
If I could get one of these jobs, I could get caught up on the money I owed her.
I really wanted something where I could make enough money and get my own place, but unless I was pulling in at least four grand a month, that wasn’t likely. Rent in New York City was obscene. This small place cost almost fourteen hundred a month.
Finding an affordable place while I worked as a server was slim to none. My good mood gone, I drained the rest of my beer and reached for the last can.
My life had gone from not that great to lousy in the blink of an eye. What was worse, I had no idea what to do about it.
This sucked.
6
Aleena
The sound of the band Journey came blaring out of my phone. A few days ago, determined to boost my self-confidence, I’d programmed the song, “Don’t Stop Believing,” as my default ring tone, telling myself it would help rev up my moral. Who knows, the positive thinking might help when potential employers called.
Right now, the song made me want to gouge out my eyes—and plug my ears.
A shard of pain went straight through my temples and I slapped out a hand, thinking of nothing but the desire to silence the phone.
I was halfway through the motion of throwing it when I realized it might be someone calling about an interview.
Groaning, I stabbed at the button to answer.
“Hello?” My mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls and shit. Maybe cotton balls made of shit.
“May I speak to Aleena Davison, please?”
“This is she.” I sat up and rubbed at sleep-heavy eyes. Why had I drank so much last night?
“Good morning, Ms. Davison. This is Fawna Harris from the Winter Corporation.”
Shock propelled me upright, and I immediately wished I’d moved a little slower. The room swam around me and my stomach echoed the movement, nausea churning through me. I might not be ready to bow before the porcelain throne, but I wasn’t terribly far off.
“We’d like you to come in today for a second interview with the CEO.”
Shit. I so did not want to leave my bed today. But I needed the job.
Still… “Ah, an interview with the CEO?”
Had I understood that right?
“Yes.” I thought I heard a smile in the other woman’s voice. “For the position we have in mind, you might have a great deal of contact with him, so we need to make sure it’s a match, professionally speaking.”
I’d fallen into the twilight zone. There was no other explanation. “Don’t take this the wrong way, ma’am, but you did mean to call Aleena Davison, correct? I’m twenty-one, most of my experience is in the food service industry? We met briefly yesterday?”
Fawna chuckled. “Yes, Ms. Davison…may I call you Aleena?”
“Yes. Please do.” This was getting very weird.
“Very well, Aleena. Yes, I know precisely who I’m speaking to. Are you available to come in today?”
“Absolutely.” I checked the time on the clock hanging across the room. I needed at least forty-five minutes to be presentable and then another forty-five minutes to get to Manhattan.
“Excellent. I see that this number is listed as your mobile contact, so I’ll text you the address,” Fawna said. “Can you be there by eleven?”
“Yes.”
She said something else and I must have made the appropriate noise. She hung up and I sat there, staring dumbly at my phone. “That did not just happen.”
“I hope to hell that was a job interview.”
I looked up and saw Emma leaning against the counter of what could laughingly be called a kitchen. She held a cup of coffee. I would have sold my kidney to have a cup just then. “Excuse me?” I asked sourly.
“A job interview,” she said, speaking slowly, as if I was an idiot.
“Yes.” I tossed my phone down and got up off the sofa bed where I slept. I made a half-hearted attempt to straighten the bed while the pounding in my head increased. I was almost ready to puke by the time I had the frame tucked inside the sofa and the cushions back in place. Dismally, I looked at the small, cramped apartment. This was so not what I’d foreseen for my life here.
“Where?”
I frowned at Emma. “Where what?”
“Your interview,” she said, tapping one finger on the coffee cup she held. Then she snorted. “Probably some two-bit diner where you’ll pull in lousy tips. I’m not kidding, Aleena. You need to get your rent paid. You signed a contract, remember?”
“I know.” Unwilling to waste any more time arguing with her, I turned away and moved toward the small cabinet where I kept my things. I needed some ibuprofen and a hit of caffeine and then I could deal with the rest of the day.
I had only one dress that might possibly work.
Simple and black, it was a faux-wrap dress I’d picked up off the clearance rack at Target back home. Although it looked good on me, I had a feeling I’d stick out like a sore thumb in the elegant offices of the Winter Corporation.
It had taken me a few weeks to the hang of the subway system, but I was comfortable with it now. Well, mostly comfortable. I still didn’t know how to handle the whistles, the catcalls or the ruder crap.
You’d be a lot prettier if you smiled, sweetie.
Damn…come on, honey, why don’t you talk to me?
Don’t be so stand-offish, bitch.
It was the same sort of garbage women put up with all the time. I’d learned how to deal with it by watching how others handled it, but even though I ignored them, it didn’t make it any easier to tolerate.
Emerging from the subway, I blinked at the brilliance of the sunshine. My headache had retreated to tolerable levels and I’d chugged some tomato juice—a friend back home had always sworn by it. Something about the salt and the electrolytes and how alcohol robbed your body of those things, but tomato juice helped restore it.
I didn’t feel normal, but I was a little steadier than I had been.
I had to walk a few blocks to get to the address I’d been given and that walk gave me a few mi
nutes to clear my head and look around. I was so out of my league. People who lived around didn’t live paycheck to paycheck. They didn’t even look at their paycheck. They would have accountants, I imagined, people who juggled the numbers and invested and advised.
They wore silk, Chanel and Dolce and Gabbana. They didn’t wear clearance specials from Target.
Wrapping my coat more tightly around myself, I checked the discreetly marked houses. They all spoke of old money.
A woman strode down the sideway and caught sight of me then sniffed. As though I’d somehow changed the way the air smelled.
I didn’t belong here.
Fake it until you make it, I told myself. I’d been doing that most of my life. Shoulders back, I gave her a brilliant smile and then turned up the next sidewalk.
The doorman smiled at me. “May I help you?”
“Hello, I’m Aleena Davison.”
His eyes brightened. “Ms. Davison, you’re expected.” He opened the door and gestured for me to enter.
“Thank you,” I said as I passed. My stomach was in knots. As I slid into the elevator, I pressed one palm against it. Nerves and a hangover are not a good mix.
“Floor, madam?” I jerked in surprise and then looked up. A uniformed man smiled at me.
“Ah…penthouse?”
He gave a polite nod and pushed a button.
Where was I? A place with guys whose only job was to punch buttons on an elevator all day?
Wonderland?
When I arrived at the top floor, the doors opened and I stepped out into a small lobby. There was only one door. My heart lurched as I moved toward it. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward and knocked.
“Coming!”
I frowned at the sound of the man’s voice, muffled by the door. Why did it sound familiar? As the doorknob turned, I fixed a professional expression on my face, just in time...
Holy shit. Just in time to see Dominic, standing there. He wore nothing but a towel.
Wow…heavy shoulders, sculptured chest, flat belly…and for the first time ever, I could understand why they called it a happy trail. I managed not to lick my lips, but it was a close call. Interview, girl. You are here for an interview.
