by Jamie Knight
Plus, it’s set hours, so I could always find other part time work to make up the difference. Well, less ‘could’ find and more ‘must’ find, really. But you know what? I’ve made it this far; I’m not going to get weak now.
“Two jobs it is,” I declare to myself and the derelict bus stop bench that’s next to me on the sidewalk.
Continuing to walk down the street, back towards my motel, I try to remember what I know about Gruber Realty from the time I spent in my dad’s office. There’s not much left in my memory, other than that the President’s name is something ‘Drive.’
Well, that’s a good sign. Nobody named Drive is going to be lazy or unmotivated, and that’s the kind of work environment I crave: one where I can work hard all day, learn, be my best, and earn my way up the ladder. One where I can prove to Charles and my father that I can do it - even if I have to wear a miniskirt to get started.
Part of me wishes I could call my dad right now and brag to him that I’m on my way, but I know perfectly well that he’d want details… and every aspect of this job would either enrage him or make him laugh. Being employed by his biggest competitor in the city would make him feel furious and betrayed, and the fact that I’m just the office coffee-girl wouldn’t do much either.
In his mind, that would just prove the point that what I’m doing is wrong, and that Gruber is no place for me to do it, anyway. I don’t need that negativity getting in my way. Just imagining it is bad enough; actually hearing it would be worse.
So, radio silence with the family it is. Now to find other work so I won’t get evicted.
With that settled, I keep walking - and almost immediately stop, dumbfounded. “You’re kidding me.”
Across the street, there’s a dilapidated little diner that looks as though it’s been wedged in its alleyway for the last 50 years, and hasn’t been cleaned in at least 30. And in the dirty glass door? There’s a sign: HELP WANTED.
Seizing a gap in traffic, I dart across the road and into the diner. It’s dimly lit, quiet except for the music playing through speakers and the clink and clatter of a few patrons finishing coffee or a meal.
“Hey there, doll. Just grab a seat anywhere and I’ll be right with you, m’kay?” The guy behind the counter is willow-thin, African-American, and has a quirky smile that lights up his eyes when he looks at me. He can’t be more than thirty.
“Well, actually, I’m not here to eat,” I manage before he turns away.
“Oh, you’re not here lookin’ for Tia, are you? ‘Cuz she moved about three blocks away after the last time the cops poked their heads in here.”
“Um, no. I don’t know Tia. I’m actually here about the, ah, ‘help wanted’ sign? In the window?”
Why am I feeling more nervous here than I was at the office? Maybe because this is the last piece of the puzzle for now, and if I don’t get it, I’m really jammed up?
“Well then, that’s a whole different conversation, isn’t it?” The guy flashes that crooked grin again and leans on the counter. “Pull up a stool, huh?”
I sit down across the counter from him, not quite sure what to expect.
“I’m Sterling. And you are?” He looks at me expectantly.
“Mariah,” I answer. “I have a copy of my resume here if you’d like to see it.”
“Girl. This is a diner. And a shitty little one, at that. We don’t really know the meaning of the word ‘resume’ here.”
I nod along, getting the sense that this place is quite different from the one I just left up the street.
“So, why you want to work here?” Sterling asks, leaning on the counter between us.
I scramble internally for an answer. This whole thing was a random happenstance. I didn’t prepare for this - I certainly wasn’t expecting to be sitting in my second interview of the day at 8 p.m., let alone sitting for it at a diner counter. Oh well.
“Because I’m good with people. I think working in a place like this would be great for me, a fantastic experience - ”
“Lemme just stop you right there.” Sterling raises a hand that’s adorned with what looks to be half a dozen different silver rings. “You may be a pretty girl, but you’re a terrible liar. So, one more time, why you want to work here?”
He’s caught me full out, and I have no idea what to do. That’s never happened to me before. Preparation has always been my motto, and the one time I needed to follow it the most, I pull a stunt like this? Idiot.
With nothing else left in the holster, I’m reduced to doing the one thing I really don’t want to do: telling him the truth. “Because I need the money,” I blurt out, and that starts the avalanche.
It all pours out: how my dad wants to marry me off to some loser, how I challenged him, left home, how I just came from getting a part time job, but how in order to keep it I’d need another one that I could use to make enough money to buy groceries and get laundry quarters -
“- and then I was walking by and I saw the sign in the window and I just went for it. And now I’m here,” I finish, somehow breathing hard.
“Huh.” Sterling picks himself up off his elbows. “Okay. You’re hired. See you on Thursday night at six.”
“Wait, what? Don’t you need to check with a manager or something before you hire me?”
Why would you ask that, you idiot? I immediately scold myself. Just close your mouth and be thankful you didn’t get laughed out of here!
Sterling chuckles, looking over his shoulder at me as he grabs two plates from the kitchen window. “Honey. I am the manager. And the owner, and most of the staff. But we’ll have plenty of time to talk about that when you come in for your first day, kay?”
I just nod, and let myself out. Back on the street, I breathe a huge sigh of relief. Two jobs in one day. I pulled it off. I try not to let it overwhelm me that getting two jobs in one day now probably means doing two jobs every day.
It’s not like I’m a stranger to working hard, but this is the first time it’s really felt important…it’s not like when I was interning at Dad’s company that I’d get fired if I made a mistake. My dad owned the company after all. At worst, he’d usually say, “Do it again, okay? Right this time.”
I have a feeling that the staff at Gruber won’t be so lenient. Not to mention the fact that I’ve never served a meal to anyone in my life, and have no idea what working in a diner actually entails.
Plus, there’s the odd bird that is Sterling. I can appreciate his flamboyance and quick smile for sure, but I’m also not sure what to make of him as a boss. He doesn’t look that much older than me… then again, he said he was the owner.
Maybe I can learn some things from him that’ll help me at the real estate office? And the sooner I learn things that’ll help me there, the sooner I’ll be able to climb the ladder and get a better paying position, so I won’t have to worry about the diner job at all anymore, anyway.
My thoughts take me all the way back to the motel. It’s not until I’m on the way up the steps to my room that the adrenaline high I’ve been riding for the last several hours subsides, and I’m left feeling suddenly exhausted.
Tossing my business clothes off, I slip into my favorite long t-shirt, flip on the TV, and pour myself a bowl of cereal. Not the healthiest dinner in the world, but it’s about the only staple I have left in the room. Groceries are going to be the priority when my first check comes in.
While eating, I still have to resist the urge to call Dad and tell him that I landed two jobs in one day. When I was a kid, all the way up through high school and college, he was my constant confidant. I told him almost everything, and he told me most of what went on at his office.
Which is one of the reasons why I was so sure he was going to name me his eventual successor at the company… suddenly, all the resentment and righteous anger I’d felt that day rushes back into me.
Fine, Dad. You wanted me to do it myself…well, here I go.
Chapter 12
Mariah
That
burst of confidence carries me through the next morning - almost. I make it to the office bright and early…so early, in fact, that the only company I have for the first half hour is the building’s sweet cleaning lady, Doris. She doesn’t speak a bit of English, and I barely know any Spanish, but I try talking to her anyway. She doesn’t laugh at me, even though I’m pretty sure I told her I liked her mop instead of introducing myself properly.
Kristy, the dark haired secretary, is the next person to arrive. I try to bite down on the inclination to hate her for getting the ‘behind the desk’ job instead of me by reminding myself that a job is a job… and allies are better to make than enemies.
“Kristy, right? I’m Mariah.” We’re both just standing awkwardly in the half-lit lobby, waiting for someone else to show up.
“I remember.” She’s still being guarded, and I can’t say I blame her.
“So, is this your first real estate job?”
Kristy pauses, but apparently decides that the question isn’t too intrusive, replying with a curt, “Second.”
“Well, you’re ahead of me. I interned at a small office once but this one feels like it’s really the big time.” I tug on my skirt, trying to keep it somewhere in the realm of my thighs. “Did you have to wear a stupid uniform like this at your last real estate company?”
This, at least, gets a short laugh from her. “Not a chance. I guarantee you, the office HR person is on vacation and when they get back, one of those losers who hired us for our curves is getting fired. Until then, let ‘em stare.”
Funny enough, that’s exactly what the next half-dozen people through the door do. On the one hand, it’s fucking annoying, but on the other… it means every person in this building is going to remember me sooner rather than later. And when I sell that million dollar house and walk out of here to claim my rightful place as owner of my dad’s real estate company, they’ll all be left with their drooling mouths wide open.
Once Matthews’ arrives (with something that smells less like coffee and more like bourbon on his breath), the work day actually begins.
“Look,” he tells us, “this is incredibly simple. Kristy, sit behind the desk and answer the phones. Never patch them through to anyone, always tell them we’re with a client and take a message. Makes us seem more important. Which we are. Also, take deliveries of packages and mail and distribute them every three hours or so. It’ll brighten up the guys’ days.”
He says that last, with the kind of smirk that’s usually found on the face of a TV reporter who gets to break some important news. Then he turns to me. “And you, Sarah - ”
“Mariah,” I correct him quickly. The last thing I need is my reputation and prospects getting screwed because I was too shy to correct this guy about my name.
“That’s the name you used when we hired you?” Jesus, this guy is already halfway to wasted at 9 a.m.
“Yes,” I insist.
“Whatever. Mariah, then,” he continues. “Your job is super important. Look pretty, and deliver coffee to every client who sits down in this lobby. Then let one of the actual realtors know that there’s a client here to see them. Unless they give you a realtor’s name, just randomly assign them. But if they’re wearing a fancy watch, send ‘em my way, know what I’m saying? I could use the commission.”
“For what, your Wild Turkey?” Kristy says quietly out the side of her mouth. I try not to laugh. Matthews doesn’t notice.
“Just get started, okay? I have real work to do.” With that, he’s off down the hall, his trusty booze-and-coffee concoction in hand.
“What a dick.” Kristy slides into the chair behind the desk, staring at the phone console. “I’d patch every call through to him right away just to annoy him, except I don’t want to help him make any money.”
“The best thing we can do is just our jobs.” This comes out automatically, and I hear my dad’s voice saying it in my head.
That was his mantra, whether the day was good or bad. Just do your job. Not someone else’s, yours. In retrospect, it’s pretty clear that the subtext there is “fuck everyone else. Especially your qualified daughter who’s been at your side and shared your love of the business for practically a decade now.”
Yeah, I’m fine. I’m not bitter.
The comment hasn’t endeared me with Kristy either. She doesn’t even bother answering me. Thankfully, the phone rings just then, and she drops our conversation in favor of picking it up instead.
“Drive Realty, this is Kristy. How can I help you today?” She listens, then says, “No, I’m sorry, he’s with a client right now. I can take a message.”
Perfectly on script, right out of the gate. I could do that just as well.
But after that, I don’t really have time to pay enough attention to Kristy to be jealous, because I’m working just as hard. The office may have been quiet in the early morning, but not long after Matthews’ arrival, everything else comes alive, too. The elevator doors ding open and shut, emitting a steady stream of men in business suits and women in perfectly pleated skirts and dresses. Each one gets a seat in the lobby, and I’ve taken half a dozen coffee orders before I realize I’ve got no idea where the coffee machine in this office is.
I consider ducking in to ask Matthews, but I have a distinct feeling that a) he won’t give a shit, or b) he’ll send me on a wild-goose chase just for fun. Plus, I’ve had about all I can handle of his lecherous looks for one day. Considering that it’s only ten a.m., that’s not ideal, but what’re you gonna do?
Luckily, the coffee machine isn’t as hard to find as I thought it might be. The kitchen is close to the lobby, and there’s even a serving tray in there. Well, less a serving tray and more of a big cutting board, but I throw a colorful towel over it, line up the coffee cups on top, and we’re off to the races.
Walking down the hall, I spot the corner office at the end emblazoned with a golden nameplate: Wesley S. Drive, Esq. President. One of the realtors walks by, catching me staring.
“The Big Boss is gone until Friday. Even once he’s back, I wouldn’t knock on that door if I were you. People only go in there when they’re getting fired, anyway.”
“Great. That’s reassuring.” I’m talking to myself, as the realtor is off down the hall already.
The routine around the office is actually pretty simple once we get into the swing of it. The clients are happy to be waited on (especially the men), and I make small talk with all of them. I decide my goal for the end of the day is to deliver a client to each realtor in the office so that I can learn all their names and start working towards keeping my ear to the ground about any chances to get out of the lobby.
That, I figure, is the one big advantage to having free reign of the floor instead of being stuck behind a desk: if anything changes, if anyone quits or gets fired or even misses too many days at the office, I’m going to be the one to know about it first. Kristy can have her cushy chair and her phone - I’ve got bigger plans and better things to do.
Once I make those decisions, the day flies by. No one questions me about where I came from or how I got the job, and I don’t spill coffee on any of the clients either. I send a few of the guys with Rolexes Matthews’ way, and hope that that gets me into his good graces enough that he’ll go ahead and leave me alone.
Kristy keeps the stone-faced attitude up, but that’s fine with me. I don’t need friends here to succeed; I just need to be the best at what I’m doing. Even when what I’m doing is serving coffee, it’s still keeping me inside the doors of a prestigious real estate agency, and I don’t have any intention of jeopardizing that.
Chapter 13
Wesley
It’s not until I’m back in the elevator on my way to the fifth floor the next day that I feel the first touch of doubt about coming home to deal with whatever alleged mess is going on at the office. Wonderful as he is as an assistant, John can occasionally overreact to things - and it’s no secret that he and a few members of the senior sales team don’t get
along particularly well.
Did I just quit my vacation early for no good reason? What if today was supposed to be the day that my perfect match arrived for her own vacation? And now she’ll be sitting out by the pool all by herself, enjoying cocktails until some oiled-up, musclebound dude with a crewcut from Jersey makes a move on her.
Then the elevator doors open, and that fantasy is blown away by the reality of what’s happening in the office right in front of me. Our reception area is bustling, filled with activity. There’s a new young woman with dark hair behind the reception desk, currently on the phone and taking notes on the computer. There are half-a-dozen clients (some I don’t recognize, which is highly unusual), waiting in chairs… and in the midst of it all, my heart skips half a beat when my eyes land on the young, beautiful blonde woman pouring coffee into a Styrofoam cup held by Mr. Ferguson, one of my firm’s biggest and best clients.
She smiles, chatting to him with words I can’t hear - and he smiles back, laughing at something she’s said. So, this is the new coffee girl. John didn’t exaggerate after all.
I thought I’d be more upset…but as I stand here with the elevator doors closing behind me, I can’t help but marvel at how attractive the new coffee girl is. She’s dressed in a tight-fitting skirt, and a blouse that hugs her curves perfectly. She leans in to another client to serve him a cup of coffee, and her skirt rises up just a bit in the back, almost far enough to -
No. You’re the company President, not some randy college kid. Focus up and stop ogling the new employee. Even though you didn’t hire her. And never would have in the first place.
I shake my head to clear it, and start walking across the lobby toward the hall leading to my office. It’s a bit of a surprise when the young blonde pops up in front of me, and firmly but professionally says, “Good morning, sir. Welcome to Gruber Realty. Please, have a seat, and one of our staff of realtors will be with you shortly. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
