by E. S. Carter
‘Yes Mr F . . . ummm Jake, I will do’ she gives me a small, tentative smile.
‘Thanks Beverly, I shouldn’t be much longer than forty-five minutes but if you have any issues just page me’.
Walking back into the staff only area, I start to think of ways to get myself into that meeting room so I can find out more about Miss FML.
I need to get John alone, come to think of it I need to get Miss FML alone, fuck the insider info. She is most definitely wanting what I have to offer, both last night and in our brief episode today.
Then inspiration hits and I head straight for the HR office. I pass the meeting room on my way and glance through the window to see John sat with a bored looking Miss FML, interviewing that dowdy looking girl from the corridor earlier. John seems to be doing all the talking while Miss FML is absentmindedly running the edge of her pen along those full, red, chewable lips of hers. Shit and there’s that blood rush again, I bet this girl is one hell of a screw.
Picking up my pace a little, I head straight to HR to bag myself a place on that interview panel but on entering the office, I find it empty.
Damn, there must be other interviews going on, well that’s that fool proof idea shot to pieces.
Turning around my eyes light up as standing in the doorway behind me is Miss FML, still running that pen across her lips and she is blatantly admiring the view.
Just as I’m about to ask her if it tastes nice John appears over her shoulder.
‘Vanessa, have you had enough for one day? Maybe you should have a break and sit in on some more after lunch? - Hey Jake, sorry didn’t see you there’ he adds.
‘Hi John, need a hand with interviewing today? I was just coming up to offer my services.’ I might be talking to John but I never once take my eyes from the path of that pen running over those wet, juicy lips.
Vanessa? Now that is a name that rolls over my tongue and gives me visions of her rolling over in my bed.
She doesn’t break her gaze from mine for even one second.
‘No that’s ok thanks Jake, Vanessa was just observing today before she starts her new role next week, oh I’m sorry have you not been introduced? Vanessa Havers this is Jake Fox-Williams’.
I walk slowly towards her and continue holding her gaze before slowly reaching out my hand ‘Pleased to meet you Miss Havers’ I say without even so much as a smile but I know I don’t need to give her my knicker melting smile, oh no I can tell Miss FML is enjoying my steady, burning, gaze far more.
She shakes my hand, again without smiling or speaking but ever so slowly she grazes her thumb gently over my knuckles. Hell yes, this is indeed game on!
‘Jake I would like a quick word if you have time’ John interrupts. ‘Of course John, if you will excuse me Miss Havers, I look forward to working with you very soon’.
She blinks, slowly opens her lips before giving a slight exhale, never dropping my gaze for second but says nothing. A small smile moves across those most chewable lips, before she turns and leaves the HR office, disappearing left out onto the corridor, leaving me staring at the place she just occupied.
‘Jake, hands off!’ John stands with his hands on his hips looking angrily in my direction. This warning from John takes me by surprise, I mean I like him but who the hell does he think he is warning me off?
‘Excuse me John, with all due respect I’m not sure what you’re referring to and I can’t see what business it is of yours anyway’. I keep my cool when what I really want to say is ‘Who the fuck are you telling hands off?’ but I’m in work after all and John is my superior.
‘Jake for once keep your dick in your pants, it’s for your own good, you haven’t got a clue who she is and you’ll be playing with fire, that is Mrs Havers’.
‘And?’ anger thickens my voice ‘Are you trying to tell me old man Havers is a bigamist? I can’t see it myself John’. Why the fuck is he getting involved?
‘Jake you don’t understand, that is Mrs Havers, old man Havers daughter-in-law’.
Seeing my gaping expression he carries on ‘Yes that’s right, little twerp Justin has gone and married himself a looker, go figure. I guess to prove to old man Havers she isn’t after his millions he has promised his father that she will learn the ropes here with a view to helping him take over when Havers finally hands over the reins. So I’ll say it one more time for you Jake, if you know what’s good for you, find another conquest for your bed and stay away from Vanessa Havers. She’s dangerous’.
Hah dangerous? Since when has that ever stopped me? Miss (or Mrs as it seems) FML has just become even more desirable and I bet she tastes divine.
Nineteen.
I can’t believe that this is my last official day as an irresponsible teenager, I mean twenty sounds like it’s time to get serious and decide what I want to do with my life, doesn’t it?
My impending birthday is all I can think about and I’m not sure why. I’ve had other ‘more significant’ birthdays, so why this one holds so much of my interest, I just can’t figure out but tomorrow’s celebration seems to be all that consumes my brain.
I need to get today over and done with first and my job interview at Havers department store is number one on my to do list.
Ever since I deferred going to university I’ve taken any temporary position that comes my way.
I’ve been a barmaid in the local pub, which lasted all of two weeks, as leering drunks were not part of the job description, yet I managed to attract more than my fair share of them. This included the bar manager, who attempted to do more than just leer.
Then there was the au pairs position, again another two week wonder, not due to a leering drunk this time but a jealous wife who thought I was out to steal her husband. Which, by the way, was ridiculous, he was totally in love with his elegant and highly attractive wife, something he told me on many occasions.
‘I love my wife Emma but things are difficult, especially when you’ve been married as long as we have’. He never once made a pass at me, or looked at me any differently to most men I know, therefore I was positive her jealousy was totally unfounded; besides what on earth would he see in me?
I temped at a few offices for odd days here and there and I did some promotional work, you know the type, handing out flyers in busy shopping centres that kind of thing but my longest employment was at a local florist.
Part of my duties was to deliver customer orders in an old, beat up, florists van. I loved this job, it meant I got to meet new people, wasn’t confined to a shop or an office and I got to see the sheer joy on people’s faces when I arrived with surprise bouquets or when I helped set up arrangements for weddings.
Even funerals were something I found enjoyable, all the love you feel at a funeral far outweighs the sense loss in my opinion.
Three months flew by but my position ended abruptly when the shop started to struggle as the recession took hold. Like with everything else in life, I was a dead weight, so I was easy to cut loose.
Having been nagged endlessly by my mother to find something steady, I’d sent out my CV to city centre retailers in the hope the Christmas rush would provide more hours and hopefully a more permanent role, at least until I figured out what I was going to do with my life.
Havers happened to be the first to call offering me an interview, not that I’m complaining, being the most exclusive department store in the city means they pay better than many others and they are well established. I’m hoping there’s more chance of being kept on after the festive frenzy has ended, if I can snag a job with them.
All I have to do is dress well for the interview and use my dazzling charm, well let’s face it my looks aren’t going to win it for me.
Some might say my opinion of myself is low; I just like to think that my opinion of myself is realistic.
I shower quickly and decide that some loud and energetic music will get me revved up and in the right frame of mind for the interview.
Switching on my stereo I select a CD fro
m my vast and quite frankly eccentric selection, settling on The Chemical Brothers - Let Forever Be and hit repeat. I crank up the volume and hope that my mother doesn’t scream up the stairs at me to turn it off. I realise that CD’s for a young adult of my time might sound dated and old fashioned but just like books, I like to be able to physically hold them in my hand and collect them as prized possessions, I don’t like to think of them as temporary files to be discarded on a whim when something better comes along.
Glancing through my wardrobe I swiftly decide that my pinstripe trousers and the soft cream, cashmere, sweater my mother insisted on buying me looks professional enough and hopefully doesn’t make me look like I have swallowed a whale. Although I have lost weight from my early teens, or puppy fat as my grandmother calls it, I’m still what my mother describes as ‘well covered’ and having a skinny, blonde and beautiful best friend probably doesn’t aid my cause. Standing next to Liv only serves to highlight my flaws but we have been BFFs since nursery school, despite our obvious differences and I can never see that changing. She knows me better than anyone else and has been there during the darkest times, shining her happy blonde light into my black abyss and making me realise that I do have some hope left in me.
While towel drying my hair I hear angry, loud, footsteps on the stairs and wait for the inevitable. Sure enough my bedroom door is flung open, revealing my not amused mother.
‘For Christ sake Emma turn that bloody racket off!’
‘What Mum I can’t hear you?’
‘I said turn it OFF!’
Of course I can hear her but I do not like to make my life easy or hers for that matter, we aren’t what you would call close, I think she barely tolerates me and I’ve learned to accept that. I figure she has her reasons, in fact deep down I know what her reasons are but I decided long ago that I can’t change the past, so I’m not going to be defined by it. Neither was I going to need another’s love to feel complete, finally accepting this has been liberating. Other than Liv I’ve never let anyone else in, even my one and only boyfriend (now ex) was kept at an emotionally comfortable arm’s length.
Turning the off the stereo, I glance at my mother standing with her hands on her hips, assessing my outfit, ‘Is that what you are thinking of wearing to your interview?’ she arches one eyebrow.
‘Yes, I thought it was probably the most suitable combination, it’s only a department store Mum, I’m not being interviewed for Parliament’ I try and fail to keep my voice neutral.
‘For God’s sake Emma, make more of an effort, you are supposed to be a young lady not a bag lady, haven’t I told you enough times to dress more like Liv, at least she looks feminine! You’ll never get a job, or a man, looking like that!’ she doesn’t bother to try and hide the sound of disgust in her voice.
‘Thanks for the boost of confidence an hour before my interview Mum, Your helpful advice is much appreciated!’ I almost spit the words at her and it has the desired effect, she turns on her heels and stomps out of my bedroom, back down the stairs. If I wasn’t in such a rush I would turn the stereo back on and blast some more of my ‘racket’ just to piss her off completely. Some days it feels like even breathing next to my mother pisses her off.
I’m done trying to be something or someone else for her to even like me, let alone love me. I know why she hates me, I can even understand it to some degree but I’m over letting it define me. Her annoyance only registers briefly with me now, I don’t feel enough of anything anymore, so emotions, whether good or bad, tend to run right over me, like I’m coated in wax.
I’m not much of a girly girl or one with many self-grooming skills, so I quickly blast my overly long hair with the dryer, brush it into some kind of shape, apply some light mascara and lip balm, et Voila, that’s the extent of my beautifying process. I mean you can dress a pig in a ball gown all day long my dad is fond of telling me, but it would still be a pig.
Bounding down the stairs, I grab my ‘manly’ black flat boots, my mothers description not mine, and pull them on over my bare feet, I can’t abide wearing socks or tights, however wrong that seems to everyone else, I’d rather be barefoot in the snow than put anything on my feet if I can help it.
Assessing the contents of my one and only handbag, I have everything I need; travel pass - check, purse - check, phone - check, lip balm - check, IPod and headphones - check, house key – check. After shouting a quick goodbye into the living room I quickly leave the house before I have another encounter with my mother, who would no doubt attempt to undermine whatever confidence I have left in myself if I let her.
It’s only a quick ten minute stroll to the nearest train station and as luck would have it, no sooner as I step onto the platform, a train arrives. It looks like I will be early for my interview at this rate, at least it will give me time to check out the store beforehand, gather some ideas and see if I can gain some info to throw into my charm offensive.
Oh god, I hope the interviewer is a man, other than Liv I can’t seem to really get on with any other women I meet, we never seem to have anything in common.
Having three older brothers means that I have a never ending stream of masculine knowledge, pastimes and interests to draw from, it’s always easy to find something that either one of my brothers, or my father, has in common when chatting with a man.
The train journey is only fifteen minutes into the city, so I slide into a window seat and pop my headphones in, giving me time to escape a little longer into my world. Music and books have always been my solace and my friend. Who can ever feel unloved or lonely when there’s a whole world of undiscovered journeys to take, hidden in the pages of a book or in the chords of a song?
Selecting the desired track is easy; I need something upbeat, so a dance track fits the bill perfectly. Amongst the techno beat a girl sings about needing a miracle and I think to myself that would be quite handy for me too, it makes me smile.
The journey into the city is over in a flash and soon I am making my way through the eager Christmas shoppers, who are up especially early on this bright but chilly Saturday morning, to beat the rush that next month would bring.
Havers is situated on a pedestrianized square and it dominates the whole end of a substantial and impressive six story building that looks modern yet has been around for well over a hundred years. In fact other than a small adjacent store, Havers is the biggest building in the square by far. Opposite nestles small boutique restaurants and cafes with the odd designer store scattered in-between. This square is so obviously where affluent city goers entertain, eat and shop and I feel a little out of my depth. I mean my Dad is a carpenter and my Mum has only ever worked part time in local shops her entire life, we are hardly Havers typical customers. My mother always visits the store when in town on a shopping trip, never buying more than one item of expensive make-up or a hair accessory at most. Yet here I am, trying to get a job that will tide me over until I can shift my lazy butt into deciding what I want my future to entail.
Standing outside gives me the chance to check out the autumn window displays, it seems in ladies fashion at least, jewel colours are this season’s big thing. I make myself remember this observation so I can at least sound like I know a little about fashion, even if I don’t look like I do.
Walking into the store makes my brain instantly shrink in my skull; I’ve stupidly picked the cosmetics entrance to walk in through.
Great, an opportunity for the overly primped and preened counter staff to not so tactfully ignore me, as I’m so obviously not their target market. In fact one heavily made up and overly tanned twenty something actually stops mid spray once she’s realised that no amount of perfume or make-up will improve my chances, or is it that I look like I couldn’t afford her wares anyway, so she quickly moves on to more appetising prey.
I stroll through the store, trying to remember key points about displays or merchandise, hoping that this knowledge might secure me slightly more of a chance. A quick glance at my watch tells me I ne
ed to get a move on and find out where the Human Resources office is as my allotted interview time is just ten minutes away.
Seeing an older, kindly looking gentleman by one of the revolving doors that lead back out onto the street, I use the opportunity to ask for directions to where I need to go. Robert his name tag reads and he seems to take pity on me, pulling a small walkie talkie out of his back pocket to ask for assistance from someone I think he calls Ian. From a side door I haven’t even noticed, as it is so well camouflaged, Ian appears dressed just like Robert and takes up his position at the doorway.
‘So you have an interview with us here today?’ Robert asks pleasantly.
‘Yes for a seasonal job within Havers but I’m not sure which department or who will be conducting the interview’ I reply, ‘I hope it may lead on to something more permanent’ I add quickly, almost feeling like I’m already in the interview.
‘I think John Silvester is taking the interviews today, you’ll be fine with him, he’s worked here nearly as long as I have, just try and get something about classic cars into the conversation and that coupled with your pretty smiling face will most definitely win him over’ He says in a cheerful yet matter of fact way with a friendly smile on his face.
I smile back, classic cars I can do no problem, my Dad is an enthusiast but the pretty face part makes me uncomfortable and I know Robert is just being pleasant.
He seems so amenable it’s probably his line to calm any female interviewee’s nerves, though it has only heightened mine. At this point and more than I have ever I felt before, I am positive that I’m not going to fit the profile of a Havers employee, ‘Ah well let’s just wing it’ I whisper to myself.
