Holiday Escort
By Julia P. Lynde
Table of Contents
Unusual Interview
Settling In
Keeping Things Welcoming
Wandering Eyes
New Year's Eve
Hers
Resettling
Unsettled
Interview
PlanningParis
Paris
Epilogue
About the Author
Unusual InterviewLife sucks sometimes. I'm sorry, but it does. It was almost December in Minnesota, also known as the great frozen tundra. Except we didn't even have any snow. Christmas was coming. There was no snow, I was out of a job, and my most recent boyfriend had dumped me for some skank he met on a business trip.
I wasn't bitter. Much.
To top it all off, I got a run in my panty hose on the way to a job interview. Who am I kidding? The job interview. The only interview I'd been able to line up for weeks. No one in Minnesota was hiring during the holiday season.
Six months ago, back in June when everything was green, life had been going great. I had been the personal assistant for Marsha Henderson, CEO of Henderson Travel Services. It was a great job. Marsha was a great woman, a great boss. She worked my tail off, but she paid me well and I traveled everywhere she did. Furthermore, she loved me. She took me fresh out of college and taught me exactly how she wanted the job done. I'd been great at pleasing her. It was all great, great, great.
Then Marsha retired, turning over the business to her eldest daughter, who hated me. It wasn't my fault she couldn't keep her slime ball husband on a tight leash; I certainly hadn't encouraged him. Marsha's agreement with Caroline, her daughter, was that I either received a good job in the company or an excellent severance package. I was offered the choice of a lousy job in the company or an excellent severance package. I took the severance package. By July fourth, I was hitting the pavement, looking for new work.
At least I had an excellent letter of reference from Marsha. So far, that and five bucks could get me a cup of coffee at Caribou. But it did get me an interview with the head of legal for Kilador Consulting, Karen Greene. Human Resources at Kilador had loved me. They especially loved my references and my willingness to take a pay cut from what Marsha used to pay me.
So, at nine on a Tuesday morning, I rode the elevator to the seventeenth floor of a shiny glass and steel office building in downtown Minneapolis and presented myself to the receptionist at Kilador for my appointment with Ms. Greene. I was directed to her office, where I knocked and was bade to enter.
Ms. Greene stood behind her desk. She was upper thirties, young for the head of the legal department, I thought, tall, shapely, with blonde hair she was wearing up. She was dressed in Donna Karan. She was, in a word, stunning.
So was the view. She held a southeast facing corner office. There were no other tall office buildings between us and the rest of Minnesota, so the view was unobstructed. At a glance I saw the Mississippi River, the airport, and lots of grey trees. I imagined it was phenomenal in the summer.
Ms. Greene walked around her desk to meet me. She offered me a hand, asked if I required a refreshment, then asked me to take a seat at a small conference table in the corner of her office. She took the other chair, her back to the magnificent, distracting view, and opened a folder. I recognized my resume.
"So," she said. "Madeline Burnet." She perused the resume and frowned.
My heart sank.
She looked up at me. "Why are you here?"
"I've applied to be your personal assistant," I told her. "The woman at HR seemed impressed with my qualifications. She told me I'd be perfect for you."
Ms. Greene paused before continuing. "Ms. Burnet, I am the head of legal at Kilador."
"Yes, Ma'am, I understand."
She looked at my resume and the reference letter from Marsha. Then she looked back at me. "This is the most glowing reference letter I've ever read."
"Ms. Greene, I am the best personal assistant in the entire Twin Cities. I will work my tail off for you. Ask me anything."
She sized me up. "Well, you're confident. All right. Tell me about your legal experience."
I blinked twice before answering. "I'm sorry, Ms. Greene, but I have no legal experience at all. The only real job I've had is working for Marsha. But I'm a fast learner. I can learn everything I need. You won't be disappointed."
Ms. Greene offered me a kind expression. "I'm sorry, but this position requires a paralegal. Julie knows that. She never should have sent you to me, regardless of the rest of your skills or your outstanding recommendation letter." She paused. "How long have you been out of work?"
"Since the beginning of July. Marsha retired. Her daughter doesn't care for me. I was offered an excellent severance package and have been looking for work since."
"How many interviews have you had?"
"Counting this one, four."
"How many jobs have you applied for?"
"Seventeen. Plus blind cover letters and resumes to most of the major companies in the metropolitan area. I thought I'd have a job right away. I am not being cocky. I am very good. I have ten years of experience working for Marsha, and she was exceedingly demanding. Before me, it took two assistants to take care of her, but I did everything for her. I'm starting to wonder if I should have taken the crappy job Caroline Henderson offered me instead of the severance package."
She looked down at my resume again, tapping her long fingernails against the table before looking back at me again. "I wish I could hire you for this position."
"I'm sorry to have wasted your time," I said, starting to get up.
"Sit down," she commanded. I immediately complied. "I'm going to give you some advice. First, don't settle. If you're as good as this letter indicates, do not settle."
"Yes, Ma'am," I said. "But I'm getting desperate."
"Next, stop sounding so desperate during the interviews. Confident is good, but desperate is bad." She smiled. "Job interviews are both sales and negotiation. You need to sell yourself, but not sell yourself short."
"Yes, Ma'am."
She paused. "How are your personal finances?"
"I gave notice at my apartment and am moving back in with my parents. I have to be out in three days. I'm thirty-one and will be living with my parents. But I haven't tapped into my retirement funds."
"Why doesn't Caroline Henderson like you?" Ms. Greene asked me.
"You're not hiring me, are you?" I asked her.
"Not for this job, no. But I may have another opportunity to discuss with you. Why doesn't Caroline Henderson like you?"
"I don't know why," I told her.
"Do you suspect?"
I looked away.
She sighed. "Does she have a professional reason to be dissatisfied with you?"
"No, Ma'am," I said. "At least none that I know of or that she's shared with me."
"So it's personal."
"I believe so."
She sighed. "Madeline, I really need to know why she doesn't like you."
I stared her in the eyes. "Her husband can't keep his hands to himself, Ma'am. She blames me. I threatened a lawsuit if he ever came without ten yards of me again."
"Thank you for answering," she said. "Stand up."
We both stood up. She stepped away from me slightly. "Turn around, please."
I did, then looked at her suspiciously.
She ignored my look but said, "I can not hire you for this position, Ms. Burnet. I may have something else for you entirely unassociated with Kilador Consulting. Are you interested in discussing it?"
"Is it legal?"
She laughed. "Yes."
"Ethical?"
"Yes."
"I'd lo
ve to hear about it," I told her.
"Are you open to a non-traditional, short term position that includes room and board?"
I thought about it and nodded.
"Can you dance?"
I grinned. "Yes."
"I'm not talking freestyle," she said.
"I've been dancing since I was six," I told her. "Ballet, modern, ballroom, and Tango. I used to compete in Tango. Amateur only though."
"Ballroom tango?"
I made a face at the suggestion. "Argentine."
She smiled and walked around to her desk. She consulted her calendar then looked at me. "Can you meet with me for lunch, my treat?" I nodded. She wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to me. I looked at it. It was the name of an upscale restaurant here in downtown. "Noon," she said. "There will be reservations in my name. Don't be late."
"No, Ma'am."
* * *
I cooled my heels at the library for two hours, wondering what the mysterious and provocative Karen Greene could want. I arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early. I presented myself to the hostess and was shown to a private table in a quiet corner of the restaurant. I ordered a diet soda and pulled out my phone for something to read while I waited.
Several minutes later, the hostess escorted Ms. Greene to the table. I stood up and offered her my hand. We sat, she ordered her own soda, then she looked at me.
"Madeline," she said. "I am here as a private individual, not as a representative of Kilador Consulting. Do you understand?"
"Are you about to discuss something disgusting and seedy?" I asked her. "Is that why you're stressing this? Do you really have a job, or is this a come on?"
She laughed. "I really have a job, but it's going to sound like a come on."
"I won't sue Kilador Consulting for sexual harassment," I told her. "I understand you are not here as a representative of the company I interviewed with this morning."
"You understand also that I know of no jobs at Kilador that would suit your personal skills, and nothing that comes out of any of our interactions would change that."
"You sound like a lawyer." I smiled. "I understand."
"Good. Call me Karen. The 'ma'am' thing was getting on my nerves."
With that, she picked up the menu and started looking through it. I did the same and tried not to boggle at the prices. She looked over the top of the menu at me. "If you order something cheap, I am going to be offended."
"So I should order the lobster."
"If that is what you want."
We both ordered salads. Then she looked at me. "Tell me about yourself, Madeline."
I ran through my professional qualifications and history. She let me finish before she said, "All right. Now tell me about yourself."
"I don't understand. I just did."
"You told me about your work history. That doesn't tell me anything about what you are like as a person. Do you have a boyfriend? Girlfriend? A dog? Fish? Do you still dance? What do you do for fun? Can you cook?"
"Why do you want to know all that?"
"Humor me."
I took a breath. "No boyfriend." I didn't elaborate. "No pets. I don't compete anymore, but am quite happy to go social dancing when an opportunity presents itself. I haven't been going out of my way to do so lately. I like to stay in shape, read a lot, and love old movies. I'm a halfway decent cook, but nothing that would be considered high gourmet."
Over the next half hour, she talked to me, starting conversations on a variety of topics. It partly felt like a job interview and partly felt like two people getting to know each other. We finished our meal and were still talking when she leaned back and made a decision.
"I need a personal assistant," she said.
"I know," I said with a wane smile. "One with legal experience."
"Let me rephrase," she said. "I need a personal, personal assistant. To help with my private life, not my professional life." She paused. "Holidays are hell on me. Professional demands are high plus all the personal demands the holidays place. Furthermore, there are countless events I don't care to attend alone."
"So you're asking me, to, what?"
"Do my Christmas shopping. Do my Christmas cards. Decorate my house. Assist hosting several events. Attend several events with me." She paused. "Cook. Keep me company. Make my home an inviting space to come home to."
I didn't say anything right away. "You want a wife."
"Yes, I guess I do."
I sighed. "You're right, it sounds like a come on." I paused. "I'm straight. I like boys."
"Good. That would make everything easier. My position means I am expected to both attend and host events. I am expected to have someone on my arm. I have in the past found an agreeable man to escort me around, but I am tired of that lie. Furthermore, I would prefer the escort at the public events be the same person who helps to host the events in my home."
"You want the straight girl to pose as your fake girlfriend?"
"Madeline, I don't do well with girlfriends. They tend to want a lot more attention than I can give them. I work long hours, and the last thing I want is a woman whining because my job comes before she does." She paused. "I could never find a low-maintenance girlfriend who was willing to do the things I would expect you to do."
"So hire servants."
She looked at me.
"Oh," I said finally. "That's what I would be."
"I'll pay you five thousand dollars between now and the second of January, plus room and board and a significant household budget. That's the time I need the most from you. After that, you have free room and board for up to six months with a significantly lower work load."
"Do you expect me to clean the house?"
"I hire a cleaning service once a week plus after any special events. You would be expected to maintain a presentable house, however."
"So clean up my own messes and keep the kitchen tidy."
She smiled. "Yes."
"I am not qualified to cook for your events."
"We will use caterers."
"I am continuing to interview for a permanent position."
"Of course. If you find a job, you may not start before January 2nd. I need you until then."
I thought about it. "Would you be presenting me as an employee? Girlfriend? What?"
"Girlfriend."
"Without the sex."
"Correct."
"But you would otherwise expect me to act like a live-in girlfriend."
She looked at me. "I told you it was a non-traditional job."
I laughed. "It surely is. Do you have other girlfriends? Someone I would be obligated to be jealous about? Are you going to flirt with someone else? Bring her home?"
"No to none of that, and I'd expect you to treat me with the same respect."
"Why me? I don't exactly fit the bill."
"I am being opportunistic," she explained. "Most women who are smart enough to be on my arm are too smart to put up with my shit. You're bright, a good conversationalist. You present well. I can introduce you at social events and not be embarrassed. But you're straight, so this shouldn't get messy. We should be able to keep this as a private relationship that doesn't get out of hand." She paused. "Most of the job would be personal assistant duties, of which you are amazingly qualified. So you're a package deal, and you're perfect."
I looked at her. "Someone told me job interviews are half selling myself, half negotiations. Eight grand," I said. "And new outfits for each event. My date wardrobe isn't up to your standards."
She laughed. "Bit by my own advice." She thought about it. "Do you have other negotiations you intend before I give a counter-offer?"
"I expect to be treated properly."
"Of course. Six thousand," she said. "And I'll decide what new outfits you need after I review your wardrobe myself. If I decide your current wardrobe is fine, I'll pay you the eight."
"You could pay me the six thousand and buy me a track suit."
"And you could get
pissy about it and ruin my events. I promise you won't feel cheated."
"So, to be clear, you've offered me a job and are now waiting to see if I accept?"
She nodded.
I held my hand across the table for a hand shake. "You've got yourself a girlfriend. When do I start?"
She shook my hand then pulled her checkbook out of her purse. I watched as she wrote a check and slid it across the table. It was for an even six thousand dollars. I looked at it. "Is this legal?"
"With the right paperwork," she said. "You'll have to pay taxes against that. You start immediately." She took out a small pad of paper and wrote on it, then gave it to me. "Street address. Security code to open the garage door. The same code also works on the electronic lock for the front door. The second number is the security system. There is a touchpad inside the door from the garage as well as one near the front door. They will both be beeping when you enter."
I nodded.
"This afternoon you will move in. I will be home by seven. Cook something you think I'll like." She slid some cash to me. "You'll need to go grocery shopping. Keep receipts. I'll expect a proper report." I nodded. "You'll need to arrange storage for most of your things, but I expect you to move in today with your entire wardrobe. Is that a problem?"
"No." I paused. "Tell me about the types of foods you like."
We talked for a while longer, then it was time to go. We walked back to her office building together; my car was in the underground parking below her building. We entered the building together and she pulled me to the side. "Madeline," she said. "Thank you." She paused. "The first event is Saturday evening."
After that we stared at each other for a full minute, neither one of us quite sure what the goodbye protocol was. "Um."
"I know," she said. "Awkward."
I hugged her. She hugged back.
Settling In
I drove to the bank and deposited the check then went home to my apartment. What a weird job. I decided I was going to like Karen. I imagined myself as a lesbian, trying to really fill the role she was looking to fill. I had to admit, if what she wanted was a 1950's wife for a permanent girlfriend, that wouldn't have been me. I liked having a real job.
Holiday Escort Page 1
