No Offense

by Francesca D'Armata

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Makes me so mad! Destroying our girls while they rake in the money.”

  Steely thought about Jenny Dix.

  “Let’s get her out before they come back.” Ladue rushed to a window. “It looks clear. Calvin and Dirk will walk you to your car.”

  “Thank you for breaking in,” Steely said, leaving.

  “Don’t you come back here unless it’s to visit me,” Jennings said.

  Steely shook her head. “Thank you.”

  Calvin kicked a few splintered boards out of the doorway and led her out. Steely jumped in the car, ground the transmission, and sped off.

  Chapter thirty-three

  Steely printed off another fifty résumés. The ones she couldn’t hand deliver she e-mailed, faxed, or mailed. They either stayed in the decision maker’s hands or were tossed in the trash. She thought most likely the latter, since she had no callbacks. The excuses she heard were all the same. Too qualified or not experienced. That was when she managed to get a response. It had been easier to gain employment when she was fourteen. If she wasn’t hired by the next Monday, she would take the funeral-home job.

  After all other options had faded, she was ready to try her last resort—the Fitzpatrick CPA firm. The family she had been the closest to growing up had been out of her life for several years. Whatever apprehension she had was nothing compared to being locked in a cage about to be stuck with a needle recycled from the seventies.

  Mr. Fitzpatrick appeared successful. The family had a dream home. They drove luxury cars the cost of an average house. Steely wasn’t looking for special treatment, just a regular job—one that didn’t land her at HPD.

  The office was contemporary. Chrome legs on a sofa, two chairs, and a coffee table brought the setting together. This was a small business, not one of the five big CPA firms. Steely timidly made her way to a single desk, where a college-aged girl sat reading a mass-produced paperback. Her name tag read Brianna, but it might as well have said “Gatekeeper.”

  “Hi, I’m Steely Hunter. Is Mr. Fitzpatrick available?”

  Brianna flipped the book over, keeping her place intact. “Was he expecting you?”

  “No, I just wanted to say hello and give him my résumé.”

  Brianna smiled. “He’s in a meeting right now. You may leave your résumé with me. I’ll see that he gets it.” She held out a hand.

  Steely glanced down at the basket under her desk, holding a résumé that was on its way to the city dump.

  “How about Erin? Is she here?”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  Steely shook her head.

  “She’s busy. May I give her a message?”

  Steely leaned over the desk, eyes level with the girl’s. “Brianna, I realize you’re just doing your job. Believe me, I’ve been in your position for over a year. I know how to run people off in the nicest way.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “How about you just let her know I’m here? If she’s still busy, I’ll walk right out the door without any other discussion.”

  “One moment.” The girl bopped down a hallway and disappeared. She could have saved herself a trip and pushed the button on her phone. But she was, most likely, told not to do that. Steely leaned around to see the book titled Take Control: Get What You Want from People. She hoped that wasn’t the company motto.

  Brianna reappeared with Erin trailing along in a tank top, stretch pants, soft-soled shoes, and a thin purse. “Steely! You’re a blast from the past!”

  “How are you, Erin?”

  Erin held out an arm for a side hug. “Terrific! I’m on my way to a yoga class. We’ll chat on the way?” Erin popped open the door. “Brianna, I won’t be back today.”

  The girl nodded, as if that were the norm.

  Erin briskly led Steely onto the sidewalk.

  “Did you hear about Jessica?” Erin asked.

  “Jessica from high school?”

  “Yeah. She has this great new job. Her boss is out of town most the time, usually takes her with him. Don’t tell anybody, but I’m so excited for her. They’re dating!”

  “I don’t know Jessica very—”

  “He’s telling his wife this week that he’s getting a divorce,” she whispered, as if the people around them were listening, but they weren’t.

  Steely double stepped to catch up. “She’s dating a married man?”

  “It’s OK. Emotionally he’s already divorced. He’s so good to Jessica. Just a super sweet guy.”

  “I doubt his wife would think so.”

  They crossed the next block. Erin’s cell rang. She answered and confirmed her dinner plans for the next few blocks. She clicked off when they reached the yoga studio.

  Steely blurted out, “Erin, I’m trying to find a job.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I’ll do anything ethical and legal. Last year, I got a BBA like you. I worked on campus, in the business office, the coffee shop, and some of the sporting events. I learn fast. You know that. Erin, are you or your dad looking for help? I’ll do anything. Mop the floors. Clean the toilets, if I have to.”

  Erin swirled her hair around toward Steely, glared over her shoulder, and said, “Our maid has twenty years’ experience.”

  “I’m not trying to get anyone fired. Erin, please, if there’s anything you can do to help, I really need to work.” Steely stood in place for a few seconds, briefly gaining Erin’s full attention.

  “Steely, I’d give you a job if I could. But Father isn’t hiring until he gets some silly cash-flow problem resolved. He’s even pushing me to find another job. Good thing Cricket has connections and can put in a good word for me.”

  “Where? Do they need anybody else?”

  “I can’t say just yet. Cricket said to keep quiet about it. I gotta go. My class is starting.” Erin swung open the door. “Bye, Steely. You keep in touch. Let’s do lunch.”

  Steely gazed through the window. The class had started. And her last option was on a mat stretching out her gluteus maximus.

  The week had ended with a dramatic life-saving rescue, worn-out shoes, and a wheeze when she inhaled. The shoes could wait. A stop by the Ready RX Pharmacy on the way home should take care of the wheeze.

  The neighborhood store was empty except for one customer. Didi, a strawberry blonde in her forties, stood at the front register. Didi waved. “Steely, go on back. I’ll be right there.”

  Steely acknowledged her. She went through the store to the pharmacy counter and waited. The cash register light was on. Drugs labeled in alphabetical order sat on six rows of shelving lined up against the back wall. An unlocked half door was the only deterrent keeping someone from walking off with the shelved bottles. Steely stared at the bottles for a couple of minutes until the pharmacist put her white coat back on and gave the door a bump.

  Didi picked up a rectangular box, slipped it in a miniature white bag, and set it upright on the counter. “All ready.”

  “Sorry about the short notice, Didi.”

  “Didn’t matter at all. I had the right milligram in stock.” Didi scanned the tag stapled to the bag. “What you been doing, kid?”

  “Mostly looking for a job.” Steely set her empty purse on the counter. “Looks like you need help.”

  “I’ve been double-dutying it for years.” Didi tapped the keyboard, totaling the order. “You look tired.”

  “Just need a good night’s rest.”

  Didi took the pen from above her ear and pointed at a bottle displayed on the counter. “Want some vitamins? These are made from food, supposed to be better absorbed. Might give you more energy.”

  Steely caught a glimpse of the $29.52 price tag. “No, thanks. That would give me a headache.”

  “I don’t believe that’s a side effect.” Didi picked up the bottle and then set it back in place. “Yours will be nineteen dollars thirty-nine, ma’am.”

  “Gone up?”

  “Like everything
else. We barely turn a profit. The next higher dose would double the price.”

  “Higher dose? I didn’t know there was a higher dose.”

  “Sure is.”

  “I’m glad I don’t need it. Didi, put it on my account, please.” Steely reached for the bag.

  “Sorry, kid, we don’t have charge accounts anymore.”

  Steely released the bag, leaving it wavering. “You don’t?”

  “No, too many people don’t pay.”

  “They don’t pay?”

  “They run up a bill and then go off to another drug store. It puts us in a real bind.”

  Steely swiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Didi, I’ve always paid.”

  “Steely—”

  “Even when my mom was sick. You know I was in here every week. Paid the bill after she passed. I paid every penny…not one time late. You know that.” Steely squeezed her purse.

  “Steely, you’re right. No argument there. But too many people don’t pay. That’s why I don’t have help. The new management said we had to cut it out for everybody. We have to be fair. We can’t do it for some and not for the others. Steely, I’m really sorry. If you don’t have the money, I’ll buy it for you.”

  “Didi, it’s OK. I have it.” She dug in her skirt pocket and unwrapped a worn twenty-dollar bill from a clear plastic bag. She held on to it for a few seconds and then set it down. “Here you go.”

  “Are you sure?” Didi picked up the bill. “You look like you’re about to cry. Really, I’ll pay for it.”

  “It’s just a twenty-dollar bill. It doesn’t matter if Mrs. Dichiara gave it to me. There are four point three billion more of them. I could have gotten this one from anybody. It’s just a regular twenty-dollar bill. Please take it.”

  Didi opened the register, merged the bill with the other twenties, and handed Steely a few coins.

  Steely took the bag and glanced at the shelving behind the counter. “Didi, I have a question.”

  “What is it, baby?”

  “Do most drugs come in different milligrams?”

  “Sure do.”

  “I would imagine you could get very sick if you took a double dose of some of those.”

  Didi closed the register. “Most certainly. It could make you very sick or even worse. Could be fatal.”

  Steely glanced over at the half door and nodded. “Thanks, Didi.”

  Chapter thirty-four

  Steely snuggled up to the counter at Cohen’s Coffee Shop, booted up her laptop, and sipped complimentary coffee. She was starting the day earlier than most businesses opened. Being the first applicant to call on a job listing could be an advantage.

  Every type of business was getting her consideration except the cemetery job. She called to accept the position and learned she’d be going to hospitals to consult with customers. Anything medical still made her queasy. You could blindfold her, spin her around, and she’d still know the moment she set foot in a medical facility. It wouldn’t matter if the place had been sterilized and deodorized—she could sniff out any place medical.

  She downed a third cup and checked for new jobs. Nothing but repeats so far. Knowing which job postings were old and which were new saved hours. Her last search was oil and gas. The offshore jobs looked interesting. They paid well. Working in an office, on a rig, would be OK with her. But she figured Bea couldn’t handle her being gone on a three-week hitch. How would Bea react if Steely was in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico and she had a nightmare about rats?

  She scrolled down the page and located a listing for an accounts-payable clerk downtown. She tapped the number in her cell.

  “Jack Hunter Industries,” a woman’s voice answered. “How may I direct your call?”

  She clicked off. Checked the caller ID. The number was stored as “JACK HUNTER—OFFICE.” Steely set her phone aside. She stared at it for a few seconds. Then she lifted her cup, indicating a need for a fill-up. The server responded. “Thank you,” she said, nodding and taking a quick sip.

  How could I work there? They fired Jack.

  Staring at her laptop, she spaced out. Suddenly, she envisioned a sixty-two-year-old woman in a kitchen lurking around the pantry reaching for a jar. The woman opened the only jar she found. From the woman’s view, she could see the inside of the jar. It was empty. The woman picked up a knife and scraped the jar, mining for remaining residue. She pulled the knife out. It was clean. The jar had been scraped before. The woman reached into the trash for an empty can of pressed ham. She pulled on the open lid, ripping it off. The rangy woman licked her finger and stuck it in the can, retrieving a missed speck hidden in a crevice.

  Even if they hired me and then fired me, I’d get some kind of paycheck for a few days. It’d be illegal for them to fire me because of my last name. Maybe I shouldn’t use my last name?

  Steely hit redial. The call was answered and forwarded to the senior vice president of human resources.

  “Benita Ray here,” Ray answered curtly but professionally.

  “Mrs. Ray, I’m interested in applying for a job,” Steely said, trying to sound at ease.

  “We have several. Which one in particular?”

  “The accounts-payable clerk. Have you filled that one?”

  “No, not yet. Today is the last day to apply.”

  “I would like to apply, please. May I come in now? I can be there in ten minutes. Maybe eight.”

  “Hold on. Let me ask you a few weed-out questions first.”

  Weed-out questions?

  “Certainly,” Steely said, pressing. “But may I come in? I will answer all your questions then.”

  “Let’s talk first.”

  “OK. Please go ahead.”

  “Name please?”

  She hoped she wouldn’t be disqualified on the first question.

  Should I use Paupher? No, I’m not manipulating my name.

  She confidently said, “Steely Hunter.”

  Ray paused.

  Steely squeezed her cell.

  “Your phone is dinging in my ear. Are you pressing the numbers?”

  Steely relaxed her grip. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “My ears are ringing. Now, where were we…highest level of education?”

  Steely wondered if Ray had heard her name correctly. Maybe she was distracted.

  “Answer the question, please. Did you finish high school? Yes or no? These aren’t difficult questions.”

  Steely quickly responded. “Yes, I did. Then I went to college.”

  “How long did you last?”

  “Four years.”

  “Oh, how far did you get?”

  “Graduated.”

  “Degree?”

  “BBA. A bachelor of bus—”

  “I know what a BBA is. So why are you applying as an accounts-payable clerk? You should have applied for the executive training program.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “This training program would have helped you get into management or assisted you with an MBA if you are fortunate enough to be chosen. The problem is I’ve already made my choice for this year. But I will let you apply for the next year.”

  “I think I’ll pass on that.”

  “Pass?” Ray huffed. “Nobody passes on this opportunity.”

  “It doesn’t pay. Does it?”

  “Certainly not,” Ray clipped. “Do you think you should get paid when the company is giving you six months of priceless training? Some applicants have offered to pay us!”

  “Pay you? That won’t work for me. I’ve spent all the money I can on an education.”

  “Depending on how well you do, the program could advance you ten years up the ladder.”

  “Working my way up the ladder is not my top priority. May I have the accounts-payable job, please?”

  “Hold on just a minute—it’s a red flag when someone with your credentials wants a job that doesn’t require a higher education. The job is an important one that requires knowledge, dedication, and people s
kills, but not a college degree.”

  “This shouldn’t be a red flag.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have bills to pay.”

  “I see. Is there anything about you that would hinder your job performance? Do you get along with people? Can you handle pressure? Are you dependable? These are important traits.”

  “I could live in a pressure cooker. You could clap down the top and turn on the stove. I’d be fine. I’m one of the most dependable people you’ll ever meet.”

  “I see you don’t lack confidence.”

  “That’s what I’ve been told.”

  “OK, young lady. Quickly, tell me how you get along with people in less than thirty seconds. Time starts now.”

  Steely had never used the orphan card. But she needed this job so badly she was putting that card on the table. She was an orphan. And it was time to tell it. She’d use the widow card too, but it could backfire.

  “The clock is ticking!”

  “Mrs. Ray, I get along with people even when they don’t get along with me. My father died when I was in middle school.”

  Ray hushed.

  “My mother died before I finished my senior year in high school.” Steely poured out the facts. There was no need to embellish when sharing her history. It was more than ample to prove her case. “Mrs. Ray, one day in high school a girl saw me praying. I like to pray. Do you pray?”

  “I do,” Ray whispered.

  “She told the entire high-school class that I had mental issues. That I spent the summer in a state hospital. You know the one in Rusk?”

  “She didn’t.”

  “Sure did. My mom and dad, before they passed, used to tell me to let things like that roll off my back. That’s what I did, Mrs. Ray. I let it roll off my back. You can’t control what other people say. And you sure can’t control what they think. I never one time said anything rude back to the girl. Treated her as if I didn’t know what she did. Mrs. Ray, if I can get along with her, I can get along with anyone.”

  “You didn’t say anything to her?”

  “I told her privately that what she did was wrong. That was the end of it.”

  There was a long period of silence. Steely waited for Ray to announce her time was up, but Ray didn’t, so she continued. “Most of the time in college, I worked three jobs. I lived in a general shelter my first semester—not a women’s shelter, a general shelter. And I learned there’s a big difference between the two.”