Job Interview With A New Ending

I posted the story Job Interview and the consensus I gleaned from the comments and emails was that readers liked the story, but hated the ending. So here is the first half of the story again, but with a new ending. Comments are encouraged, as I've never tried doing something like this before.

The new part begins about halfway through this version, and I indicate it with a string of stars. The stars should appear around three quarters of the way down page 1. I hope you like this new version!

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I was laid off a while back, and I was running low on funds. I was getting more and more desperate to land a job. There are not many women in my profession, so I was getting a lot of interviews, but no offers of jobs. Rumors had it that most of the companies felt they needed to hire women for diversity reasons, since they had almost no women employees at the level I would have been hired.

As it turned out, however, it seemed more to mean that they had to interview women. They made a good faith effort to find a good woman to hire, and then failed to find one, every single time. If that's right, then it would explain why I had so many interviews, but somehow men were always 'more qualified' than I was, or a 'better fit,' or 'more precisely what we were looking for.'

"Thank you, Ms. March. I'm sure a woman with your talent will land a good job. I'm sorry it did not work out for us this time," was typical of the blow offs I would get. I noted they often said 'a woman with your talent,' and not 'a person with your talent.' That slight linguistic slip said it all, at least as far as I was concerned.

Interviews worked in rounds. The first round was a 'cattle call,' where maybe 100 people would be interviewed, and only around 10 would be called back for the second round. I have talent, and also experience, so usually I would make it to the second round. The third round typically consisted of the top three candidates, and I had yet to make it that far.

This last time, something I had noticed finally gelled in my tiny brain. I was typically not the only woman in the top ten candidates. There was always at least one other woman, and usually also at most one other woman. The other woman would always make it to the third round. She would not get the job, but she got one round farther than I ever did, and I was intrigued.

The insight that had gelled was her sartorial choices. Mine were standard issue professional woman boredom. I would wear a dark suit, either a jacket and skirt, or a jacket and pants. Underneath the jacket, I wore a white blouse that had a high neck and a choker of pearls around my neck. Sometimes the blouse would be baby blue. One time, when I wanted to live on the edge, it was white with baby blue polka dots. Classic, right?

The little minx who got to round three would wear a mini skirt, and she would show some cleavage. She showed the maximal cleavage that could be considered to be in good taste. Men were interviewing us, and therefore men were choosing who made it to round three, and let's face it: She was more fun to look at than I was. I had checked her out, however, and my body was better than hers. I was more curvaceous, and my boobs were slightly larger. I had better hair, and I moved with more grace. I did, however, wear glasses.

To the very next interview, I wore a mini skirt, a pushup bra, and contact lenses. Both of us made it to the third round, and the three of us who made it there were Mary Evans (the aforementioned little minx), Jason Michaels (the typical man that they doubtless would eventually choose), and me (June March). My Mom thought it would be cute to name me June, since our last name was March. Stick with the months, she would say. Why? I would reply. She would just smile. At least she did not name me November, I used to tell myself, when I felt like being grateful for small favors.

Now that I'm older, and remembering my mother's Mona Lisa smile when she explained naming me June, and since I was born in March, nine months after June, I wondered just what happened during that month of June, 26 years earlier? I have the feeling that whatever it was, it was one of the erotic highlights of my Mom's life. It also doubtless led to my existence, in some sense.

This was my first time for a third-round interview, and I did not know what to expect. We each had to give a presentation, and for the presentation I wore a sexy dress, slit high up the side, backless, and low cut in the front. I knew how to be sexy. I studied dancing in college, and one time I even earned some much needed cash by dancing, modified stripper fashion, on stage at a fraternity party. That's a whole other story, however. The point is, I knew how to move in that dress, maximizing its effect.

I could not wear a conventional bra with the dress, without ruining the effect, but happily there are these new kinds of bras, called 'nude backless strapless bras' which provided support, and support was unequivocally needed in my case. I looked sexy in that dress. I looked sexy enough to stop traffic if I were to parade down the streets of New York in that dress.

In fact, I knew about the truth of that last remark concerning stopping traffic, since I walked from the subway exit to the building where the interview was to take place. I was all smiles with the effects of the dress. This dress (and my body within it, combined with my winning smile) just had to be my ticket to a new job, and then to the payment of my many and varied bills!

I was taking a big chance, and my heart sank when there was a woman executive called in to listen to my presentation. It worked, though, and to my surprise, there even was a 4th round of interviews. Does this ever end?

I was kept at the building for the entire afternoon, and at 6pm one of the big honchos, Jack Galbraith, came to the room I had been stored in, and said "come with me." He apologized, saying he suffered from migraine headaches, and he had one just then. My mother gets them, so I gave him my informed sympathy. He asked if we could continue the next day at 6pm, and of course I agreed. He told me to meet him at O'Reilly's, an Irish style pub just down the street from the company offices, precisely at 6pm the next day.

"Meet at a pub?" I asked, surprised.

"Don't you drink?" he asked.

"Yes, yes of course. I'm just surprised it's not here," I said.

"Well, it's not," he replied. My mom, too, would get curt when she had a migraine. He added, "Don't wear a dress like that to the pub. You'll be eaten alive. You can dress sexy if you want, but a skirt and jacket would fit in better."

I went home humbled. Mr. Galbraith had seen right through my ploy of dressing sexy in the hope of landing the job. Well, it was pretty obvious, I guess. Subtlety, though, had been getting me rejection after rejection, hadn't it now?

So far, however, the dressing sexy tactic seemed to be working. I was dressing sexier than Mary, my competition, so good for me, I felt. I could see Mary's eyes sending poison darts my way when she saw me in my dress.

I was worried I had dressed too sexy, however. Meet at a pub? That did not seem professional; that seemed more social, to me. Maybe it meant I was already in, and I would be told at the pub? We would have a celebratory drink? That would be wonderful. I clung to that thought, and suppressed the fears of what else it might mean. We women are always wary of settings involving alcohol. Still, I was determined to maintain my strategy of sexy dressing, but perhaps just to tone it down a bit.

The next day I arrived right at 6pm, as I had been instructed to do. I wore a short skirt, hose, a low-cut blouse, and a push-up bra. I was nervous. Maybe a drink would be a good idea after all, I thought. I'm pretty good at holding my liquor.

Mr. Galbraith was already there, seated at a large table with two colleagues. I could feel the tension ease away when I saw the three of them. With three people there, one of them even being a woman, I figured I was safe from Mr. Galbraith hitting on me. After all, the way he had devoured me with his eyes the previous day, I suspected he was interested. I felt that I had reason to be ill at ease.

Also, to my surprise, Mary was right behind me. She had been invited, too! Damn.

Introductions were made. Besides Mr. Galbraith, there were Mitchell Green, and Sophia Chen. Ms. Chen was the only female executive in the company, I already knew, since I had studied their web site carefully. Two seats were open, and Mary and I took them. I was between Mr. Galbraith and Ms. Chen. They insisted we use first names, so I was between Sophia and Jack.

Being female, of course I checked out Ms. Chen. She was probably in her early 30s, and she had a typical Asian body type for a woman, but with a slightly bigger bust than was typical. She had lovely black hair, liquid eyes, and a smile that would light up a room. She wore a short skirt and fishnet stockings, and she looked sexy as hell.

My competition, Mary, was dressed ready to be taken off to a bedroom. She wore a slinky, body hugging dress, emphasizing her rather spectacular body and the hourglass nature of her figure. The dress had a plunging neckline, and she had a large, gold, or more likely gold plated, Maltese cross hanging down between her boobs.

The cross kept falling inside her dress, and she kept pulling it back out, thereby consistently drawing attention to her pretty and sexy boobs, a lot of which were on display. She made it look like a nervous tic, the way she kept pulling it out. She kept all of us repeatedly looking at her boobs that way.

I had been out dressed by a country mile. I guess Mary had taken my sexy dress challenge of the third round just a little too seriously. Every male eye at the pub was eating Mary up alive, and she was at ease with all the attention. She even seemed relaxed. I felt she could have been gang raped at the pub and yawned during the action! Of course, that's ridiculous, but it describes the vibes she was sending out. I, on the other hand, was thoroughly intimidated.

I was not sure what was going on. Mary looked to be equally confused. The only person who asked us any questions was Sophia. I think I answered them better than Mary did. Sophia liked my answers in any event, I could tell. At one point, I excused myself to go to the ladies, and to my surprise, Sophia announced she would join me.

She led me to the ladies, which was downstairs, and once we were inside, she spoke to me. "It's between you and Mary, June. You have my vote, but I have only one vote. I can sway Mitchell if, to be frank, I have sex with him. I'll do that for you tonight."

Sophia saw the shock on my face. "Oh come on, June. You're an adult. You know how the world works. Sleeping with Mitchell is how I got where I am. If you want the job, you have to make sure Jack goes home with you, and not that little minx Mary. She's itching to have sex to land this job."

I was stunned. I had not expected this at all, least of all coming from Sophia. I knew I had to say something, Sophia was waiting for my reaction. "How do you know Mary is willing to have sex?" That was all I could think of to say.

"Oh, honey, grow up. You're the only one who doesn't already know it. She had sex at her last two interviews, too. I guess she's not that good in bed, since she did not get those jobs."

I looked at Sophia. How could she know that? She answered the question in my eyes. "It's a small world, honey. People talk."

Sophia continued. "Mitchell has a thing for Asian women, so I got lucky. Getting Jack to go for you to the point where we hire you, will not be easy, I'm afraid. He's a man of the world. He's seen it all, and he's bedded it all. My advice is, give it all you've got, honey. Show him a memorable time. I would love to have you join me at the company."

"Aren't Mitchell and Jack both married men, I asked?"

Sophia laughed. "Oh sweetheart! Are you really that innocent? How adorable." Sophia then told me not to make assumptions. Mitchell would offer to give Mary a ride to her hotel, but he would not seduce her. "He'll save himself for me. He can't get enough of this, you know," and she gestured towards her diminutive body, which I now viewed as a potential sex machine.

"Jack will try to seduce you," Sophia continued. "You can do what you want of course, but if you decide to go along, as I hope you will, you will have to make having sex with you so compelling that Jack is desperate for more. Hiring you is his ticket to more and more and more of what appears to be a lovely body. You're in for a lot of sex if you get hired, and not just from Jack, I'm afraid, so try to enjoy it. It's an ongoing commitment. Good luck! Now go ahead and use the toilet if you need to, my dear."

I thanked Sophia for her honesty and explanations, and I said that, "I do hope I'll get the job. I'd love to work with you."

She left me with the parting words, "Do what it takes, June, and the job is yours, I'm sure."

Sophia then threw me totally off my game. What she did was to grab my head with both her hands, and next she pulled my lips to hers, and we kissed. I was so startled, I did not know what to do! She then kissed me a second time, and this time I kissed her back. What else was I to do, anyway? The third time I initiated the kiss, and we both opened our mouths and let our tongues get acquainted. Our tongues fell in love with each other rather instantly.

Sophia left me there, breathing heavily, and I went to the toilet to calm down, as well as to do my business. I had become wet down there, too. When I wiped, maybe it was a bit too thorough. You know what I mean. This was a bit surreal, but I had to admit it: I enjoyed it.

This was already in my personal record book for the strangest job interview I had ever experienced, or even heard of, and I had yet to deal with Jack. It's a good thing I like sex, all kinds of sex.

Sophia's predictions were not completely right. Sophia left first as it got late, but Mitchell offered her a ride home; he did not offer one to Mary. That left Mary and me with Mr. Galbraith, whom we were now both calling only 'Jack.'

Mary seemed to know what was needed without having had the benefit of Sophia's tutelage. The conversation became a long string of sexual double entendres. Finally, Mary needed a pit stop. I had unwittingly, but as it turned out cleverly, taken mine earlier, with Sophia. This left me alone with Jack. This was my chance. I was not sure how to play it, however.

I did not have to outmaneuver Mary, though. I had already done it by my continuous clever use of sexual double entendres during the discussion. Mary's use of them had been much more basic; it was even crude at times. Apparently, Jack liked subtlety. Good for him.

My English major background had served me well, for once. Jack said, "June, you leave first. I'll meet you at your hotel bar in a half hour. We can continue our discussion there, without the annoying presence of Mary, okay?"

Meet me at my hotel bar? I may be only 26, but I'm old enough to know what that means. Subtlety was not Jack's strong suit. I figured he was around 50, so maybe he had already seduced so many women that he had forgotten what finesse actually was. I smiled. "I'm staying at the Sofitel," I said.

"I know," Jack replied. "Mary's hotel is the Marriott at Times Square. See you in thirty, then? You should leave now, before Mary returns." I grabbed my jacket and purse and I left. I stopped at a pharmacy with a big sign 'Open 24 Hours,' and I picked up some things. I was worried. I had no intention of having intercourse, even if I was, in fact, on the pill.

I had several reasons to be concerned. First and foremost, the idea of sleeping with a man to get a job was beyond the pale for me. Not going to happen, I told myself. Second, Jack was married and I am not a home-wrecker. Third, Jack is a womanizer, and who knows what diseases are lurking inside that handsome body?

"I'm glad your firm chose such a nice hotel for me. It's where Dominique Strauss Kahn always stayed, you know," and I winked at Jack. I was sending out all the wrong signals with my flirting. I guess I was ambivalent. To have sex to get this job and pay my bills, or to go the alternative route of principle, abstinence, self-respect, and starvation? That was the question.

Jack smiled. For the first time that evening, his smile was broad. Ear to ear comes to mind.

I felt at that moment that I had an idea what Jack wanted. After all, DSK was arrested for forced fellatio. Well, I give as good a blowjob as does the next sexpot. I was scared. I'm not a prude. I was 26 and no stranger to sex, or even to one-night stands. But to blow Jack? Or worse, to let him plunder my body? Could I do such things just to get a job? God, I hope not.

I got to the Sofitel, and I went to the bar, taking a seat on one of their stools. One thing about barstools is that they do not mix well with short skirts. Trying to be modest is a challenge for a woman in a short skirt when getting onto, or off of, a barstool. I did my best, and I think I was graceful, but the scenery my lower body provided during a fleeting awkward moment attracted some interest from other bar patrons. Those same patrons could now pass a quiz on the color of my panties. They were lavender.

*************

I ordered the house cocktail, Sunset over New York, without even asking what was in it. The bartender was kind of cute. Maybe during some other life, I lasciviously thought. I fought off the bar flies who were stimulated by the flash of my panties, while I waited for the grand appearance of Jack, all the time wondering what was I going to do? How far would I go? Why does life have to be like this?

Around the time Jack arrived I had an epiphany. I knew what I was going to do. I remembered a few months ago, when I was dating a guy, and he really wanted to have sex. I could see he was having self-image problems, and I knew intuitively that a refusal of sex would devastate him. He had shown me a good time, taken me out to an expensive restaurant, and he really wanted my body for his dessert.

There was just no chemistry there. I had no sexual attraction to him. Zero. I do, however, have a generous capacity for pity, and I remembered the doctors' old maxim of 'first, do no harm.' I tried to help to heal the world that night, one small part of it, by coming to the rescue of that poor man's sexual ego.

Well, if I do something, I always try to do a good job. I showed that guy the sexual time of his life. He left my apartment the next morning drained dry of all of his bodily fluids and with a smile on his face from ear to ear. He looked so drained but happy, I began to think of myself as a sexual vampire.

Knowing he would want to see me again, I told him that while we had had a lot of fun, I also had a steady boyfriend who was returning from Chicago that very afternoon. If he ever found out about us, I would get beaten to within an inch of my life, so he had to pretend from now on as if this never happened, okay? No part of this story was true, but I was convincing nevertheless.

Now he was scared. "Will he try to hurt me?" he asked.

"I'm sure he would if he learned of what we just did. That won't happen, though, because he won't know you exist, now will he?" I replied. I tried to put maximum drama in my voice.

I never heard from him again, but one time I ran into him at Whole Foods, and when he saw me his face lit up, and he gave me another ear to ear smile. I knew he wanted to kiss me, right there in Whole Foods, but he was too afraid to do so, either in deference to my own safety, or in fear for his. I felt as if I had performed a blessing with this guy. Good for me; good for him!