British English spelling and grammar.
Seamed stockings
"Best of luck today darling; you look wonderful." said Adam, giving her a hug.
Rachel regarded herself in the hallway mirror. Not too shabby for late forties. The grey cashmere sweater was a present from better times when they'd had more money. It clung to her shapely breasts and waist. Her skirt was navy blue and pleated. Getting on a bit now, but it was always in style. Black tights and navy blue shoes.
"I got you a present." said Adam.
"We can't afford presents."
Then she saw what he'd bought. Black seamed stockings.
"What's this about? The tights look fine."
"It's not about how you look. You wore seamed stockings on our first date; though I didn't know it at the time. And you wore them again when we applied for our first mortgage. You said they made you feel powerful and brought you good luck. You needed a suspender belt in those days, but these are hold-ups."
"We may need this job, but I hadn't planned on flashing to get it. We're not that desperate."
"Not yet we aren't."
She stepped out of her shoes, pulled off the tights and put on the stockings.
"Nobody has to see, but during the interview you'll know."
"Let's hope you're right."
"I'm proud of you anyway for getting this far. No pressure, you just go and enjoy yourself."
Sitting on the bus, Rachel knew Adam was being supportive when he said no pressure. There was; and it was getting worse. She was taking the bus because they'd sold her car, rather than remortgage. The job market beckoned again, after years as a housewife.
In the early days of their marriage, Adam had been earning well at Clarksons, and they both preferred Rachel being the homemaker. But now Clarksons was suffering in the recession. Last year there had been no cost of living pay rises. Vacancies were left empty, and there was a ban on promotions. And despite all Adam's unpaid overtime, the redundancy threat was looming.
This was the twelfth job she'd applied for but her first interview. She'd been after secretarial positions for many months, but they were few and far between. Today's company was not big, but was doing well against the downward trend. She would be seeing the Managing Director, and Human Resources Manager.
As she entered the meeting room, they both looked very young for such positions. They were friendly and informal. Rachel thought Adam was right about the stockings. She felt very 'I know something you don't know'. She crossed her legs, though didn't flash. She didn't relax till she was on the bus home, when Adam's comment suddenly resurfaced. She had said they weren't that desperate. He had replied 'Not yet we aren't.' Did he mean there might come a time when they were that desperate?
"So how did it go?"
"If the top six directors can gangbang my arse twice a week, the job is mine! I said I'd better check with you first!"
His jaw dropped, and she laughed.
"You should see your face! Sorry, they said they'll let me know. It was rather non-committal. "
"But what do you think?"
"It's difficult to tell. The Sales Manager I'd be secretary to, wasn't present, just the MD and Personnel Manager. I'll only meet my boss, if I get a second interview."
Four days later, there was an envelope on the doormat.
"I've got a second interview, Friday afternoon."
"Wonderful!"
"This will be with the Sales Manager, his name is Kris. But I must ask you something. When I said we weren't desperate enough for flashing, you said 'Not yet.' Was it a joke?"
He held her hands.
"At the moment Rachel, it's a joke. But we've cut back everywhere we can, and reached the stage where we both need to work. So, let me say I love you and we'll get through this. But we know sex and love is not the same thing. So the bottom line is: don't tell me, and I won't ask."
"I see."
"Clarksons are bidding for a big job," he continued, "and will start getting back on their feet if they win it. But if they don't, they'll be calling for volunteer redundancies. My computer skills are aligned precisely to their requirements, which is both good and bad. On the one hand I should theoretically be the one of the last to go. But on the other, I'll struggle to fit in anywhere else."
Rachel was waiting in Reception for the second time. Kris, the Sales Manager, was running late. She was just considering a quick trip to the loo, when he rushed in.
"Mrs Nicholls? So sorry, I'm still waiting for a call from Germany. You're the last one I have to see. Would you like to reschedule?"
"I'm here now; I might as well hang on."
"I worry I'm making you late, but would prefer to get this sorted before the weekend."
"I'll wait then."
And she knew that was the right answer.
"Excellent." he turned to the girl on reception.
"Sonia, get Mrs Nicholls a coffee, would you?"
As he rushed out, Rachel looked at Sonia and smiled.
"Skip the coffee thanks. What I need is the loo."
While she was in the Ladies' she checked her seams were straight and wondered if she should flash him.
"At last, Mrs Nicholls, sorry it's so late."
"If it's ok, I prefer Rachel."
"Rachel it is. We're pretty informal here so call me Kris. Thank you for being so patient."
It went well. He kept looking at her hair. It was brown, and she wore it in waves to the shoulders. Adam said it looked a bit 1950s, but she preferred to think of it as retro. And Kris was making little effort to disguise his appraisal of her legs. The stockings were working their magic.
He made it clear he was less concerned with her keyboard speed and more interested in accuracy, and how she would fit in with the team. Although she would officially be his secretary, any member of his sales team would give her work. She'd be expected to stay late when necessary. But, if things were slack, it would be all right if she knocked off early, or took longer lunchbreaks.
As the interview wound down, Rachel was feeling upbeat. Inevitably, they got round to 'Do you have any questions?' She'd always been advised to ask a question at this stage, and could think of two.
"May I ask how come you're hiring staff, when so many other firms are laying people off?"
"Good question. Strictly speaking, we're not. We have five main departments which had a secretary each. But we needed to cut that to four; who will be shared. We asked for volunteer redundancies, and were surprised to get two. One was my secretary and now we're one short! Sales department is biggest, so you won't often get shared."
"Good. And how many other candidates I'm up against?"
His response surprised her.
"I shouldn't really tell you. How did you get here today?"
"By bus."
"It's getting late now and the buses will be full. I'll give you a lift home. Your CV says Chestnut Avenue, is that right?"
"Yes."
"Well once I'm out of the office, I might be able to give you more information."
They set off.
"Does the company have a dress code? I'd like to know if my image fits."
She was proud of the 'my', it projected her into the job.
"We prefer skirts, like you're wearing today. We pretend we're too modern for an official dress code. But customers often visit our offices, and can wander around and check our set-up. So in effect, any one of us might be on show."
"So these clothes are suitable for my position?"
There, she'd put herself into the job again!
"Yes. Let me tell you what I don't like. Female candidates who wear pretty skirts at the interview, flash their knickers, and then slop around in jeans and T-shirts on the job. You look perfect; understated glamour."
"Thank you."
She crossed her legs. It was becoming a habit, and giving her a tingle somewhere above the seamed stockings.
"You asked how many you're up against." he continued.