Desirée Tanner blinked in the June sunshine, not sure whether to curse or cry. The door to Cletus' Crab Shack slammed behind her with the awful ring of finality. Her left hand held her long ivory coat around her while her sandy blonde hair from flying in every direction.
Three sheets of powder-blue paper slipped from the file folder gripped in her right hand; Desirée tried to grab for her resumes but gave up when they flew into the 4:30 traffic jam snarling the six-lane road.
She could handle the obnoxious interviews, she thought, trying not to cry. She could handle the patronizing interviewers or the sexist pigs. Okay, that sleazebag at the nearby McDonald's, who intimated that she could get a job there if she put out, made her want to throw up. But she could still walk away, head held high as the parting words: "You'll be back, honey!" rang in her ears.
No, it was the apologetic way that Bob Frakes, the assistant manager at Cletus' Crab Shack, looked at her and said, "Sorry, Dee. If I had any space on my roster, you'd be in there, believe me. But all my other employees are begging for all the shifts they can get right now and I just don't have the room."
She'd worked at Cletus' for the past two summers, washing dishes and busing tables. She'd made friends with everyone on staff, and both Cletus and Bob had told her she could come back to work there any time she wished. Now even that door was closed to her.
It was merely one of many. Back in February, her parents had died in a car crash, T-boned by a drunk driver. Then she discovered her college fund had disappeared because her dad had invested all the money in a ponzi scheme that had gone belly-up. She'd sold the house and rented an east side apartment to cut down on costs, but even that was turning into a nightmare. She knew she had until the end of September before all her money was gone.
I'm 18 years old, my parents are dead, my college fund disappeared, and I can't get a fucking job, she thought bitterly, walking down the street from the Cajun restaurant.
She had two more resumes still in hand, and bus fare to get her home. She looked down at her meager accomplishments listed in her one-sheet resume: class valedictorian, captain of the swim team, editor of the school yearbook: all very impressive within the confines of Michael Ness High, but out in the real world . . . not so much.
She left her last pair of precious resumes with a camera store and the Human Resources department in one of the hotels. In both places, she received nothing more than a grunt. She hopped the bus back to her apartment, feeling more useless than ever.
"Hello!" Desirée called out when she stepped into the cheap 2-bedroom apartment she shared with her rapidly-becoming ex friend Carol. She kicked off her pumps, hanging her trench coat by the door. Standing in her stockinged feet, she was around 5'9"and four years on the swim team had left her with a trim body that was curved in all the right places. However, it had done nothing about her most hated feature: the soft, rounded cheeks that were the last vestiges of her baby fat. She hated them, remembering how her Great Aunt Gladys used to pinch them when she was a child. Great Aunt Gladys was long gone, but the painful memory still lingered.
Only echoes answered Desirée's call; Carol wasn't home.
She found a note pinned to the corkboard above the phone. "Gone out with Hank and Doug. Back later." it read. She crumpled the note, hurling it in the garbage. Ever since she broke up with her first boyfriend Doug Masters, Desirée had found herself excluded from Carol's plans. It was painfully clear that, despite Desirée having found Doug in the bathroom with a Grade 9 during the prom, that Carol preferred Doug's company to hers, mainly because he had a car, plus fake ID and plenty of weed. Desirée sighed, rolling her violet eyes; yet another night of watching TV and looking through the want ads.
She peered in the shared bathroom, wincing as she did. Carol had apparently been so busy getting ready for the night's activities that she had left it a complete pigsty, with curlers, tissue and make-up strewn everywhere. Hell, she hadn't even bothered to flush the toilet. This was but one of many reasons why Carol was quickly moving down the scale from BFF to "When can I get this bitch out of my life?"
Holding her nose, Desirée reached out and pushed down the lever, sending the bowl's fragrant contents down the drain. She then picked up the cordless phone and checked her voice mail.
There was a new message. Hardly daring to hope, she pushed '1' to hear it.
"Greetings, Ms. Tanner." It was a smoky, female voice that sent the roots of Desirée's hair to tingling. She spoke perfect English but with an exotic accent that Desirée couldn't quite place. "We would like to schedule an interview for 1 pm tomorrow, if that is at all possible."
Desirée copied the phone number and address, and immediately dialed the number. Considering it was already 5:45, she wasn't surprised when she got a voice message. She left her name and number so that they'd know she was interested and, when she had hung up, she padded over to the fridge to see what she could make for dinner.
"Aw shit." Carol had forgotten her promise to buy groceries again.
* * *
The next day found Desirée staring up at a featureless gray building in a lower-rent district. This time, she had gone with a blue blazer with her knee-length black skirt, wanting to make a good impression with her (hopefully) future employer.
The office building did not look good; the last time she had gone to an interview in a locale like this, it had been for a door-to-door pyramid scheme. Desirée was desperate for work, but not that desperate. It didn't help that there was no company logo anywhere on this gray concrete block. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained. She pressed the button for the com-link.
"Hello?" she said after a few seconds. "Is anybody there?"
"Greetings, male, female, or neuter," what sounded like a synthesized voice responded. "Please state your business."
"Um, my name is Desirée, Desirée Tanner," she said, nonplussed by the strange response. "I'm here for the job interview?"
There were several clicks, then a female voice spoke. It was the same woman who had left the message on her voice mail last night. "I do apologize, Ms. Tanner. Yes, please come in, we're expecting you." The door buzzed open.
Inside, the building was decently decorated and well maintained, belying the sketchy outside appearance. The carpet was new and soft muzak played in the background from hidden speakers.
