"Can you draw four leaf clovers?"
"Whatever you want. I just got a great new pearly pink color that would make a great base."
Pink? I liked pink. "I’ll be right over."
* * *
I got home late, after Dad was in bed. Still no messages from Howard.
Chapter 19
Job-free days: 62
August Unemployment Log
Jobless days left: Please let it be zero.
Bank account level: Way below what it should be.
Goals:
1. Find a mostly perfect man and marry him. One who calls when he should and doesn’t leave me hanging. Ryne never exactly promised, but still!
2. Get my insurance money and spend appropriately. With Roger’s help I lodged a complaint with the insurance commission. And I looked up lawyers. And I left a note on the breakfast table for Dad never to play golf with Junior again and to change all his accounts, including the corporate one, to another insurance agency. I’ll show that Willie!
3. Restore bungalow. I want Gus back!
4. Secure the perfect job. If Howard doesn’t call by noon, I’ll call him.
* * *
I got up earlier than expected. Or maybe Dad got up later. On any account, Dad was still at the breakfast table when I came down in search of coffee.
He held up my note. "What’s the meaning of this?"
"Willie denied my insurance claim because I wouldn’t sleep with him." I shot Dad a defiant glare.
Dad sighed. "I’ll speak to Junior."
"No need. I’ve already lodged a complaint with the insurance commission and I’m going to hire a lawyer and sue Willie’s pants off. So to speak." Although avoiding the sight of seeing his pants off was what had partially gotten me into this situation in the first place.
"You’re not suing Willie."
"Yes I am."
"I’ll straighten this out with Junior and you’ll withdraw your complaint." Slurp. Sip of coffee. "Heard from Howard yet? What’s the new salary?"
Dad could be taunting when he wanted to be.
"I haven’t heard yet. Probably today."
He gave me an "I’ll believe it when I see it" look. "We’re getting busier at the family business. Your family’s business. Keep that in mind. This thing falls through, I’ll make room for you."
Ugh.
"Speaking of which, your sister comes home tomorrow. It’ll sure be nice to have her back."
That’s right! Julie was coming back. Which reminded me—I’d forgotten about her blouse and left it in the sun in the bag outside for too long. It was probably a moldy mess by now. I made a note to throw it in the trash before she got home.
Hurry up, Howard!
* * *
Tick, tick, tick. Noon. No call. Maybe I’d give Howard another hour. Why interrupt his lunch? I trooped out to the backyard, grabbed Julie’s blouse, and stuffed it in the overflowing trash can on the side of the house.
One p.m. No call. Oh, hang it! I dialed Howard’s cell.
"Leesa?" He spoke with a total lack of enthusiasm. As if this wasn’t a good time to call.
I pumped up the optimism in my voice a notch or two to compensate. "I’ve been expecting you to call. I checked the SAPS numbers and, wow, fabulous. So when do I start?"
Pregnant pause.
"Howard?"
"Ah . . . yeah, well . . . how do I say this?" I pictured him running his fingers through his hair. It’s what Howard did under stress. "I’m sorry, babe, but there isn’t going to be any offer."
"What!" He had to be kidding. He had to be kidding. If he wasn’t, I was going to break down and cry. If I didn’t hyperventilate first. "But the numbers—"
"SAPS numbers, overall, were good. But . . ."
I hated buts.
"Our division numbers came in low. Too low. We’re bleeding red ink, Lees. Corporate is shutting us down. I was going to call you. Seriously I was. As soon as I got home. I’m just cleaning out my desk now. I have to be out by the end of the day. Just got my notice and severance package today. They let us all go. Only the president is being reassigned to another division. Everyone else, pink-slipped."
"Puce-slipped."
"What?"
"Never mind." Tears were welling in my eyes. What in the world had happened to my streak of phenomenal luck? "I’m sorry, Howard. If there’s anything I can do . . ."
"Yeah. Well. I’ve got oars in the water. I’m thinking of starting something. A little consulting firm with a couple others from here."
Not to be selfish or anything, but what about me! Greatness, Leesa, greatness.
"If you need to talk or just hang out, I know a great support, friendship group for unemployed people," I said. "And I’m always here for you."
* * *
I hung up. I bawled until my eyes were red and puffy. I cried until I hiccupped and felt like throwing up and had a headache. I lay prostrate on the floor. Alice called and I whined some more.
"Well, get back on the horse, baby," she said. "Shoot that résumé out there. Call up your contact list." Heavy sigh. "And I’ll talk to the dean of the law school for you about Willie."
"Thanks. When are you coming back?"
"I planned on next week. But I can drive back today if you need me."
Pause. Nah, too selfish to ask her to cut her vacation short on my account.
"You stay where you are and enjoy yourself," I said. "Just promise me that when you get back you’ll take me out for some chocolate decadence ice cream. That always makes me feel better."
"You got it, honey. I love you."
"Love you, too, Alice."
After I hung up, I jumped online and applied for every job from the New York Islands to the Redwood Forests to the Gulf Stream waters. Someone hire me please!
I called Candy and Hank again. I was avoiding Cara, because I couldn’t stand any more Barn lovemaking details. My stomach was upset enough as it was.
Roger answered again.
"Still playing nursemaid?"
"You betcha. That girl needs TLC. And so does this condo. There’s a lot to be done over here. This place has been lacking a man’s touch. Just this morning I fixed the garbage disposal."
Yeah, that I could believe.
"Feeling any better today?" Roger said.
I burst out bawling. I couldn’t help myself, even knowing how uncomfortable it made Rog. "My job fell through! I’m destitute!"
"Get a grip, soldier."
Sniffle, sniffle, sniffle.
"This is job seeking war now."
Hiccup. Tiny sob.
"When the going gets tough, the tough get going. Now is not the time to panic and collapse. Now is the time to use superior intellect, emotional reserves, intestinal fortitude . . ."
Sigh. Patton-like speech. Rog’s navy training blasted into full view. Distraught as I was, I was genetically programmed to tune out lectures and boring speeches, including pep talks. So I didn’t pay much attention to his actual words. But I liked the indignant, reassuring tone he used.
"So it’s like this, I’m going to call a special meeting of JCG," Roger said. "One of ours is in trouble. Looks like it’s time to invoke the ‘support’ part of our ‘fun and support’ mission statement. We’ll get you a job, Leesa. Don’t you worry!
"I have class on Monday. Cadaver lab. Can’t miss it. How does Tuesday sound? At the old meeting hole, the Starbucks downtown?"
"Um, great."
"Excellent. See you there. I’ll put the girls on."
I have the feeling he passed that phone off like a hot potato before I started the waterworks again. Which I did immediately when Candy picked up and put Hank through in conference call mode. I had to spill my whole sorry story again.
"Oh, Leesa, why didn’t you tell us all your troubles?"
"I don’t know." Sniffle.
"Look on the bright side," Candy said. "You’ve still got a hot guy interested in you. Let’s dwell on that for the moment. Hey, did you see
? He’s going to be on Northwest PM on Monday. I saw the promo for it yesterday."
"Really? He never mentioned it," I said.
"See, he’s modest, too," Candy said.
Then Hank said, "You know what you need—exercise. Exercise and seduction lessons all in one." She laughed with glee. "Candy and I are going to a striptease aerobics class on Monday. Why don’t you come? Our treat. It’ll be fun."
"I don’t know . . ."
"Sure you do! You have to come. This’ll be great. Right, Candy?"
"Right," Candy said.
Right.
"And it’s in the morning so you’ll be home in time to watch Ryne on TV," Candy added. "He’s talking about positive attitude and success. It’ll be perfect."
Chapter 20
Jobless days: 63
August Unemployment Log
Jobless days left: Millions and millions.
Rejections: 10 and deafening silence on hundreds and hundreds of applications. And silence means rejection. I hate silence!
Goals:
1. Snag a man, preferably Ryne.
2. Find a job.
3. Find a job.
4. Find a job.
5. From here to Infinity Find a job.
* * *
Dear Ms. Winsome,
Thank you for applying for the position of Lampert Labs CEO. While we applaud your heart for homeless people and your support of marine life and efforts to help baby Orcas, we do not feel you have the necessary mix of skills to lead our company at this time. Thank you again for your interest in Lampert Labs.
Becky Kight
Lampert Labs Board of Directors
Executive Search Committee
* * *
All résumés will be kept on file for one year.
* * *
A horrible realization seized me as I read my e-mail. I slumped in front of my laptop, feeling myself go a pasty shade of pale. I’d forgotten about the joke résumé. And now I’d applied for a hundred gazillion jobs using a résumé designed to get me rejected. There was only one thing to do—change my name.
Or . . . I could reapply, claiming that a hacker with a vendetta against me had viciously sabotaged my job search by replacing my real résumé with a bogus one. But would companies be leery about hiring someone with a stalker? You know, workplace shootings and all? How about I claim it was a practical joke by a . . . what . . . friend?
A bright-green taxi pulled up in front of the house. I set my laptop down and went to the window to investigate. Julie was home. She paid the driver, stepped from the car, collected her luggage, watched the driver pull away . . . and screeched.
"Leesa!"
Uh-oh. Julie bent down and picked up by two fingers a formerly expensive blouse, now reduced to rubbish by time spent in a garbage receptacle, fish juice, mold, grease, and evidently a few drips from a purportedly empty ketchup packet. Those nasty crows had somehow been able to pull her blouse from the garbage. Rotten crows will eat anything. Time for damage control.
I rushed out to meet my sister and help carry in her bags. But Dad beat me to the biggest bags.
"Wow! You look fabulous," I said to Julie as I gave her a big hug, despite that she still held the yucky blouse. What sisterly love I showed!
She pushed me away. "What is the meaning of this?"
She shoved the blouse toward me.
"Ohmygosh! What happened to that?" I put on the astonished face.
Dad looked at it, but did not recognize it. Mercifully, he was fashion blind and style unconscious, as regarded what I wore anyway.
"Oh, shoot." I turned to Dad. "Didn’t you take a load of clothes to the dry cleaners last week?"
Puzzled look from Dad.
I was getting good at this lying. The key was to sound earnest and look straight ahead, which gave the appearance of sincerity. Looking away appears very guilty.
"Uh, I guess."
Fortunately, taking laundry to the cleaners was automatic for Dad, like flushing the toilet. He did it regularly so it was hard after the fact to recall it.
"This must have fallen out." I shook my head.
"But I don’t remember wearing that for a long time," Julie asserted.
"You’ve been gone awhile. It must have slipped your mind."
"I’ll get you another one, sweetie." Dad gave Jules a hug. "Welcome back."
I know I should have felt guilty foisting the blame off like that, but frankly, at this point, I was so desperate I just felt relief.
We headed into the house, each carrying bags. Julie traveled with a million of them. I carried my load up to Julie’s room and dumped them on the floor just as Julie opened her closet to stash a few things.
Another shriek. Now this was getting monotonous.
"What?" I said.
Julie gave me thin eyes and pointed to her neatly organized shoes. "What are my shoes doing lined up like this? This isn’t how I left them."
"Vacuuming accident."
"What!"
"Ethel was trying to vacuum the dust bunnies up from your closet and knocked over the shoes."
Julie didn’t look like she believed me. Suddenly she was pawing through her clothes looking for evidence of tampering. She pulled out a blouse I’d borrowed and held it up suspiciously. "Have you been borrowing my clothes while I was gone?"
This is where I took a cue from an old deodorant commercial. "Does it look like I borrowed your clothes?"
She eyed the blouse. "No."
I shrugged. She gave up. I made a note to use that platinum protection stuff for the rest of my life. Major confrontation averted, we went downstairs to hear all about Julie’s vacation adventures with vortexes in Arizona. Too bad she hadn’t gotten lost in one. Then I could have had a whole new, slightly-not-the-right-size wardrobe.
* * *
Double whammy—Monday and exercise day. Hadn’t I taken physical exertion off the goal list?
I donned a baggy pair of shorts and a sports bra, and slumped into the kitchen for breakfast.
Julie, as usual, manned the toaster. When she saw me, she said, "Uh-uh. No way. Make your own toast. Last time you cost me a toaster."
"Good morning to you, too."
She gave me the up-and-down, shook her head slightly and cocked a brow. "Going jogging? You really should shoot for some up-to-date exercise attire before scaring the neighborhood."
Ah, family life. So nice to have my sister back to make life jolly.
I rolled my eyes. "The neighborhood can rest easy. I’m going to the gym with Candy and Hank." I left out the part about learning some hot, sexy moves in the process.
Julie wore a summer weight linen suit with a way short skirt, a silk tank, and heels with too much toe cleavage showing to be strictly appropriate for the office.
Which reminded me of another office/job matter, and a man who’d appreciate toe cleavage and could draw a whole naked female body in the height of passion just from glancing at those shoes—Sean.
"Dad says you’re in charge of the hiring at Winsome. Have I got a designer for you! And I think you’re going to like him . . ."
I gave her the scoop on Sean.
Julie looked skeptical. Basically, she didn’t believe I had any core competencies. And she didn’t trust my taste in men.
"Ask him to show you his drawings." I arched my brows, implying innuendo. "You’ll see what I mean."
Heavy sigh. "Fine. Send him to the office. Tell him to bring his portfolio. Tomorrow, say ten." Julie took her toast and moved away from the counter.
She’d left me just the heels of the bread.
* * *
After dispensing of all crumbs, and my family, I called Sean. No answer. I left a message and directions to WAR along with a caveat—if he got the job, don’t blame me. Oh, and I mentioned bringing his portfolio and leaving his drawings of Candy, Hank, and me at home. My portrait would gross Julie out. Candy and Hank’s would only spark her jealousy.
Speaking of the girls, they picked
me up just after Dad and Julie left for work.
I took a cue from my sister and went on the immediate offensive. "If this class involves wearing killer heels and slinking around a pole, or shedding my workout clothes, I’m not going," I said. "I can’t afford the wardrobe."
Or the embarrassment, but that went without saying. Can you imagine me trying to remove a spandex sport bra with any grace, let alone sex appeal? Images of my head caught in yellow spandex as I twirled and struggled, looking like a dying honeybee with bouncing breasts dashed through my mind. I shuddered.
"Loco." Hank circled her head with her finger, making the universal signal for "crazy as a looney bird."
"What do you think this is? LA?" Hank said. "We’re tame and dignified up here."
Dignified? Hardly. Into comfort and camouflage, that I could believe. I mean, Seattle was the city that invented grunge way back when. It was just too bad grunge had gone out of fashion. I should pray for a resurgence now that my whole wardrobe fit the look.
Candy nodded her agreement with Hank. "Last time we went, there were three pregnant ladies, a fiftysomething corporate attorney, and lots of churchgoing ladies. This is tame stuff. Would I be going with my bum wrist and all my bruises if it wasn’t?
"So good news. You’re going! And you’re going to have fun! Think about Ryne." She wiggled her eyebrows. "And bedroom moves."
"And physical fitness, which builds bedroom stamina." Hank gave me a meaningful wink.
Ugh! Stamina. I didn’t want stamina. Stamina and staying power were for men.
Except, it turned out the sugar sisters were right. The stuff of male fantasies is really the stuff of an incredibly hard workout. Which is probably why the instructor referred to the class by saying, "Welcome to cardio striptease."
Cardio? Not a good sign.
Five minutes into the routine, I was covered with a sheen of sweat. Fifteen minutes into the routine, my knees looked red and puffy from sliding along the floor and the sheen had turned into a sweat bath. Were floor burns generally considered sexy?
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