Cupid's Christmas
Page 7
When they first got here Ray said hello to a few people then plopped down in that lawn chair and sat there like an ice cube all day long. Once Traci and Lindsay started having a good time and laughing the way they were, I could almost see the aggravation in Ray’s face. He was squeezing the arms of that chair so hard his knuckles turned white.
A lot goes into raising a child. You do everything you can for them, you scrimp on things you want so they won’t have to do without, you worry about them, watch them grow up, get married and move on with their life…but even after all of that, they become angry if you take a small bit of happiness for yourself.
Oh you might think knowing you’ve done everything possible would enable you to shrug your shoulders and walk away when your child acts like this, but the truth is you can’t. For better or worse, Ray is still my child. I know John feels the same about Lindsay. So if they don’t come around, what are we to do? God only knows, because one thing is for certain—I don’t.
Cupid…Resume Repair
This is not an easy job. Setting up the matches is never a problem, but dealing with the ancillary people—the sons, daughters, parents and in-laws—can be a nightmare. In-laws are by far the worse. They pick at the most mundane thing imaginable. I’ve had perfect matches where the in-laws all but caused a break-up. In poor Melanie Henderson’s case it got so bad I had to ask for help. Luckily I got it. Her mother-in-law came down with the flu and was unable to make the wedding. A month later Melanie and Tom moved to California, which worked out perfectly since his mother’s fearful of flying. They can thank Life Management for that.
Now, back to Lindsay Gray. I think I’ve got a lead on finding her next perfect match but the girl is hopeless when it comes to landing a job. It always comes back to the same old problem—a confidence deficiency. Lindsay’s job history mirrors her love story. Time and again she’s settled for less than what she wanted, so she’s got little to show for those years of college and working. I’ve had to deal with all of her bad boyfriend choices, but employment problems are definitely not my responsibility. Even though I feel for the girl, she’s on her own this time. Lindsay’s not without resources—she’s just too blind to see them. Unfortunately, human relationships are like a game of dominoes, when one topples everything else goes down.
The first domino began falling on the Thursday after Labor Day. It was ten-twenty-seven when the telephone rang and Traci asked to speak with Lindsay. “I think she’s still asleep,” Eleanor said, “but hold on and I’ll check.”
Minutes later a sleepy-voiced Lindsay picked up the receiver.
“I’ve got some info on that job I was telling you about,” Traci said, “I’m working on a project deadline right now, but let’s meet for lunch.”
“Sounds good,” Lindsay replied.
They set the time and place then it happened. “Bring a copy of your resume,” Traci said.
The resume—for Lindsay it was the ghost of misspent years coming back to haunt her. Seven times she’d started to write one, and seven times she’d quit. After four years at Rutgers and a string of meaningless jobs, she had very little worth committing to paper. Regardless of how she phrased it, a few clerical jobs and two years of meandering through the aisles of a book store did not make for an impressive resume.
It would take her twenty minutes to shower and dress, and five more to drive into town, so Lindsay figured she had two hours to put together some kind of resume. Time enough, she told herself then she hurried down the stairs and asked to use the desktop computer that was hooked to a printer.
When John saw her booting up the machine, he nonchalantly said, “Catching up on your e-mail?”
“Un-uh,” Lindsay answered, “I need a resume.” The truth was she didn’t just need a resume, she was desperate for one. Her resume had been the stumbling block on every job she’d gone after. Shortly after she lost the job at Seaworthy, she’d handed a sheet of paper with her name, address and two job listings to an interviewer who’d laughed in her face. “This is it?” he said, and laughed again when she nodded yes.
John walked into the den forty-five minutes later and the only things on the page were her name, address, telephone number and three lines stating that she had a Bachelor’s Degree in Communications from Rutgers. “Having trouble getting started?” he asked.
“A bit,” Lindsay sighed.
John rummaged through a stack of magazines until he found the one he’d been looking for. “A few years back Eleanor worked for a guidance counselor,” he said. “She’s good with stuff like this. You should get her to help you.”
A look of annoyance took hold of Lindsay’s face and she snapped, “I don’t need help,” as he was leaving the room. She looked at the almost blank page, then moved the cursor down two lines and typed – Gift Industry News, October 2007-April 2008. General office duties and proofreading. She left out the parts about making coffee and answering the phone. She double-spaced then added – Seaworthy Insurance Company, May 2008 – October 2009. Administrative Assistant to one of many Vice Presidents in Marine Insurance Division. Since she’d had so few responsibilities, she decided to say nothing more.
Her third entry was The Big Book Barn, November 2009 – August 2011. Sales Clerk.
Her entire resume took up less than half a page. After four years of college and nearly five years of working, it appeared that she’d done nothing more than take up space on the planet. She had no achievements, no publishing credits, no awards, no promotions, not even a job with a story worth telling. Sitting in her father’s office chair Lindsay reread the resume three times. With each reading it seemed increasingly more pitiful. The resume wasn’t just bad, it was pathetic.
Lindsay tried to think of ways the resume might be improved. First she added space between the paragraphs spreading the text to fill more of the page. But after she adjusted the lines of copy the triple-spaced page looked emptier than it did before. The huge blocks of white space cried out for words to fill them. Perhaps if I add something about high school, or Gamma Phi Beta, she mused—but even though they at first seemed good ideas, she thought back and remembered her high school years as being academically challenged and her sorority activities consisting mostly of parties. When Lindsay glanced at the clock, she was out of time. She reluctantly hit print, made two copies and saved the file as Resume.doc. She scooped up one copy and left the other lying on the desk.
Twenty minutes later Lindsay dashed out the door with the folded resume in her purse. Her plan was to ask Traci for suggestions, then work on improving the resume after lunch. By then she’d most certainly have some new ideas.
Traci was already at the Sandwich Stop when she walked in. “Sorry, I’m late,” Lindsay said, “I was getting my resume together.”
“No problem, I’ve only been here five minutes.” Traci segued into a lengthy tale of how she was preparing for a design consultation at three o’clock. “Big client,” she said, “it would be a major coup if I can pull this off.”
More out of politeness than interest, Lindsay asked, “What kind of project is it?”
“Structural design for a walk-around fishing yacht with more maneuverability and less drag,” she answered. Using a string of words that were unfamiliar to Lindsay, Traci rambled on about the project for almost five minutes and then said, “Since you worked at Seaworthy, I thought you’d be perfect for this spot as Project Coordinator.”
“Project Coordinator?”
“Yeah, you have marine industry experience and—”
“What do mean marine industry experience?”
“You worked for Seaworthy, so you must have some knowledge of ship design, maritime laws, port regulations, things like that.”
“Afraid not,” Lindsay answered sadly. “I mostly answered the phone, did some typing…”
“You weren’t in underwriting?”
“I was in the Underwriting Department, but I worked for a man who didn’t do all that much underwriting himself.”
“Not good?” Lindsay asked tentatively.
Traci shook her head, “Not for this job, but I’ll see if I can come up with something else.”
Lindsay had heard similar phrases before and she understood the truth of what was unspoken. The words differed, but the meaning was always the same. It was the sound of a boyfriend who’d lost interest. “I’ll give you a call,” he’d say, but the call never came. This situation was nothing but another disinterested boyfriend—Traci was never going to come up with something else. Jamming the resume back into the bottom of her purse Lindsay decided against asking for advice. “Don’t bother,” she said, “I’ve already got several things lined up.”
For the remainder of the lunch Traci continued to talk about her project and Lindsay tried to choke down a sandwich that sat dry as dust in her mouth. When they said goodbye she drove to the center of town, parked her car and climbed out. Lindsay had neither heart nor courage enough to face a resume that proved she had done nothing with her life thus far, so she strolled along Main Street. The reflection in the shop windows she passed seemed such a sorrowful figure—the hair so flyaway, posture so slouched. Had she always been this way Lindsay wondered or had she somehow become exactly what her resume said—a nothing. Although the sun was hot and beads of perspiration gathered on her forehead, Lindsay walked from shop to shop, peering at the reflection, hoping that it would somehow change. It was late in the afternoon when she stopped and bought an ice cream cone. Leaving a trail of chocolate drips dotting the sidewalk she walked back to where she’d left the car.
It was nine-thirty before she could muster up enough courage to once again tackle the resume. She returned to the den and clicked on the computer. As she waited, Lindsay listened to the click, click, click of the computer trying to find itself, but beyond that sound she could hear laughter coming from the living room—Dad and Eleanor were watching a movie. His was a robust laughter, the kind she hadn’t heard in many years. Eleanor’s was softer, more like a chuckle. “At least Dad’s happy,” she sighed but her heart wished that she was the one sitting beside him. He’d promised it would be like it had always been, but the truth was, it wasn’t. Lindsay was now an outsider, the unnecessary third wheel. When the computer finally flickered on she clicked documents and opened the file named Resume.doc.
When the page filled the screen, Lindsay’s eyes grew wide, “What’s this?” she exclaimed. Her name and address was at the top of the page, but almost everything else was different. A double-ruled box bordered her name and address and beneath the box was a long paragraph describing her capabilities. Included in the paragraph were words like skilled communication professional, strong organizational abilities, excellent knowledge of… she continued to read. Her experience at the Big Book Barn had been moved up to just below that paragraph and it included twelve lines of copy about her duties and responsibilities. Beneath that there was a full paragraph describing all the duties she’d had at Seaworthy—more words, agenda coordination, document preparation. The large block of copy about her employment at Gift Industry News overflowed the page and continued on a second page—thorough knowledge of collectibles industry, editorial and proofreading supervision. There was not a single mention of coffee-making. The lower portion of the page listed Lindsay’s activities in high school and college—student council, chess club, editorial staff, cheerleading…
“Wow,” Lindsay sighed, and leaned back in the chair. None of the things listed were lies, but where she’d been seeing herself as a deflated balloon, this resume was pumped full of helium. It was big, round, plump and ready to soar. She printed three copies, then dashed into the living room and threw both arms around her Dad. “Thank you,” she said, “thank you, thank you, thank you!”
John looked at her with a puzzled expression. “For what?” he asked.
Lindsay knew it was so like her dad to shy away from taking credit even when he’d done something spectacular. “For fixing my resume,” she said laughingly.
“I didn’t—”
“Oh, come on, I know—”
“No Lindsay, I didn’t,” he said, and this time the deadpan expression on his face meant he was telling the truth. He turned to Eleanor, “You were on the computer, did you—”
The edge of a smile curled Eleanor’s lips ever so slightly. “It wasn’t me,” she said. “I was looking up that recipe for crab cakes. I thought maybe I’d make them for dinner tomorrow.”
“Well then who…”
Eleanor and John both shrugged, but hers was definitely a bit less emphatic.
Lindsay left the room scratching her head. Her father was telling the truth, she was certain of it. She’d had twenty-seven years of watching his expressions and she knew every single one. Tonight it hadn’t been one of false modesty, it was bewilderment. Yet, Eleanor… It made no sense. Eleanor wouldn’t have known those things about her high school years, she wouldn’t have known about the sorority, and yet… “Impossible,” Lindsay muttered as she trotted up the staircase.
You think I changed that resume, right? Well, you’re wrong. Eleanor did it. I told you I wasn’t going to help Lindsay with her employment problem, and I didn’t. Okay, I planted the resume repair idea and moved the copy of that resume to where it was easily seen, but Eleanor was the one who pulled Lindsay’s yearbook from the shelf and gathered together enough information to make it work. What she wrote wasn’t a bunch of malarkey either, Lindsay did all those things. Unfortunately, she’s so focused on what she’s lost, that she’s blind to what she’s got. That’s one of the major design flaws in humans.
Life Management can be blamed for a good part of Lindsay’s problem. This lack of confidence started right after they took Bethany. John tried to make up for the loss, but his mothering skills left a lot to be desired. He’s quick to react to physical needs, but when it comes to emotional needs—well, he’s a male. With humans, the male and female units don’t just look different, they have different operating systems. The males are designed for doing and fixing, the females for feeling and sensing. Here’s a perfect example—two days ago Lindsay complained that the outfit she was wearing looked hideous. Instead of telling the girl she was beautiful in whatever she wore, he offered to buy her a new dress. See what I mean? She didn’t need a new outfit, what she needed was to know that somebody thought she was special. Eleanor tries, but Lindsay closes her ears to most of what the poor woman says.
Centuries back I lost track of the number of successful matches I’d made, but this I can tell you—none have been quite as complicated as the Eleanor-John match. Yeah, yeah, I know you’re gonna bring up the Romeo-Juliet thing, but they weren’t in my jurisdiction, so I’m not accountable for that fiasco.
Cupid…The Distraction Attraction
The laughable thing about humans is their gullibility. Even when a human is down to their last dollar, they can read a horoscope promising a large sum of money and expect it to be forthcoming. The realization that the horoscope has been written by another human with no more knowledge of the future than the reader never dawns on them. Little wonder my tricks work as well as they do. Lindsay is high on the gullibility scale, so she’s easier to maneuver than most. While this often works in my favor, I’m a bit concerned when it comes to her expectations about the new resume. I probably should remind you that employment is not mine to do or undo. Lindsay is on her own unless she’s got a friend in Life Management, which I can assure you, is an extremely rare occurrence.
On Sunday afternoon I watched Lindsay settle onto the sofa with the Courier Post, a ruled tablet and a ball point pen. She almost bristled with the renewed certainty of finding a job. Starting at the top of the listings, she read through them one by one. Automobile mechanic, Babysitter, Bakery assistant, Cook, Copywriter, she circled the copywriter ad and moved on. Delivery driver, Engineer… after she’d read through every listing, she realized that even wi
th the new resume, her qualifications were suitable for only two of the jobs listed—copywriter and sales person for the Baby Boutique. She wrote both telephone numbers on the tablet and then colored in a star next to the number for the copywriter position. It didn’t take an all-seeing eye to recognize that was the job she wanted.
Tomorrow morning Lindsay planned to call both places, but until then there was little she could do. She set aside the Classifieds and picked up the Weekend Section. A Macy’s ad triggered the thought that if she got the job as copywriter, she would need a few new outfits for work. Suits, she wondered, or dresses? She was flipping through the pages when she saw it in the upper right hand corner of the seventh page—the ad for Heavenly Acres Animal Rescue Center. “It’s my dog!” Lindsay shouted and jumped to her feet.
With the folded back newspaper in her hand, she dashed into the kitchen where Eleanor and John were working on a crossword puzzle together. “Is it okay if I get this dog?” she asked waving the newspaper.
“A seven letter detective show starting with m-a…” John mused, “Matlock, that’s it!”
“Nope,” Eleanor answered, “The k has to be an r.”
“Oh,” John said disappointedly. He then turned to Lindsay, “What did you say honey?”
“This dog,” she repeated, handing him the newspaper, “…is it okay if I get it?”
“Since when do you want a dog?” John asked quizzically.
“I don’t just want a dog, I want this dog. It’s been following me everywhere.”
“Following you?” Eleanor questioned. “How can it be following you if the dog is locked up in the shelter and—”
“Not following me physically,” Lindsay said, “but its picture is popping up every time I turn on my computer, and I hear barking in my ear, things like—”