I need a quick story, some explanation for leaving half the application form blank.
“I just moved here and haven’t found an apartment yet,” I explain as we sit together in her quiet office, the door closed.
She slides the application back across her desk to me. “I will need your social and references.”
Damn. I need this job. I won’t survive without it. My name is already on the form so what difference would it make to add my social? But the references… How can I get around that? I could use my waitressing job from ten years ago. But she might be suspicious of the gap.
“I haven’t worked in ten years,” I say, averting my eyes, afraid it’s the last straw. “My husband worked so I didn’t have to but… we just separated.”
A crease appears above her brows.
“Would you like me to fill in the last job I had?”
By the tightness of her lips, I am sure this is goodbye.
“No,” she says. “Why bother? What good is a ten-year-old job reference?” Her pen scratches as she makes a note on a notepad.
My head lowers. Defeat. Who would ever hire me under these circumstances? I feel the weight of her gaze on me and raise my head.
“Where are you staying?” she says in a more motherly tone.
What point is there in lying now? I’ve already ruined my chances. “I’m not sure. I’ve been staying at a hotel. I’m looking for one with a monthly rate for now.” I hadn’t been, but as the idea formulated and then spilled out, I was instantly sold. No contracts. No yearly lease. It’s perfect.
“How long have you been separated?”
A personal question, one too personal for this interview.
“Not long at all.” It’s all I could say. Take it or leave it, I thought.
“I’ll tell you what, come back tomorrow and we’ll give it a go. Let’s say, a week probationary.”
What? Is she serious? By the warm smile radiating from her face, I decide that yes, she is. “Thank you so much,” I say, shaking her hand, trying not to look too thankful, trying not to cry.
A week later, I am settled in at Neva ’s Beauty Salon. Washing hair between answering phones and taking payments is a synch. It’s something to distract me, something to keep me busy. Listening to the stories of clients about their kids, their spouses and their annoying bosses is like watching a reality tv show. I can’t help but get sucked in.
“You’re so quiet,” Tony says one day when it is just him, me and Neva left. I shrug. What would I talk about?
A few weeks pass just like the first. I enjoy the routine. I like the busyness of the salon over the stale air of the travel agency back home. I feel creative without being creative.
Memorial Day weekend approaches and I look forward to a day in the warm sun. Neva invited me to her place for a day by the pool. I hesitated at first because I didn’t know anyone who would be there. But I decided to go anyway. I need some fun.
Friday afternoon, out of work early for the weekend, I head to my hotel and collect my dirty clothes, tossing them into the duffel bag and heading to the Laundromat - Friday night routine. On my way to the Laundromat, I make a stop at the bank to have my check cashed. I have managed to save a few dollars to buy some new clothes. The few I brought along with me are looking warn and tired. So tomorrow will be a pleasant day of shopping. I fold the week’s pay into one of the bag pockets.
“I thought for shore I wouldn’t be seein you tonight, girl,” says Jackie, her corn rolls replaced with extensions.
“Yeah, well laundry still needs to be done, even if it is a holiday weekend. Love the new look,” I added before plopping down in front of ‘my’ machine with my laptop and a soda from the vending machine.
She dismisses my compliment with a wave of her hand and returns to her receipts.
When the laundry is done and folded, gently stacked back up in the duffel bag, I head back to the hotel, enjoying the walk more than usual. The weather is finally feeling like summer and I’m in heaven.
Stacey smiles at me from behind the front desk.
“Oh!” she says as I’m about to turn the corner. “Your husband is here.”
My heart kicks at my ribs. “What?” I step back towards the front desk, eyes darting around the area, looking for him.
“I wasn’t sure if I should give him a key or not.”
“Did you?” I say carefully.
“Yes. Should I not have?” Her pleasant smile is gone and she looks concerned, probably because my face has lost color.
“Oh, no, it’s okay,” I lie, softening my expression, glancing towards the front door. “Is he here now?”
“I think so, ma’am. I haven’t seen him come back down.”
“Oh. Okay…” I creep towards the door.
“Is something wrong, Ms Knighton? If I handled that wrong, I can get the manager to compensate you.” Her eyes are pleading with me now – please don’t get me fired.
“No. Don’t worry about it. It’s okay.” I’ll be gone tomorrow. “I’m gonna go pick up some dinner for us. I’ll see you soon.”
Goodbye to my savings in the room safe. Goodbye to my job. Goodbye to my new life.
A bus is stopped a few yards down the street and I take off running to catch it. It drops me off in the next town where I catch another bus into the city.
“When’s the next bus out of state?” I say to the ticket lady at the bus station in Hartford
“Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere. Whatever is leaving next.”
Through a series of buses and trains, and after over a day of travel, I end up in the Outer Banks, North Carolina. The bus stops at the hospital and I exit to the warm night, salty air and ocean breeze. I have no idea what this place is like though I’ve arranged travel plans here for so many clients. I have no idea if I’m safe yet. But how far can I run? I used half my money just to get here.
I take a road away from the highway, towards the water. The line of condos and beach homes is backed by only the ocean. I close my eyes and ‘breathe’ summer.
The Sandspur Motel is small and old. I assume it will be just what I can afford.
“Your name, ma’am?” the woman says. Her tank top reveals two tattoo sleeves that I can’t take my eyes off. Her blonde scraggly hair is tied into a messy knot high on her head, skin tanned, flip-flops revealing several toe rings.
“Mollie.” I visually explore the foyer, stopping to drool over a plate of cookies set out on a food bar at one side.
“Mollie what?”
“Bar,” I say, without thinking, still staring at the food bar. I’d spent hours coming up with Mollie, but hadn’t even considered a last name. How foolish.
“Okay, Mollie. It’ll be $367 for the week.”
I dig out all the cash I have left and lay it out on the counter.
“You’re fifty short.”
“Can I pay it later?”
She looks at me like I just asked to stay free. “Pay by tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? How will I manage that? “Okay. Thanks.”
She hands me a normal key on a ring, not a card that slides into a magnetic reader. I snatch three cookies from the bar on my way out. My room is three doors down from the main office. The handle jiggles as I slide the key in and turn it. The place smells moldy and stale. I open the sliding window towards the ocean and drop my stuff by the bed. There is no time to waste. I must find a job tonight.
I head south from the hotel, happy to have lightened the load. While I walk in the now chilly night air, the smell of fried food wafts towards me. Dune Burger, a red fast food shack with road side picnic table dining, glows from within. All the outdoor tables are loaded, a line is formed out the door and I can see workers through the window, hustling around in the kitchen.
It’s bad timing to ask for a job. But then… maybe it’s good timing. Maybe they’ll take me on the spot because they’re so busy.
I squeeze by the line at the door and sheepishly make my way to the register. A teen girl wipes her forehead with her arm while punching keys on the register.
“Excuse me?” I say, leaning over the counter towards her, as if it’ll stop everyone else from hearing me.
“Can I help you?” she says curtly while passing change back to a customer.
“Are you hiring?”
“John!” she yells over her shoulder.
Why do I feel so stupid?
A middle-aged man appears from the kitchen, sweat dripping down his face, thick brown hair matted slightly at his temples.
“She wants a job,” the girl says and he lets out a laugh.
“Bad timing, hun. Can you come back tomorrow morning?”
If I can start tonight – now – I might earn some tips to pay for the hotel. I have the experience, even if it is ten years old. And he can use me now. I’m sure of it.
~~ Should Ana push to start now or come back tomorrow? ~~
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