An hour later, I’m sent packing with more leftovers than I need and a promise from my pop that he’ll stop being a lazy ass and leanin’ off the side of his chair. When I’m back at my house, dark and quiet, I slide the food into my freezer, leaving one in the fridge for tomorrow’s lunch. Then I go into my garage, peel off my shirt, and hit the weights.
Nothing keeps my head clear like lifting weights.
five
goldie
I ain’t going anywhere
“Well,it’s not quite where we were focused, but after processing your aptitude test, I think it could be a good fit for you.”
“IfI get it,” I add, because, on top of the fact this job isn’t even in Public Relations, they may not hire me. I can’t believe that is a thought I’m having. Me. The freaking achiever. The first pick. The person who literallyeveryonewants in their corner.
Until now, I guess.
“Right,” Frank Trello Jr. says, sounding so sure and confident that I kind of believe him. Only a little, but enough to make me take the freaking interview. And he knows it. “But again, Goldie, we must remember, with your last job ending in termination, which neither yourself nor your employer can speak to… it does alter the desired outcome of reference checks at this point in your career.”
There’s silence on the line while I stare out of my bedroom window at the bustling downtown street below. A group of women, each carrying a bible and a purse that gives major Sophia Petrillo vibes, smile while chatting as they make their way inside Delilah’s. Bible study, I’d guess. Across the street, entering the seamstress shop, is a thin blonde carrying a garment bag stuffed full. She’s gotbridewritten all over her by the way she’s got the garment bag draped over her arm like she’s presenting fine silks to the queen or something.
“Goldie?” Frank’s voice brings me back to the present.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll do the interview.”
“Great. I’ll forward you the information. It’s already set up.”
When I was thriving at my last job, I never envisioned having to interviewever again. I could simply reference being the PR Manager for the Brutes, a major league baseball team, and that would be enough. Based on the fact Frank scheduled the interviewbeforetalking to me, maybe my hopelessness and depression aren’t as big of a secret as I think they are.
“Thanks, Frank,” I say quietly as my eyes betray every single “it’s fine, everything’s okay” bone in my body, getting warm and fuzzy. “I appreciate it,” I add, forcing rigidity into my voice, putting strength and confidence behind my words I most definitely do not feel.
“You’re welcome, Goldie, and hey, a word of advice?” The way his voice is gentle would normally raise a spike of irritation within me and mistake his kindness for condescension, but I’m tired. I don’t have the fight in me. And truthfully? He’s trying to help.
“Yeah?” I squeak, using the end of my sleeve to wipe the frustration from my eyes. God, I don’t even know why I’m upset. I lost that PR job months ago. It’s over. Everything that happened in the city is done and has been for ages.
“Sometimes we’re better suited for things than we realize. Give the interview your best PR face, and see where it leads you.”
“What’s the job?” I ask before adding, “and you’re right. I will. I need a job. At this point, I’m losing the ability to be picky.”
He clears his throat. “Human Resources manager.”
HR. The part of every company that claims to exist to protect its employees but, in actuality, exists to protect the company and keep the employees away from the bottom line with a sharp stick.
“Oh,” I say, unable to hide the disappointment. And maybe it’s because he’s been a headhunter for a long time, or maybe it’s because he’s been married a long time and knows women. But I swear Frank knowsjustwhat I’m thinking.
“Don’t think of it as being a shield for the corporate team. Because on the day-to-day, you’re the most important person there. You get to talk to the people, help them figure out their issues, get them placed where they belong, and hand off information about employees to their bosses. It’s much more personal and fulfilling than Public Relations, Goldie; I promise you that.”
I fight the urge to sayif you love HR so much why don’t you work in it, but the immature quip gets stopped when I realize I’m not sure what company the interview is with.
“Where is the job at? I mean, in Oakcreek, yes,” I say because we did already set those parameters. “But what company?”
“An auto dealership, actually,” he says. “Gonzo Family Auto. The biggest in Oakcreek.”
Still too deflated to argue, I say, “Okay, well, I’ll go to the interview and call you after.”
“Great. Talk soon.”
“Bye, Frank.”
I need a job. And when I chose Oakcreek as my escape hatch months back, I knew it was a small town. I have no one to blame but myself for relocating to a place that isn’t brimming with PR jobs.