Today was different; Gladys was going shopping. Instead of toast for breakfast, there was a freezer-burnt store-bought blueberry muffin, a small knife, and a dab of margarine.
“Here,” Gladys said when Mel sat down at the table.
Mel looked at the muffin. It made her think about Cecily and their last visit to the bakery.
“Well, you’ll need to get eating if you’re going to finish that before I’m on my way,” Gladys said, interrupting Mel’s thoughts. Gladys glanced at the key still sitting on the table.
Mel took a bite of the muffin.
Gladys drew in a stiff breath and then began to busy herself: writing her list, gathering up cloth sacs for her groceries, and cutting the last of the coupons from the flyer that had come in the mail the day before.
When Mel finished her muffin, she picked up her pack, books, and flip-flops, and walked out the door.
Gladys had no sooner locked the door behind them than the phone started ringing – and the phone never rang. Mel knew it was the library calling about an interview. Gladys appeared not to notice.
“It’s the phone!” Mel blurted out. Gladys stopped and looked at Mel. “The phone – it’s ringing! And I know it’s the library calling me about an interview!”
“I’ve got to go or I’ll miss my bus,” Gladys said in a matter-of-fact voice.
“Please,” Mel pleaded.
Gladys gave a sigh and unlocked the door. Mel ran for the phone.
“Hello, yes, this is Melody.” Mel smiled at Gladys and mouthed the words
It’s the library
.
Gladys’s face remained stern as she lifted her key and made a locking motion. Mel nodded. Gladys turned as though leaving, unaware that Mel could see that Gladys had only taken one step before stopping momentarily and then continuing through the hall and down the stairs.
An interview – tomorrow – ten-thirty
. Mel placed the words in her memory. She hung up the phone and bounced toward the open door. The top lock could be locked from the inside, by setting it and pulling the door shut. Mel smiled; she could leave the key on the table.
As Mel ran down the stairs, she was barely able to
contain the excitement bubbling out of her. She practically leaped across the street to the store to tell Mr. Frohberger the good news.
“Well, I’d say you’re having a mighty fine day,” Mr. Frohberger said as Mel bounded in.
“I am. I’ve got an interview at the library tomorrow!”
She hadn’t mentioned the possibility of a job to Mr. Frohberger, but now it seemed so close it was almost real, and she wanted to tell someone.
“It’s just an interview, but maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll get the job.”
“Oh, I’d say that if they hire
you
that
they’re
the lucky ones. So is this your first job interview?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Well, you’ll have to get ready for it.” Mr. Frohberger was very businesslike. “Be prepared to answer some tough questions.”
“Really?”
“Oh, for sure. That’s a good job there, working at the library.”
“Like, what kind of questions?” Mel was feeling a bit nervous.
“Oh, you know, questions about your experience. What you’re good at. Things like that.”
“Okay,” Mel said, nodding her head. “Well, I don’t
have any experience. I’ve never had a job. But I can sing, and I do like to read.”
“Sounds great. So, what do you have planned for the rest of the day?”
“Nothing, really.”
“Well, if you’d like, you could help me clean, stock, and organize the shelves. That’ll give you a little work experience.”
“Sure, that sounds like fun!”
Mr. Frohberger used a moving dolly to bring out boxes of canned goods from the back, and Mel took a damp cloth and dusted all the shelves. She then restocked them, making sure to turn each product’s label toward the aisle. Mr. Frohberger called it “facing the shelves.” Mel thought the freshened “faces” looked rather pretty.
Mel had just finished positioning the last of the cans of soup when Mr. Frohberger came down from his upstairs suite with cucumber sandwiches and suggested to Mel that she get them each a root beer out of the cooler. They were sitting down on the front steps and eating their sandwiches when Gladys came around the corner.
Mel almost choked on her root beer. “I’ve got an interview,” she blurted out. “Tomorrow … ten-thirty.”
“Hello, Ed,” Gladys said, ignoring Mel.
Mr. Frohberger picked up on Gladys’s apparent disapproval. “Good afternoon, Gladys. Your granddaughter here has been a big help in the store today.”
“That’s good; I would hope she has not been a nuisance. Melody, I’ll need you to help me bring these bags up the stairs. Good day, Ed.”
Mel took the last bite of her sandwich, thanked Mr. Frohberger, and set off down the street, carrying the three bags that Gladys had left on the sidewalk. One, Mel noticed, was lighter than the other two. Inside was a clear plastic bag wrapped around a white shirt on a hanger.
Mel delivered the bags to the kitchen and skipped into the living room to the place on the shelf where she kept her things. There weren’t many clothes to choose from, but what she did have was clean. She picked out her orange T-shirt and best jeans. Her only shoes were well worn, stained, and tight on her feet. If only she could buy a new pair, but there was no chance of that. She took the beaten-up runners into the bathtub with her, and filled the grand old tub to the brim. With the nailbrush and some hand soap, she did what she could to get them – and herself – clean.
Gladys was walking into the living room when Mel came out of the bathroom. “You can have that blouse,” Gladys
said, pointing to the white shirt in the clear plastic dry-cleaning bag on the couch. “It was left at the shop for over a year, and we have a policy about leaving things at the dry-cleaners. I’m sure whoever it belonged to has long since outgrown it.”
Mel picked up the hanger and lifted it up so she could see the shirt. She read the tag clipped to the top of the plastic: Fan’s Dry-Cleaning. The white blouse, with its – one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen – tiny white buttons was beautiful. It looked brand new. Mel loved it. “It’s gorgeous,” Mel said as she walked into the kitchen.
Gladys remained silent, her gaze on the TV. Then out of the corner of her eyes, Mel saw it. A shiny new brass key set next to the one she’d given back to Gladys.
“I love the shirt, Gladys,” Mel said. “Thank you.”
“Well, don’t be taking it out of the plastic until you need to.”
The office for the children’s librarian was at the back of the library, next to the picture book collection and just opposite and around a corner to what Mel now knew to be the back exit.
Although the louvered blinds on the window to the office were turned down slightly, Mel could see a woman speaking to someone about Mel’s age, maybe a little older. Above the woman’s desk was a framed poster of the book
The Mysteries of Harris Burdick
. Mel took this as a good omen; it was one of her all-time favorite books. She sat down at a small round table with her back to the window. She looked down at her faded jeans and shoes. If the canvas had dried, the shoes might have been white, or at least whiter, but soaking wet they were gray and dirty-looking. Mel had put toilet paper in her shoes, to stop the ridiculous suctioning noise they belched out with each step she took. A corner of the tissue was sticking out of one shoe, and she quickly tucked it back in.
As the door to the office opened, Mel heard the woman thank the girl for coming in. Mel’s palms began to sweat and the patch of dry skin on the back of her knee began to itch.
“Think
calm
,” she whispered to herself.
“Miss Tulley?” The woman who was doing the interviewing peered around the corner in Mel’s direction.
“Hi,” Mel said. She was sure there was a more appropriate way to greet someone who was about to interview you, but the only other thing she could think to say was
“Your Honor.”
“Please, come in and sit down,” the woman said.
Mel stepped lightly, almost tiptoeing, as she took her first steps toward the office door. And although her shoes didn’t squelch, she felt her face heat up as the woman’s eyes traveled past her new white blouse to her gray canvas runners.
“They’re wet,” Mel said as she stepped into the office. She sat down, crossed her ankles, and tucked her feet under the chair.
“Not to worry. This carpet has seen a whole lot worse than water,” the woman said. Then she smiled and reached out her hand to shake Mel’s. “My name is Lisa.”
“Hi,” Mel said. “I guess you already know, but my name is Melody Tulley. I go by Mel.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mel. Let’s get started. I’ve read through your application and I want to tell you that it’s apparent you put a lot of thought into answering the questions. I especially liked how you answered the question about who your favorite author is and why. I also have more than one favorite, but Chris van Allsburg is definitely on my top-ten list.”
The librarian pointed to the framed poster. Mel noted the signature. Lisa paused for a moment; Mel knew that Lisa was giving her a chance to say something if she wanted, but she wasn’t sure what to say.
“Do you have any experience working with children?”
“Not really,” Mel answered. “But I do like kids and I have helped out with cleaning and stocking in the store across the street from my grandmother’s – I didn’t get paid or anything, but I guess that’s not really experience working with children, is it?”
Mel felt a bit awkward for mentioning the part about cleaning and stocking shelves when there was absolutely no connection between working with children and helping out at Frohberger’s.
“That’s fine. Volunteer work experience is good. Okay, how about with speaking in front of people? I know you are only twelve, and I don’t expect you to have a lot
of experience, but any experience at all – maybe something in school, or church?”
“Well …” Mel thought about all the days she and Cecily spent busking on street corners. She remembered a Christmas Eve in a shelter. After dinner, the volunteers at the shelter set up a talent show. Mel sang “Silent Night” and Cecily played the guitar. Later Mel recited
The Night Before Christmas
. The talent show went on into the night. No one wanted it to end.
“I have sung in front of people and recited poetry,” Mel answered.
“Oh, that sounds great. Where did you do that?” Lisa asked.
“Uh,” Mel paused, “in a church basement on Christmas Eve.”
Mel knew this sounded like she was with her family at church, all proper and everything, but sometimes, Mel knew, a part-truth was better than the whole truth.
“Well, if you can do that, I am sure that you won’t have any trouble reading stories during our preschool storytime.”
It was starting to sound like Mel might be offered the job.
“One last question, Mel. If we offered you the job, could you start tomorrow?”
Mel didn’t need to think about when she would start. Her mind was racing. She’d start today, right now, whenever they wanted her to start. “Yes, I could.”
“Great. Do you have any questions about the position?”
“Not really,” Mel said. But what she had actually wanted to say was that she wanted the job more than anything, and that she was sure she could do it. But those weren’t questions, and it seemed she couldn’t come up with one that would get her message across.
“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Mel. Thanks for coming in. I’ll be making a decision before the end of the day.”
“You’re welcome,” Mel said as she stood up to leave.
Glancing through the glass, Mel saw another girl, about the same age as Mel, with a woman who acted like she must be the girl’s mother, sitting at the table. Mel let her fingertips run down the buttons on her blouse. She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and gave her runners a quick disappointed glance as she moved through the doorway.
“Miss Beauvais?” Lisa asked. “Please come in.”
Both people stood and walked toward the door. Miss Beauvais, Mel noted, had perfectly straight hair. And it was pinned with a barrette in the exact spot that Miss
Beauvais probably wanted it to be. It wasn’t anything like Mel’s unruly hair. Mel’s hair did what it wanted, when it wanted, however it wanted. Miss Beauvais’s long hair sat still; it hung down her back like a smooth and silky blanket and stopped with a flawless straight line and a slight tuck. And the word “Beauvais” – of all the names a person could have. “Beauvais” was a word Mel knew. It was an incredibly beautiful Gothic cathedral in France, the Beauvais Cathedral. She and Cecily dreamed about visiting it when they made it big and toured Europe.
Mel hung around the library long enough to see Miss Beauvais and her mother leave. No one else appeared, and Mel noted that her chances were probably one in three. Normally she was an optimist, but she was also a realist, and something about Miss Beauvais and her mother, and the way they appeared so perfect, was getting the best of her.
Probably
, Mel thought,
Miss whoever-she-is Beauvais will get the job
.
Mel had just finished checking out a stack of books, one of which included a photograph of the Beauvais Cathedral, when Lisa tapped her on the shoulder.
“Could I speak with you in my office?” she asked.
“Sure.” Mel turned, her arms full with books, and walked just behind Lisa as they returned to her office.
Lisa offered her a seat, but when Mel sat down, the stack of books almost reached her chin. She felt silly and childlike.
“I’d like to offer you the job. I think you’d be perfect!” It was almost more than Mel could accept – someone using the word “perfect” with regards to her. Miss Beauvais, it had seemed to Mel, held all the qualities of “perfect,” and although a small voice inside of Mel whispered that this job offer just might be too good to be true, Mel quieted it and let her lungs fill with a mixture of pride and pure joy.
“Can you be here tomorrow?” Lisa asked.
“Absolutely!”