Authors: Whitney Boyd
He who strikes the first blow
admits he’s lost the argument.
—Chinese Proverb
Chapter Eight
H
eather sleeps the remainder of the three hour ride home. We stumble in at nine and I go straight to my room, to my desk below the window that overlooks an alley and the train tracks. I open my laptop and search the West Jet website. No seat sales right now, which is a disappointment, and no available flights until Monday, April 11th. That’s only three days before the wedding, and I panic. What if it’s cutting it too close? There are so many things wrong with this plan.
I open a new tab in the Internet window and look for my daily horoscope. I know, deep down, that these don’t always come true, but I need the comfort that comes from reading them. There might be something about finding a new relationship or taking a chance on love that can calm my troubled soul.
The stars are in your favor today. Take advantage of whatever is placed before you, as you soon will be lucky in both love and money. Beware, however, as a crossroads is coming and if you are not careful, you will end up on the wrong path.
I read it again. Okay, that’s a pretty good one. Love and money are both things I desperately need and they are coming soon. The crossroads thing is a little strange, but I’ll let it slide.
I click back on my browser and go to the next astrology website. I have four that I frequent and I typically look through all of them every day and pick the best horoscope out of the lot. I am just clicking on ‘Gemini’ when there is a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I call over my shoulder. I stretch and swivel in my chair as the door opens.
“Hey.” It’s Josh. He’s dressed in his office attire: a collared shirt, understated blue tie, and a black suit. His law firm is so rigid in their dress guidelines that even on casual Fridays their employees have to wear suits, with only ties being optional. Carter Clinton allowed us to wear jeans on Fridays so long as we didn’t have a court date.
“Dude, its Sunday night! What the heck are you doing in work clothes?” I flick a rubber band from my desk at him, but he dodges it and plops down on my bed. He loosens the tie around his neck and yawns.
“I figured I’d put a couple extra hours in since I’m going away next week with you to Victoria.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal and I feel a rush of love for him.
“You really are the greatest friend in the world.”
He yawns a second time and lies back. “What are you doing?”
“Reading my horoscope. Apparently good things are on the horizon.”
Josh keeps his eyes closed and runs his hand over his face. “Yeah? Excellent. You deserve it. So when are we leaving on our little adventure? Do you have flights picked out yet?”
I turn back to my computer and reopen the West Jet page. “I looked and found nothing. I mean, the earliest we can get out there is on the Monday and, the thing is, I may need some more time.”
“So? We fly out Monday and then you can take all the time in the world to see what potentially is there. No problem.”
I just know that he’s going to gloat, but I wrinkle my nose and blurt out the hard truth. “So, there is one little detail that I haven’t told you yet. It’s something his mom said. Turns out, Drew’s getting married. Soon. As in a week from Thursday. Which is why time is of the essence in this situation.” I refuse to look at him.
“Married?” Josh grins at me. “Didn’t I tell you that he might be married? Ha, I love it when I’m right and you come crawling back.”
I stick my tongue out at him and say with a grimace, “Yeah, yeah you were right, blah, blah, blah. Thing is, he’s not married yet. This is fate. There is still a chance to make things right, but I’m facing a huge problem, even if you’re going to be all cavalier about it. If we get out there on Monday, let’s say we find him Tuesday morning which leaves me only two days to do everything I need to do. That’s not giving it much time, don’t you think?”
“How much time do you need?” Heather stands in the doorway, makeup-free and wearing one of her new purchases, a Playboy bunny pajama set she found at West Ed. “You’ll know after meeting up with him whether or not there’s a chance he’s going to call off the wedding.”
Josh is staring at Heather with a mixture of reproach and amusement. “All these years you’ve said your dream is to marry a rich old billionaire, and I finally believe you. Playboy? You have got to be kidding.”
“Playboy is an American staple, like the Alamo or Kim Kardashian’s butt,” Heather counters. She leans on the door jam and slips her hands into her back pockets.
“No,” Josh counters. “Playboy is a misogynistic organization that exploits women and gives them a distorted view of their lives and how they should look. All it proves is that modern America is as backward as when Neanderthals walked the earth.”
“He’s got a point.” Nobody asked my input but I pipe up anyway. I wrote an entire term paper in one of my feminism classes on this very subject. “By telling women that they have to fit into a Victoria’s Secret angel costume or pose in a men’s magazine in order to be desirable perpetuates eating disorders, depression and all kinds of social ills.”
Josh reaches out a hand and slaps me with a high five. “Absolutely right with that, Charley.”
“You both are too lawyerly. These are just a flirty, fun pair of pajamas. Seriously, everything in life doesn’t have to be making a statement.” Heather examines her fingernails as she talks, as though she has no interest in this conversation. Feminism debate over.
“Can we refocus on me?” I ask. “Let’s think about Victoria, not Victoria’s Secret.” I need to figure out my plan.
Josh rolls onto his side and places his hands under his chin. “Focused. Sorry for the Heather distraction.”
“Just admit you’ve got a thing for me,” Heather laughs. She comes into the room farther and sits beside Josh on the bed. She leans her head forward and rests it on his shoulder.
“Never.” Josh nudges her head off and then sits up. “All right, so you said we fly out Monday. That gives you three days to find Drew and see if there’s still a flame. We can be back in Calgary by Thursday night or maybe Friday morning at the latest, and that means I should only have to ask for Monday through Thursday off for holiday time.”
“Okay,” I say. “Do you think it’ll be long enough?”
“Looks like we don’t really have a choice,” Josh says. “I mean, we can check Air Canada and a few other airlines, but West Jet is the only one I have frequent flier miles for.”
“And I don’t have any money as it is, so cheapest is best,” I acknowledge glumly.
“Speaking of which,” Heather raises her hand like a schoolgirl, “a couple days ago I ran into the woman who takes care of rental buildings for beauty pageants. We got to talking, and she mentioned that she has a need for a cleaning girl. She’s a realtor and has some homes that need a thorough cleaning before she is willing to take people through.”
“You want me to clean houses? Like Molly Maids?”
Heather frowns. “I can’t pay your rent, you know. When it comes due in a couple weeks, I need you to pay it.”
She has a point. “When would I have to do it?”
“No clue. I can call her and ask for you if you want.”
I nod. “I guess I’m not too good for a little bit of hard work.”
“Truth,” Heather confirms. She gets up from the bed and gives me a hug. “Look, I know you’re down in the dumps and all, but it can only go up from here. That’s the good thing about sinking so low. And I mean, you have sunk to like a record low, I’m talking like Titanic meets Watergate.”
“You haven’t sunk
that
low,” Josh interrupts. He gives Heather a dirty look and adds quickly, “You’re going to be back on your feet before you know it. And if Heather kicks you out, you can always crash on my couch for a few weeks.”
Heather’s eyes are knowing and superior as she smiles at me as if to say ‘I told you so.’
“Thanks,” I tell Josh. Then I look at Heather. “All right, let’s give your friend a call. I’m free this Thursday since my interview is Wednesday. I’ll work enough to pay for flights and the hotel in Victoria and when I get back I’ll figure out rent too, I promise.”
“Just worry about your flight,” Josh adds. “We can share a room in Victoria and I’ll put it on my Visa. I have no problem spotting you for meals and stuff while we’re out there. I’ve mooched so much food off you this is a way for me to pay you back.”
I am touched and have to blink back tears of gratitude. “You guys are the best,” I sniffle. “You are going to be in my bridal party when I marry Drew. Maid and Man of Honor. I owe you.”
Josh jumped off the bed at the mention of Drew’s name and is now standing near the door. “’K, well I’m out of here. Going to head home so I can get an early start at the office tomorrow. Night, ladies. Book my flight, Charley, and I’ll pay you back. See you.” Then he hurries out of the room and is gone.
“Josh really hates emotion, doesn’t he?” I turn to Heather who watches with a bemused expression. She flips her hair up into a high ponytail and pats me on the head.
“I think he just didn’t like the mention of Drew.”
“Well, he better get used to it,” I grumble. “In two weeks I’ll be dating him again and Josh had better not keep acting all superior like this.”
“You just are too blind to see what’s in front of you.”
“And what does that mean, Miss Calgary Know-It-All?” I am getting so tired of her subtle insinuations.
“It means that I want to watch
Ten Things I Hate About You
, cuddle up with a blanket and my best friend on the couch
and eat some popcorn. You in?”
I laugh even though I’m annoyed at her obvious change of topic. “Sure. Let me book the flights and I’ll be out in a minute. Do we have any popcorn cheese?”
“I think so. And if not we can always use the cheese mix from a package of Kraft Dinner.” She leaves the room, closing the door behind her, and soon I hear the high-pitched whine of the popcorn popper. I go back to West Jet and book two tickets to Victoria on the Monday. We land at four-thirty in the afternoon. That should give us time to find a hotel, get settled in and have a good night’s sleep before I track down Drew. I complete my transaction, email Josh the confirmation numbers and turn my computer off.
Computer shut down. Mind shut down. No more thinking for tonight.
Cowards may die many times before their deaths.
—English Proverb
Chapter Nine
M
onday and Tuesday drag by. I try to be productive, look for jobs and clean the apartment, but my motivation is nonexistent. I am stuck in limbo, as if my life is on pause until I know where Drew and I stand. Technically, if he has a big, fancy career in Victoria, I might have to move out there to be with him. So it might be pointless to try
too
hard to find a new job here in Calgary.
Still, when Wednesday comes, I wake up well before my alarm buzzes. I lie in bed, listening to the sounds of early morning traffic. I know if I look out the window I will see rows of brake lights as hundreds of people make their commute into the downtown core. There will be people standing at bus stops and down the street, at the C-Train station, students and office employees will be huddled in the chilly air, waiting for transit to bring them to their destinations.
Today is my interview with Jameson and Jameson, a small law firm down on 17th Avenue. They are significantly less prestigious than Carter Clinton and deal with mainly environmental law. Deep down, I’m sure I am very passionate about environmental law. I would have to be a horrible person to not care about something as noble as our environment, right? I hope I can convince them as well as myself.
I dress carefully, finally deciding on my black suit jacket with the thin pinstripes and the matching knee-length skirt. I wear a red blouse underneath because red is symbolic of power and drive and courage, all of which are necessities in the world of law.
Heather is gone when I leave the apartment, probably off at some ribbon cutting at an elementary school. I walk down the block to the train station, catch a south bound train to Victoria Park—Stampede station and walk for fifteen minutes, arriving five minutes before my interview.
Before I enter, I close my eyes.
You are a strong, intelligent woman. You are an excellent employee and they would be lucky to have you. Go get ’em!
My phone buzzes with a text. It’s from Josh.
Good luck on your interview. Fingers crossed!
It’s sweet that he remembered, considering how busy he has been lately. I send him a quick
Thanks
with a smiley face and then pull the door handle. It sticks a little, so I give it a harder tug and enter the lobby.
You know how they say that a first impression is always right? Well, I really hope this isn’t the case. As my eyes adjust to the artificial lighting, I am disappointed to see it is small, cramped and dark, so unlike my previous law firm which prided itself on being intimidating and professional to the utmost zenith. The receptionist at the desk is a woman in her mid-forties with the permanent lines on her forehead and sides of her mouth of someone who either smokes or frowns way too much.
“Yes?”
“Hi, I’m Charlotte A. Southard and I have a meeting with Bill Jameson at eleven.”
She coughs into her arm and then flips through a ledger on the desk in front of her. “Southard, Southard, ah, yes, here you are. I’ll let him know you are here.”
There is no invitation to be seated, but I cross to the faded, leather couches and sit anyway. I can’t shake the feeling of disappointment. I had applied for the position online, but had never stepped foot in the building before and was expecting something a lot more . . . well, a lot more like Carter Clinton. How far I have fallen.
Not even a minute passes before a man in a tweed suit with a small pot belly walks into the lobby. He smiles at me and holds out his hand. I stand and shake it. His wrist and fingers are limp like a dead fish. You can tell a great deal about a person through a handshake. Lingering handshakes usually indicate the person is needy or clingy. Firm and fast handshakes show people who know they are important and don’t have time for pleasantries. Limp ones are of underachievers, those with no drive or motivation. Yet another red flag.
“Charlotte,” I introduce myself.
“I’m Bill. Come on back. Want a coffee or anything?”
I shake my head no and follow him through a doorway and into the main office area. There are ten or twelve cubicles that line the walls. Motivational posters that say words like “Achieve!” and “Teamwork!” are placed sporadically throughout. Employees are in a wide variety of activities. A girl with jet black hair is chewing gum and talking into a cell phone about a guy she met on the weekend. A man with glasses and a goatee sips a steaming drink from a mug that proclaims him as ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ while typing a Word document. Two other women in dresses and frumpy sweaters chat in front of the ladies washroom but duck their heads and scurry back to their desks when they see Bill approaching with me in tow.
Bill leads me to the far end of the floor to an office with his name emblazoned on the door. We enter and he invites me to take a seat. There are books everywhere, stacked three high on the bookshelves along the wall, piled on the floor, scattered on his desk. He sees me looking and says with a chuckle, “I am a bit of a hoarder when it comes to good literature.”
“Are these, um, all law books?” I ask for lack of anything else to say.
Bill sinks into his chair behind the desk with a sigh and shakes his head. “No, a lot of them are, but I have a few Dan Brown novels and whatnot thrown in. A good man is nothing without a good book, I always say.”
“John Clancy?” My dad used to read his books and he is the first author to come to mind.
Bill grins, displaying a slight double chin and nods. “Oh yes. My ex got the house and dog in the divorce, but I walked away the winner with all the John Clancy books.” He waves at a vague place over his shoulder where, I presume, those books now reside.
I clear my throat and sit up straighter in my chair. I’m not sure when the official interview will begin, but I want to make a good impression. Bill must read my body language as his cue to begin, because he takes a binder out of a drawer and picks up a pen. Then he leans across the desk toward me and asks, “So, Charlotte, tell me about yourself. You are highly qualified and your resume speaks volumes. What is your specialization?”
“Well,” I begin a bit hesitantly, “in school I enjoyed my social rights and equality classes the most, but when I went to article at Carter Clinton, I came to appreciate the intricacies of corporate law and litigation. Most of my year articling was spent doing litigation.”
He scribbles something into the binder. “Your grades speak for themselves during school. You graduated top of your class, and it looks like the lowest grade you received was an A minus.”
“That is correct.”
“That is a very impressive grade point average indeed, especially for law school.” He writes something else then gazes across the desk at me. He absently chews on the back of the pen and I avert my eyes. I hate it when people morph into human beavers. “Now, you didn’t study a lot of environmental law, and yet here you are.” It isn’t a question, but he waits for my response anyway.
“Well, of course I enjoyed the bits of environmental law I studied while in school.” I can feel sweat appear under my arms as I plough ahead. “I always felt it was very important to protect nature and wildlife from exploitation by major corporations.” At Carter Clinton one of my main objectives was to help the oil and gas companies beat the small environmental groups and crush them, all to earn a few million bucks and line the shareholder’s pockets. No need to address that here.
Bill grunts and takes a sip of the coffee on his desk. He makes a face and spits his mouthful back into the mug. “Ugh, cold.” He shakes his head sadly at the cup and then refocuses on me. “Having you in our firm would be, theoretically, a great asset, especially where you come from a background in corporate law. It might help us get a better perspective when working on our various cases.”
I really don’t want to work here, but, a job is a job. I smile professionally and keep my shoulders back. “Absolutely. And even though I do not have an extensive background in environmental law, I pick things up quickly and will be a great contribution to your team in no time.”
“Right, right.” He flips through the papers and makes another short note. Then he clears his throat, leans back in his chair and places his hands on his protruding belly. “I do have one concern, however,” he adds and my stomach sinks. A concern? I just know it’s going to be Carter Clinton. Being fired is never a good thing. “Why did you leave Carter Clinton? Was that by choice?”
I know that legally I don’t have to state if I was fired or not, but I feel ridiculous either way. If I tell him I was fired, I’ll look bad. If I say I chose to leave, I’ll look bad. Who wants an employee who leaves a perfectly good job for no reason?
“I felt that Carter Clinton had different goals than I did,” I say after a heavy pause. “Articling was a wonderful experience but essentially that type of law wasn’t what I wanted to practice for the rest of my life.”
Bill’s eyes are narrowed as he evaluates my words. “Corporate burnout?”
I am not a flake, I want to scream. “I wasn’t burned out, but I felt that perhaps I had missed the calling I felt during law school. It seems like everyone is so idealistic in law school and then we get out into the real world and it all becomes about money. After I finished articling, I simply came to an understanding that I wanted to do more, make more of a difference in the world, similar to what environmental lawyers do.” Blatant brown nosing attempt. I hope it deflects these questions for the time being.
“So you are an idealist.”
“Aren’t we all, to a degree? I would probably say I am an idealist, but with a pragmatic side.”
This interview is going nowhere fast, but at least I haven’t crashed and burned. Stay positive. All I need is one job, one measly job to give me some distance from Carter Clinton on my resume. Bill writes more in his binder and I resist the urge to stand up and peer over his shoulder to see what he’s noting down.
“We deal with a high stress environment in this place,” Bill states. “Everyone, from our receptionist to the paralegals, knows that we have to work hard to pay the bills. We don’t earn the large salaries with cash bonuses that some firms do. We work long hours and don’t see a great measure of reward. We are also expected to know a lot of law. Even the receptionist has probably forgotten more law than most people in other firms will know in a lifetime.”
He scratches his chin and appraises me. “Charlotte, you seem like a nice girl, and I think on paper you would be a wonderful asset. However, and I hope you don’t mind me telling you this, I phoned Carter Clinton yesterday in preparation for this interview. They wouldn’t tell me details, but they did say that you had been let go in a bit of a messy situation. I understand that corporate law is not for everyone, but if you can’t handle that, I don’t think you can handle this, as both are extremely high stress environments.”
I can’t believe it. My mouth has fallen open and I gape at him in bewilderment. I was supposed to be the one lowering myself to work for them. They can’t be turning me down! I graduated with distinction! I was voted ‘Most Likely To Run The World’ by my graduating class.
“Wait, um, well, I can definitely, definitely handle this.” I don’t know what I’m saying, don’t have a clue where this will lead, but I feel desperate. They can’t reject me!
“Look, okay, Carter Clinton fired me, but it was all a misunderstanding. I can work seventy hour weeks. I stay late, come in early, I never make mistakes. I will be the best employee you have. You have to believe me. What happened at Carter Clinton was politics and I swear to you, it had nothing to do with my work ethic or what I can or cannot handle.”
Bill listens to my impassioned plea with a troubled expression. His lips are pursed and his arms are folded across his ample chest. “Charlotte, I do apologize. I don’t doubt that you are a wonderful lawyer, but I am afraid that this is not the right fit for you.”
They blacklisted me. I can’t believe Carter Clinton made me out to be such a dud.
I am led back through the office and to reception in a state of shock. Bill shakes my hand, thanks me for my interest in Jameson and Jameson and watches me exit. Maybe he’s worried I’ll throw a brick through the window or something. I stumble away, astonished and betrayed. Even a dinky law firm with worn out furniture, a bunch of washed up lawyers and a crummy location doesn’t want me.
I take out my phone. I could call my mom, but I am too near tears to talk to her. If I start bawling on the phone she will freak out and insist I come home for dinner tonight. I don’t want to deal with family at the moment. I could call Heather, but she won’t understand. She succeeds at everything she does, and that will definitely not help. I am already dialing Josh’s number before I finish the thought. Josh will know what to do.
It rings once and then I hear Josh’s clear voice. “Josh Mahoney speaking.”
“Josh, I bombed it.” I launch into my tale and he listens without speaking. I tell him about how Bill Jameson had called Carter Clinton, how he knew before I entered that I had been fired, how he made me feel pathetic and unstable. My voice quavers as I finish. “That’s it. The end. No job for me.”
“Charley,” Josh begins. His voice is soothing and slow, the way a person would speak to a frantic puppy. “That would be completely humiliating for anybody, yet you handled it well. Be proud of yourself for sticking to your guns. You told the truth, you did it with dignity. Who cares if they don’t want you? You are better than a tiny law firm who can’t even pay their bills. I heard from a friend that Jameson and Jameson is on the verge of bankruptcy.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” I sniffle. “All it proves is even a company two minutes away from going under doesn’t want me.”
“Listen,” Josh continues. “I’ll call around, get in touch with some contacts. I know a few people at the Calgary Justice Services over in the court house. If I explain the situation, I bet they would get you in for an interview. Wouldn’t you like to work with underprivileged children and foster homes and whatnot?”
“Yeah, but why would they want me? Nobody else does.” I don’t think anything will help me feel better right now, but at least my self-pity feels miserably good.
“I gotta go, Charley, I have a ton of work to do, but I’ll try to touch base with a few people right after we get back from Victoria. Okay? Just keep your chin up. A lot of people love you, you know. Things will work out.”
We say goodbye and I shove the phone back into my pocket. Josh’s reassuring words echo in my head. It’ll be fine. So I failed the interview, so what? I am still going to reconnect with the love of my life in a week and tomorrow I have that cleaning job with Heather’s realtor friend. Finally a chance to earn some money and stop feeling like a welfare case.