SIX
“Can I help you?”
I smiled at the receptionist. “Yes, I have an appointment with Mr. Frazetti.”
She looked down at her appointment book and then back up at me. “Gina Stewart?”
“Yes.” My stomach was in a knot. I’d never had to do the interview thing.
She picked up the phone and punched in a number. “Mr. Frazetti, your next appointment is here.”
His next? That meant I wasn’t the only one going for this job. I’d have to be on top of my game. I would go in there and convince him that his company couldn’t live without my secretarial abilities.
Thinking it and doing it were two different things. Because twenty minutes later I walked out of Mr. Frazetti’s office, knowing I had just bombed my first real interview.
No one had warned me that I’d have to do a typing test. It wasn’t like I couldn’t type. I just couldn’t do it fast or without looking at the keyboard. And who knew a phone could have so many buttons?
My next appointment at Shaylor and Sons was like a deja vǘ of the first interview. Only it wasn’t my poor typing skills or phone handling abilities that blew that one for me. It was my refusal to pee in a cup.
I knew a lot of places did drug testing as a part of their hiring process, but I was not in the mood to try and hit some dinky little paper Dixie cup. And the thought of handing someone other than the nurse at my doctor’s office a cup of my urine was...well, ick.
This interview thing was all new to me, so I tried not to get too down. It didn’t work. I had really been counting on one of those two interviews to come through. The more I drove around thinking about it, the more depressed I became. How would I ever become independent if my financial security depended on my family?
I stopped at the gas station and picked up a newspaper, something I’d been putting off, and then drove over to Wendy’s where I ordered myself a large Frosty to ease my misery.
The picture of me sitting up on the back of Anthony’s convertible wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. Not with the stupid weenie float in the background behind me. And let’s not forget the sausage scepter I was holding.
With a groan, I folded the front page back and thumbed through the remaining pages to find the Want Ads. If I wanted to go into downtown Cleveland to work, there were a lot of options open. But I wasn’t much of a big city driver, so my remaining choices were limited.
I continued skimming through the ads for the Little Florence area. Other than the two places I’d interviewed with that morning, all that was left was an opening for a gas station attendant, a full-time sitter, and a person to deliver singing telegrams. It looked like I’d be picking up more hours at the restaurant.
I tossed my empty Frosty cup into a nearby trashcan and then pulled out of the Wendy’s parking lot with a heavy sigh. I was in desperate need of my friends who I knew I could vent to anytime the need arose. Today was one of those times.
I turned and headed for the north side of Little Florence to what would hopefully be my new home if I ever got another job. Not that my father would be too thrilled by my moving out. He’d prefer to keep his little ‘bambinas’ home forever if he could, but I was a grown woman who was ready to be out on her own. Or as ‘on my own’ as it got, considering I’d be rooming with my three best friends.
I pulled into the apartment complex and followed the winding road around to the row of townhouses where the one we were looking at renting was located. Carlina, Mia and Alisa’s cars were all parked outside.
I parked next to Mia’s VW Bug and grabbed my purse from the seat beside me. Getting out of my car, I looked around the neighborhood. The lawns were well cared for and the buildings impressively maintained. You’d never know it was an older complex. Standing there, I could
Learning to Kill: Stories