Holiday Escort
Authors: Julia P. Lynde
Holiday Escort
By Julia P.
Lynde
Unusual Interview
Life sucks sometimes. I'm sorry, but it does. It was
almost December
in Minnesota, also known as the great frozen tundra. Except we didn't even have any snow. Christmas was coming. There was no snow, I was out o
f a job, and my most recent boy
friend had du
mped me for some
skank
he met on a business trip.
I wasn't bitter. Much.
To top it all off
,
I got a run in my panty hose on the way to a job interview. Who am I kidding?
The job interview.
The only interview I'd been able to line up for weeks. No one in Minnesota was hiring during the holiday season.
Six months ago, back in June when everything was green, life had been going great. I had been the personal assistant for Marsha Henderson, CEO of Henderson Travel Services. It was a great job. Marsha was a great woman, a great boss. She worked my tail off, but she paid me well and I traveled everywhere she did. Furthermore, she loved me. She took me fresh out of college and taught me exactly how she wanted the job done. I'd been great at pleasing her.
It was all great, great, great.
Then Marsha retired, turning over the business to her eldest daughter, who hated me.
It wasn't my fault she couldn't keep her slime ball husband on a tight leash; I certainly hadn't encouraged him.
Marsha's agreement with Caroline, her daughter, was that I either received a good job in the company or an excellent severance package. I was offered the choice of a lousy job in the company or an excellent severance package. I took the severance package. By July fourth, I was hitting the pavement, looking for new work.
At least I had an excellent letter of reference from Marsha. So far, that and five bucks could get me a cup of coffee at Caribou. But it did get me an interview with the head of legal for
Kilador
Consulting, Karen Greene. Human Resources at
Kilador
had loved me. They especially loved my references and my willingness to take a pay cut from what Marsha used to pay me.
So, at nine on a Tuesday morning, I rode the elevator to the seventeenth floor of a shiny glass and steel office building in downtown Minneapolis and presented myself to the receptionist at
Kilador
for my appointment with Ms. Greene. I was directed to her office, where I knocked and was bade to enter.
Ms. Greene stood behind her desk. She was upper thirties, young for the head of the legal department, I thought, tall, shapely, with blonde hair she was wearing up. She was dressed in Donna Karan. She was, in a word, stunning.
So was the view. She held a southeast facing corner office. There were no other tall office buildings
between us and the rest of Minnesota,
so the view was unobstructed. At a glance I saw the Mississippi River, the airport,
and lots of grey trees. I imagined it was
phenomenal
in the summer.
Ms. Greene walked around her desk to meet me. She offered me a hand, asked if I required
a refreshment
, then asked me to take a seat at a small conference table in the corner of her office. She took the other chair, her back to the magnificent, distracting view, and opened a folder. I recognized my resume.
"So," she said. "Madeline Burnet." She perused the resume and frowned.
My heart sank.
She looked up at me. "Why are you here?"
"I've applied to be your personal assistant," I told her. "The woman at HR seemed impressed with my qualifications. She told me I'd be perfect for you."
Ms. Greene
paused
before continuing
. "Ms. Burnet, I am the head of legal at
Kilador
."
"Yes, Ma'am, I understand."
She looked at my resume and the reference letter from Marsha. Then she looked back at me. "This is the most glowing re
ference letter I've ever read.
"
"
Ms. Greene, I am the best personal assistant in the entire Twin Cities. I will work my tail off for you. Ask me anything."
She sized me up. "Well, you're confident. All right. Tell me about your legal experience."
I blinked twice before answering. "I'm sorry, Ms. Greene, but I have no legal experience at all. The only real job I've had is working for Marsha. But I'm a fast learner. I can learn everything I need. You won't be disappointed."
Ms. Greene offered me a kind expression. "I'm sorry, but this position requires a paralegal. Julie knows that. She never should have sent you to me, regard
less of the rest of your skills or your outstanding recommendation letter." She paused. "How long have you been out of work?"
"Since the beginning of July. Marsha retired. Her daughter doesn't care for me. I was offered an excellent severance package and have been looking for work since."
"How many interviews have you had?"
"Counting this one, four."
"How many jobs have you applied for?"
"Seventeen. Plus blind cover letters and resumes to most of the major companies in the metropolitan area.
I thoug
ht I'd have a job right away. I a
m not being cocky. I am very good. I have ten years of experience working for Marsha, and she was exceedingly demanding. Before me, it took two assistants to take care of her, but I did everything for her. I'm starting to wonder if I should have taken the crappy job Caroline Henderson offered me instead of the severance package.
"
She looked down at my resume again, tapping her long fingernails against the table before looking back at me again. "I wish I could hire you for this position."
"I'm sorry to have wasted your time," I said, starting to get up.
"Sit down," she commanded. I immediately complied. "I'm going to give you some advice. First, don't settle. If you're as good as this letter indicates, do not settle."
"Yes, Ma'am," I said. "But I'm getting desperate."
"Next, stop sounding so desperate during the interviews. Confident is good, but desperate is bad." She smiled. "Job interviews are both sales and negotiation. You need to sell yourself, but not sell yourself short."
"Yes, Ma'am."
She paused. "How are your personal finances?"
"I gave notice at my apartment and am moving back in with my parents.
I have to be out in three days.
I'm thirty-one and will be living with my parents. But I haven't tapped into my retirement funds."
"Why doesn't Caroline Henderson like you?" Ms. Greene asked me.
"You're not hiring me, are you?" I asked her.
"Not for this job, no. But I may have another opportunity to discuss with you. Why doesn't Caroline Henderson like you
?"
"I don't know why," I told her.
"Do you suspect?"
I looked away.
She sighed. "Does she have a professional reason to be dissatisfied with you?"
"No, Ma'am," I said. "At least none that I know of or that she's shared with me."
"So it's personal."
"I believe so."
She sighed. "Madeline, I really need to know why she doesn't like you."
I stared her in the eyes. "
Her husband can't keep his hands to himself
, Ma'am.
She blames me. I threatened a lawsuit if he ever came without ten yards of me again.
"
"Thank you for answering," she said. "Stand up."
We both stood up. She stepped away from me slightly. "Turn around, please."
I did,
then
looked at her suspiciously.
She ignored my look but said, "I can not hire you for this position, Ms. Burnet. I may have something else for you entirely unassociated with
Kilador
Consulting. Are you interested in discussing it?"
"Is it legal?"
She laughed. "Yes."
"Ethical?"
"Yes."
"I'd love to hear about it," I told her.
"Are you open to a non-traditional, short term position that includes room and board?"
I thought about it and nodded.
"Can you dance?"
I grinned. "Yes."
"I'm not talking freestyle," she said.
"I've been dancing since I was six," I told her.
"Ballet, modern, ballroom, and Tango. I used to compete in Tango. Amateur only though."
"Ballroom tango?"
I made a face
at the suggestion
. "Argentine."
She smiled and walked around to her desk. She consulted her calendar then looked at me. "Can you meet with me for lunch, my treat?" I nodded. She wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to me. I looked at it. It was the name of an upscale restaurant
here
in downtown. "Noon," she said. "There will be reservations in my name. Don't be late."
"No, Ma'am."
* * *
I cooled my heels at the library for two hours,
wondering what the
mysterious
and provocative Karen Greene could want. I arrived
at the restaurant ten minutes early. I presented myself to the hostess and was shown to a private table in a quiet corner of the restaurant. I ordered a diet soda and pulled out my phone for something to read while I waited.
Several minutes later, the hostess escorted Ms. Greene to the table. I stood up and offered her my hand. We sat, she ordered her own soda,
then
she looked at me.
"Madeline," she said. "I am here as a private individual, not as a representative of
Kilador
Consulting.
Do you understand?"
"Are you about to discuss something disgusting and seedy?" I asked her. "Is that why you're stressing this? Do you really have a job, or is this a come on?"
She laughed. "I really have a job, but it's going to sound like a come on."
"I won't sue
Kilador
Consulting for sexual harassment," I told her. "I understand you are not here as a representative of the company I interviewed with this morning."
"You understand also that I know of no jobs at
Kilador
that would suit your personal skills, and nothing that comes out of any of our interactions would change that."
"You sound like a lawyer." I smiled. "I understand."
"Good. Call me Karen. The 'ma'am' thing was getting on my nerves."
With that, she picked up the menu and started looking through it. I did the same and tried not to boggle at the prices. She looked over the top of the menu at me. "
If you order something cheap, I a
m going to be offended."
"So I should order the lobster."
"If that i
s what you want."
We both ordered salads. Then she looked at me. "Tell me about yourself, Madeline."
I ran through my professional qualifications and history. She let me finish before she said, "All right. Now tell me about yourself."
"I don't understand. I just did."
"You told me about your work history. That doesn't
tell me anything about what you a
re like as a person. Do you have a
boyfriend? G
irlfriend? A dog? Fish? Do you still dance? What do you do for fun? Can you cook?"