Chapter 4♥Of Course It Would Be Edward
Elinor pressed end on her phone call and let out a long, overdue sigh of happiness. She now had three receptionist job interviews lined up. Unless she made an absolute fool of herself, there was a good chance she’d be officially employed again sometime this week.
Every time she thought back on her business communications degree, she felt a tinge of embarrassment and regret. It was a degree she’d chosen when she thought her future was set and she could just take classes that interested her, back when working for her dad seemed like it would last as long as she needed it to.
Marianne came to sit next to her at the kitchen table, holding Babbity in her arms. “Do you think Greta’s doing okay at school? I thought my heart would break when she begged Mom this morning to let her stay home.”
“She’ll be okay. She has to be. With you two working at the factory and me hopefully getting an office job, she can’t sit around here all day by herself.”
Marianne wrinkled her nose. “I hate that I’m working for a place that manufactures poison with the audacity to have a cutesie name like Date Night Soda. You can’t call it a soda when drinking more than four in a twenty-four-hour period will send you to the hospital. I would never drink the stuff. Not in a million years.”
Elinor rubbed her eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t open with that at the interview.”
“You know, I should have. Maybe then they wouldn’t have hired me. The job interview went a little something like this: Are you breathing? Do you have a pulse? Can you wear a hair net? Great. You start a week from today.”
“I know it’s not what you hoped for. But it’s something.”
“It’s something all right.” Marianne stroked Babbity’s back, looking melancholy. She had a degree in music performance, but didn’t actually like anyone hearing her play or sing. Marianne was of the opinion that art was somehow cheapened by catering to an audience. She played for the pleasure of it, and little else.
“You could give piano lessons, you know.”
Marianne wrinkled her nose. “Teaching Greta is bad enough. I hate listening to music played badly.”
Elinor got up and stretched, giving up on career counseling for the moment. She had her own job to find. “Okay, I have to decide what to wear for my interview this afternoon. I need something that says, pay me lots of money. Want to help?”
Marianne brightened. “Will you let me do your hair and makeup too?”
“I already did my hair and makeup.”
“Sure you did.” Marianne tugged on Elinor’s arm and dragged her down the hall to her bathroom. Marianne had chosen the bedroom and adjacent bathroom specifically because it had the best lighting and room for a chair in front of the bathroom vanity. Her makeup case had already spilled its guts across the old laminate countertop.
“Wait here while I dig through your closet.” It was a shame they couldn’t share clothes. Marianne was several inches taller and curvier, while Elinor felt average in every way. She was cute, or so she’d been told. And cute was a good thing. Not everyone needed to be a knockout.
Marianne was nothing if not efficient when it came to her makeovers. She was back in less than two minutes with a pair of pinstripe black pants and a white long sleeve flowy blouse that would cover up Elinor’s scratches and still look elegant. “Put this on while I get set up.”
Elinor got dressed, already feeling better about things. She would rock this interview. She had to. While Marianne turned Elinor’s long brown hair into loose waves, Elinor went over what she knew about the company, Norland Financial, which was not much. They weren’t a branch of a larger company, like Edward Jones or Charles Schwab. The little office was housed in a historic property only three blocks from the house, so walking there and back would work until she had a car.
Rosa, the lady who had called her to set up the interview, was looking for an office assistant. Elinor wasn’t sure if that just meant making coffee and copies or more important responsibilities, but she’d learn anything she didn’t already know on the job. Well, if they hired her.
“I invited Edward to dinner tonight,” Marianne announced, sounding smug.
“How? When did you talk to him?” After a week of not seeing him, Elinor had hoped it would last. She rubbed her fingers together nervously, picturing Marianne marching over there and demanding he come to dinner. He was really going to regret having neighbors in a house that used to be peacefully unoccupied.
“I texted him about an hour ago, and he said yes. I got his number at the bowling place while you were taking your turn.”
“You’re texting him?” Elinor had not told her Edward was in a “complicated” relationship. Partly because he’d asked her not to say anything, and partly because she still had no idea what that meant. He wasn’t free, but he wasn’t in love. It sounded like a loveless marriage, except, he said he’d never been married. What did he mean? And why all the secrecy? She would not ask for clarification because there was no reason she needed to know.
“Don’t worry. He’s all yours. I just asked if he wanted to come and what time. He said he could be here at seven. Which is sort of late. I think he works too much.” Marianne gave the swivel chair a turn, inspecting her work. “You’re all done. Go get ‘em, tiger.”
Feeling slightly queasy, she thanked Marianne and went to go find her one and only pair of black heels. They pinched, but she’d only be wearing them for an hour or so. Maybe she’d fit in a shoe splurge after her first paycheck.
She looked around the house at the windows they’d repaired with duct tape and the dim bulb over the couch and coffee table that was perfect if they wanted to set up an interrogation room. Shoes could wait.
She had ten minutes to kill if she didn’t want to show up too early. After making herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, she attempted to eat it without messing up her lipstick. Two bites in, she glanced around and made sure Marianne wasn’t nearby before wiping her pale blush lipstick off with a napkin. Beauty might require sacrifice, but sometimes a girl had to eat.
“You’re still here?” Marianne asked, coming into the kitchen.
Elinor put her plate in the sink, keeping her face turned away. “Leaving now. Wish me luck.” She ignored the pinching of her toes and strode out the front door to her mom’s car. All the way to the office, she visualized her graceful entry, pleasant smile, raised shoulders, and firm handshake. She sat in the car for another two minutes, letting the air conditioning blow across her nervous, overheated body and going over the bullet points on her brand-new resume. Potential talking points played like an instructional video in her head. True, she’d never interviewed before, but she didn’t think anyone else had researched how to do it more than she had.
