Page 14 of The Frog Prince
Not bothering even to hide her smile, Olivia rises, gives me a little pat on the shoulder. “Come see me when you’re through.” She stops, turns back to look at me. “And don’t forget the gym. I’ve got that trial membership all arranged for you, and it’s good for the next seven days. You can go every day.”
Great. I force a smile. “Thanks.”
Olivia leaves, and I put the phone back to my ear. “I’m sorry: Olivia’s added my personal life to her Day-Timer. It seems I’ve become part of her schedule.”
“She likes you.”
For a moment I don’t know what to say. It’s not sophisticated to be sentimental; it’s not hip or urban or anything remotely cool, but I can’t help the big lump blocking my throat. I really needed a job to be able to make the move to San Francisco, and City Events made my move possible. “Olivia’s a great person. I appreciate her taking a chance on me.”
“Honey, it wasn’t chance; it was pity. She knew if she didn’t hire you, no one else would.”
I open my mouth, drag in air, feel as if she’d given me a one-two punch in the gut when I least expected it.
“You had the worst-looking résumé she’d ever seen in her life,” Aimee continues blithely, and I can just picture her at her desk, inspecting her long, polished nails. They’re deep red.
At least they should be.
“But you small-town girls never think to put your money where you should. You should have had your resume professionally done. I bet you did it yourself, didn’t you?”
What is she talking about? I like my résumé. Yes, I did it myself, but laser-printed on great ivory paper with cool fonts (Garamond is a personal favorite), listing clearly my education and career objective. I know everything on my resume by heart: the college degree from University of California, Irvine, graduating with honors; the work experience my senior year in Irvine (that’s not including the summer I spent at Disneyland dressed up as Snow White); and then, after graduation, the temp work at the Fresno radio station, the temp work at the PBS station, the temp work at theFresno Bee, and finally full-time work at Grady & Grady Public Relations.
“My résumé isn’t that bad,” I say in my defense.
“This is San Francisco. If a golf tournament in Fresno is the pinnacle of your achievement—”
“I did lots of PR.” I’m chilly now, not just because she’s mocking my work, but she’s mocking Fresno, and I got enough of that when I went to UC Irvine. Californians love to make fun of Fresno, as if land that’s actually fertile and productive (never mind that it feeds millions of people around the world) is an embarrassment to a state famous for artificial tans, breasts, and Botox brows.
“Newsletters for customers,” I add, hating that I’m so defensive. I shouldn’t care what people say about Fresno. I wasn’t born there, didn’t grow up there. I just happened to be raised close by.
“I saw samples of your work.”
She drawls it out, and I wonder why she feels the need to point out all my failings. Does this make her feel so much better? Smarter? Does it give her great pleasure being right and me being wrong?
Taking a deep breath, I try to calm down. “Is Olivia sorry she hired me?”
“God, no. She’s glad you work for her. She thinks you’re great. A little misguided, but nothing serious. But that’s not why I called. I called because you”—Aimee pauses—“have an admirer.”
I nearly choke on my tongue. It’s not that I haven’t had admirers before—Jean-Marc’s good-looking in that French actor way—it’s Aimee’s tone. Aimee sounds bouncy again, extremely pleased. It’s as if I’d just been lifted off the FBI’s Most Wanted List of Underachieving Women. “Who is he?”
“Tom.”
“Tom?”
“Yes, Tom Lehman. From last night.”
I don’t remember a Tom Lehman. I barely remember last night. The music was really loud. The bar a complete crush. And I had more margaritas than I should have. Thank goodness I had the sense to cab it home instead of driving.
Too bad I didn’t remember leaving my car at work until I’d spent five minutes this morning trying to remember where I parked. By the time I’d hailed a cab, I was in a terrible mood. My mood wasn’t improved by Olivia greeting me at the door with a handful of guest passes for her gym.
“Tom’s quite taken with you,” Aimee adds.
“Tom,” I repeat.
“Lehman.”
I say nothing.
“He’d love to meet you for drinks Friday.”