Page 15 of Joey

Mila what’s-her-face runs that company. That chick who wrote that book. And they hire people to sell cosmetics.

People like me. She said that in her book. People who have no skills, people who need a second chance, people who want to better themselves and not spend all their time in college.

That’s totally me!

I could sell cosmetics!

Two seconds later I’m pushing that button again at the light.

Security Man and I have a staring contest as he continues to watch me. But I don’t care. He doesn’t own that sidewalk. Our eyes are locked the entire time I cross and he opens his mouth to say something as I approach him.

But I get there first. “Fuck you,” I say. “I’m going over to Bright Berry Beach Cosmetics. I have an interview.”

I walk right past him and don’t even bother looking back. Not even when I cross the next street and I’m heading up to the front of the building.

This is why I’m here. I can feel it. It’s like… fate.

There’s a doorman there too. And he doesn’t even look at me funny. Just smiles, says, “Good morning,” in a pleasant, but professional tone, and holds the door open for me as I approach.

“Thank you,” I say, smiling.

Now this is how normal people act.

Inside the lobby is pretty busy. There’s dozens of people milling about. Some kind of tour going on too. Maybe new hires? I study them, just in case they are. Sizing myself up. Comparing myself.

They all look pretty put-together. And for a moment I think maybe that Mila lady was lying about hiring girls like me.

But then again, I look pretty put-together too. And I’m still a girl like me.

So I suck in a deep breath and turn towards the reception area.

“Hi there,” a middle-aged woman says behind the desk. “How can I help you?”

“I’m here for a job,” I say.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asks. It’s not snide. Just a question. Still, my heart flutters because, of course, I don’t have an appointment.

“No,” I say. “I’m just… hoping.” I was going to say hoping to get one. But the rest of my sentence falls off.

“Oh,” the woman says brightly. “You need an application.”

“Yes,” I say.

She slides a clipboard towards me and says, “Here you go. Just fill this out and bring it back to me when you’re done.”

I nod, kinda nervous. Too nervous to say anything else. So I take my clipboard and walk over to a small seating area with a table. There are two other people filling out papers on clipboards so I suddenly feel like maybe this could work out for me.

I’m in the middle of my application when a woman appears, calls the two other girls by name, and then whisks them away through a door.

Yes, I decide. This is going to go well. I can already tell.

When my application is all filled out I take it back up to the receptionist. “Here you go,” I say.

“Thank you,” the woman says. “Is your contact information on there?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Great. We’ll give you a call.”