with a twitch of my shoulders. There was no room in my head for negative energy. Not that evening. That evening was about positive vibes, a confident attitude, and—with a spot of luck and the skilled application of a little of my legendary chutzpah—a favorable outcome.
I eased my car into a parking place, checked my lipstick in the rearview mirror, and headed inside. I hoped that by the time I walked out again, I'd have an offer for a new job.
Yeah, I know. It would mean leaving Garden View. That, of course, was the whole point. Not only did the Saks job pay two dollars more an hour than my job at the cemetery, but getting away from the mausoleums and headstones would also mean that I could put a whole lot of distance between myself and Gus.
So what if I hadn't solved his little mystery?
What were the chances of that happening, anyway?
And who ever said that I cared enough to really try?
The woman in Human Resources said I was "ideal." The shift manager in Women's Wear used the word
"perfect." After an hour and a half of filling out papers, smiling my way through interviews, and completing not one but two personality profiles, I had only one more hurdle to cross: the manager of the shoe department.
It was a good thing I'd used my head as well as my fashion sense and slipped on myFerragamos before I left the apartment.
I arrived at Shoes wearing a hopeful smile, my newly created personnel file under my arm, waiting for this crucial and final stamp of approval. The department manager's name was Charles. He was young and black and he was dressed in a navy suit that fit his tall, thin frame to perfection. He moved with elegance and efficiency, and after only a couple of minutes watching him in action, I knew I'd like working with him.
He had a real knack for knowing when to smother a customer with attention and when to back off. He also had a wonderful sense of style. He paired shoes and purses as if it were a talent he'd been born with and I, for one, had no doubt he had been. The fact that I had been, too, made us soul-mates of sorts, and by the time he was un-busy enough to spend ten minutes sitting and chatting with me, I was so giddy from the smell of expensive leather and the promise of a life after the afterlife of Garden View, I was tempted to ask Charles if along with every other Sunday off, he could guarantee me a ghost-free work environment.
I might actually have done it. Except that in the middle of a serious discussion of the advantages ofMiu Miu versus Kate Spade, I looked toward a chichi display of even more chichi summer sandals and straw bags—and saw Gus.
My heart stopped, the astonishment so complete and so unexpected, it solidified inside me until every inch of my body was flash frozen. I'd been describing my idea of the perfect spring outfit to Charles and my arm went numb in the middle of aVanna -like gesture toward a pair of silk and lizard T-strap pumps.
I swear, if I hadn't been a) in public, b) in the middle of a job interview, and c) wondering if, finally, I hadn't completely lost my mind, I would have screamed.
Instead, before I could stop myself, I popped out of my chair, my arm still extended, my body language now more accusatory than it was graceful. "You can't be here," I said.
"Excuse me?"
I realized my mistake the moment I heard Charles's befuddled voice. I yanked my gaze away from Gus and back to Charles, who was eyeing me as if… well, as if I'd seen a ghost.
"All the time," I blurted out along with a smile that was tight around the edges and too wide to be genuine. "You can't be here all the time, is what I meant to say. That's why you need reliable people to work for you."
"Absolutely." My recovery was so smooth, Charles never lost the gleam in his dark eyes. Seeing that we shared the same concerns about work ethics, he just about sparkled. He stood. "I'll let you in on a little secret, darling. That's exactly why it's taking me so long to hire a new associate. I can't
I eased my car into a parking place, checked my lipstick in the rearview mirror, and headed inside. I hoped that by the time I walked out again, I'd have an offer for a new job.
Yeah, I know. It would mean leaving Garden View. That, of course, was the whole point. Not only did the Saks job pay two dollars more an hour than my job at the cemetery, but getting away from the mausoleums and headstones would also mean that I could put a whole lot of distance between myself and Gus.
So what if I hadn't solved his little mystery?
What were the chances of that happening, anyway?
And who ever said that I cared enough to really try?
The woman in Human Resources said I was "ideal." The shift manager in Women's Wear used the word
"perfect." After an hour and a half of filling out papers, smiling my way through interviews, and completing not one but two personality profiles, I had only one more hurdle to cross: the manager of the shoe department.
It was a good thing I'd used my head as well as my fashion sense and slipped on myFerragamos before I left the apartment.
I arrived at Shoes wearing a hopeful smile, my newly created personnel file under my arm, waiting for this crucial and final stamp of approval. The department manager's name was Charles. He was young and black and he was dressed in a navy suit that fit his tall, thin frame to perfection. He moved with elegance and efficiency, and after only a couple of minutes watching him in action, I knew I'd like working with him.
He had a real knack for knowing when to smother a customer with attention and when to back off. He also had a wonderful sense of style. He paired shoes and purses as if it were a talent he'd been born with and I, for one, had no doubt he had been. The fact that I had been, too, made us soul-mates of sorts, and by the time he was un-busy enough to spend ten minutes sitting and chatting with me, I was so giddy from the smell of expensive leather and the promise of a life after the afterlife of Garden View, I was tempted to ask Charles if along with every other Sunday off, he could guarantee me a ghost-free work environment.
I might actually have done it. Except that in the middle of a serious discussion of the advantages ofMiu Miu versus Kate Spade, I looked toward a chichi display of even more chichi summer sandals and straw bags—and saw Gus.
My heart stopped, the astonishment so complete and so unexpected, it solidified inside me until every inch of my body was flash frozen. I'd been describing my idea of the perfect spring outfit to Charles and my arm went numb in the middle of aVanna -like gesture toward a pair of silk and lizard T-strap pumps.
I swear, if I hadn't been a) in public, b) in the middle of a job interview, and c) wondering if, finally, I hadn't completely lost my mind, I would have screamed.
Instead, before I could stop myself, I popped out of my chair, my arm still extended, my body language now more accusatory than it was graceful. "You can't be here," I said.
"Excuse me?"
I realized my mistake the moment I heard Charles's befuddled voice. I yanked my gaze away from Gus and back to Charles, who was eyeing me as if… well, as if I'd seen a ghost.
"All the time," I blurted out along with a smile that was tight around the edges and too wide to be genuine. "You can't be here all the time, is what I meant to say. That's why you need reliable people to work for you."
"Absolutely." My recovery was so smooth, Charles never lost the gleam in his dark eyes. Seeing that we shared the same concerns about work ethics, he just about sparkled. He stood. "I'll let you in on a little secret, darling. That's exactly why it's taking me so long to hire a new associate. I can't
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