Exclusive Interview by Ava Lore Page B

Unfortunately I had been awake for almost thirty-six hours at that point, so my only thought was, Holy crap, all this for a lousy part time housekeeping job? This economy sucks.
    ...I'm serious. I was tired.
    Besides, I had just been witnessing first hand exactly how terrible the economy was so at the time the situation made perfect sense to my sleep deprived brain. I'd been on my feet all day, running all over downtown LA looking for a job I didn't really want. I mean, I needed a job—that much was obvious—but after a whole morning of job hunting I remembered why I'd been so reluctant to do so in the first place. Job hunting is brutal. And I'd recently been through the wringer. Subjecting myself to the Rejection Roulette was just cruel.
    I'd had no luck at all yet. I'd spent the morning riding the bus and walking from place to place getting rejected, so by the time I walked into suite 305 I was tired, bruised in spirit, and in no mood to get scrutinized by a bunch of yuppie wannabe housekeepers.
    Still, the place seemed like it might be a nice place to work—you know, if I managed to not get laughed out of the building upon first contact with HR. I didn't even know the name of the business I was applying to—the notes in my phone said it was a software consulting firm—but I had to admit it looked swank as hell.
    The lobby was decked out in cool, modern furniture, all sleek lines and irregular curves and angles that ended abruptly. The couches and chairs were pastel pink with lime green accent pillows, and the walls had been painted in cream and turquoise stripes, as if the sixties had vomited all over an Ikea. Large frosted glass doors with brushed steel handles stood at the entrance to the rest of the office, and next to them the secretary, a middle-aged woman with bottle-blond hair and steely gray eyes, sat at a hammered steel desk typing away at a slender computer that probably cost more than my last car.
    As I stood just inside the entrance, trying to muster the courage to sit down next to one of these intimidating strangers, the secretary looked up. Raising an eyebrow, she peered at me from over the top of her dark-rimmed glasses.
    "Are you here for the job screening?" she asked me. Her tone of voice was incredulous.
    A few titters rose from the other applicants, and I had to fight down a blush. "Um, yes?" I said.
    She raised the other eyebrow. "You sound uncertain."
    Oh, god. I was uncertain. I wanted nothing more than to turn around and run back out the heavy glass doors. How could I have known this was a position that required a business suit? I didn't even own a business suit. I hoped I never owned a business suit.
    But if they're laughing at you now, my brain whispered, imagine how much they'll laugh at you if you turn around and walk out.
    The thought paralyzed me. My defensive reflexes rose up and took over.
    A bright smile slid over my face and I shook my head. “No, I'm sure!” I chirped at the secretary. “That's what I'm here for!” And with a bounce in my step that sent my boobs jiggling in their tube top I turned and took the last remaining seat. I set my messenger bag down between my feet, then bent over to look for my cell phone within its cavernous depths. This also had the bonus side effect of hiding my flaming cheeks.
    “Well, that's good to hear, although you are a little late,” the secretary said. The note of mockery in her voice was clear as crystal. Then she coughed genteelly and seemed to sober up. “Well, at any rate, I'm afraid Mr. Hudson has been slightly delayed by an emergency phone call, but he will come greet you all as soon as possible. Please be patient.” Mr. Hudson. That must be the office manager or whatever. Why did the name ring a faint bell, though?
    I shook the thought off—I'd tended bar in a popular touristy night spot for almost three years so most people and names seemed familiar to me now—and nodded at the secretary on the off chance that she had been