working budget. I can help. I’ve been working in financial offices for over a decade, so I know a thing or two about how to manage money.” Okay, so I had only one management position in my early twenties, and I hated it. Since then, I’ve learned from watching those above me screw up. But the HEYA folks don’t need to be bothered with such sordid details. That’s why I worded my résumé so carefully. “Plus, I’m currently earning my MBA at USC.”
“Yeah, but do you know what it takes to run a center like this?” demands Edgar.
“I know what it takes to survive.”
Oh, my God. Did I just whip back the perfect response? Suddenly I think of Jack and wonder if his courage has rubbed off on me just a tiny bit.
Mr. Bennet’s raised eyebrows tell me he’s somewhat impressed with my gusto. Or maybe he just thinks I’m nuts. “I’ve read the résumé you faxed over this morning, Ms. Flyte, and I can see you have financial experience. But did Guadalupe explain on the phone that we can’t pay anywhere near what you used to get? This job is only fifteen hours a week, at twelve dollars an hour.”
I blink. I’m about to lose my dream job because I made too much money at my middle-of-the-road jobs that had me living paycheck to paycheck as I tried to make rent in West Los Angeles? I'm not here to save them with a check so they're writing me off?
“This isn’t about the paycheck,” I say vehemently, fabricating as I go. “I’ve saved and invested enough over the years to pay for school and rent, so all I really need is enough for food and gas and insurance and stuff like that.”
“Ms. Flyte,” Mr. Bennet begins. “Your enthusiasm is impressive…”
“It’s for real,” I insist, trying to stave off the rejection I can feel brewing.
“Is it?” Edgar takes a step forward. “Or is this just some business school project? Do you even understand that this is our life ?”
I grab the magazine off the desk and hold it up in front of me. “This is my life.”
They all stare.
“I’m Lisa Flyte. The Lisa Flyte. This is me.”
They all exchange Let’s-Call-the-Psych-Ward looks. But if I have to bring out the big guns to get this job, I will. I will NOT be brushed aside any longer.
“I know it doesn’t look like me,” I say. “But I lost a lot of weight when I was in the coma, and when I got out of the hospital, I cut my hair and dyed it back to its natural color.”
“Uh.…” But Mr. Bennet doesn’t seem to know where to go from there.
“Please,” I say. “Please hear me out.”
“Hear out your story?” This is Jimmy, sounding all eager, as if he’s in for a good sci-fi adventure. “Shoot. We’re listening.”
I quickly take out my wallet. “I can prove it’s me.” I find a picture and hand it to Mr. Bennet. “This is me and my parents at my high school graduation. My parents’ pictures are in the magazine. So is my sister’s.” I hand around the second picture. “This is me about to dump freezing cold water all over Mags as she lays out in the sun.” I love this picture. I wish I had ones of her just after I doused her, but my friend Sandy who was taking the pics was laughing so hard that the rest of the shots came out blurry. “Compare them,” I insist. “You’ll see.”
Mr. Bennet, Guadalupe, Edgar and Jimmy all gather into a huddle, holding my pictures up to the ones in the magazine. Then they lift their heads to look at me as though I’ve sprouted wings and a hood ornament.
Thank goodness. They look convinced, which means I won’t have to show them the final picture.
“What’s that picture there?” Edgar notices I’m holding something behind my back.
“It’s nothing,” I say with a chipper look of innocence.
“What are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding anything.” I thrust my hand forward, giving them the picture. “Here. It’s of me and Keith.”
Guadalupe looks at the picture then at me. “Your fiancé! But then…”
“I know, I
“Yeah, but do you know what it takes to run a center like this?” demands Edgar.
“I know what it takes to survive.”
Oh, my God. Did I just whip back the perfect response? Suddenly I think of Jack and wonder if his courage has rubbed off on me just a tiny bit.
Mr. Bennet’s raised eyebrows tell me he’s somewhat impressed with my gusto. Or maybe he just thinks I’m nuts. “I’ve read the résumé you faxed over this morning, Ms. Flyte, and I can see you have financial experience. But did Guadalupe explain on the phone that we can’t pay anywhere near what you used to get? This job is only fifteen hours a week, at twelve dollars an hour.”
I blink. I’m about to lose my dream job because I made too much money at my middle-of-the-road jobs that had me living paycheck to paycheck as I tried to make rent in West Los Angeles? I'm not here to save them with a check so they're writing me off?
“This isn’t about the paycheck,” I say vehemently, fabricating as I go. “I’ve saved and invested enough over the years to pay for school and rent, so all I really need is enough for food and gas and insurance and stuff like that.”
“Ms. Flyte,” Mr. Bennet begins. “Your enthusiasm is impressive…”
“It’s for real,” I insist, trying to stave off the rejection I can feel brewing.
“Is it?” Edgar takes a step forward. “Or is this just some business school project? Do you even understand that this is our life ?”
I grab the magazine off the desk and hold it up in front of me. “This is my life.”
They all stare.
“I’m Lisa Flyte. The Lisa Flyte. This is me.”
They all exchange Let’s-Call-the-Psych-Ward looks. But if I have to bring out the big guns to get this job, I will. I will NOT be brushed aside any longer.
“I know it doesn’t look like me,” I say. “But I lost a lot of weight when I was in the coma, and when I got out of the hospital, I cut my hair and dyed it back to its natural color.”
“Uh.…” But Mr. Bennet doesn’t seem to know where to go from there.
“Please,” I say. “Please hear me out.”
“Hear out your story?” This is Jimmy, sounding all eager, as if he’s in for a good sci-fi adventure. “Shoot. We’re listening.”
I quickly take out my wallet. “I can prove it’s me.” I find a picture and hand it to Mr. Bennet. “This is me and my parents at my high school graduation. My parents’ pictures are in the magazine. So is my sister’s.” I hand around the second picture. “This is me about to dump freezing cold water all over Mags as she lays out in the sun.” I love this picture. I wish I had ones of her just after I doused her, but my friend Sandy who was taking the pics was laughing so hard that the rest of the shots came out blurry. “Compare them,” I insist. “You’ll see.”
Mr. Bennet, Guadalupe, Edgar and Jimmy all gather into a huddle, holding my pictures up to the ones in the magazine. Then they lift their heads to look at me as though I’ve sprouted wings and a hood ornament.
Thank goodness. They look convinced, which means I won’t have to show them the final picture.
“What’s that picture there?” Edgar notices I’m holding something behind my back.
“It’s nothing,” I say with a chipper look of innocence.
“What are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding anything.” I thrust my hand forward, giving them the picture. “Here. It’s of me and Keith.”
Guadalupe looks at the picture then at me. “Your fiancé! But then…”
“I know, I
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