Stepping off the elevator, I attempt to smooth out the wrinkles on my blouse as I make my way down a short hallway, and take in the grey interior and boring artwork that hangs on the walls. As I turn the corner, a woman is sitting behind the reception desk who looks to be in her late twenties to early thirties. She has black hair tied back at the base of her neck in a severe ponytail. A sign above her head reads HAWK LAW, CALLAN HAWK Attorney at Law.
When I reach her desk, she stops typing and looks at me with judgmental eyes. The corner of her lip tips up with what I am assuming is a look of disapproval. Tamping down my anxiety, I plaster on a fake smile. ‘Hello.’
‘Can I help you?’ the receptionist asks as she lowers her head and goes back to her business as if she doesn’t have the time nor the patience to deal with me.
‘Yes. I have an interview with Mr. Hawk.’
At that, the receptionist’s head darts up, her lips pursed, and her eyes narrow. ‘Down the hall and to your left. Take a seat, and someone will be with you in a few minutes.’
Doing as instructed, I walk down another hall until I see a second reception area. This one has a massive desk, and across from it three chairs. I glance around the empty space finding no one, before taking a seat in one of the chairs, fold my hands across my lap and wait. Soon, one-minute turns into ten and ten turns into thirty. I look down at my watch to see my interview time was almost forty-five minutes ago.
Suddenly the door to the left of me bursts open. A second later, my breath catches at the sight of the tall, handsome man walking out. He is easily 6 feet 3 inches tall with perfectly styled dark brown hair, which matches well with his tailored suit. A suit I’m sure costs more money than I’ve seen in the past two years.
With his phone to his ear and stone-cold expressionless stare, it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest when he doesn’t spare me so much as a glance as he brushes past me. It’s not anything I’m not used to, though. Being overlooked is the story of my life.
Nevertheless, I continue to sit in the chair for another hour. Just as I am about to say forget it and leave, an older lady with a grey bob and a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose bustles past me with her arms loaded down with files, and abruptly stops when she notices me sitting there. The woman looks around, then back at me. ‘Are you waiting on someone, dear?’
I nod. ‘Yes. I am here for the personal assistant interview.’
She looks down at her watch while trying not to drop the files. ‘That interview was over an hour and forty-five minutes ago. I’m afraid you’ve missed it.’
I swallow and shake my head. ‘No. I was here five minutes early. The lady at the front,’ I point down the hall, ‘said to come in here and take a seat. She said someone would be with me in a few minutes.’
‘Lord, child. You’ve been waiting here all that time?’
‘Yes.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I need this job. I’d still like the interview if it’s at all possible. Please.’
The woman sets the files down in the chair beside me and holds out her hand. ‘My name is Mrs. Marshall. You may call me Frances.’
I shake her hand. ‘Hi Frances, I’m Denver Hollis.’
‘What a beautiful name, Denver. Why don’t you come with me back to my office and we’ll get you set up.’
‘For the interview?’ I stand and go to help Frances with the files she is struggling with.
‘Oh, honey, you already got the job. We need to get your paperwork squared away.’
I stare blankly at her. ‘What do you mean I got the job? You didn’t ask me any questions, and I thought I was supposed to meet with Mr. Hawk.’
‘Mr. Hawk has already left for court, so I am the one saying yes to you. Anyone who has the patience to sit here for almost two hours for a job they are not sure they will even get is the perfect person for the position. When it comes to Mr. Hawk, patience is something you will need a lot of if you are going to work here, dear.’
‘Let’s just drop these off upfront with Kelly, and then we’ll go talk in my office.’
I’m assuming Kelly is the woman I met earlier when I arrived, and proven correct when Frances stops in front of her desk and drops the files in front of her. I do the same with what I have in my hand. Kelly hangs up from her phone call and regards Frances with a sugary sweet smile. Nothing like how she greeted me when I first arrived. ‘How are you today, Frances?’
‘I need you to take care of these files for me before you go to lunch, Kelly. Mr. Hawk will be expecting them back on his desk when he returns.’
Kelly’s eyes widen, and she sputters. ‘But, it’s fifteen minutes until I break for lunch.’
‘Well, I guess you better get busy. I expect Mr. Hawk back within the hour.’
Kelly huffs, but Frances ignores her. And just as she is about to walk away, she turns back to Kelly. ‘Oh. I almost forgot. Kelly, I’d like you to meet Mr. Hawk’s new personal assistant, Denver Hollis.’
‘What!’ Kelly screeches. ‘Mr. Hawk hasn’t finished the interview process. He still has three more applicants, including myself. My application was the first one put in when his last assistant quit.’
‘Yes, well, Denver here has proven to be the most qualified thus far. I see no need to continue the search. I’ve also been permitted by Mr. Hawk himself to hire whoever I see fit, and decided Miss Hollis will do just perfectly.’
With that, Frances turns on her heel and steps away from Kelly’s desk. I wordlessly follow her. And just as we are about to turn the corner, Frances stops and looks back at Kelly, who is sending me a death glare. ‘One last thing, Kelly; next time you fail to announce one of Mr. Hawk’s appointments, he will be notified.’
Following Frances, we step inside her office. As she’s closing the door, I say, ‘I take it Kelly wanted this job badly.’ I sit in the chair across from Frances’s desk.
‘The last thing Mr. Hawk needs is an assistant looking to sink their claws into him. And that is exactly what Kelly wants to do.’
‘Oh,’ is all I can say.
Sifting through a stack of paperwork on her desk, Frances finds what she is looking for. ‘I have an employee packet you will need to take home and fill out. We need all the basics: Name, address, social security number. You know the drill.’ She hands the packet over, and I gently take it from her.
‘How soon can you start, Denver?’
‘I can start tomorrow.’
‘You don’t have a current job which would require notice? When your interview was scheduled, there was no mention of current employment.’ She flips through the reaming papers sitting in front of her, finally producing my application form.
‘I am currently not employed.’
‘Where did you last work? Do you have any experience being a personal assistant?’ Frances asks.
My stomach drops. ‘No. I don’t have any experience. My last job was as a waitress. But I can say in the five years of working at my last job, I never missed a day. I’m a hard worker, Frances, and will do whatever it takes.’
Frances gives me a warm smile. ‘I have no doubt you will, sweetheart. I have a good feeling about you.’
Her words instantly put me at ease, and I lose some of the tension in my shoulders. ‘Thank you. I promise to work hard.’
As Frances goes about shuffling through more paperwork, my stomach rumbles with hunger, and my face flushes with embarrassment.
‘Oh, my goodness. Will you look at the time? It seems we have both missed lunch. Would you like to continue this meeting in the deli downstairs?’ Frances stands and looks at me. I have three dollars in loose change to my name. I have been saving that three dollars to use for washing my clothes at the laundromat.
‘I’m not hungry, but I’d be happy to go down with you.’ My face heats. I can’t help but notice the way Frances studies me. Something flashes in her eyes before she speaks.
‘Don’t be silly. Besides, lunch will be on the company’s dime. It’s the least we could do for making you wait so long.’
Nodding, I grab my bag that was sitting at my feet and stand. As embarrassed as I am, I’d be a fool not to accept the meal. ‘Thank you, Frances. Lunch sounds nice.’ Once we make it downstairs, Frances leads me to the deli. ‘It must be nice to have such a place close by to grab something to eat. Especially with it being a cold and wet day like today.’
‘Despite his mood and reputation, Mr. Hawk is a good man. He had the deli put in a couple of years ago.’
Frances steps to the counter and orders a chicken club sandwich, along with a salad. I order the same. After we are given our food, she leads us to a table in the back corner. That’s when I ask, ‘Reputation?’
Frances cocks her head to the side. ‘Have you never heard of Callan Hawk?’
I shake my head. I’m not one to keep up with prominent people in business or the who’s who of New York City. It’s not like I have the resources anyway. My main focus in life is survival. And from the way the woman in front of me is looking at me, she seems shocked and pleased at the same time.
‘The more I get to know you, Denver, the more I like you.’
‘Thanks…I think?’
Frances and I remain quiet for a few minutes as we eat our meals. I’m so hungry, I find it hard not to scarf down my food and make a pig of myself in front of her. Mindful of her observant eyes, I take small bites. Once I’ve eaten half of my sandwich, I wrap the remaining portion to save for later. Living on the streets and in the shelter, you learn to hoard what food you can because you never know where your next meal will come from. My thoughts quickly wander to the fact that I’ve been so hungry before that I’ve resorted to consuming food tossed into a trash bin on several occasions. Those points in my life have been some of my lowest moments. I sneak a glance toward Frances, who doesn’t say a word when she sees me slip the wrapped food into my bag.
Needing a minute, I stand. ‘Will you excuse me while I use the restroom?’
‘Of course, dear.’ Frances smiles, warmly.
I go to grab my bag when she stops me. ‘Why don’t you leave your bag here. I’ll watch it until you get back.’
I don’t usually let my backpack out of my sight since it holds everything I own. It’s not much, but it’s all I have. Living on the streets, you learn to guard what you have with your life. Studying her for a moment, I conclude I can trust Frances, and let loose of my bag. ‘Thanks. I’ll be right back.’
Finished with my business, I step out of the stall, then up to the sink and start washing my hands. I’m momentarily startled when I catch Kelly’s ugly sneer in the mirror. ‘I don’t know what you did to get the job, but I can tell you now, you won’t make it a week.’
I lift a brow and shrug. I’m not one to entertain cattiness.
‘I mean, just look at you.’ Kelly cackles as she tosses her towel in the trash bin, then leans her hip against the counter, her eyes traveling the length of my body. ‘Where did you get that outfit anyway; the bargain bin at the thrift store?’
My stomach knots with humiliation.
‘Mr. Hawk is a well-known member of the community. He needs someone with style and class representing him. He’s going to take one look at you and see you are not the right person for the job. And when your ass gets canned, I’ll be there to fill your position. Just as I should have in the first place.’ With those parting words, Kelly saunters out of the restroom with her five-inch red bottom heels clacking on the tiled floor. Everything Kelly says is true, but I’m not going to let it stop me from doing the best job I can, and pray that what she said about my new boss isn’t true, hoping when he finally gets a look at me that he doesn’t send me packing.
By the time I make it back to the table, Frances has finished eating and pulled out a tablet. ‘Now that we have eaten, how about we get back to business?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ I smile while putting my run-in with Kelly aside. She’s not worth my time or energy.
‘Will you be okay with coming in an hour early in the morning? Say 7:00 am? That way, I can get you set up with Mr. Hawk’s schedule and show you the computer system. I’ve been running things for Mr. Hawk since his last assistance quit. Be forewarned, Mr. Hawk can be demanding, and your workload will seem hectic at first, but I will start you out slow. Once you get the hang of how things work, I’ll start giving you more responsibilities. How does that sound?’
‘Sounds perfect.’
‘Just the words I wanted to hear.’
I smile. In the short amount of time I have spent with Frances, she has shown to be a lovely and patient woman. She reminds me of what I imagine a grandmother would act.
‘Okay, Denver. Let’s talk pay. As a new employee, you’ll be placed on a mandatory ninety-day probationary period. Starting salary is fifty thousand a year. If you make it past the ninety days, your salary will increase to seventy-five thousand a year. This will include a yearly bonus, two weeks of sick leave, and two weeks of vacation. If you make it past a year, we will sit down with Mr. Hawk and renegotiate these terms. Do you agree with my current offer?’
I nearly fall out of my chair at the mention of fifty thousand dollars. I wasn’t even making half of that at the diner. It takes me a second to realize Frances is staring at me expectantly because I have yet to answer her question. ‘Yes!’ I blurt.
An hour later, after Frances and I finished ironing out the details of my employment, I leave the office and make the ten-block trek to the shelter. By the time I get there, a line has already started to form. The housing only has a limited number of beds available every night. If you want to be guaranteed a spot, you need to be in line by at least 5:00 pm. I was relieved when Frances said I was off every day at 4:00 pm. That leaves an hour to walk from work to the shelter. I also figured that after a month of working, I would have enough saved to get into a small apartment of my own. Getting in line with the others, I wait. Only thirty more days. I can do it.
Later in the night, I lay awake on the cot, finding myself too anxious to sleep. I’m also hungry. Remembering the half eaten sandwich in my bag, I sit up in bed and grab my backpack from the floor. Opening it, I gasp. Covering my mouth with the palm of my hand, I quickly look around making sure I haven’t disturbed the person sleeping beside me, then look back in my bag. Not only is my leftover lunch there, but also a white paper bag with two blueberry muffins, a bag of chips and two bottles of water.
Frances. It had to be.
In the cot next to me, I hear a rustling sound, and glance at the pregnant woman sleeping. Even in sleep, she has the weight of the world written all over her face. Looking down at the food in my bag, then back at the woman, I take one of the muffins, my leftover chicken sandwich, a bottle of water, and place the items in a bag, then quietly set the bag beside her.
