Before entering the bathroom, I caught sight of a black envelope under my door. Who still used stationery? It seemed so old-fashioned. I peeled the golden seal from the back and opened the letter. A business card fell to the ground.
Ms. Downs,
Again, I would like to sincerely apologize for disturbing you last night. The hotel, I hope, compensated you for their foolish mistake. I overheard you in the lobby, telling a woman you drove from Texas to Vegas alone. Impressive. You must be a woman of determination. If you are here for the long-term, and are looking for a job, I would love to give you a chance. Feel free to call my office.
Regards,
Finnley Felton
The neatest calligraphy-like handwriting filled the pages with the most perfectly curled F's.
Finnley.
I remembered the shock on his face when I threw the shampoo bottle. No way Mr. Eye-full would see me again or become my boss. Out of the question. How embarrassing would it be to look him in the eye each day?
I placed the envelope on the dresser next to the empty bottle of wine, and slowly pulled on the jogging pants and T-shirt I'd left crumpled on the floor. My first and only interview started at 2:00 p.m.; considering it was 12:00 p.m., I had plenty of time.
After ordering a pastry from room service, on the house, I dressed. I felt devious and wanted to be sexy business professional. Black bra, black panties, and thigh-highs, it would be my little secret.
I slipped on the skirt suit, tucked my hair behind my ears, and lightly applied makeup. Light pink cheeks, neutral colored eye shadow, and a shiny lip gloss made me feel well put together. The black suit went well with my bright red high heels. Nothing said hire me more than those shoes.
I planned my Vegas life from the time I left the farmhouse. I would work the accounting clerk job at Simon & Fitch until I qualified to test for my Certified Public Accountant license. After interning for a year, and working my way up the corporate ladder, I would become a partner at the firm; buy a new comfortable car, and a nice house.
Landing that job was the most essential piece of my overall plan to stay in Vegas. It would jumpstart my professional career while keeping my mind away from Texas.
Simon & Fitch was only fifteen minutes away, and I decided to leave before the nervousness completely took over. I needed to calm down as I rehearsed the different interview questions that most prospective employers asked. What were my weaknesses and strengths? Why did I feel I would be a good match for the position?
Arriving early wouldn't hurt. I heard Mr. Simon hated tardiness. Being early meant being punctual, and I had punctuality.
I tucked my clutch under my arm as I waited for the elevator.
My heels clicked on the floor as I walked through the foyer, which acted as my runway to success. I worked it like a catwalk.
The blinding sun shone in my eyes and I covered them like a salute as I strutted to the valet area. An older gentleman asked for my Valet slip and scurried away to retrieve my vehicle.
Fifteen minutes had passed before he returned. The time continued to tick. "Ms. Downs. Your car has a flat, and we are unable to move it from the parking space. Would you like for us to call Road Side Assistance, or do you prefer to change the tire yourself?"
I closed my eyes and opened them before I spoke. "I can't change it dressed like this. How long until they can get here?"
He picked up the special red valet phone and made a few calls.
"One to two hours before they can make it out." I looked down at my phone. I didn't have time for that!
"That's no problem. Please tell them to come out, insurance is in the upper visor, I really have to make it to this interview at Simon & Fitch before 1:45 p.m."
But I was already late by my standards.
"Do you have a shuttle for patrons of the hotel?"
"Yes ma'am, but it only brings you to a few designated places like the airport."
"Shit."
Blood pumped through my veins. The stress, the feeling that no one was here to help, made me realize how alone I truly was. I had no one to call.
Taking responsibility, I thanked the valet guy and ran toward a taxi, in fucking heels. I had no idea what I was doing. I never called for a taxi before, but I threw my hand in the air and waved them on. One zoomed over to me, and I hopped in the back seat.
The driver looked no older than twenty-five with a baseball cap and Ray Bans. Hipster driver was not what I expected at all.
Breathless, I said, "Simon & Fitch, please. If you can get me there before 1:50 p.m., I will pay you triple fair."
My phone read 1:38 p.m.
I had exactly seventeen minutes to my destination.
The taxi whipped in and out of traffic like a bee traveling through flowers. I closed my eyes and hoped he wouldn't wreck. Since the accident, I got a little skittish with crazy driving. I wanted to live, and I never wanted to experience whiplash. It probably sucked more than a wine hangover.
We crossed two lanes of traffic, nearly rear-ended a few cars, and almost completely ran over several pedestrians jaywalking. Curse words, a few middle fingers, and fist shakes were involved. The driver had road rage and wasn't afraid to show it.
Fabulous. If I was to die, I wanted to look death in the face and take it with pride.
I straightened in the seat.
"Sit back, honey, Imma professional. Nothing to worry about."
My heart wanted to jump from my chest, but I didn't let it. I did what the hip guy said, and sat back and hoped an anxiety attack wouldn't submerge.
Maybe I wasn't as brave as I thought.
Thinking back to my previous statement, I should have added, triple fair, if, and only if, I arrived in one piece.
Interview questions flashed in my mind. Why did I want this position? What were my strengths and weaknesses?
The next thing I knew, the cab inched closer to the blue building. I pulled out my phone, 1:57.
Holy shit! Where did the time go?
After a screeching halt where he almost jumped the curb, I pulled a hundred from my wallet and handed it to the cabbie.
"This one is on me. You can owe me one."
He handed the hundo back to me. I crumbled it into a tight ball and threw it on the floorboard.
"Hey!"
"Thanks!" I took off the sexy red heels and ran into the building. My nerves felt like mush, and sweat formed on my brow. Once inside the double doors, I placed the heels back on my feet and rushed to the secretary's desk.
2:00 p.m. I was late.
Breathlessly, I forced out my name to the disinterested secretary.
"Jennifer. Downs."
The woman rolled her eyes at me and looked at the clock.
"I am sorry Ms. Downs, your interview was scheduled for 2:00 p.m. Mr. Simon is apt and expects all prospective job candidates to be the same.
"But it's 2:00 right now. Please. I had a flat and–"
"Let me phone the interview panel."
My phone clicked to 2:01 p.m. Rude Secretary waited on the phone, and I heard the mumbling of a husky voice on the other line as she asked if I would be seen for the interview.
"I am sorry Ms. Downs. Our committee thanks you for your time and wishes you luck in all your future endeavors."
My world crashed down. Every plan I had crumbled.
How could a person's dreams be flattened so quickly?
Tears welled in my eyes, and I wanted nothing more than to sit down and cry on the floor. Everything rested inside of the Simon & Fitch corporate office: a career, and ultimate happiness. The most elite accounting firm in the country denied me because I failed the simplest test: being on time for an interview, one that was practically impossible to get.