Page 5 of Devil in the Details
CHAPTER THREE
Olive
Ihit Send and leaned back in my chair, the piece of furniture creaking, the denim-colored upholstery on it scratchy against my skin, tattered from age. I lifted my hands and rubbed my eyes, exhausted, the clock on the wall ticking off the seconds. It was already past midnight, and for me that was late as hell.
Since coming home, I’d been in front of the computer and sending off as many resumes as I could—well, to the positions I was qualified for and didn’t sound like total shit. But having a month’s severance pay helped ease some of the anxiety I felt.
I looked over at my notepad and the newspaper sitting beside it. I had one more resume to send off, and I guess I’d saved the best for last.
This was the position I really wanted, because it sounded pretty much like what I’d been doing for Mr. Brookwood. But then again, if it sounded this good, no doubt there was going to be a lot of people applying, and it wasn’t like I had a whole lot ofexperience. Not to mention being fired didn’t really work in my favor.
But I was still going to give it a go, because what did I have to lose? I was already jobless.
I leaned forward, the chair squeaking again, and pulled up a new email. After attaching my resume, typing out a snazzy query, and including my cover letter, I moved the mouse over to the Send button. I let the little arrow hover over it for a second. I was nervous and I didn’t know why. Maybe the possibility of not finding a job and becoming homeless—or worse, moving back in with my parents—made this morbid sense of dread fill me.
Fuck it.
I hit Send and leaned back in the chair again, exhaling slowly. I was probably just working myself up for nothing. I was sending off a damn resume, not running for President of the United States.
I ran my hands over my face and breathed out slowly. I was tired, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly, the stress and worry eating at me, weighing down on me like a ton of bricks.
I grabbed my cell and pulled up my messages, sending one to Michael. It was late, but I knew he’d be up. I guess that’s how your internal clock was trained when you were a bartender.
Can’t sleep. Big surprise. Just sent off a shit load of resumes and worried I won’t get a callback.
It was only a second later that those three gray dots appeared.
Michael
If they don’t call you back, they’re a bunch of wankers.
Wankers? I snorted and smiled, typing out my reply.
Is David British or something? Wankers? You pick that up from him? ;)
Michael
LOL. No, smartass. I kind of like it. Picking up random slang words from all over the world. Makes me feel sophisticated.
I laughed out loud then. Leave it to Michael to make me smile when I felt like utter shit.
Michael
I know it’s late, but if you want, we can go get some coffee at that all-night diner. Maybe you want to talk if you can’t sleep?
I exhaled slowly, looking down the short hallway that led to my bedroom. I should try to sleep or at least lie in bed staring at my ceiling, but the truth was, I knew I wouldn’t be able to. I started typing a reply.
Yeah, meet you there in half an hour?
I set my phone down but didn’t move from my spot. I still had to get dressed, seeing as I was only in a camisole and my underwear. I looked toward my window, the curtains thin enough so it gave me a semblance of privacy, but sheer enough Icould kind of see the outside world when the lights were low, like they were right now.
My apartment was small as hell, one tiny room, and the living room and kitchen were one area. My bathroom was laughable in size, and for what I paid a month for this place, I felt like I should be living like royalty.
But beggars really couldn’t be choosers in the city.
I shut off my computer and lamp and walked over to the window, pulling the curtain aside to look out. There was a brick building beside my apartment, but to my left I could see part of the city, a strip of street where cars drove by or taxi drivers showed their road rage in all its glory. A secondhand clothing store was across the street, and a laundromat was beside that. On the other side of the clothing store was a pawn shop. They were all crammed together down that little strip of street.
This wasn’t the best neighborhood to be in, because it was more industrial than anything else, but living on a secretarial income didn’t allow for luxuries. Still, I was comfortable, it was relatively safe, and I had a roof over my head, so I couldn’t complain. Well, not much.
