Page 17 of Boss of Me
She takes the other chair and opens a folder on her lap to peruse my resume. “I see that you worked at the Fairmont Pittsburgh,” she remarks.
“Yes, ma’am. For almost five years.”
“Are you from Pittsburgh?”
“I am. Born and raised.”
“Hmm, yes. You have an accent.” Her tone makes it clear it wasn’t a compliment. “You graduated with honors from the University of Pittsburgh. How did you balance the demands of working and going to school full time?”
“I sacrificed a lot of sleep and social activities, and I had to learn how to manage my time. It wasn’t easy, and it took me an extra year to graduate. But I’ve never backed down from a challenge, and nothing was going to stop me from getting my degree.”
Mrs. Calder looks up from my resume to evaluate me through narrowed eyes.
I unconsciously straighten my spine. After years of playing the piano, I have pretty good posture. But compared to this woman’s rigid bearing, I might as well be slouched down and manspreading.
She starts asking me questions about my housekeeping experience at the Fairmont. I answer as honestly as possible without dwelling on the negative aspects of the job. Like having to clean up after rich assholes who trashed their suites and left no tips. Like going home after every shift with aching feet and a sore back. Like getting yelled at and having my pay docked for the smallest infractions. I focus on the positives, sounding as chipper as a cheerleader.
Mrs. Calder listens in silence, never interrupting. Her impassive expression makes it hard to tell what she thinks of my answers, which is super unnerving.
“I understand that you studied music in college,” she says.
“Yes, that’s right.”
She nods. “Mr. Ransom is a patron of the arts with season tickets for the symphony.”
I smile, mentally seizing on the employer’s last name. Ransom. Now I just need a first name so I can google him on my way home.
“I’ve heard nothing but great things about the Austin Symphony Orchestra,” I tell Mrs. Calder. “I hope to attend a concert someday.”
She hums a noncommittal note as she looks back down at my resume. “In addition to your regular duties, you would be expected to perform other tasks as needed.”
“Other tasks?”
“Mr. Ransom does a great deal of entertaining,” she explains. “Charity balls, art showings, dinner parties. You may be called upon to serve guests and assist the catering staff during these events.”
Sounds reasonable.“Okay.”
She closes the folder, sets it aside and primly folds her hands in her lap. “Do you have any questions for me?”
“Um, is the neighborhood accessible by bus?”
“Heavens, no.” She practically shudders at the idea. “A private vehicle would be provided for you to run household errands and shop for groceries.”
“Great,” I say slowly, “but how would I get to work? I don’t own a car, and taking an Uber every day would get pretty expensive.”
Mrs. Calder frowns at me. “Are you not aware that this is a live-in position?”
“It is?” I squeak.
“It was clearly stated in the job posting.”
Shit! How did Barbara leave out such an important detail?
“Is this going to be a problem for you?” Mrs. Calder asks imperiously.
“Um, well, I have four months left on my lease.”
“I see.” She purses her lips until they disappear. “Anything else?”
