Spoonbenders

“You put your résumés in it,” he said. “And look: Yellow notepad! Pen loop!”

“All this, and rich, Corinthian leather,” she said. She pulled his face to hers, and was surprised to feel tears on her eyelashes. Tears, Irene? Really?

“I know you’re nervous,” he said. “But you’re going to knock ’em dead. You know that, right?”

She loved him when he thought he was telling the truth. But did she love him enough, all the other times? They’d known each other for only two months and already he wanted her to cross the continent to be with him, his Internet-order bride. He talked as if this was No Big Thing. A grand adventure. A lark. He had no idea how hard this was for her. Mostly because she hadn’t told him.

He grabbed her arm. “Come on. Up.”

“What are you doing?”

She held on to the portfolio as he pulled her to the big wall mirror. “Stand in front of me.” He placed his hand on her shoulders, put his cheek beside hers, and together they looked into the mirror.

“Repeat after me,” he said. “I, Irene Telemachus, will get this job.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I, Irene…” he said.

“I will get this job,” she said.

“Not to me. Say it so you know it’s the truth.”

Irene looked at the naked woman in the mirror, clutching the portfolio as if it could protect her. “They’d be lucky to have me,” she said.

It was impossible to tell if Mirror Irene was lying. She gave nothing away.

Joshua slipped a hand under the portfolio and tweaked a nipple. “Damn straight.”

—

The interview started out well enough. Amber the HR rep, a twentysomething nymph constructed entirely of freckles and positive attitude, led her on a tour of the building, highlighting the open-plan office where Irene would sit if she took the job. Her desk would be surrounded by more windows than anyplace she’d ever worked except for a Burger King drive-thru. Everyone was smiling and pleasant, and Amber enthused about how friendly the working environment was and how laid-back and cool everyone was. The girl believed every word she spoke. And it was certainly true that the dress code was relaxed. Everyone wore southwestern casual: polos and khakis, sundresses, even shorts and sandals. Only upper management seemed to wear anything with buttons, and Irene felt like an eastern stiff, dour as a missionary.

The interview proper began in a large, glassed-in conference room with a surfboard-shaped table. Amber introduced her to Bob, her potential boss, and Laurie and Jon, her potential colleagues. Those two had the same job title, though Laurie said she’d been there four more years.

Bob described the consulting business, the kinds of clients they worked with, the array of experts they had on staff, the kind of person they were looking for to fit into their “family.” Jon and Laurie chimed in with details. Each of them took time to mention how they loved Joshua, Joshua was great, sharp as a tack that Joshua.

Finally it was time for the interrogation. The others opened their folders, pretended to study Irene’s résumé, and fell silent.

Irene resisted the urge to open the portfolio. The monogram now struck her as pompous and ridiculous.

“So, Irene,” Bob the boss said. “I’m not seeing a degree on here.” As if he’d just noticed this.

“No,” she said, “but I have experience in bookkeeping, accounting, and, well, money management.”

“Right…” Jon said. Then he winced apologetically. “But you know the job requires at least an undergraduate degree? In business, accounting, or some related field?”

“I saw that,” Irene said. “But we—I wasn’t sure if that was a hard requirement.” Joshua had encouraged her to apply anyway.

“Hmm,” Bob said.

Another long moment of silence, as if they were mourning the death of her prospects.

“How about postsecondary schooling?” Bob asked. “Perhaps courses at a business school?”

Did he think she would have left that off the résumé if she’d taken any? “I plan on continuing my education as soon as possible,” she said.

“That could be tough,” Jon said, putting on a concerned expression. “I mean, while working here full-time, and taking care of a son.”

Irene had not mentioned her son, and he wasn’t on her résumé.

“Any experience with accounting software?” Laurie asked.

“I know how to use spreadsheets,” Irene said. “The firm where I worked last used a homegrown system that was mostly paper-based.”

“Aldi’s uses a paper system?” Jon asked in mock surprise.

Fucker, Irene thought. He knew she wasn’t talking about Aldi’s.

“We have something a bit more complex,” Bob said. Jon laughed an ass-kisser’s laugh. Even Laurie chuckled.

The interview continued to spiral downward. She realized that they’d agreed to this interview only as a favor to Joshua, and now they wanted to make it abundantly clear that she didn’t belong here, would never belong here. Amber the HR rep never asked a question, but scribbled and scribbled and scribbled on her notepad like a five-year-old in a church pew.

Irene’s skin grew hot. She kept a smile nailed to her face. Held her voice steady.