Mary Bliss was poring over the help-wanted ads in the newspaper when Erin walked into the kitchen and went immediately to the refrigerator.
Huge sigh. “We’re out of skim milk.”
“I’m sorry,” Mary Bliss said quickly. “I’ll get some today.”
“Whatever.” Erin ducked into the pantry and came out with the cardboard Pop-Tarts box. “And this is the last Pop-Tart, too. When was the last time you went grocery shopping?”
The last time there was money in my checking account, Mary Bliss wanted to snap. Instead she bit her lip. “I’ll go today.”
“Whatever,” Erin said. She picked up her purse off the kitchen counter and started toward the door. “What about my phone?” she asked. “Did you find out what the problem was?”
Mary Bliss knew what the problem was. “I’ll try to get it taken care of today. You know how those phone places are. Customer service is deplorable.”
“The people who work there are all a bunch of retards,” Erin sneered. It was the closest they’d come to agreement all week.
Erin was headed out the door, without a good-bye.
“See you tonight,” Mary Bliss called over her shoulder.
“It’ll be after nine,” Erin said. “Coach called a special practice.”
Erin was on a select soccer team, but the season was over.
“In June?” Mary Bliss asked.
“There’s a big invitational tournament in September. He’s all spazzed out about getting us in condition.”
“You’re in great condition,” Mary Bliss said, annoyed. “You run nearly every night, work out at the gym. It seems to me this soccer team is taking up every minute of your time.”
Erin shook her hair over her shoulder, a sign of her own annoyance. “You know what Daddy says. Sports are great for girls. Keeps ’em off the streets and out of trouble.”
“As if you’d be on the streets,” Mary Bliss muttered.
“You never know,” Erin said. And she was out the door and gone.
Mary Bliss turned back to the classifieds.
The pickings were pretty slim. She couldn’t, in good conscience, take a full-time job, knowing she’d be starting back to school in mid-August. But it was only June. She was broke, and a part-time job seemed the only answer.
She skimmed over the ads for advertising sales, computer programmers, data entry clerks, and HVAC technicians. She had no idea what an HVAC tech did, but she was pretty sure it would be out of her realm of experience.
She paused when she came to an ad with large bold print: PRODUCT DEMONSTRATION HOSTESS. It was the word hostess that caught her eye. Everybody said she was an amazing hostess. She loved to cook, loved to entertain. Of course now she’d be entertaining without her Frances I flatware, and if she didn’t find some employment soon her repertoire would be reduced to instant oatmeal and squeeze cheese.
“Energetic people-magnet needed to demonstrate exciting new food products. Self-starter. Flex hours. No experience necessary.” All of that sounded good. But it was the last line of the ad that sounded best: “$22.00 per hour.”
Her hands were shaking as she punched in the phone number in the ad.
A man’s voice answered. He identified himself as Jeff Robertson. Yes, he said, the position was open. Yes, he’d be willing to talk to her. Today? Excellent. An hour from now? Perfect.
“If we come to an agreement on your employment, would you be willing to start today?” he asked.
Mary Bliss’s eyes filled with tears. After paying the bills, she was down to $12.32 in her checking account.
“Absolutely,” she said.
She flew up the stairs and stood in the closet, staring at the clothes rack. What did a product demonstration hostess wear? A dress seemed too Sunday-schoolish, slacks and a blouse seemed too casual. After some false starts, she found the right look. Her navy poplin blazer, crisp white blouse, and starched and creased khaki slacks, with blue cork-soled sandals. She tied a bright print scarf around her neck, fastened little gold hoops in her ears, and stood back from the mirror.
Yes. Perfect. Not too dressy, not too casual. Although…she did look a little like the first mate on the Love Boat.
She shook the doubts out of her head and took the stairs two at a time. For the first time since she’d found Parker’s note, she felt good. She felt strong, energetic, businesslike. No more crying and hand-wringing for Mary Bliss McGowan. She was now, she told herself, a full-fledged product demonstration hostess.
She exited the interstate at Windy Hill Road in Cobb County, made the right turn, and started watching for Windy River Crossing, the office park she was supposed to report to.
The park was a maze, but she found building 300, and office suite 15B, with relative ease. The sign on the door said MARKET CONCEPTS.
Mary Bliss straightened her scarf and her spine and opened the frosted glass door.
The room was small, with a single desk against the back wall. The man sitting there looked up. “Mrs. McGowan?” His voice cracked. For a moment, Mary Bliss considered leaving. Man? This was a kid, barely twenty. He still had acne on his cheeks. His head was shaved nearly bald. He wore wire-rimmed glasses with tinted blue lenses and he had a white-blonde goatee and a small silver stud piercing his left nostril. He wore a white golf shirt with the Market Concepts logo embroidered on the breast.
“I have an appointment with Mr. Robertson,” Mary Bliss told the kid.
“That’s me,” he said, gesturing toward a plastic laminate chair opposite the desk. “Great. Let’s talk product placement.”
Mary Bliss sat. The chair wobbled.
He had her fill out an employment application, and while she scribbled, he watched silently, stroking his goatee as though that would make it grow.
“Drugs?” Robertson blurted.
“What?” Mary Bliss nearly dropped her pen.
“Do you do illegal drugs? Our client stores won’t tolerate substance abuse,” Robertson said. “You’ll be subject to random drug testing at any time.”
“I’ve never used illegal drugs,” Mary Bliss said, her face reddening.
“Police record?” he asked. He leaned forward. “We’ll run a check on you, you know, so it’s best if you just tell me the truth.”
“I don’t do drugs and I’ve never even had a parking ticket,” Mary Bliss exclaimed. She shoved the clipboard holding her application across the desk toward him.
“Ever take a lie detector test?” he asked, cocking his head to one side to appraise her reaction.
“No!” She stood up, her entire body fairly quivering with indignation. “I understood the job I was applying for was as a product demonstration hostess, not Supreme Court justice. I resent the implication that I might be some sort of lying, cocaine-snorting master criminal. I’m just a woman. A woman with a family who needs a job.” Her upper lip was really quivering now, and she could feel a sob working its way up from her chest.
She swallowed the sob and squared her shoulders. Goddamn this little peckerwood, she thought. He had a job that paid twenty-two an hour. Fine. She would get the job, pick up her paycheck, and pay her bills. And someday, this little peckerwood and all his peckerwood brothers would be mighty sorry they ever messed with the likes of Mary Bliss McGowan.
“Do I get the job or not?” she asked, looking down at him, speaking in a voice that she hoped sounded imperial.
“Sure you get the job, Mary Bliss,” he said. “Nothing personal. I have to ask, you know. You’re hired. Absolutely.”
“Good,” Mary Bliss said, still frosty. “When and where do I report?”
“Bargain Bonanza Club has a new store opening today down in Riverdale,” Robertson said. “Go on down there and ask for the manager. Mrs. Peabody.”
“Um.” She hesitated. “When do I get paid? I’ve, uh, had a death in the family, and some pressing bills are due.”
“Whatever,” he said, sounding way too much like Erin. “Your pay period ends on Friday. We’ll have a check for you then, if your paperwork gets processed on time.”
“Who processes the paperwork?” she asked.
“You’re looking at him,” Robertson said, puffing up a little.
“Good,” Mary Bliss said, giving the little peckerwood the look she gave her students when she explained her classroom rules. “I’m a very responsible employee. I expect the same from my employer. And I’ll need that paycheck on Friday. Absolutely.”
An hour and half a tank of gas later, she parked the car in front of the new Bargain Bonanza Club down in Riverdale, Georgia.
A giant blue hot-air balloon bobbed in the sky above the store. Yellow banners proclaimed GRAND OPENING! The parking lot was thronged with cars and shoppers, and heat shimmered from the vast expanse of asphalt and automobiles.
A teenaged girl with a bad perm stopped her just inside the front door. “Membership card?” she asked.
“I’m not a member,” Mary Bliss said.
The girl whipped a square of cardboard from the clipboard she was holding. “If you’ll fill this out, we can get your membership started today,” she said, offering a smile. She wore a bright blue vest and a name badge identifying her as Mystee.
“I don’t need a membership,” Mary Bliss said, smiling back. “I’m from Market Concepts. I’m the product demonstration hostess.”
The girl looked her up and down. “For real?”
“Why not?” Mary Bliss asked.
“I dunno,” Mystee mumbled. “You just look different from most of them.”
“I’m supposed to see Mrs. Peabody,” Mary Bliss said. It was nearly two o’clock. She didn’t want to be late for work on her first day.
“You mean Imogene,” Mystee said. “Just go over to customer service and ask somebody to page her.”
“Thank you,” Mary Bliss said.
“I like your outfit,” Mystee said. “Like that chick on that show on Nickelodeon. You know, the one where they all go on a cruise and get it on.”
“Love Boat?” It was the scarf. Mary Bliss started to unknot it.
“Yeah,” Mystee said. “Julie, that was the chick’s name. You look just like Julie. Really retro.”
“Thanks a bunch,” Mary Bliss said. She stuffed the scarf in her purse.