4
Leta weighed her options on the drive home, which were admittedly limited given her current financial state of affairs.
Early after her mother’s diagnosis, there’d been a revolving door of caretakers, mostly premed students without specialized training. Some didn’t always show up—especially during finals week—forcing Leta to finally turn to a higher level of care. But qualified nursing was very expensive. In what seemed like no time, she’d quickly gone through what little savings her mother had accumulated.
About that same time, her mother’s medical team suggested it was time Leta moved her mom to a long-term care facility.
She’d wanted to resist and keep her mother home, but the advice had been spot-on. When placed in an environment with programs designed for people suffering in a similar manner, her mother had thrived—at least initially. But over time, the fingers of this ugly disease had choked out even that benefit. Now her mother was trapped inside her broken brain and more isolated than ever.
Leta pulled into the driveway.
Without the pension funds, she would have no choice but to move her mother from a patient-funded program. Still, not just any facility was acceptable.
Just last week, a local news station featured a report about an elderly man suffering from Alzheimer’s disease who lived in a state-funded facility in north Austin. His family grew concerned when he became fearful around relatives and had unexplained bruises. The man’s two daughters placed a hidden camera in the room and were shocked by what it captured—a video showing workers pinching the elderly man and being forceful with him, even calling him names.
The report broke Leta’s heart.
While she knew these types of incidents could happen at any facility, the chances were significantly increased when the caretakers were not highly skilled and paid accordingly. Of course, skilled care drove up the cost for residents, bringing her back full circle.
Where was she going to find a safe place of high quality that she could afford?
She got out of the car and moved to the front door, jabbed the key in the lock, and opened it.
“Oh—oh, I’m sorry!” Leta turned her head to avoid the scene playing out on the sofa.
Katie laughed. “Hey, you only interrupted a kiss. Don’t freak out.” Her roommate climbed off the sofa. “Bart, this is my roommate, Leta. And this is Rubart Nelson, my—uh, my new friend.”
He stood and brushed his fingers through his sandy-colored hair. An embarrassed smile graced his lips. “So pleased to meet you,” he said, extending his hand. “Uh, we were planning on heading to dinner. Would you care to join us?”
A nice-looking guy, and polite too. Could Katie have broken the chain of losers after all?
She returned the smile and shook his hand. “Thanks, but I’m going to have to pass. I have some calls to make, and then I need to get to work.”
Katie gave her boyfriend’s hand a squeeze. “See? I told you Leta never makes time to play.” She brushed his cheek with a kiss. “Y’all get acquainted while I change,” she said before heading down the hall toward her bedroom.
Leta and Bart looked at each other with sidelong glances, an awkward scrutiny born of knowing things about each other not learned firsthand but through their mutual friend.
“So, Katie tells me you are a real estate developer?” She tossed her bag on the counter.
“Yes, I primarily do site acquisition for big boxes.”
“Big boxes?”
“Retail chains,” he clarified. “Walgreens and OfficeMax, primarily. Sometimes we do projects for a few restaurants.”
“That must be interesting. Want some iced tea?” she offered.
“No, we’re going—”
“—to dinner. That’s right.” She went for the fridge.
Over the next few minutes, they made small talk. Leta learned he’d moved here from Dallas. His father owned a chain of barbeque restaurants. “Really? Your family is the Nelsons of Nelsons’ Famous BBQ? I love their brisket.”
He grinned. “I’m a Big Mac kind of guy myself.”
“Are you kidding?”
He shook his head and chuckled. “Nope. Hamburgers all the way.”
Katie bounded back down the hall and into the living room dressed in a cute red dress with matching shoes and a white cardigan tied over her shoulders. She’d recently ordered the polka-dot number off the internet, not caring that she’d be eating bologna sandwiches for a few weeks to compensate for the expenditure. “You sure you don’t want to change your mind?” she asked.
“Can’t. But you guys have a nice time.” Despite the angst churning in Leta’s gut over the conversation with Ms. Styles and the recent development with her mother’s care, she forced a lighthearted smile. “Take a bit of advice. This guy might be a great catch, a nice date and all, but you might want to be the one to pick where you go for dinner.”
Her roommate looked between the two of them, puzzled.
“Nice meeting you,” Bart said as he opened the door for Katie.
“Yeah, you too.”
They headed out, leaving Leta to dwell on the mountain of problems piling up. Her job, her car repairs, and now her mother.
No matter how she sized up the situation, the current state of affairs was overwhelming.
She grabbed her bag from the counter and retrieved the ad torn from the newspaper—the one from the public relations company. Certainly, applying was worth a shot. A job that paid more money could solve a lot of problems.
She took a deep breath and dialed the number.
The Ladd Agency was located in a nondescript commercial office building off the corner of Colorado and 15th, just blocks from the state capitol building. Leta rode the elevator to the fourth floor, rehearsing in her head what she would say.
Hi! My name is Leta Breckenridge. I’m so glad to—
No, too perky.
Hello, I’m Leta Breckenridge, the girl who called last—
Stop already. They knew she was the girl who called. She took a deep breath and tried again.
I’m Leta Breckenridge. Thank you for inviting me in to talk about the position you advertised.
Yes, that was it. Perfect.
The elevator doors dinged and slid open to a large and well-appointed lobby. She glanced again at the tiny gold doorplates mounted next to the floor numbers in the elevator.
Yup, this was the right place.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a bright and cruel backdrop exposing the way her nerves caused her hairline to break into a sweat.
She focused on the shiny floor tile and told herself to get a grip.
Then, as if by magic, she heard her mother’s voice in her mind. Sweet girl, why are you so nervous? If this job is to be yours, God will make sure it’s so. Quit worrying.
Buoyed by the sentiment, she firmly gripped her bag. Before her newfound confidence could slip away, she stepped up to a reception counter stationed prominently at the rear of the lobby. The woman at the desk was on the phone. She held up a finger while she wrapped up her call, leaving Leta to look around a bit more.
The wall behind the reception desk displayed a bright, shiny metal logo with backlighting.
THE LADD AGENCY.
Classy, she thought while taking in the sleek décor. Chairs in cream and beige fabric, chrome tables, and a massive rug in that shaggy look that was so popular formed a seating area to the left.
“I’m sorry.” The receptionist stood. “You must be Leta Breckenridge.”
“Yes.” She nodded enthusiastically—maybe showing a bit too much enthusiasm, actually. She swallowed. “I have an appointment with Jane Ladd.”
The impeccably dressed woman smiled. “Certainly. She’s expecting you. Let me alert her you’ve arrived.”
Minutes later, a tall, slender woman appeared, dressed in a zebra print jacket and black slacks. Large gold hoops hung from her ears, accentuating her stylish chunky blonde haircut. Very trendy—especially for someone who looked to be in her forties, maybe even early fifties.
Leta was never very good at guessing a woman’s age. Of course, this woman had likely had some work done.
“So, you must be Leta.” The woman extended her hand with a wide smile.
Taken aback by the warm greeting, Leta nodded and shook hands. “Thank you for inviting me in to visit with you about your opening.”
“We’re delighted you came in.” She guided her down a short hallway to her private office and motioned to a chair. “Have a seat,” she said while moving to the other side of her desk. “Frankly, the Ladd Agency is a bit different than most. In a lot of ways, really, but most of all we treasure talent.”
Leta cringed. Oh, here it comes.
“We’ve found that a hardworking individual with a certain drive and intellect, someone with that innate ability to ferret out information—well, you just can’t teach that.” She smiled at Leta. “Not that education isn’t important, mind you. It’s just not the primary way we measure a candidate’s ability to effectively assimilate into the Ladd Agency team.”
Leta had to pinch herself. The words coming from this woman’s mouth were an answer to prayer. Literally.
The woman moved into the chair behind her large glass and chrome desk. “I’m getting ahead of myself a bit. First, introductions. I’m Jane Ladd. I personally started this firm nearly twenty years ago.” She leaned back and steepled her fingers. “The entire public relations network in this town was quite the boys’ club back then.” Her eyes twinkled. “But those old boys underestimated Jane Ladd.”
Leta swallowed against the dryness in her throat. She’d done a little research, and Jane Ladd’s accomplishments were impressive. She got up her nerve and said so. “The internet claims the Ladd Agency is the most respected PR agency in Austin—well, in most of Texas. And that you have strong national media connections and a satellite office in Washington, D.C.”
Ms. Ladd slapped her hands together. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
The reaction startled Leta, but she tried not to let it show.
Ms. Ladd pointed a manicured red nail in her direction. “Right there—you can’t train someone to incorporate that kind of initiative. It’s inherent. So tell me. What else did you find?”
Hoping Ms. Ladd couldn’t hear her pounding heart, Leta took a deep breath and responded, “Well, I—I discovered you served as a senior-level assistant to a former White House communications director before starting your firm. You love Austin. Never married. And your favorite food is homemade tamales. Hand rolled. Shredded pork, never beef.”
Ms. Ladd grinned. She leaned toward her phone and pressed a button. “Elaine, could you bring me in a new hire packet? I think I’ve just found my candidate.”