Cupid's Christmas (Serendipity #3)(9)
Every human on earth has to endure Life Management events—it’s not the event that destroys a human, it’s the way they react to it. I know Lindsay is miserable right now, and I’m not insensitive to the situation. But if she hadn’t flown off the handle and walked out of the store, she would have been standing at the register when the engineer I had lined up walked in. He would have asked for a book on the construction of the Lincoln Tunnel then she would have taken him to the research section and spent twenty minutes helping him find the book. If things went according to plan, they would have both reacted to the spark. Later that evening over dinner and a bottle of pinot grigio—POW! Of course, with Lindsay, things seldom go as planned which is a big part of the problem.
For the next three weeks Lindsay spent every waking hour searching for a job. At the end of that time the only thing she had was a notepad of scratched off listings—and the knowledge that her resume was pitifully inadequate and her qualifications limited. She’d come to New York with thoughts of becoming a journalist, and then one day a novelist, but she’d done none of that.
Instead she’d taken a job at a magazine where there was no reporting, there was only making coffee and answering phones. Several times she’d asked to write an article, but a bulbous-nosed editor peered across the rim of his glasses and said, “Sweetie, we only use professional stuff.” After six months of rejections she’d moved on to become an Administrative Assistant to one of the many vice presidents at a marine insurance firm. There she had little to do but answer an occasional telephone call and make up lies about her boss being tied up at a meeting. Her boss, a man who often returned from lunch smelling of whiskey, was eventually fired, and Lindsay’s job disappeared. From there she’d gone to the Big Book Barn, and well, you already know how that ended.
When for five days straight there were no new job listings, Lindsay grew frantic and began telephoning her friends. Amanda said she knew of no openings in her store or anywhere else. “But Amanda, you work for Saks,” Lindsay said, “Don’t they hire extra help for the holidays?”
“Those temps were hired a month ago,” Amanda replied, “the training class is over.”
“Training? I don’t need training. I’ve worked in retail for three years. I know how to work with customers. I’m ready to…”
“Oh Saks would never hire anyone who hasn’t gone through our training program. I mean, it is Saks Fifth Avenue…”
Lindsay suddenly found herself disliking her best friend. After an abrupt goodbye, she hung up the telephone.
Her next call was to Sara. Hopefully she’d had better luck in finding a job and could suggest something. First Lindsay dialed Sara’s home number, but a recording answered and said the number had been disconnected. She then called Sara’s cell. It rang three times and when Sara answered it was in an almost bubbly voice. “Hey there girlfriend,” she said.
Taken aback, Lindsay stuttered for a moment then asked, “Is this Sara? Sara McClusky?”
“Of course it’s me,” Sara laughed.
The loud music, the laughter in her voice, this simply wasn’t the Sara that Lindsay knew. “Are you at a party?” she asked.
“Indeed I am,” Sara shouted. “This is definitely a par-tee.”
“Sara? Are you okay? Is there anything…”
“Everything’s fine.” Sara laughed, “I’m at my sister’s in Tampa.”
“Florida?”
“That’s where Tampa is.”
“You left New York? What about work?”
She laughed again, this time it was more of a chuckle. “In case you’ve forgotten, I didn’t have a job…remember? You quit for both of us.”
“But, I thought you’d find…” The truth was Lindsay didn’t know what she thought.
Sara stepped away from the music, found a quiet spot, and then they talked.
Lindsay told her of the trouble she’d had finding a job and apologized again for having dragged Sara from the Big Book Barn. “I’d no idea it was this hard to find a job…” she sighed.
Sara reassured Lindsay that she had no second thoughts about leaving as they had. “It was the best thing that could have happened,” she said, “The truth is I had no life in New York. I was a guppy swimming with sharks. The best I could ever hope for was to avoid being eaten alive.”
“I never really saw it that way,” Lindsay said.
“Neither did I. But once I got past the no-job thing, I learned to move on, get some fun out of life.”
“Move on?” Lindsay echoed.
“Yeah, can you believe it’s me saying this?”
Lindsay had to admit it was hard to believe.
“It’s like I learned to breathe all over again,” Sara said. She then went on to tell about how she’d found a great job hostessing at a beachfront restaurant.
When they hung up, Lindsay sat there wishing she too had a sister in Florida.
I guess by now you’ve surmised trouble is on the horizon. Lindsay isn’t the only one at risk. Unless I do something to change the course of events, Eleanor and John will be torn apart. And yes, Lindsay will never find her perfect match.
That evening, long after most people had eaten dinner and cleared the dishes from the table, I watched Lindsay walk three blocks to the Golden Dragon, buy a pint of pork fried rice and carry it home. She dumped the rice into a bowl, flicked on the television and plopped down on the sofa. From where Lindsay sat, she could view the apartment in its entirety, except for the bathroom. To her left an archway into a kitchen barely big enough to turn around, to the right a bedroom alcove—not a real bedroom, just an alcove large enough for a bed and a very small dresser.