Not Perfect(18)

“I’m meeting Andrew Hiffen,” she said.

“Right this way.”

The restaurant was nearly empty. She spotted a young man sitting at one of the prime tables near the window, but she dismissed him. Far too young. Sure enough, though, it was her destination.

“What’s the scariest thing you have ever seen, or that you could imagine seeing?” he asked, before she had a chance to sit down, before she even had a chance to introduce herself. It was that awkward moment when the hostess was pulling out the chair, and she didn’t want to miss the seat. She settled into it and yanked it forward, a little too hard, nodding to the hostess.

“The scariest thing?” she repeated back to him. There were so many things in the running, honestly. But she knew what he wanted. She could play this game.

“The face of a rat,” she said.

“Exactly.”

How old could he possibly be? Twenty-five? On the one hand she hated that such a young person could have so much control over her fate, and on the other she thought he might be easy enough to please. She could figure out the answers that he hoped to get to his questions.

“I’m thinking of the French toast,” he said, surprising her. She hadn’t given the menu any thought; she was still gearing up to reach across the table and say, Hi! I’m Tabitha Brewer. But that moment had passed, so she let him lead the conversation.

“Good choice,” she said warmly, looking at her menu. Maybe if she just supported everything he said, he’d give her the job.

He ordered, and she decided to get the same thing. She loved French toast. Her mouth watered just thinking about it. If only she could take some home for the kids. But she knew that wouldn’t be the right thing to do. And she was sort of glad—it meant she could eat it all and not feel bad.

“I got in last night around nine,” he said, without any prompting.

“Was that the time you expected to get in?”

“More or less,” he said.

She waited, but he didn’t say anything else, and he certainly didn’t ask anything about her career, her hopes and dreams, what she thought she might be able to contribute to the company. She was about to begin offering that information, unsolicited, when the food arrived. Tabitha willed herself to not worry about a single thing while she ate, and she pretty much succeeded. Andrew Hiffen ate only one piece of French toast, then inched his plate toward the middle of the table.

“So good,” he said, surprising her again. For a second she had worried he didn’t like it.

“Yes, it really is so good,” she said.

“Let me just make a quick call,” he said, pushing back from the table and getting up.

“Sure.”

While he was gone, she slipped the one unopened miniature bottle of maple syrup and one tiny jar of blueberry jam into her purse. She thought for a brief second about eating his French toast, too, what a shame to let it go to waste, but then he was back. She wouldn’t have done it anyway.

“So I talked to my father, and he said we still have a few other candidates to meet before we make the final decision,” he said, not quite looking her in the eyes. Shoot. She thought this was going to be easy. “We hope to have everything in place in the next few weeks or so—a month at the latest.”

“That sounds good,” she said, trying to remain upbeat. “I would really like this job. I didn’t have a chance to tell you, but I am very organized. I like talking to people on the phone. I’m good at creating and implementing schedules, even when things get busy, or I should say, especially when things get busy.”

“I’ll tell my father,” he said. “I really hope it works out. You seem nice.”

Nice was okay, she decided. You wanted nice when people called to hire you for pest control, right? Capable would have been better, probably, but she’d take nice.

The check arrived and he grabbed it. If nothing more, she got a good meal and a few things to take home.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

She waited, but he didn’t get up. He fidgeted a little.

“Should we go?” she asked.

“This is a little awkward, I guess,” he said. “I’m meeting someone else after you, another candidate. That’s why I ate only one piece of the French toast. I have to do this all over again. I told my father we shouldn’t do it this way.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Tabitha said as she stood. She wanted him to continue to think she was nice. But she wondered once again if she’d ever get a job. “Well, thanks again.”

As she walked toward the exit, she saw a young man coming toward them being led by the same hostess who had brought her to the table. As she was almost out of earshot, she heard Andrew ask the man, “What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever seen?”

She shook her head and waited for the elevator with the uneasy feeling that he might not even know who she was after all of that, since she never said her name. Why hadn’t she just said it to make sure? If he was going to sit there and meet with person after person, he’d never keep them all straight. She didn’t feel like walking through the hotel this time. She pushed the button for the lobby, but when she got in it moved up instead of down. She hated elevators. The minute you put yourself in one, you were completely at its mercy. It could take you up instead of down; it could decide to trap you. She shook her head and breathed deeply as she felt panic beginning in her stomach. She closed her eyes and willed the elevator to arrive somewhere. Finally, it settled on the sixth floor, and even though Tabitha had no business on the sixth floor, she got out. She’d take the stairs. But as she walked down the long, elegant hall, she had an idea. Rooms should be getting cleaned. Housekeeping carts should be in the halls. There wasn’t one on this floor, but she started looking, first down to five, then she decided to go up. Maybe they started high and descended. She walked up to the tenth floor. Yup. There was an unattended cart right there.