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“Bumps in the road happen in all relationships. Go back and suggest counseling to him. That’s what Dirk and I did. In the long run, it’s worth it.”
“That is not in the cards.” I enunciated each word slowly, hoping she’d hear my resolve.
I wished I could tell her the truth, but for too long I’d wanted her to believe in a reality that didn’t exist. The shame of how I’d lived seemed too much. If I owned up to the truth, she’d think less of me. She seemed to have a perfect marriage with Dirk, minus the in-vitro problem, and I wanted to live up to that ideal.
The explanation of my ugly truth would have to wait. For now, survival would suffice. “Grace, I know we haven’t been close, but I really need your help… Please.”
She huffed. “Of course.”
“If you have influence with anybody in town, could you mention I need a job? I’m a good worker.”
“Hey, baby.” I heard Dirk in the background. “We need to get a move on.”
“No promises,” Grace said. “But I’ll see what I can do for you.”
“Thanks.”
I wasn’t going to wait around relying on Grace, so after we hung up, I gathered my computer, left my shady table at The Beach Kitchen, and started down the street. Somebody here had to be looking for help. I wasn’t above doing any job, and I’d knock on every single door myself, in case Grace came up empty. The pizza joint was the first door I opened. No luck.
Half an hour and six businesses later, I stopped to cross the street. When I looked up, Boone was a few doors down, talking to a woman who defined the termchesty. I backed up close to the building to watch.
He was definitely a tit man, based on the way his eyes kept drifting lower. I looked down at my shirt. I rocked a nice set of boobs, but this woman was way, way bigger than me. She had the equipment for man-trap cleavage—eye magnets of the first order.
I huffed. What the hell was I doing comparing myself to her? So what if Boone found her attractive? I didn’t even like the guy.
Eventually, Boone turned and went the other direction, and I continued my job hunt at the candle shop.
After striking out there, followed by the lawyer’s office and the T-shirt store, I went into the nail salon.
“You’ll need to talk to the boss,” the girl I approached said. “Ella-Mae, you got a girl here who wants a job,” she yelled toward the back.
Ms. Chesty herself, the woman Boone had been talking to, came to the front.
I introduced myself and learned her name was Ella-Mae Forrester, proprietor of this establishment, and she seemed nice, even if she wasn’t smart enough to keep away from Boone, so I went into my spiel.
“I was hoping you might have an opening,” I said. “I’m a good worker.”
Her smile widened. “Actually, we do. What license do you hold? Cosmetology, wax technician, esthetician?”
Was she kidding that it took a license to wax somebody’s nether regions?
I shook my head.
“Nail technician, then?”
“Sadly, no. Maybe I could help out with—”
Her head shake shut me down. “Sorry, Angela. I can’t hire anyone without a license. You might come back after you’ve taken the nail technician course. It’s only a hundred and fifty hours long.”
With an amiable goodbye, it was on to the next business.
* * *
By the endof the day, I’d tried every business I could find. After the nail salon, I’d found that the gas station could use someone with car-repair experience, and Happy Hollow retirement home was looking for a registered nurse. A total of three potential jobs, none of which I was qualified for. Unfortunately, Grace had been right. There were no openings for me.
When I walked into The Peanut Barrel, I realized it couldn’t hurt to ask here as well. I’d never tended bar before, and I’d need to learn to mix a few drinks, but how hard could it be? I was a quick learner.
The bartender from last night, Sonya, greeted me with a smile, but not better news. “Sorry to say, with summer ending, I’m going to be cutting back hours, not taking on someone new.”
