I hold back tears of rage not without difficulty and return to this house of ours. The walls are faded, the floor eaten away by insects. The only things that still look good are our furniture. Finally, mom had taste, you can't take that away from her. These pieces of furniture are all that remains of her.
She left when I was five. Not everyone is lucky enough to be able to win against cancer. She liked to say that no matter our social status or our wealth, there are three things that human beings cannot escape: death, disease and taxes. It is enough to see all these poor people dying of cancer to realize that she was right, as always.
Dad is seated in front of the TV where a baseball game is being broadcast. I will never understand his love for this sport, because I don't even understand its rules. It's so complicated for me ... A beer in hand, he seems obsessed with these men running on the ground. His graying hair is not even combed. “Haircut for whom? Why ? he would have said. He hasn't been getting ready for a long time. I don't even remember ever knowing him happy. I don't even know how I grew up with a father like mine. But despite everything, I love him with all my heart, with his many faults. And I know he loves me back.
‘‘ Father !
My voice covers those of the commentators. He turns his face to me. The wrinkles that mark her blue eyes like mine have always fascinated me. Will I have more later? I hand him the letter that he doesn't even bother to read. He gestures vaguely with his arm, revealing a hole in his black cotton t-shirt at the armpit. I note in a corner of my head that I have to sew it up when I have time.
‘‘ What is it, again?
I try to keep my cool, because I'm about to explode, literally. I watch my savings soar as the seconds tick by.
'It's a letter from the bank, Dad.
He does not react, too absorbed by the match which continues on its momentum. Annoyed, I grab the cable and unplug it, silencing this machine of misfortune. He takes a deep breath and faces me.
‘‘ So ? he growls.
"You went to bet again."
It's not a question and he knows it. He doesn't even try to deny it, it's useless. I know he is guilty of the loss of our money.
“We're in debt again and I have no idea how we're going to get out of it.
In spite of myself, the tears begin to flow and I see through my troubled sight, my father's sadness. He lowers his head and takes a deep breath. His crushed nose seems immense to me from where I am. I try to ignore the little voice in my head telling me we have the same.
“Forgive me, Maggie. I do not know what happend to me. I was convinced that I could win and give you the life you deserve a thousand times over. I screwed up.
I wipe my cheeks and angrily throw the letter on the coffee table. I had saved a large sum of money which was supposed to pay off a large part of the debt, but now I don't know what to do. My salary is ridiculous and I will never be able to repay her in my lifetime, especially if Dad takes pleasure in ruining my efforts.
“Fifteen thousand dollars gone up in smoke, Dad. Fifteen thousand dollars. I don't even know how you managed to bet so much on a horse without feeling bad!
He purses his thin lips and his eyes fill with tears. Once again he profusely apologizes and I'm already tired of having to explain to him again how difficult it is for me to make ends meet, that it's really complicated these days to find a job, even more decently paid work.
I have no diploma, I stopped school after high school, because even with a scholarship, I knew we couldn't get by. So I decided to find a job to help my father pay the bills. At that time, he didn't gamble as much in casinos and bet. I regret that time, but I know there is nothing I can do about it.
‘‘ It's okay, Dad, I'll cut it off. I will find a solution, I will look for another job.
He gets up and gets on his knees, takes my hand and kisses it before placing it on his forehead. He always does that when I reassure him, he finds that my optimism is foolproof. He also promises me that this is the last time he does this and that he will look for another job on his side. But I know he won't. His factory job is all he's had for decades. There are all his friends and landmarks, he wouldn't lose them for anything in the world.
I leave the living room and go into my bedroom, perfectly disturbed. I'm not talking about the clothes piled up in a totally curious way on an old wooden chair, or even the blanket half on the floor, and we'll avoid any comments about the panties I see under the bed.
I manage to find the apple-bitten laptop on the desk that Phoebe, my best friend, gave me two years ago for my birthday. "A businesswoman should have a Macbook," she said. I have to admit I'm not sure about that. I use it very little, except for doing some research on the net or watching movies in streaming.
I connect to the web and browse job search sites. I know that what I am asking for is quite simply the moon, or almost. A fairly well-paid job without having any particular skills. Suffice to say that it is simply impossible. But it seems that the sky is inclined to pass me off as a bad language. Indeed, as if by magic, an ad had just been posted five minutes earlier by an art import-export company.
I rush to the announcement where it is indicated to appear the next morning at eight o'clock for the interviews. The Vice President will receive the candidates. No skill is required except to be available and serious. The position is to assist the CEO of Wolfsbane Enterprise. I like the fact of believing that an angel is watching over me, so it's decided: I'm going to introduce myself.
I remain silent about this opportunity, because for no real reason, I believe in the evil eye and by announcing that I may have found a position, I am afraid of attracting it. The evening with my father therefore passes in a rather embarrassed calm. None of us really engage in conversation and we content ourselves with the usual words. I decide to go to bed early, because the next day, I will need all my strength to pass this interview.
When I arrive an hour early in front of the company building, I am blown away by its size and the materials used to construct it. The huge tower is made of glass only and reflects the streets of Miami. I can even see the blue of the sea in the distance, which contrasts so well with the gray of the concrete. Many people line the street, smartly dressed men and women who most likely have to work in one of the nearby buildings.
I myself am dressed in the same way: a close-fitting pastel blue skirt and a white blouse, I even made the effort to wear black pumps for the occasion. My hair is tied in a strict bun and I have lightly made up. I take a deep breath and enter through the glass doors where a large number of people are trying to make their way.
The dark marble flooring is immaculate and the walls inside the building are covered in wood which really gives a feeling of richness. Then, I'm not even talking about the magnificent statue representing a woman with her hands outstretched towards the sky, her face imploring. The statue is so white that it contrasts surprisingly with the rest of the decor.
I walk towards the reception where a pretty young blond woman is putting in order filled filing cabinets. Seeing me approach, she gives me a friendly smile that I return.
‘‘ Hello, my name is Maggie Kantan, I just applied to the announcement made yesterday for the position of executive assistant.
His face loses some of its splendor and there appears a sorry emotion that I cannot interpret. I don't know if I should worry about his attitude or not. Only, she remains as friendly as before and shows me the penultimate floor where Mr. Wayland, the Vice President, will receive me. I decide not to take the risk and after thanking him, I head for the elevators which are taken by storm. I remain at least ten minutes to wait before being able to enter a cabin. The space, however capable of containing a dozen people, seems to me extremely restricted with all these beautiful people.
The women are fixing their flawless make-up and the men are smoothing their ties while glancing at the reports in their hands. The smell of coffee stings my nose, as much as the smell of cigarettes emanating from some people. Finally, I arrive at the thirty-ninth floor not without relief. Only, it is of short duration, because a stress seizes me, making my hands tremble. A terrible weight weighs on my stomach.
Another secretary is there, a brunette this time. She seems to me just as friendly if not more than the previous one and I am immediately put in confidence. She welcomes me warmly and immediately guesses the reason for my visit.
'You're the first to arrive, Mr. Wayland isn't here yet, but he won't be long. Settle down here while waiting for him, she tells me, pointing to a white leather sofa.
I thank her and take my pain in patience. She then forgets my presence and devotes herself entirely to her work. To my left is the glazed part of the building, I can then observe the street below and the people seem to me as big as ants. It is in these moments that we realize how small and insignificant we are in this world.
"Miss Kantan?" calls me a male voice.
I jump and turn around quickly. A huge man stands next to me and stares at me kindly. Her blue eyes are pleasant, as is her soft-featured face, her skin is a bit tanned and her hair is as sandy as sand. Maybe he surfs? I wouldn't be surprised, we are in Miami after all. I jump up and present my right hand which he takes immediately.
'' Hello Mr. Wayland. It's me.
He smiles at me and runs a hand over his clean-shaven square jaw. He gestures for me to follow him into his office and we enter a huge room. I feel completely stupid to use only one and unique adjective to describe the places, but it is there the reality: everything here is disproportionate. So even here, I feel like a little ant.
The desk is placed so that the back wall and those to the left and right are glazed. The light is so intense that Mr. Wayland lowers the automatic curtains inside the office a little. As often in Miami, the sun is shining and the heat is intense, even this early in the morning.
The office is like any office depicted in books or movies: modern, with little furniture, but here it exudes a richness that is impossible to ignore. Many small sculptures adorn the room, the shelves behind me, and even the coffee table to my left. Mr. Wayland invites me to sit in front of his desk and begins the interview.
I notice then that he is a very pleasant and pleasant man, in contradiction with his imposing stature. He wears a white shirt with no tie and black pants, along with pointed shoes. He indulges in a few concessions: “I dressed well for you, Miss Kantan, otherwise I never wear shoes like that. But the CEO decreed that I had to give a serious image to a potential future employee. I was taken aback.
“I think you should dress how you like, Mr. Wayland. As long as your job is done right, then your clothes shouldn't be a drag.
He seems to be satisfied with my answer, because he grants me that. He then asks me a few questions about my old jobs, my studies - nonexistent - and my family. I don't tell him that my father is in debt, of course. But I explain to him that I have to meet the needs of our little family. He completely understands and tries to explain to me why no skills are required.
“How can I put it... Thalion Wolfsbane is a real pain in the neck. This is the reason why most of the former assistants resigned.
My face must visibly crumble, as the Vice President straightens up instantly and tries to reassure me.
'' I should not have said that, but I prefer to be transparent. Otherwise the position does not require special skills, because the company will take care of the training with regard to the software used by the company.
Despite the fact that I feel that he is interested in my candidacy for no real reason, I do not forget that the CEO risks being a complicated element to manage.
“Miss Kantan. I'm not going to hide from you that I'm quite inclined to offer you the job, but I must be sure of your real motivation.
“I am, Mr. Wayland. When do I have to start?
Wes Wayland gives me a knowing smile as the door behind me slams open, startling me.
To be continued....
