“I don’t know what else to say. People will still get the information they need to get jobs, right? That’s the most important thing.”
“I guess.”
“And you’re still hotter than Arnold.”
“Jet, that’s not helping, all right?”
He chuckles. “Sorry. I thought it would make you laugh.”
“Today is supposed to be about my brains, my creativity, my… my brilliance. Not what a great piece of ass I am.”
“Sheesh. Okay. I didn’t realize you cared that much. You’ve hardly talked about it.”
I bite back the retort that I’d be hard-pressed to get a word in edgewise about my life lately, since everything going on in his world right now has taken center stage.
It’s not technically true, anyway; he’s right that I don’t talk about my work. I haven’t wanted to let on how much I care, how hard I’ve tried, or how important the success of this day has become to me.
“Well, I do care, okay? I care about something, and I tried hard to succeed. Never again! Because it’s a huge pain, and when it ends in disaster and heartbreak, not only have I wasted all that time and effort, but I look like an idiot, because I’ve failed.”
“Hey, as long as you’re keeping it in perspective.”
“This is important!”
“I’m not saying it’s not. But it’s kind of a first-world problem, you know?”
“Says the guy who plays a game for a living.”
“Touché,” he concedes on a chuckle.
For some reason, his willingness to laugh at my insult infuriates me further. “You know, it may seem like being your girlfriend is my biggest priority and the greatest accomplishment of my life, but—”
“Nobody thinks that.”
“Everyone thinks that. ‘Oh, good. Maura’s finally got her shit together and snagged a top-notch boyfriend. We were so worried she’d never do anything with her life. Now we can be proud of her.’”
“You need to calm down and hit the shower. When you get to work, none of this will seem so bad, and you’ll figure it out.”
“Don’t tell me what I need to do, okay? I don’t need your stupid game plan.”
“Well, on that note, I need to get to my first meeting.”
“I have to go, too. The sooner this day starts, the sooner it’s over.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I can’t wait to hear all about it later, okay? You’ll be great.”
His patronizing tone only serves to make me more petulant. “Doubt it.” I mumble, picking at my bedspread.
His initial response is silence, followed by a snort. “Whatever, Maura. You’d rather be miserable, then go for it. Goodbye.”
I toss my phone into the pile of covers next to me and flip it the bird.
On my way to work, I experience a brainstorm. A big brainstorm. One to rival the thunder and lightning all around me as I run from my car to the office. As soon as I hit the door, I toss my company credit card at the first part-timer I see and send her to the nearest office supplies store with a list of everything I’ll need to save the day.
I have two hours to follow through on my improvisation, so while I wait for her to return, I remove the already-soggy floor stands from my cutouts. When Chastity returns with the pins and adhesives, I assign four or five booths to each of the part-timers dedicated to helping me today, and I take the rest. In double-time, we pin, tape, tack, and Velcro the life-sized cardboard figures to the black curtain backgrounds of each employer’s booth.
And although we’re now officially open but still not finished with every booth, it’s no biggie. “Keep working; we’re almost done,” I tell Becca and Rory, tossing Mrs. Doubtfire and Doc Hollywood at them. “They’re labeled on the back with the booth numbers where they belong.” Thank goodness I was at least that organized.
Leaving it in their capable hands, I turn my attention to the employers, checking they have everything they need, and the arriving applicants. As people enter the tent, I approach the ones who look lost or hesitant, say hello, and introduce myself, then ask if they’re interested in a specific field or simply browsing. Based on their replies, I funnel them toward the most appropriate booth or booths and move on to the next clueless attendee.
After a couple of hours, I’m parched and tired, and my feet are absolutely killing me, but I’m also stunned at how many people are here. Generally, the spring fair brings out more folks than this one. The weather’s better, for one thing. For another, more people are walking around with freshly inked high school and college diplomas, ready to start their careers and make some money. But today I’ve seen easily double the people Arnold had at his fair in May. Without any pro football players here signing autographs.
I smile smugly to myself and wink at Matthew McConaughey. He’d tell me I’m doing “all right, all right, all right!”
“I say. Did you wink at that handsome cardboard barrister over there?” comes a familiar voice from my left.
I whirl on one of my new tall heels.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, despite being glad to see Colin’s friendly face.
He sips from a straw in a fast food cup. “I thought I’d pop round on my lunch break to see how you’re getting on.”
“Great, after a rough start.”
“The rain literally put a damper on things?”
“Uh, yeah. But it wasn’t as big of a disaster as I thought it was going to be.”
“Things rarely are,” he says sagely.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah. Trust me. I’m going to get a huge helping of ‘I told you so’ from Jet later, too.”
“Did he dare try to calm you when you were in a high dudgeon?”
Pushing on his shoulder, I give him his answer in a dodging, “Shut up.”
“That’ll be a jolly good talk between the two of you later. Can you conference me
