“We’ll let you know in a day or two,” Linda said, standing up and holding out her hand.
When I turned to Joe to shake his hand, he thumped me on the back the way you’d do if someone was choking, and said, “Good luck, Ms. Jessica.”
Linda called the next day with a job offer. I took the kids and Eddie out for Mexican to celebrate. We toasted with margaritas in salted glasses and stuffed ourselves with black bean quesadillas.
18
Judging by Joe’s appearance at the interview, there was no office dress code, but Frankenstein leggings were out of the question. I settled on the basic black skirt, white blouse, and pink cardigan for my first day. I scrubbed off my navy-blue nail polish and used a neutral shade of pink.
Before I left, I knelt down and covered Penny’s face with kisses, like always.
“I’ll be right back. I love you,” I told her as I left. I looked through the window and saw her lie down, staring intently at the door. I always felt bad leaving her to lie on the kitchen floor while I was gone, waiting for me to come home.
“Come on back,” Joe called out as the heavy front door of Town Hall banged behind me.
It was my first view of the desks behind the counter. Joe’s desk was an abomination, cluttered with stacks of papers, three stained coffee cups, a big yellow happy face stress ball, a crumb-covered desk calendar, a photo of someone playing baseball, and what appeared to be a bag of doggie treats.
“Here’s your desk and your inbox,” Joe said, pointing to an overflowing three-shelved plastic unit very close to tipping over from the weight.
I could immediately see why Joe was so sweaty; it had to be 80 degrees in the office. I took off my sweater and hung it on the back of my chair. The chair at my desk was a small-backed stenographer’s seat. Joe’s was a high-backed black pleather chair with arms.
The front door of the office slammed, making me jump. Three older men in nearly identical flannel shirts came right up to the counter. The shorter one was leading a dog on a leash. An actual dog. Inside the office.
The three of them, even the dog, stood looking me up and down.
“This the new gal?” asked the one with the comb-over and mustard-colored tie.
Joe grunted in return, some sort of noncommittal reply.
I went back around the counter and held out my hand. “Jessica Gabriel.”
“Wesley Scranton,” the man grinned, revealing a couple of missing teeth. “Call me Wes.”
“Lucky Salvadore, but I ain’t lucky, so I go by Sal,” said the man with the dog. “Pleased to meet ya, missy. This here is Beef Jerky.”
“Beef Jerky?”
“Yeah, watch this,” Sal leaned down and scratched behind the dog’s ear, which made him squirm all over and shake his back leg furiously.
“See? He gets all jerky.”
OK.
“Good boy, go ahead and say hi to the little lady here.”
Beef Jerky reared up on and planted his two front paws smack on my skirt.
“Watch it there, Jerky,” Sal said mildly. “Give the lady some space.”
The dog didn’t budge. We just stood that way, the dog and I, in some strange balancing act, until Jerky became bored and got down.
“Paulie,” said the third guy, going around the counter in a way that made it clear he was at home in the office.
Paulie headed for the coffee pot in the back corner of the office, where three cups sat upside down on the counter. “Anybody bring donuts? Donut holes? Danish? Bagels?”
“I told her it was her turn,” Joe said, motioning at me. “Apparently she didn’t get the memo.”
I laughed uncertainly, completely unsure if they were kidding or not.
“They have some great pastries at Brew Coffee on the corner,” Wes said dreamily.
The guys filled their mugs, then settled down at the conference table. Sal took the leash off Jerky, who bounded into a chair by the window to bark at pigeons on the roofs of the stately brick buildings downtown.
Within minutes, Wes’s head dropped to his chin. I could have sworn he’d fallen asleep.
“What’s the weatherman say about this afternoon? Rain or shine?” Paulie asked no one in particular.
“I heard rain,” Sal said, blowing the steam on his coffee.
“Nah, I think it’s supposed to clear up,” Paulie said.
“Aw, somebody wake up Wes,” Joe said.
“WES!” Paulie and Sal shouted in unison, startling both Wes and me.
“He’s got that sleeping sickness—you know, nardolepsy,” Joe explained.
“Narcolepsy?” I said.
“Yeah, something like that.” Joe scowled at me.
“Good thing they don’t let him drive the school bus no more,” Paulie said thoughtfully, sipping from his mug.
Seriously??
“You better get started,” Joe said, pointing to a stack of papers piled in a box. “These are tax payments. All you have to do is input them on the spreadsheet on your Excel file, go into the account and make sure they paid the right amount, then reconcile it for the bank deposit.”
“Excel? Reconcile?”
“Yeah, add up all the payments and cross reference them with the spreadsheet. K?”
Turned out, the job was all math.
My job, that is. Joe’s job seemed to be mostly entertaining Sal, Wes, and Paulie. And Beef Jerky.
The phone rang nonstop, interrupting my stressful attempts to balance the spreadsheets. We were supposed to share phone duties, but when it rang, Joe ignored it and kept up his conversation with his friends about lawn mowers and the height of the blades and whether watering was a total waste of time and money.
“I’m calling about my tax bill,” a resident said when I picked up the phone.
“How can I help you?” I knew squat about tax bills. All I knew was that I paid mine once a year.
“Why is it so damn high? Don’t you know I’m on a fixed income? I can’t possibly pay this.”
I put the woman on hold.
“What should I tell this woman who can’t pay her taxes?” I
