He said nothing. Frustrated, I refused to let this virtual stranger who’d somehow wormed his way into my days ruin my good mood. I practiced what I was going to say to Arlo Cheswick, building up my excellent eye for trends and how I was a true team player. By the time the train reached Penn Station, I’d almost forgotten Grouch-face was there. I prepared to leave the car, my mind already on four thirty that afternoon.
“Hey, Ethan.”
At the sound of him calling my name, I froze and peered over my shoulder. I might be getting jostled from all sides by both incoming and outgoing commuters, but I’d wait. Hell, I’d miss my stop to hear what this man had to say to me.
“Yeah?”
“Good luck. I hope you get what you want.”
“Uh, th-thanks.” The bell dinged, signaling the doors were about to close, so head down, I rushed through them.
For a hot second I stood on the platform and watched as, with a huff of the engine, the train rolled out of the station. Only when it disappeared into the tunnel did I make my way to the staircase. His well-wishes had hit me hard.
* * *
As he did every morning, Wesley made the rounds of the floor, and as usual the dressing rooms were a mess.
“I swear, Devon is such a crap manager. I hate complaining, but…”
“He sucks. You’ve been saying it since I first started working here.” I helped him carry the clothing left on the racks to the floor, and we began to hang them up.
“He always has an excuse. I’m just tired of hearing them.” Wesley straightened the shirts, then faced me. “You’re looking sharp. Hot date tonight?”
Here came the hard part. “Not exactly. I, uh, I have an interview. At Paul Stuart.”
Wesley’s elegant brows rose high. “I…see. Paul Stuart. That’s not exactly your speed, is it?”
“My speed is whoever pays me a great salary,” I said, trying to make a joke of it. “I mean, you’re right. Paul Stuart isn’t my style. But I can learn.”
“I’m sure you can.” Wesley pursed his lips. “When is the interview?”
“Four thirty.”
“I appreciate you telling me.” We crossed the floor to log in to the register and opened it to make sure the cash and coins coincided. “I hope it works out well.”
“Thanks. I’m not gonna leave you in the lurch. If I get the job, I’ll make sure to stay on until you get coverage.”
It was coming up on opening time, and Wesley touched my arm. “Just make sure you’re certain about what you want.”
Between Wesley and my landlords, I had all the parental figures I needed. I was grateful for those who cared.
The day passed in a blur, and I was never more anxious to leave than that afternoon. Wesley caught my eye when I clocked out, and I gave him a brief but excited smile. For once the trains cooperated, and I walked into the Paul Stuart store thirteen minutes early and approached the salesperson.
“Hi. I’m here to see Arlo.”
“Sure. Hold on a moment.” He picked up a phone and spoke softly. He set the phone in the cradle. “He’ll be here in a minute. Applying for a position?”
“Uh, yes.” I didn’t want to say which one, as technically I might be his boss soon.
“Good. We really need the help. It’s hard to keep track of everything.”
“Ethan?”
A tall, thin man with dark-brown eyes and bad skin stood before me with a haughty air.
“Yes. Are you Arlo?”
“Come with me, please.”
I waved good-bye to the salesperson and scrambled after Arlo, whose purposeful stride took him to the rear of the store to a door marked Employees Only. I assumed it was to his office, and I was eager to follow him to see how it looked behind the scenes, but instead we walked past closed doors to a huge receiving area filled with shelves and racks. People hustled to and fro, pushing carts of clothes being loaded out of trucks.
“This is where our stock comes in, and we check every piece against our inventory. We air it out, iron it, and price it.”
“I…see.” Not really, but I was trying to be polite. “Do the managers work with the employees here?”
Arlo’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Manager? We need a supervisor for the loading area. You working in an atmosphere like Macy’s would be perfect.”
“Oh.” All the excitement and goodwill I’d built up during the day vanished. “I thought I’d be with the sales associates. You know, working on the floor.”
Arlo gave me a patronizing smile. “No, we wouldn’t be able to use you for that. Your experience as a sales associate in a high-volume environment doesn’t exactly qualify you for that type of position at this point in your career. Luxury brands require a different mindset and retail education. Perhaps you should think of a commission boutique first if that is your intention.”
“I see.” I held my head up. “Thanks for the interview. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome, Ethan. Good luck.”
How different it was to walk out of the store with crushed hopes and dreams after entering it with a vision of the world at my feet.
I made it home and undressed, heated a frozen burrito, and curled up on my couch. I shouldn’t complain, and I made a mental list of everything good in my life: I had a steady job and worked with great people. I could afford to buy myself little luxuries. Sure, my apartment was tiny and I didn’t have a boyfriend, but plenty of people had it worse.
Still, it would’ve been nice to have someone to talk to, but the list was frighteningly short these days. In the three years I’d been with Oscar, I’d let most of my friendships slide because Oscar had always found something he didn’t like about them, and we’d ended up hanging out with his group of friends.
I stared at the wall, then picked up my phone and texted Clay, a work buddy. We’d started at Macy’s the same day and met at orientation. He worked in men’s skincare and fragrances, and he’d give me free samples while I’d set aside the new markdown items I knew he’d like so he’d have first pick. I’d mentioned to him I was interviewing, since we’d often sit together at lunch and talk about future plans. He wanted to own his own skincare spa for men one day. Everyone had hopes and dreams.
Didn’t get the job.
A few minutes passed before he answered.
Wasn’t meant for you. Something better will come along. Talk tomorrow.
Maybe I was anxious to grab on to positivity, but simply knowing someone out there thought about me was enough.
There was a knock on the door, and for a wild moment I hoped it was the man from the train, which made no sense because he didn’t know where I lived.
I opened the door and frowned when I saw it was Oscar. “What’re you doing here? How’d you get into the building?”
He winked. “I wanted to see you,” he said, ignoring the second question. Bright teeth flashed white on his handsome face, and he took a step inside and tried to nuzzle close. I retreated.
“Why? I told you we’re done.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t mean it.”
“Says who?” I thwarted his attempt to advance farther inside my apartment, but with a lightning-fast move, he leaned in and tried to plant one on me. He missed, hitting the edge of my mouth.