BooksBarbecue
Back At Dawn
Chapters (39)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 1
  6. 1
  7. 1
  8. 1
  9. 1
  10. 1
  11. 1
  12. 1
  13. 1
  14. 1
  15. 1
  16. 1
  17. 1
  18. 1
  19. 1
  20. 1
  21. 1
  22. 1
  23. 1
  24. 1
  25. 1
  26. 1
  27. 1
  28. 1
  29. 1
  30. 1
  31. 1
  32. 1
  33. 1
  34. 1
  35. 1
  36. 1
  37. 1
  38. 1
  39. Copyright

Worn, ratty carpet, frayed at its edges where it touched the walls, led to beige cubicles housing employees who peered at me with despairing eyes. Fluorescent lights lined the ceiling, casting the interior in a gloomy pall. The smell of age was unsuccessfully masked with Pine-Sol in much the same way that the scent of smoke was still redolent on my suit despite my best efforts to cover it. I reached the office of the manager with whom I had spoken, and I immediately felt the blood rush to the back of my neck, a product of nerves and pressure. Her name was Cathy. She sprang from her leather chair with her hand extended. I shook it. Then she motioned me into one of two open seats while she went back around her L-shaped desk, the entirety of which was covered with uneven stacks of paper. She lifted my own résumé from a large pile of them and gave it a quick once-over while I did the same to her. Mid- to late thirties, plain-looking with pale skin and flaxen hair that fell to just below her shoulders, wire-rimmed glasses. She could have been attractive had she tried, but she didn’t and therefore was, at best, average.

“Stratton, that’s a very interesting name. I’ve never heard it before,” she said and looked at me for validation. I wasn’t sure what she expected me to say, so I said nothing. “So, tell me about yourself.”

I crossed my legs, placed both hands over my crotch, and smiled. Somewhere along the way I had gotten good at interviews, a product of having been through so many of them while possessing the right balance of vanity and lack of regard for the truth in the way of politicians, pretending to be a far better person than I really was—harder working, more ambitious, sometimes telling downright lies. Most of the time I wasn’t even nervous. Except for today. My only hope was that my extreme desperation wouldn’t shine through.

“First off, let me start by saying thank you for taking the time to talk with me,” I said. “I’m assuming from the stack of résumés on your desk that there’s no shortage of applicants for the position, so I very much appreciate the opportunity to interview for it.”

She nodded. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice.”