Read Online This Old Man by Lois Ruby - Free Book Online Page B

silently. I felt huge and awkward and very cramped in the old padded elevator, until I realized I was still clutching the skirt to my knees. I relaxed a bit after that. Mr. Saxe straightened his tie as the door opened and gave me a final inspection and nod of approval just before we entered the office of Mr. Stanley Quinn, Chairman of BRAC—Business/Rehabilitation Alliance Corp.
    Mr. Saxe unbuttoned his coat. The vest under it fit him snugly, but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. With my file open on his lap, Mr. Saxe told Stanley Quinn everything—about my mother, about my non-father, about Hackey, why I was hiding from him, and so forth.
    Quinn finally looked my way. He started at the top of my head and his eyes ran steadily down to my toes, as if he were an airport scanner. I had an urge to stand up and spin around, to confuse his eyeballs on their steady path downward. He said, in a voice I can only describe as nasty, “Are you willing to work your buns off, miss?”
    What could I say, after Mr. Saxe had just read the man my sordid history? Up to that point I hadn’t realized how bad my life sounded.
    Mr. Saxe jumped in with his assurances. “Indeed she is willing to work hard. Greta is very industrious. She did all the baking for the Open House at her … house.”
    Mr. Quinn’s eyebrow raised at the word.
    â€œHer group home, that is. Where she’s living now.” It was funny, but I had to look serious. After all, this was some sort of Job Interview.
    â€œWell, miss?” Quinn was making me more and more nauseated. His front teeth were flecked with brown cigar meat.
    â€œYes, sir,” I said, as meekly as I was able. “I’m willing to work very hard.”
    â€œGood.” Quinn’s brown smile widened. Hating him felt so good, so therapeutic; not poisonous, like hating Hackey. I felt stronger all at once, like I’d grown to be his worthy adversary.
    â€œOut at Candlestick Park,” he was saying, “the Giants’ baseball stadium, in case you didn’t know, they need a pair of strong legs and strong arms to sell peanuts in the stands. You gotta carry this heavy wood box around your neck, you’ve seen ’em. It’s tough work.” He scanned me again, lingering here and there. “You look sturdy. It doesn’t pay much. Minimum wage, that’s it. But you get to see all the baseball you can stand. Are you game?”
    I didn’t like baseball. “When do I start?” I asked, staring defiantly at Quinn. I would learn to love baseball, just to spite him. I’d sell peanuts at the World Series, if I had to. Why stop there? I’d coach a Little League team.
    â€œYou see? I told you Ms. Janssen was a highly motivated individual,” Mr. Saxe said proudly, as though I were his trained seal. “She’s well on her way to resolving her interpersonal conflicts, Mr. Quinn. A job like this is just what she needs to make the rehabilitation process complete and total.” I wondered how Mr. Saxe could grovel like that. He was practically kissing Quinn’s feet. “Ms. Janssen will make an excellent adjustment, with your generous help.”
    Quinn clearly liked a man to crawl. He muttered, “I don’t accept failure.”
    â€œYou can count on Ms. Janssen.”
    They went on speaking as if I weren’t there. Quinn said, “Can she start Monday, June 18?”
    â€œOf course she can. She has a little transportation problem to work out, but we’ll take care of it.”
    â€œFive o’clock, sharp.”
    â€œOn the dot.”
    I rose, like a robot on command, but I wasn’t programmed to smile at Quinn. I just glared at him and decided I’d never show up for work at Candlestick Park. And just as quickly as I decided I wouldn’t, I knew I would.
    There was something about that elevator that killed friendly conversation. We were silent going down, too, except