The Position (3 page)

“You graduated magna cum laude?” he asks without looking up.
 

“Yes, sir,” I say, realizing immediately how stupid I sound.

He smiles again and looks up at me; the glint is back in his eyes. “You make me feel like an old man.”
 

“I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I meant Mr. Lazarus.”
 

“How about Jude?”

I smile. “Okay.”
 

“You have a degree in architecture?” he arches his eyebrows, impressed.
 

“And environmental design.”
 

He laughs and the gorgeous crinkles are around his eyes again. “Usually my assistants are just glorified secretaries. Are you familiar with my work?”
 

“Are you kidding?” I stammer. “It’s why I want to work here!”
 

Lazarus looks at me for a moment, as if unsure whether I’m telling the truth. He leans back in his chair. “Anything in particular?”

My brain flies at a mile a minute as I flash on all of the incredible buildings and interiors Lazarus has designed. He watches me carefully. “Okay, that place in Marrakesh,” I blurt out at last. “With the white marble interior? I love the upward curve of the ceiling that invites people into the public space. It’s a culturally astute element that speaks to the local civic values of community and purity and social virtue. Also, it’s an aesthetic work of art.”
 

Lazarus stares at me for a long time. He closes the folder and tosses it onto his desk. “Why did Eva say you weren’t qualified?”
 

I clear my throat. “Well, we could start with the obvious.” I look down at my damp filthy clothes. “Plus, she says you don’t hire new graduates. That I should go get an internship somewhere. Get a little experience.”
 

“Oh, bullshit,” he mutters. He studies me as I sit squirming in my chair. My heart is racing and I realize that I’m clenching my fists in anticipation. Jude Lazarus has the power to change my life. *Oh, please. Oh, please. Oh, please.*
 

Finally, he nods to himself, decision made.
 

“Frankly, Michaela,” he says getting to his feet. “I think you were made for this position.”
 

Chapter Four

 
I’m in too bad a state to clean up at the gas station or try to pay my way into the YMCA to take a shower. There’s no choice but to go to Travis’s place. It isn’t too far from downtown, but the rain is falling harder than ever and by the time I arrive, I am a shivering, waterlogged wreck. And yet, I feel like I’m floating.
 

There haven’t been a lot of truly good souls in my life. In fact, I seem to be a magnet for degenerates and assholes. But Travis has been a loyal friend since our freshman year at Boulder and I always know I can count on him.
 

Though he isn’t exactly a trust fund baby, Travis’s family has money. They paid for every cent of his college and gave him a generous stipend for living expenses. Even now that he’s working as an accountant for a Denver nonprofit, he always knows they’ll bail him out if he needs it. Though I’m far too proud to take the money he’s offered me over the years, I often rely on him to keep me fed. I can only live so long eating baked beans out of a tin can in my car.
 

I stand on the porch of his cute rental house and ring the bell. He’s wired it up to play a Justin Bieber song instead of a chime. Ah, Travis and his ironic sense of humor. *Baby* gets through a whole verse and a couple of choruses by the time someone opens the door. It’s a young woman I’ve never seen. She’s got long blond hair, which is tangled and messy, a delicate, pretty face, and the kind of slender legs Travis goes for. She’s wearing nothing but one of his white tee shirts, which she pulls down self-consciously over her thighs, trying to better cover herself.
 

“Hi?” I say with a *who are you* question in my voice. Of course, I know who she is. One of Travis’s many conquests. Another factory line beauty that he will go through faster than a package of Fig Newtons. I tend to feel even frumpier and uglier just by hanging out in the same room with them. But they’re the ones who come and go, and I’m always the one who remains.
 

“Travis is in the shower,” she says, as if we’ve known each other for years.
 

She seems nice and I give her a friendly smile. “Michaela,” I say, holding out my hand.
 

“I figured,” she says shaking it with a little squeeze at the end for emphasis. “Travis talks about you all the time. I’m Liz. Come on in.” She stands to the side and nods at the front room. “I’ll even put on some pants for the occasion.”
 

I laugh. “Don’t go out of your way for little old me.”
 

This is the closest thing I have to a real home and I’m super comfortable here. Travis has tried to convince me to move in many times, saying he worries that someone is going to break into my car and rape me or worse. But there’s something inside me that won’t let him help. It’s not just Travis. I won’t take help from anyone. It’s not that I’m too proud, exactly. It’s more complicated than that. Years ago, when I left home in a major maelstrom, I swore to myself that I would make it without my parents; that I’d make it without anyone. And now I’m weirdly obsessive about living up to that promise. I feel a thrill tingle through me at the thought that I might be on my way at last.
 

Liz heads to the bedroom. I walk straight to the mirror over the dining room table and grimace at my reflection. So that’s what I looked like at the interview. Except maybe a little less soggy. “Fuck me.”
 

Liz returns to the living room wearing a pair of yoga pants as well. She comes around the table to where I’m standing and considers my reflection. She doesn’t seem self-conscious or shy or stuck-up or jealous at all. Some of Travis’s hook-ups can be kind of a nightmare. But I already like Liz.
 

“Looks like you’ve had a crappy day so far,” she says.
 

Our eyes meet in the mirror. “Looks can be deceiving.”
 

“Sit down and relax. I’ll make you a hot cup of coffee.” She heads to the kitchen, already knowing her way around.

“How long have you known Travis?” I ask, collapsing onto the thrift shop couch with the too-poofy cushions.
 

“Since the weekend,” she calls out from the kitchen. “I hear he’s a player.” She comes out carrying a steaming mug with a mattress store logo, and then lingers in the doorway.
 
“Cream and sugar?” she asks.
 

“I’m good.” I need the caffeine jolt more than the flavor anyway. “And I’m not going to throw poor Travis under the bus. But I’m not going to correct you, either.”
 

Liz hands me the mug and sits down beside me. “That’s okay. I’m not looking for anything serious. And he’s ridiculously cute. Have you two ever…?”

I blow gently on the coffee and roll my eyes. “Honey, please. We’re solidly in the friend zone. We were born in the friend zone.”
 

“Yeah. That’s more or less what Travis said.”
 

I raise my eyebrows, curious. “Oh yeah? What did he say, exactly?”

“That you’re a hot fucking mess who needs a shower!”
 

I turn, startled, to find Travis in the doorway, bare chested, with a towel around his waist. Liz’s eyes light up at the sight of him, as if she just can’t get enough. His longish black curls look crazy and wet. His chest is smooth and brown from playing hours of pickup soccer on the “skins” team. There’s no doubt about it. He’s a hell of a specimen. But I’m used to him now. We’ve been through so much together. Besides, he goes for stunning, leggy blonds with perfect boobs, not frumpy, glasses-wearing ugmos like me.
 

“What the hell happened to you?” he asks, rubbing at his hair with a hand towel. “You looked like you caught a ride on the underside of a bus.”
 

I sigh and pull the tucked-in shirt from my waist. “I got doored on the way to my interview.”
 

“Are you okay?” Liz asks with complete sincerity. “Did you hurt yourself?”
 

I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
 

Travis heads to the kitchen and I can hear the fridge door open. I know he’s just standing there, staring inside the way he does a hundred times a day, even though he’s not hungry. “Did you reschedule the interview?” he calls.
 

“No, I went to the interview.”
 

Liz’s eyes go wide and she laughs. “Oh, shit!” She holds up a hand to high-five me. “You go, girl!”
 

But Travis doesn’t think it’s funny. I hear him close the fridge and he appears in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. “Mickey, this interview was serious. It was the best firm in the entire city. To have that on your résumé would be…”
 

I look down at my pathetic self again. “Bad idea?” I mumble.

“Uh…yeah!” Travis rubs his face as if he’s thinking *I don’t know what the fuck to do with a train wreck like you*. “Who’s going to hire that?” He gestures at me as if I were an inanimate object.
 

I pull myself painfully to my feet. My muscles are starting to feel stiff and the skin on my back still feels raw as hell. “Well,” I say, sauntering in the direction of the bathroom. “Apparently, Jude Lazarus.”
 

Travis stares at me in disbelief. “What?”
 

Liz’s smile disappears. “Jude Lazarus?”
 

I give Travis a smug smile. “I got the job is what.”
 

Travis whoops and throws an exuberant fist punch at the air. “Hot damn, Mickey! You got a fucking job!”
 

He bounds toward me like a sheepdog and sweeps me into the air. His arms are strong and tight, and his bare chest feels hot against my body as he gives me one of his epic bear hugs.
“Listen,” Liz says, leaning forward over her knees. She’s suddenly very serious. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to work for Jude Lazarus.”
 

Travis and I break the hug and turn to look at her. “Why not?” Travis asks. “He’s huge. There’s no better architect anywhere around here. He’s one of the best in the fucking world, Liz.”

“He’s a great architect with a lot of personal problems,” she says.
 

“What do you mean?” My stomach is suddenly tight and I feel strangely cold. “And how do you know?”
 

“Because I’m a legal aide at a law firm that has dealt with him before. Several times actually.”
 

Travis leans against the sink and looks at Liz thoughtfully. “What kind of personal problems?”
 

Liz shrugs. “I’m not sure about the specifics. I don’t have detailed information. All I know is that they involve women who’ve worked for him. And that he has a terrible reputation.”
 

I think of what Eva, that bitch from HR, said about Lazarus going through a lot of assistants. Are those the women that sue him? He seems like such a nice guy. What could he possibly do that’s so terrible? And if he just tried to sleep with them… Hell, why would you sue him for that? I’d think they’d pay for the chance. I know I would.
 

Travis looks at me and I can tell he’s worried. He’s always worried about me. But I just wave it all away. Whatever it is, I’ve been through worse.
 

“Well,” I say, pushing the bathroom door open and feeling a waft of steam drift out. “All I can say is, he’s never met the likes of me.”

Chapter Five

It’s nearly dark by the time I reach the city’s industrial zone. I bike through the puddled streets, past warehouses and junk yards, wishing I had a light. There are few functioning street lamps out here and you never know when you might run over a rat or hit a pothole. The air out here smells of smoke and rot.
 

Captain is sitting on an overturned bucket beside a camping fire, sipping from a steaming plastic mug. His face is so blackened with grime it’s hard to see his true skin tone. The wiry whiskers of his beard are scraggly and specked with dirt.
 

“Mickey!” he shouts excitedly when he sees me pull up on my bike. I wheel over to where he’s sitting, lay my bike on the ground, and pull the pack off my back.
 

“You look skinny,” I observe with concern. “Are you getting enough to eat?”
 

He waves a hand at me. “Oh, don’t start with me, little girl. If I recall, it was me who taught you how to keep your damn self alive.”
 

I grin and sit down next to him, unzipping my backpack. “I got a job, Cap! A real job. Like, a grownup job. It’s at an architecture firm.”
 

“Oh, my darlin’!” he exclaims, throwing an arm around my shoulder and pulling me in for a bony, sideways hug. “Look at you! Straight out of college! I told you you’d be somebody, and soon.” He shakes his head, beaming at me. “Goddamn, Mickey. You done good. You just done so goddamn good.”

I blush and give him a shy smile. “Thanks, Captain.” I pull out a bagged-up container of rotisserie chicken I bought at Safeway, along with a fresh baguette. Delicious smells fill the air. “I thought we could celebrate together.” I cover the ground with the plastic bag and put the food down. Then I pull out plastic forks and knives. Captain’s eyes light up.
 

“That chicken smells so good I could eat it bones and all!”
 

As we eat, Captain tells me about the latest troubles on the street. He says there’s been a lot of crime, with thugs targeting the homeless, beating them, and stealing their paltry collection of things. He also complains that the police want to clear out the encampments so there will be nowhere left to sleep.
 

“Winter’s coming anyway,” he grumbles, his lips greasy with oil. “I’ll have to suck it up at the shelters anyway.” He gives me an affectionate smile. “The only thing that matters to me is that you’ve sorted yourself out and are safe. Streets ain’t no place for a smart young girl like my Mickey.”