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"Well, I used to be the fairest, or at least among them." Marla sighed anxiously into the bathroom mirror, frowning at the noticeable wrinkles at the edges of her dark brown eyes.
God, she continued silently, am I? I still think I am, but will they? Marla stepped back and surveyed her reflection, touching up her hair in places and then finished applying lipstick. She closed her eyes and took a few deep slow breaths to try and relax. I'm certainly in no hurry, she chided, knowing she was more than half an hour early. The woman in the mirror gave her an animated thumbs up, and she smiled in response, giggling at her own silliness.
She walked back down the hall and opened the door to Suite 408, and entered the reception area that was empty when she left several minutes ago, but now was not. Sitting prim, pert and proper in the chair that Marla had been sitting
in was a young woman in a dark suit flipping absently through a magazine. Her perfectly coiffed blonde hair pulled back neatly with a stylish clasp, recently manicured nails and the brief, disinterested glance in Marla's direction confirmed her instantly foreboding suspicion of who this woman was and why she was here.
Marla covered her hesitation with a fictitious search through her briefcase, but the woman didn't seem to notice. She took another seat across the room and pretended to become engrossed in a magazine she had never even heard of.
What the hell am I doing, she wondered loudly inside her head? At the end of this thought, a door to the reception area opened, startling Marla and another young, attractive woman poked her head into the room and announced, "Mr. Campbell is running late. Please make yourselves comfortable." The blonde seemed to take no notice of this information and remained poised and calm, still turning the pages of the magazine.
Marla began taking a mental inventory and comparing them against her assumption of what this young woman's own list might include.
Don't do this to yourself, she encouraged, but knew it was too late. She had arrived feeling less than confident already and had been giving herself pep talks, but now she was facing off with her worst nightmare. It's not fair that young is preferable, beauty is a selling point and actual experience is not considered a viable contender.
Marla mentally reviewed her professional history in a feeble attempt at claiming preliminary victory over this youthful, undoubtedly married (meaning her contribution to the household income was secondary, whereas in Marla's case it was sole), probably well educated (up to and including finishing school and the most prestigious university that her daddy's money could buy), and just enough professional contacts to get in the door to let her supple body do the rest.
Good grief, Marla, stop acting so petty!
She looked up from the magazine she wasn't reading and tried to telepathically access this woman's life story in order to find enough fault to disqualify her, at least enough to settle her nerves. No runs in her pantyhose, not a speck of hair out of place, perfectly applied make-up, relaxed, confident and certainly no children at home she'd had to dodge all morning to avoid any last minute wardrobe changes. This last thought brought Marla's attention to her sweet, sticky-yogurt-covered-fingered daughter that Marla had warned away from her this morning because Mommy had an important meeting.
"What meeting, Mommy?"
"About a job, sweetheart." Marla replied with as much enthusiastic conviction as she could muster.
Inside, however, she failed, and again her heart wrenched. For the past four years since the birth of this incredible creature, Marla had been fortunate enough to stay at home and provide her daughter with the optimum childhood situation - her constant presence. The upheavals caused by divorce seem never ending, and now it was time for Marla to assume the role of head of household, and do exactly what she swore she would never do...throw her kid in day care in order to work full time.
"How come you need a job, Mommy?"
"Well, so we can have money."
"Daddy has money. Maybe he'll give us some."
"Yes, darling, and he does, but we need more."
"Why don't you just go to the machine and get some?"
Referring to the ATM machines, Isabella lived with the world in the palm of her hand. Her naivety made Marla smile.
God, to be so innocent and have all the answers be so easy. Maybe they're really that
easy anyway, she considered.
Across the room, pretending to be absorbed in the magazine she held in front of her as a shield to hide her insecurity, Heather kept up her non-stop internal dialogue.
I don't stand a damn chance against this woman; she's been in advertising so long she doesn't even need to pretend to be interested in the field. She doesn't need to rely on features that required absolutely nothing from her because she's smart, professional, mature and is bringing at least two decades of experience to this job. All I have is a few meaningless pieces of paper and a good family name. Maybe I could just get up and leave and tell dad that Mr. Campbell already hired someone; that way dad wouldn't be embarrassed that his well bred daughter couldn't compete against what he would call an old mare.
Heather saw in this woman something her father might overlook only on behalf of his daughter, but would otherwise use as an example for her to follow. Heather remained fixed in her chair not out of the presumed confidence that Marla attributed to her, but out of plain, old fashioned fear. She knew she had nothing to offer in contrast to this older, self-assured woman who was still beautiful and clearly took good care of herself.
God, I hope I'm smart enough to look that good and act that smart in twenty years, Heather hoped to herself.
Her lines are distinct, carved through a lifetime of living that Heather only dreamed of claiming for herself as time moved along. Screw it, she decided.
Just dazzle ‘em, right, daddy? Yeah, right. This broad's got brains and dazzle.
The reception door opened again and produced the same woman as before.
"Heather Robinson? Mr. Campbell will see you now." The woman stepped aside to let her through the door. As Heather passed Marla's chair, Marla made eye contact with her. "Good luck. You're going to do great." She meant it sincerely, she discovered.
Give what you need, she recalled. Heather smiled, but said nothing. She was in awe of this woman whose essence left a permanent print on her heart, and she silently added her to the list of women she most admired.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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