“Someone from HR caught your solar-panel talk, or part of it anyway, on the news. So, I was told about it and came up with an idea. We’d like to do a series of infomercials for the college with you as spokesperson. Are you interested?
Edwina had been summoned to the Development Office at Randolph Community College upon her return to work after the weekend. Worried at first (what had she done or not-done?), she realized now that Zoe Dolan, Director of Promotions and Marketing, was offering her a long-hoped-for opportunity.
“Definitely I’m interested,” Edwina said, almost before Zoe had finished speaking. “You probably saw on my resume that I’ve had experience as a TV host. I had my own show in Knoxville.”
“We did see that. Certainly that was a factor. We WILL be writing the scripts for you, Ms. Campion, so it’s about your look, your personality. You have that beautiful ‘diversity’ going for you; you’re not TOO young, so you’ll project some authority, especially in a lab coat.” Zoe raised her eyebrows in lieu of smiling. “You are exactly what we were looking for. We were on the verge of doing a nationwide search, but here you are right in our own backyard.”
“Would this be during my regular lab hours? Or would I have to cut back? I’d need to be paid, obviously. ‘Spokesperson’ is not in my job description.”
“These details can be worked out.” Zoe rose from her chair. “I’ll be in touch very soon. I think you’ll make a wonderful face for our college. I’m excited about this.”
The Director looked more anxious than excited, Edwina thought, but then, Zoe Dolan was older and in a position of great responsibility. And she may have had botox treatments too, Edwina mused, involuntarily recalling a long-ago class where she’d learned that botox was derived from botulinum toxin 'A,' originally a bio-weapon, and that the bubonic plague was started by botulism. Did Zoe Dolan know this? Would she, Edwina, ever dare to have such a treatment when she ‘grew up’?
As she continued her brief walk from the administrative building to the classroom complex where she worked, Edwina began to feel the excitement that the Director had merely mentioned; butterflies flaunted in her tummy, big bold monarchs. She filled herself with the spring air; she noticed red tulips next to the concrete; she heard students laughing. Finally she was ‘fulfilling her destiny,’ Edwina thought, and laughed at her own gleeful ego, something that was becoming a habit.
Orville was trapped at S&C since Mrs. Johnson had taken the day off. Certain secretarial chores had fallen to her after her promotion to full-time work, and Orville realized that probably wasn’t fair— as the store phone rang for the third time in an hour, disturbing his thoughts. He had often answered the phone in years past. It was funny how quickly he’d gotten used to letting Ayana deal with that.
He needed to make a call, though, he remembered. There was something he’d daydreamed about in the few days since the ‘press conference,’ and that was: a piano. Why had he not considered owning one before now? A small upright would fit into the living room against the far wall; he could spend time noodling around, learning favorite songs, experimenting. Maybe this sprouting desire had been awakened by his witnessing Edwina’s obvious satisfaction as she enjoyed the attention she’d gotten during her spiel on the porch.
Orville wanted some satisfaction, too, though not the attention, definitely not the attention. He just wanted to enter a sensory world of his own creation; he remembered his private piano sessions at the high school— before he and Ben went into any sort of business. Making music had seemed indulgent, unnecessary, once they’d brought financial obligations upon themselves; it had been so easy to do that, to imagine success and to get into debt. But things were stable now, maybe. This would be the last selfish gift he’d ask for, ever, he promised his inner critic. The sports car, and a piano. He could even take lessons.
The music store downtown had struggled along for years. Who knew when Jedediah Moore would give it up? Once a locally celebrated banjo picker and fiddler, Jed was in his early 80s, still trying to be all things to all people. Guitars, mandolins, violins, upright basses, amplifiers, microphones, records, music books, pianos, saxophones, filled the place. There was even an antique harp in a dusty corner. Online shopping and the pandemic had wiped out any real profit; fortunately, Jed’s grandfather had built the building in the 1920s; they'd kept it in the family, and the second floor was rented for offices.
Jed had taken used instruments and equipment on consignment until the place had resembled a pawn shop--until recently. The plethora of horns in the window must have sold, perhaps to the high school, and there was only one used amplifier available now. Orville, a frequent visitor to the store, had spied an almost-new little piano in there, not a well-known brand, but a bargain. He’d run his fingers across the keys, chatted with Jed a moment, but not mentioned his aquisitory interest, not being consciously aware of it. Now that he WAS aware of it, he’d better make sure it was still there. He had to search for Moore’s Music Emporium on his cell phone, and was pleased that it appeared immediately and was “Open.”
— Macoff
Edwina had been summoned to the Development Office at Randolph Community College upon her return to work after the weekend. Worried at first (what had she done or not-done?), she realized now that Zoe Dolan, Director of Promotions and Marketing, was offering her a long-hoped-for opportunity.
“Definitely I’m interested,” Edwina said, almost before Zoe had finished speaking. “You probably saw on my resume that I’ve had experience as a TV host. I had my own show in Knoxville.”
“We did see that. Certainly that was a factor. We WILL be writing the scripts for you, Ms. Campion, so it’s about your look, your personality. You have that beautiful ‘diversity’ going for you; you’re not TOO young, so you’ll project some authority, especially in a lab coat.” Zoe raised her eyebrows in lieu of smiling. “You are exactly what we were looking for. We were on the verge of doing a nationwide search, but here you are right in our own backyard.”
“Would this be during my regular lab hours? Or would I have to cut back? I’d need to be paid, obviously. ‘Spokesperson’ is not in my job description.”
“These details can be worked out.” Zoe rose from her chair. “I’ll be in touch very soon. I think you’ll make a wonderful face for our college. I’m excited about this.”
The Director looked more anxious than excited, Edwina thought, but then, Zoe Dolan was older and in a position of great responsibility. And she may have had botox treatments too, Edwina mused, involuntarily recalling a long-ago class where she’d learned that botox was derived from botulinum toxin 'A,' originally a bio-weapon, and that the bubonic plague was started by botulism. Did Zoe Dolan know this? Would she, Edwina, ever dare to have such a treatment when she ‘grew up’?
As she continued her brief walk from the administrative building to the classroom complex where she worked, Edwina began to feel the excitement that the Director had merely mentioned; butterflies flaunted in her tummy, big bold monarchs. She filled herself with the spring air; she noticed red tulips next to the concrete; she heard students laughing. Finally she was ‘fulfilling her destiny,’ Edwina thought, and laughed at her own gleeful ego, something that was becoming a habit.
Orville was trapped at S&C since Mrs. Johnson had taken the day off. Certain secretarial chores had fallen to her after her promotion to full-time work, and Orville realized that probably wasn’t fair— as the store phone rang for the third time in an hour, disturbing his thoughts. He had often answered the phone in years past. It was funny how quickly he’d gotten used to letting Ayana deal with that.
He needed to make a call, though, he remembered. There was something he’d daydreamed about in the few days since the ‘press conference,’ and that was: a piano. Why had he not considered owning one before now? A small upright would fit into the living room against the far wall; he could spend time noodling around, learning favorite songs, experimenting. Maybe this sprouting desire had been awakened by his witnessing Edwina’s obvious satisfaction as she enjoyed the attention she’d gotten during her spiel on the porch.
Orville wanted some satisfaction, too, though not the attention, definitely not the attention. He just wanted to enter a sensory world of his own creation; he remembered his private piano sessions at the high school— before he and Ben went into any sort of business. Making music had seemed indulgent, unnecessary, once they’d brought financial obligations upon themselves; it had been so easy to do that, to imagine success and to get into debt. But things were stable now, maybe. This would be the last selfish gift he’d ask for, ever, he promised his inner critic. The sports car, and a piano. He could even take lessons.
The music store downtown had struggled along for years. Who knew when Jedediah Moore would give it up? Once a locally celebrated banjo picker and fiddler, Jed was in his early 80s, still trying to be all things to all people. Guitars, mandolins, violins, upright basses, amplifiers, microphones, records, music books, pianos, saxophones, filled the place. There was even an antique harp in a dusty corner. Online shopping and the pandemic had wiped out any real profit; fortunately, Jed’s grandfather had built the building in the 1920s; they'd kept it in the family, and the second floor was rented for offices.
Jed had taken used instruments and equipment on consignment until the place had resembled a pawn shop--until recently. The plethora of horns in the window must have sold, perhaps to the high school, and there was only one used amplifier available now. Orville, a frequent visitor to the store, had spied an almost-new little piano in there, not a well-known brand, but a bargain. He’d run his fingers across the keys, chatted with Jed a moment, but not mentioned his aquisitory interest, not being consciously aware of it. Now that he WAS aware of it, he’d better make sure it was still there. He had to search for Moore’s Music Emporium on his cell phone, and was pleased that it appeared immediately and was “Open.”
— Macoff
. . . that totally reminded me of Placida's "open door" :)
ReplyDeleteThat was such an evocative description of Edwina's egoic response to her new job opportunity. So clear and true. Made me recall those reactions to job offers in my own history. As we are nearing the end of this session, Macoff, just wanted to thank you for all of the support you have given to so many of us during this 40 day session. You've been so generous with your words, reading and time and, if you ever need a reader of any of your work or just want to stay in touch, here's my email contact: dbradac@gmail.com . Looking forward to tomorrow's last episode.
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