A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [136]
Gordon thanked him, then asked if Mrs. Jukas had mail in her box. Old mail, he tried to explain. “In her mailbox,” he added with an awkward gesture toward it.
“Just a couple catalogs,” the mailman said skeptically. “First class she has me put through the slot. Why?”
“I just wondered. I thought maybe she didn’t bring it in or something.” He shrugged uneasily with the young man’s puzzled scrutiny. “Her paper, it’s still out there.”
“She’s there, though, right? I mean, she’s not away or anything.” He took a notepad from his shirt pocket. “Must be, she’s not on my hold list.” He flipped it closed. If Gordon was worried, he could call in to his supervisor. They’d get a cop out to check on her.
“Oh no!” Gordon said quickly, knowing how upset she’d be. She was probably just resting, he reassured the mailman. And himself.
Gordon realized he had circled almost every ad in the column when he came to the Harrington Brewery ad. “Warehouse/stock. Excellent benefits. 555-2233.” Dennis had wanted him to do this in the first place. If he had, he might not be in this mess. He couldn’t very well ask his brother for help now, but doing it on his own might close the breach between them.
The man who answered said he was sorry, the position had already been filled.
“Mr. Harrington? Is that you?” Gordon asked, his throat constricted by such unnatural brashness.
“Uh, no, this is Bill Powers. Did you want Mr. Harrington? I’ll put you through.”
“No, that’s—” Gordon was saying when another voice came on the line.
“Mr. Harrington’s office. May I ask who’s calling?” said a woman’s clipped English accent. When he didn’t answer she repeated herself.
“Gordon Loomis,” he finally said, then heard a click.
“Gordon,” Mr. Harrington answered almost immediately. “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like a job, sir,” he said, eyes closed, cringing. “If you have one. Available, that is.”
“Certainly, Gordon, but off the top of my head I’m just not sure what’s available right now.” Had he tried Personnel? Yes, he just had. Mr. Harrington took his number. He’d look into it and get back to him as soon as he could.
The phone rang moments later. “Gordon. Tom Harrington here. I think we have something for you.” There had been a new hire, but Personnel said it hadn’t been finalized. Harrington asked when he could come in. Now, Gordon said. Right now.
He walked so fast to the bus stop that he was almost running. If they hired him and let him start today, he’d have almost a full week’s pay. With health insurance he could get a doctor to look at his aching hand. The slightest pressure caused a foul-smelling yellow fluid to seep out. He’d be able to pay some bills, maybe start putting a little aside every week, a cushion against emergencies. The house had seemed perfect at first, but now he was noticing the hairline cracks in the plaster ceilings and the rattling pipes. The paint on the back of the house was peeling, and the garage roof was starting to rot. With a steady salary he could buy what he needed to do the work himself. As the bus creaked along, he gazed out at the hot streets with growing pleasure. If he did get the job, he’d be Mr. Harrington’s best worker. He wondered if he should tell the interviewer he didn’t drink. It might be a plus. They’d never have to worry about that being a problem on the job, but on the other hand, maybe some knowledge of the product was required.
The bus passed Delores’s building and he peered up at her windows. He wondered if Delores liked her new job. She was probably very good at it given her own flashy sense of style. He had thought of her often in the last few days. With every problem he’d find himself wondering what Delores would say or do. By now she would have given him the inside story on the brewery, who was who and what to look out for. Thinking of her fortified him enough to push open the gleaming dark green doors of the brewery.
“Mr. Loomis!” The receptionist’s wide smile greeted him as if her day were complete now