At first, I could only see the top of the head of the girl manning the front desk. She stood up, acknowledging me with a nod. She looked barely out of high school, wearing braided blonde pig tails hanging from beneath a knit cap. Her name plate on the upper desk read JOJO.
She held a black phone receiver with hot-pink mittens, with far too much makeup on her young face. Although I was sure she only meant to hold up one finger, her entire mitten was erected, silently asking me with a wink and a smile to wait while she finished the call.
“No, Mike. Because Wick is busy, and so am I. He doesn’t want your pictures of the parade. Because they suck. I’ve got someone at the desk. I’m hanging up now. Yes, I am.”
She slammed down the phone and looked up at me with big eyes and fake lashes. Her orange skin had been baking in a tanning bed far before the ski season had started. She chomped on her gum and smiled at me with an inch of gloss slathered across her puffy lips.
“How can I help you?” Her tone changed as if she were a different person. She was no longer the cranky receptionist fielding questions for Wick. Jojo was pleasant, eyes bright, waiting to make me happy.
“I’m here for the nine AM interview. My name is Ellison Edson.”
Jojo’s expression immediately fell. “Oh. You’re Wick’s assistant.”
“No, I … I’m applying for the job.”
She stood up, gesturing for me to follow her down the hall. “Trust me, no one else wants the job. You’re the first person who’s even applied. The ad’s been out for a year.”
We walked through an extra-wide doorway to an empty room with a desk and a seating area, and stopped in front of a lightly stained door with J.W. Chadwick branded into the wood.
“Is there a reason no one has applied?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said, opening the door. “Because he’s a dick.”
Mr. Chadwick lowered the paper he was holding. “I heard that.”
“From everyone,” Jojo said, closing the door behind her. “Love you, Daddy.”
Mr. Chadwick sat up, interlacing his hands on his desk. “Love you, baby.” He looked to me. “When can you start?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Chadwick, I didn’t hear you correctly. When can I…?”
“Start. And it’s just Wick. Everyone calls me Wick but Jojo.”
“Maybe we should discuss what exactly being your assistant includes,” I said. “Hours, benefits, and pay.” I wasn’t sure how all of this worked, but I wasn’t stupid.
“Do you need a job?”
“Yes.”
“Then what does it matter?” he asked, chewing on the toothpick in his mouth.
“It matters.”
He sighed, leaning back in his worn chair. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Your Philip Edson’s daughter, ain’t ya? You’ve also been kicked out of my bar twice this year alone. Why do you need a job? I’m not in the business of hiring lazy people who don’t need a job.”
“Sounds like you haven’t hired anyone.”
Wick glared at me, and then the corners of his mouth turned up. “I need you to file, keep my calendar, run errands, help Jojo on occasion, schedule ads, and vet any calls I receive. Jojo is tired of hearing from every journalist in the state and everyone who owns a camera thinking they’re a photographer. I need someone firm. I need someone organized. Is that you?”
“I can be firm when you need me to, but I can’t promise I’m organized.”
Wick pointed at me. “But you’re honest.”
“I guess.”
“Thirty-six hours a week, one week of vacation … unpaid, no benefits, this ain’t a charity.”
I shrugged. “I don’t need it anyway. My parents keep my insurance. Or, they did. I need to ask them about that.”
“You haven’t said why you’re here. Everyone knows your sister works for your dad. Why aren’t you? Has there been a family uprising, or are you some kind of spy from the paper?”
I couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “A spy? No. If you’ll notice,” I said, reaching over to point at the paper on his desk, “that’s not on my résumé. It’s also none of your business.”
Wick grinned, his crooked, yellowing teeth making me never want to pick up another cigarette again.
“Do you smoke?” he asked.
“Yes?” I said, sitting up and feeling a bit creeped out that he’d mentioned the very thing I was thinking about.
“You’re hired. Nine hundred a week. You’ll start tomorrow. Let’s go have a smoke in the back.”
“Oh. Uh … okay, then.”
I followed Wick out of his office, down a hallway lined with boxes, and then out a back door. My boots crunched in the snow, and I looked up, letting the flakes fall and melt on my face.
Wick pulled a cigarette from a soft pack in his shirt pocket and a lighter from the back pocket of his Wranglers and hunched over. He cupped his hand around the flame and puffed, then held out his lighter for me to do the same. I leaned in, took a drag, and then startled when two men came around the corner.
“Wick!” Tyler said, slowing mid-step the moment he recognized me.