CHAPTER 3: Getting myself together

MEREDITH:

"You can’t keep wallowing in the past," I mentally scolded myself. Today was one of those days that reminded me how unlucky I was. I just needed a shoulder to lean on. Someone to cuddle while I cried my heart out. Well, no one had that time. Everyone was busy with their lives. At the end of the day, what you have is yourself.

I didn’t even notice that I had been crying all along until I felt my blouse become wet against my skin. Great! Now my makeup is ruined. A great way to describe my life was boyfriendless, jobless, visionless, and soon-to-be homeless, since I couldn’t afford the rent. 

More than anything, I needed to hear that everything was going to be alright. That this was temporary. I just needed some sort of comfort from any source. I couldn’t care less. I guess we don’t always get what we wish for.

Don’t you dare show your weakness, Meredith Tate? Pull yourself together and figure out what to do next. You’ve fought tougher things than getting rejected in different offices. Shit! I’m going to keep on crying.

My lip wobbled as I kept sobbing, not caring if it drew the attention of people. I was so frustrated. Every firm I stepped into today had told me no to my face. Some cared to go through my CV and others didn’t even take a look at it. They just turned me down upfront without giving me a chance. Was it my destiny to get rejected, abandoned, and denied? Or, something was wrong with my face. 

When I was convinced that I could cry no more, I reached for the piece of scrappy paper I had jotted down a number I saw during an advertisement.

Dialing the number, I made sure to clear my throat to make my vocals sound confident and readjusted myself. Hopefully, this works out. I don’t mind taking up any offer in this state. I just needed a means of income. Not including anything illegal, of course.

The phone rang twice and no one answered. “Another dead end,” I mumbled to myself in disappointment. Settling to put the phone back in my purse, I got the encouragement to give it another shot. “One more time,” I said as I dialed. Fortunately, someone picked up.

 “Hello, this is Pierce Enterprise. Who is on the line and how may I help you?” A female voice asked. Her voice was overwhelming. 

“My name is Meredith Tate. I’m calling concerning the opening in your enterprise for the position of a Personal Assistant?” I began biting my nails due to anxiety, hoping that it wasn’t another negative answer shoved into my face. Or, as the case may be, shoved into my ears.

“Okay? Can I address you as Miss or Mrs.?”

“Miss,” I hurriedly responded. 

“Well, Miss Tate, you’re in luck depending on your capacity to get here as soon as possible.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Today is the final day for the interviewing, screening, and clearing of candidates for the position.”

“I didn’t know that.” Maybe it was a sign that I was finally about to get something. I think it was too soon to be excited. I felt jittery, and my palms became sweaty. A positive answer shouldn't feel this way.

“Miss Tate, do you have a pen and paper close to you so that I can give you the address to where you’re meant to go for the interview.”

I fumbled with my purse and got out a pen. Turning the blank part of the piece of paper I had in my hands so that I could get a space to write, “please go ahead," I said.

“Pierce Avenue, Sunnyvale, Santa Clara, California. If you can make it there within the next hour, that would be to your advantage.”

“Oh, thank you so much for the information.”

“You’re welcome. Enjoy the rest of your day. And, good luck, Miss Tate.” She hung up the call before I could say anything else.

Okay. All I had to do was to get my ass to that address.

Shooting to my feet, I grabbed my purse and quickly walked into a nearby Café, heading straight to the ladies. I needed to fix myself. Going to an interview looking shitty can never be a good idea. The bad thing was that I didn’t bring my makeup kit or extra clothes. I’ve to make this work. 

As soon as I hit the first unit with a large mirror, I put my purse on top of the bathroom sink. Looking into the mirror, my face looked horrible — puffy from crying and smeared with makeup. I looked as if I had just survived a horrific experience. Come to think of it, I just survived one anyway.

I took a piece of face wipe and cleaned off the makeup, keeping it as light as possible. I took a second one to clean the few stains on my blouse, making sure to keep it neat. Thank goodness I had chosen a gray-long-sleeved-satin blouse, pairing it with a black pencil skirt that stopped slightly below my knee and matched them with a gray pump and bucket purse that held my credentials.

Patiently, I began to blow on the wet area on my blouse to get it to dry quickly. Satisfied with the outcome, I re-styled my hair into a messy bun. One more glance at the mirror and I was good to go.

Gathering my things, I tossed the used wipes into the trash and headed out. Thankfully, as soon as I made it to the walkway, maneuvering my body through the booming street of California, I was able to locate my scrappy 190 Mercedes-Benz in a deserted corner where I parked it.

I climbed in, shut the door behind me, and tossed my bag on the passenger seat. Jabbing the keys in the ignition, my car came to life, letting out choked sounds that stood as a reminder to me that it was nearly the end of its life span before it died down.

“Not now, the universe. Let this go well.”

Another attempt and it started, sounding better than before. That should work. If I could, I would fly to that address. I shouldn't miss this opportunity for any reason.