How We Got Here
Chapter Three
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, but maybe I have a chance at Muriel?
Carey's POV
Flashback
It's 8:15, that gives me an hour and three quarters to shower, dress, and drive to the hotel. Calm down, you have plenty of time to get there. You can't afford to be late. This job would make it possible to get the boys out of this hell hole and into decent housing and better schools. Please Dear God...Please Dear God...
Jump into the shower. Dry off. Dry hair and go into bedroom. Clothing laid out on bed. Dress and apply makeup. Please God. Please God. Check yourself in the mirror. Brown suit. White Shirt. Brown pumps. Looks good. Please God...
9:00. that gives me 1 hour to get to the hotel and park the car. Thank You God.
Okay, check purse: phone, wallet, cash...keys...keys..WHERE DID I LEAVE THE KEYS??? Don't panic, you're almost there. Coat Pocket? Yes!!!! Put on coat. Go out and lock door. Go across street to car. Get in and put on seat belt. Start car.
NOOOOOO! It won't start! Phone in purse Oh Please God. Call taxi on speed dial.
"Hello, I need a cab from 277 Celtic Ave. to the Tipton Hotel. Please hurry. Five minutes? Thank you!"
Get out of car and lock door. Stop and breathe. Here comes the cab. Thank You, God.
"Lady, you called for a cab to the Tipton?"
"Yes, please."
"Hop in."
9:25. Should be able to make it in time.
9:50. Here it is. Pay driver. Doorman's helping me out of the cab. Now he's going to the main door to open it for me. Remember manners.
"Thank you."
Ten minutes to spare.
End Flashback
The lobby was overwhelming. I had never seen anything like it. It was beautiful. Oriental carpet, brass railing, marble steps, the furniture. It all took my breath away. It would be a joy to come here to work.
I spotted a candy counter and decided that I'd better get some breath mints, just to be on the safe side.
"Can I help you?" said the very pretty blond girl behind the counter.
"Yes please," I said. "Do you have any breath mints?"
"Of course," she said. "Only the best. Spearmint, peppermint, or cinnamint?"
"Peppermint," I said. I paid for them and she gave me change.
"Thank you," I said. "Could you tell me where to find the manager?"
"Sure," she said. She pointed to the reservation desk. "That's him on the left."
As I walked over to the desk, I popped two mints into my mouth. Boy, how I'd wished they were Valium instead.
"Are you the manager?" I asked. He was a pleasant looking black man with a shaved head, and was wearing a dark blue pinstriped suit. He looked like he'd stepped out of G.Q.
"Marion Moseby," he said. "How may I help you?"
"My name is Carey Martin, and I have an appointment for an interview with you."
"Ah, Mrs. Martin," he said. "You're right on time. I like that." He led me around the desk to a door which was to his office. He took my hand and directed me to a chair alongside his desk.
"Mrs. Martin," he said. "You look to me like you are very nervous. No need to be. On Saturday, I received a call from Peter Hayden. He said that he mentioned this position to you. I have known Peter for about 20 years. As a teenager, he worked here as a bell-hop. I have followed his career and we have been friends all these years. I have come to the rely on his judgment in matters such as this. If he tells me that I would be foolish to let you get away, and I believe him. So relax. You have more than a foot in the door."
"Thank you for telling me, Mr. Moseby," I said. "I had no idea that Pete was so well-connected. I'll have to thank him for his confidence in me."
"As a matter of procedure, I have arranged for a pianist to play for your audition," he said. "I have also enlisted the aid of the hotel owner's daughter, London Tipton to listen to you. She has a good ear for music, So if you would just follow me, we will go over to the lounge to hear what you have to offer."
He led me out of the office and across the lobby to the marble steps and past the elevators to a corridor that opened to a nice sized dining room (about forty tables) with a small stage on the left. Adjacent to that was a large bar. A nice older gentleman was seated at the piano talking to a young Asian girl. As we approached the stage, Mr. Moseby introduced the piano player.
"George, this is Carey Martin," he said. "Carey, this delightful young lady is London Tipton."
"What would you like to sing for us today, Mrs. Martin?" George asked.
"Do you know 'Danny Boy'?" I asked. "And please, call me Carey."
"Yes, Carey," he said. "But do you think it wise to attempt a piece that is so difficult that few singers are able to carry it off?"
"George," I said. "I've sung at more Irish Pubs on Paddy's Day than I care to remember. I want this job badly and I feel that I'd better show what I can do."
George turned to the piano and began to play the intro. I stopped him.
"George, could you raise that two octaves?"I asked. He looked at Moseby and let out a low whistle. Mr. Moseby raised his eyebrows and shrugged. George began to play again.
I closed my eyes and took two deep breaths as he played the intro and didn't open them again until after the last note.
"Well, London," Moseby asked. "What do you think?"
"If she can sing that, she can sing anything."
"George, what do you say?" Moseby asked.
"What she said," George replied.
"Thank you both," Moseby said as he turned to me. "Carey, I guess my search for a cabaret singer appears to be at an end, so if you'll come with me back to my office, we will discuss your salary package."
I followed him back to his office almost in tears. My legs were made of rubber.
Moseby's P.O.V.
I really have to thank Pete for this. I had never hoped to get someone this good. That lounge had been losing money despite the fact that we have a three-star restaurant. This girl was a godsend. Punctual, well-groomed, understated makeup. Moseby, you're a genius, I thought. This attraction would really turn things around.
"Mrs. Martin, if you'd please resume your seat," I said as I walked around to my desk and opened the side drawer for our new hire packet.
"Carey, I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse. First off, you will receive a two-year contract at a salary of thirty thousand per annum. I know that that is not a lot of money, but the rest of the package should more than make up for it. Benefits such as medical, dental, et cetera will be paid through your union at our expense and you will be able to earn extra by performing at other events such as weddings and conventions. Do you own your own home?" I asked.
"No," she replied. "I have an apartment that I am looking to get out of."
"Well," I said. "In that case, as part of your compensation, you will be given a suite here at the hotel. Nothing grand, mind you, but adequate. You will be given a clothing allowance of $2000 in the beginning and $300 a month thereafter, also a room service allowance of $800 a month. I trust that this will induce you to come work for us at the Tipton?"
"Yes."
I handed her the hiring packet and directed her to the small meeting room next door so that she could fill out the employment forms.
There, now. That's a bit longer. And I'm still hungry, so please push the little button and feed me?