Top Floor
/Top Floor
A short story in two voices
This is a great building. The kind that’s an office building built over the historic façade that used to be here before progress, you know, made its big move. I smile about the metaphor this drops for me on the day of my interview here. My mother is walking through the business people, navigating their briefcases and lattes, like she does it all the time. She doesn’t. She works at the hospital. Middle management. Billing people for appendectomies and Botox.
She joins me at the table. I have a small latte in front of me. I don’t want to be all bloaty for the interview, so I sized down. “Hi mom,” I say. She hates when I don’t address her. My best friend in the world could come and sit with me and all’s he’d get would be chin raise. But mom needs words. Complete words. Today of all days, I’m going to remember to speak in complete sentences made of complete words, ’cause that’s how they like it. And I want them to like me.
“Hi Jeremy,” she says. “Are you ready?”
“Sure,” I say.
“Why is it important to you that you work at Hasken Pilter?” She is quizzing me, making sure I’m in the right frame of mind for the interview. Shit, you’d swear she thinks I got faded for this.
“Because Hasken Pilter is the number one commodities firm in the western hemisphere, and I’m a perfect fit.”
“You can’t just say you’re a perfect fit, you have to demonstrate it.”
“Mom.”
“Jeremy.”
“Mom, it’ll be fine.”
“Even if it isn’t, an interview at a company like this is great experience. It’ll help you if there’s a next interview.”
“Way to keep it positive,” I say, and hold my latte cup up like I’m toasting her wisdom.
~~~~~
Can you believe he would come to this interview wearing a green dress shirt? I swear, if he didn’t live in my basement all the time, I wouldn’t be able to pick my son out of a police lineup. A blue suit and a green shirt and tie. And that ridiculous red beard. It wouldn’t be so bad if he could actually grow one, but he’s only 23, so you know, it’s patchy.
He’s drinking a coffee too. The last thing he needs is to need to go pee and end up all fidgety. I wish you were here with us today. You’d be so proud. Patchy beard or not, our son has grown up smart and handsome and kind. He reminds me of you, even though he looks like my side of the family. Days like this make me miss you even more than usual.
I look at my watch and say to Jeremy, “We should get going up.” He stands and smiles at me. Big teeth behind a moustache that needs a trim. I reach over and pick a fuzzy off his suit collar.
We walk across the throng of passersby. They are walking along the corridor. We need to walk across it to get to the elevators. I’m doing it like I’m playing Frogger. “Excuse me, sorry,” and so on. Jeremy is tall and confident and just glides through. I end up following him. In the elevator, I say, “Remember, don’t talk over me in there. I have more experience with this.”
“Sure mom,” he says. It sounds a little like a question.
~~~~~
These elevators are awesome. I want this job even more now. They are real wood with a slat of mirror down each side of the back. I check my teeth for iggies, but I’m good. The wood panels tell the world that Hasken Pilter doesn’t give a fuck whether someone carves their name in them. They’ll just get replaced the next day. Ad infinitum.
It’s a long ride up. My ears pop a little, so I fake a yawn to bring my hearing back to above-water mode.
“Didn’t you get enough sleep last night?” mom asks.
“My ears were popping.”
“Oh. Okay then.” She checks her hair in the slat on her side. Quick, like I’m not supposed to notice.
The elevator doors open and it’s not the usual hallway. They open directly into the offices of Hasken Pilter. Well, the reception area of Hasken Pilter. It says so, in their dramatic font above the beautiful woman in the telephone headset. She says, “Hasken Pilter, please hold.” And then says the same thing. Another three times. She smiles at me and holds up a finger to show she’ll be right with us.
“Hi, welcome to Hasken Pilter,” she says. She’s talking to me. Mom answers.
“We’re here to see Ms. Davidson. We’re Jeremy Peters.”
“Sure, I’ll let Ms. Davidson’s assistant know you’re here. Please have a seat.”
~~~~~
Did you see her roll her eyes? It was slight but it was there. I don’t care what the receptionist thinks. Right? This interview is too important to Jeremy to let him do it by himself. A company like Hasken Pilter would see him coming a mile away and would lock him into indentured servitude. He’s 178th in his graduating class. That’s pretty high praise from a top school.
A young lady in a blue power suit with a baby blue blouse joins us. “Jeremy?” she asks. He’s the only man in the waiting area. He stands, and I stand with him. He shakes her hand. His firmness looks fine. I shake her hand too and say, “Felicity Peters,” I’m Jeremy’s mom.
“Nice to meet you,” the assistant in the power suit and the Walter Steiger shoes says. She doesn’t say her name. “Right this way.” She leads we follow.
We reach Ms. Davidson’s office. She’s just finishing a call. She smiles and tells whomever that she’ll call them back. “Please come in.” The three of us go in.
~~~~~
The first thing I notice about Ms. Davidson is that she’s full on writing with a Mont Blanc. I think that’s the first thing I’m getting when I get a cheque. A fat black one with the big white snowflake on the top. I’ll get my signing on with that.
We stand for a bit while her assistant comes in with another chair for mom.
Then we sit. Ms. Davidson says, “Welcome to Hasken Pilter. Would you like anything, coffee, water?” Mom and I say that we don’t. The assistant leaves and closes us in.
“Thank you for inviting us today,” mom says. Ms. Davidson smiles and looks at me.
“So Jeremy, you did well in your first semester. How’s this one going?”
I take a slow deliberate breath. Mom will be rating it, so I make sure it’s there for at least my first answer. “It’s going well,” I say. “I’m currently 178 in the graduate class. That should come up after finals.”
“You’re expecting good finals?” She smiles and starts to note something with the Mont Blanc in a leather bound book. Leather, for interview notes. This place is awesome.
Mom says, “He is going to do great on his finals. The last time I spoke with his professors they assured me there was nothing to be concerned about.” Ms. Davidson smiles again. Writes nothing.
“Tell me Jeremy, why would you like the analyst position at Hasken Pilter?” I see mom smile. She’d predicted this one and she’s proud.
“Hasken Pilter is a top floor firm and I am 178 in my class and climbing. Together, we’ll be everything I need to learn and excel.” Ms. Davidson writes for a considerable amount of time. Nailed it.
Several more questions have passed. I’m doing marvellously. Ms. Davidson is clearly feeling my vibe. The only thing I can’t figure is why mom hasn’t brought up my starting salary yet. I’m a little worried that she’s going to drop the ball on this one, and I’ll be starting way too low. We should have worked out a set of signals.
~~~~~
Holy Mother of God. Did he just tell her that he’ll be an even better fit at Hasken Pilter once marijuana is legalized because he’s used to working hard and delivering under the influence at school? He must have been stoned when he picked out his suit!
I have no idea why he keeps looking at me. It’s like he expects me to say something, but all I want to do is cry. This is my best poker face. I hope it’s holding. Luckily for me, Ms. Davidson doesn’t seem to notice, and she doesn’t have any questions for me. I’m hiding in plain sight.
Then Jeremy says, “Mom thinks I should be asking for a company car too. What do you think of that Elsa?”
I missed the part where they got on a first name basis. From the look on her face, I think Ms. Davidson did too.