Cupid's Christmas (10 page)

C
lever, right? A bit of memory adjustment, but it worked out quite well this time. I seldom use this tactic because the placement can be rather tricky. In nineteen thirty-nine there was a situation in Philadelphia where I was replacing three months of leading-up-to-divorce memories with some considerably better ones, but instead of going back in time, I jumped forward. As soon as that woman realized she knew the outcome of events before they happened she convinced herself she was a psychic. She bought a deck of tarot cards and started a fortune-telling business in the living room of her new apartment. Of course a few weeks down the road she ran out of memories and that was the end of her predicting things to come. Not only did the business fail, but she was evicted from the apartment for operating a non-authorized business on the premises.

Individual thoughts are no problem, they’re much more specific and easier to handle. But don’t expect to see another memory replacement anytime soon. Once a decade is more than enough for me.   

Eleanor

I
was pretty apprehensive about the Labor Day cookout, but things went better than I’d expected. I heard Lindsay laughing out loud several times, which really surprised me. Up until then I hadn’t seen her so much as crack a smile.

John said the day they went to the baseball game he and Lindsay had a long talk and now she’s okay with us getting married. As much as I’d like to believe that’s true, I have a sneaky suspicion he simply heard what he wanted to hear. Men are like that. I know, because Raymond was like that and Ray Junior is just like his daddy.

When Ray was not much more than a teenager, he had a friend at the house and when it got close to suppertime he came into the kitchen and asked if he could invite his friend to dinner. I’d only defrosted three pork chops that evening so I told Ray I’d prefer he didn’t. I didn’t feel guilty about saying no because his friend lived three doors down and I knew the boy wasn’t going hungry. Anyway, I finished up cooking and when I carried the food to the table, big as life there sits Ray’s friend. I handed the boy my plate and said I wasn’t in the mood for pork.

Later that evening I asked Ray why he’d deliberately gone against my wishes. He looked at me wide-eyed and said
I didn’t.
You most certainly did, I told him. I reminded him how I’d said not to ask his friend to stay and right in the middle of my talking he pipes up and says,
You never told me he couldn’t stay, you just said you’d prefer he didn’t.

That, in a nutshell, sums up the difference in male hearing and female saying.

There are times when I almost get the feeling Lindsay will come around, but as far as Ray goes, I’m beginning to have doubts. I don’t think he said ten words the whole time he was at the party. He didn’t eat either. I made the potato salad with lots of mayonnaise just the way he likes it, but he wouldn’t even give it a taste.

When they first got here Ray said hello to a few people then plopped down in that lawn chair and sat there like an ice cube all day long. Once Traci and Lindsay started having a good time and laughing the way they were, I could almost see the aggravation in Ray’s face. He was squeezing the arms of that chair so hard his knuckles turned white.

A lot goes into raising a child. You do everything you can for them, you scrimp on things you want so they won’t have to do without, you worry about them, watch them grow up, get married and move on with their life…but even after all of that, they become angry if you take a small bit of happiness for yourself.

Oh you might think knowing you’ve done everything possible would enable you to shrug your shoulders and walk away when your child acts like this, but the truth is you can’t. For better or worse, Ray is still my child. I know John feels the same about Lindsay. So if they don’t come around, what are we to do? God only knows, because one thing is for certain—I don’t. 

Cupid…Resume Repair

T
his is not an easy job. Setting up the matches is never a problem, but dealing with the ancillary people—the sons, daughters, parents and in-laws—can be a nightmare. In-laws are by far the worse. They pick at the most mundane thing imaginable. I’ve had perfect matches where the in-laws all but caused a break-up. In poor Melanie Henderson’s case it got so bad I had to ask for help. Luckily I got it. Her mother-in-law came down with the flu and was unable to make the wedding. A month later Melanie and Tom moved to California, which worked out perfectly since his mother’s fearful of flying. They can thank Life Management for that.

Now, back to Lindsay Gray. I think I’ve got a lead on finding her next perfect match but the girl is hopeless when it comes to landing a job. It always comes back to the same old problem—a confidence deficiency.  Lindsay’s job history mirrors her love story. Time and again she’s settled for less than what she wanted, so she’s got little to show for those years of college and working. I’ve had to deal with all of her bad boyfriend choices, but employment problems are definitely not my responsibility. Even though I feel for the girl, she’s on her own this time. Lindsay’s not without resources—she’s just too blind to see them. Unfortunately, human relationships are like a game of dominoes, when one topples everything else goes down.

T
he first domino began falling on the Thursday after Labor Day. It was ten-twenty-seven when the telephone rang and Traci asked to speak with Lindsay. “I think she’s still asleep,” Eleanor said, “but hold on and I’ll check.”

Minutes later a sleepy-voiced Lindsay picked up the receiver.

“I’ve got some info on that job I was telling you about,” Traci said, “I’m working on a project deadline right now, but let’s meet for lunch.”

“Sounds good,” Lindsay replied.

They set the time and place then it happened. “Bring a copy of your resume,” Traci said.

The resume—for Lindsay it was the ghost of misspent years coming back to haunt her. Seven times she’d started to write one, and seven times she’d quit. After four years at Rutgers and a string of meaningless jobs, she had very little worth committing to paper. Regardless of how she phrased it, a few clerical jobs and two years of meandering through the aisles of a book store did not make for an impressive resume.

It would take her twenty minutes to shower and dress, and five more to drive into town, so Lindsay figured she had two hours to put together some kind of resume. Time enough, she told herself then she hurried down the stairs and asked to use the desktop computer that was hooked to a printer. 

When John saw her booting up the machine, he nonchalantly said, “Catching up on your e-mail?”

“Un-uh,” Lindsay answered, “I need a resume.” The truth was she didn’t just need a resume, she was desperate for one. Her resume had been the stumbling block on every job she’d gone after. Shortly after she lost the job at Seaworthy, she’d handed a sheet of paper with her name, address and two job listings to an interviewer who’d laughed in her face. “This is it?” he said, and laughed again when she nodded yes.

John walked into the den forty-five minutes later and the only things on the page were her name, address, telephone number and three lines stating that she had a Bachelor’s Degree in Communications from Rutgers. “Having trouble getting started?” he asked.

“A bit,” Lindsay sighed.

John rummaged through a stack of magazines until he found the one he’d been looking for. “A few years back Eleanor worked for a guidance counselor,” he said. “She’s good with stuff like this. You should get her to help you.”

A look of annoyance took hold of Lindsay’s face and she snapped, “I don’t need help,” as he was leaving the room. She looked at the almost blank page, then moved the cursor down two lines and typed – Gift Industry News, October 2007-April 2008. General office duties and proofreading. She left out the parts about making coffee and answering the phone. She double-spaced then added – Seaworthy Insurance Company, May 2008 – October 2009. Administrative Assistant to one of many Vice Presidents in Marine Insurance Division. Since she’d had so few responsibilities, she decided to say nothing more.

Her third entry was The Big Book Barn, November 2009 – August 2011. Sales Clerk.

Her entire resume took up less than half a page. After four years of college and nearly five years of working, it appeared that she’d done nothing more than take up space on the planet. She had no achievements, no publishing credits, no awards, no promotions, not even a job with a story worth telling. Sitting in her father’s office chair Lindsay reread the resume three times. With each reading it seemed increasingly more pitiful. The resume wasn’t just bad, it was pathetic.

Lindsay tried to think of ways the resume might be improved. First she added space between the paragraphs spreading the text to fill more of the page. But after she adjusted the lines of copy the triple-spaced page looked emptier than it did before. The huge blocks of white space cried out for words to fill them. Perhaps if I add something about high school, or Gamma Phi Beta, she mused—but even though they at first seemed good ideas, she thought back and remembered her high school years as being academically challenged and her sorority activities consisting mostly of parties. When Lindsay glanced at the clock, she was out of time. She reluctantly hit print, made two copies and saved the file as Resume.doc. She scooped up one copy and left the other lying on the desk.

Twenty minutes later Lindsay dashed out the door with the folded resume in her purse. Her plan was to ask Traci for suggestions, then work on improving the resume after lunch. By then she’d most certainly have some new ideas. 

Traci was already at the Sandwich Stop when she walked in. “Sorry, I’m late,” Lindsay said, “I was getting my resume together.”

“No problem, I’ve only been here five minutes.” Traci segued into a lengthy tale of how she was preparing for a design consultation at three o’clock. “Big client,” she said, “it would be a major coup if I can pull this off.”

More out of politeness than interest, Lindsay asked, “What kind of project is it?”

“Structural design for a walk-around fishing yacht with more maneuverability and less drag,” she answered. Using a string of words that were unfamiliar to Lindsay, Traci rambled on about the project for almost five minutes and then said, “Since you worked at Seaworthy, I thought you’d be perfect for this spot as Project Coordinator.”

“Project Coordinator?”

“Yeah, you have marine industry experience and—”

“What do mean marine industry experience?”

“You worked for Seaworthy, so you must have some knowledge of ship design, maritime laws, port regulations, things like that.”

“Afraid not,” Lindsay answered sadly. “I mostly answered the phone, did some typing…”

“You weren’t in underwriting?”

“I was in the Underwriting Department, but I worked for a man who didn’t do all that much underwriting himself.”

“Oh,” Traci said, but the word had the sound of a runaway car slamming on its brakes.

“Not good?” Lindsay asked tentatively.

Traci shook her head, “Not for this job, but I’ll see if I can come up with something else.”

Lindsay had heard similar phrases before and she understood the truth of what was unspoken. The words differed, but the meaning was always the same. It was the sound of a boyfriend who’d lost interest. “I’ll give you a call,” he’d say, but the call never came. This situation was nothing but another disinterested boyfriend—Traci was never going to come up with something else. Jamming the resume back into the bottom of her purse Lindsay decided against asking for advice. “Don’t bother,” she said, “I’ve already got several things lined up.”

For the remainder of the lunch Traci continued to talk about her project and Lindsay tried to choke down a sandwich that sat dry as dust in her mouth. When they said goodbye she drove to the center of town, parked her car and climbed out. Lindsay had neither heart nor courage enough to face a resume that proved she had done nothing with her life thus far, so she strolled along Main Street. The reflection in the shop windows she passed seemed such a sorrowful figure—the hair so flyaway, posture so slouched. Had she always been this way Lindsay wondered or had she somehow become exactly what her resume said—a nothing. Although the sun was hot and beads of perspiration gathered on her forehead, Lindsay walked from shop to shop, peering at the reflection, hoping that it would somehow change. It was late in the afternoon when she stopped and bought an ice cream cone. Leaving a trail of chocolate drips dotting the sidewalk she walked back to where she’d left the car.