The Passion Agency (5 page)

This was what she asked herself as she answered the
question.

“I misjudged traffic on the way over from my home,”
Donna said. “I guess it’s better now then like later on when you
hire me.”

She thought this would portray some brash confidence
and maybe a lighthearted verbal dexterity. It fell flat to the
hardboiled woman asking the questions.

“You realize we can’t miss deadlines on this job?”
she shot back like she was cross examining a witness in the biggest
case of her career. “We could cost our clients dearly if we did
that. Maybe even get embroiled in a malpractice suit. You don’t
seem like you understand how important it is to be on time?”

Donna could only shake her head without shaking
it.

“Look, I understand that,” she said. “I’ve worked in
the legal field before. I think I have a great work history and
great references. But so does everyone else who you will interview
today. Personally I need this job and the money to survive. Truly,
you won’t find a more motivated individual because it is not far
from the truth to call me desperate.”

The three people on the interview panel all looked
down as soon as Donna attempted to make eye contact. They probably
didn’t know what to do when someone got that personal about real
life issues. The idea of living hand to mouth, paycheck to paycheck
made them ultra uncomfortable. They weren’t feeling what she was
saying and Donna knew she was sunk.

“That felt good and I am screwed.” Donna was
thinking.

The fat older lawyer saw her to the door and instead
of closing it when she left, he walked outside with her.

He thanked her for a second time and when he shook
her hand, a business card was nestled in his palm. Donna had seen
this before as a woman over 40. She remembers seeing it a lot more
when she was a woman of say 25, but she knew what it was.

He wanted to see her again and there might still be a
way for her to get this job.

The card on the back said simply: “call me if you are
interested because I am”. The front said “Malcolm Bradley, Partner,
Tucker, Bradley & Koenig, LLC, PC”.

He was fat, pasty looking, and smelled a little
funny. Not bad, just funny.

Donna was only thinking in terms of tolerable and
necessity. That card wasn’t getting thrown away. She would call him
later that evening when she got home. No doubt about it

…

Across from the law office was a gas station and
convenience store. Even though it was barely two in the afternoon,
Donna decided it was time let off some steam. Brea would be at her
friend’s place over in Hawthorne. Chris would be who knows
where?

It was a beautiful day. The one job she had
interviewed for was hanging by a thread basically at the mercy of a
fairly gross fat guy. It was time to drink a little and forget
about everything. At least that was how Passion Casteel was viewing
it. As usual, she feeling pretty non-passionate.

She crossed the median on a “don’t walk” but didn’t
see any cars. As she got near the opposite corner, a car burst
around making a right turn onto the intersection she was crossing.
Her mind was wondering thinking about what beer to choose. A bum on
the corner she was heading towards had been holding a sign
“Homeless Veteran Please Help”. He was sitting in a wheelchair.

Somehow he saw what was transpiring and slammed his
chair forward down the incline towards the path of the car. Brakes
screeched and Donna darted to her left so all that was between her
and the car was the wheelchair bound bum. Luckily the car was a
newer smaller model with lighter weight. It hit the wheelchair
bound man's chair on the left side but still at a breaking rather
than full speed.

The impact knocked over and toppled right in front of
Donna who was clearly shaken. She knew the car didn’t slow down
until the wheelchair made an appearance in his way. Otherwise she
likely would have been hit at full turning speed.

“Oh my God!” she screamed as the homeless man’s body
spilled out onto the road a ten feet from of his badly smashed
wheelchair. He moaned but was still conscious.

The driver didn’t turn off the car. She appeared to
be a middle-aged heavy set woman. She looked momentarily like she
was going to open her glove compartment and then presumably get out
of the car. Instead she weaved the car forward and opened the
window.

“Damn lazy bum!” she screamed. “And you need to watch
where you are going. I had green!”

She then sped off. Donna was able to get a
description. But she wasn’t thinking about any sort of revenge
paybacks by turning the woman into the authorities or any of that.
She was only thinking about the man and his well-being.

He had saved her life.

The person who had done the damage drove off to her
everyday existence with a slight dent on her front bumper and the
thought that none of what happened was her fault.

Donna bent down to help the man. Traffic turning
right from the intersection continued to simply slowly weave around
them. He sat up slowly. She could tell right away that he was going
to be ok. She also noticed that his legs seemed perfectly fine. He
was shaken up but there was no blood. Nothing seemed to be broken
or anything close to that severe.

He sat up on his butt and drew his ankles back
towards his rear-end and locked his hands over his knees. He then
started to smile like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Despite his grubby appearance with a military olive
green jacket, patched jeans, and filthy white tennis shoes, he
didn’t smell. His teeth were slightly yellowed but Donna thought
immediately about how the teeth of the partner in the law firm,
Malcolm Bradley were worse.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Donna said while stooped
over looking down at him. “I think you saved my life, now let me
save both of ours. We should get out of the way of traffic. People
are going to start going through rather than around. This is LA
remember.”

She put her hand out wondering if the man would
accept it or attempt to keep the hoax alive that he didn’t have
legs that worked well enough for him to walk.

He looked at her and nodded his head a couple times
up and down to acknowledge the gesture. He braced the ground with
his right hand as he quickly hopped to his feet. He turned away
from her and went to pick up his wheelchair. He grabbed it with one
hand and took a moment to examine it.

It was dented but still ridable.

He smiled again as he realized the damaged chair
might help him do better in getting handouts on this or whatever
corner he worked. He rolled the chair back to the corner where his
heroic deed first began five minutes earlier. His cardboard sign
with the sharpie message was still intact leaning against the
pedestrian traffic control pole.

“Lucked out there,” he said with a satisfied
tone.

He immediately plopped down in the chair resuming his
solicitations.

Donna followed him to the corner and pulled out a ten
dollar bill.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I lost my shitty job over in
Inglewood. I just don’t have a lot of extra money. I wish I could
do more. I am so grateful.”

“Well I didn’t do it for the money,” he said. “I
didn’t do it because you are probably the best looking thing that
has walked past my corner in months. I just did it without
thinking. Great we’re both ok.”

Donna smiled.

“Are you really handicapped?” she asked him.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I know I can’t hold a job
because mentally I can’t focus or think clearly enough. I was in
the military and no I never got shot at. But why should that
matter? My stress level went through the roof. I fear almost
everything and I can’t control it. I can’t afford the meds and the
VA is so strapped. They are no help.

“I know I don’t make a lot of sense” he said. “I know
the world thinks I am either totally lazy or totally crazy. Or
both. The world doesn’t account for what it never stops to
consider.”

Donna was suddenly hanging on the man’s every word.
Then the filter of what she believed she was seeing all along
kicked in.

“Well if you need anything, here is my number,” she
said writing her name and number on a slip of paper. “Give you a
ride somewhere, a few bucks, whatever. I am so grateful to be here
talking right now.”

The man reached out his hand but had his eyes fixed
on the driver of the car stopped at the intersection to his
immediate left. He was hoping the driver would be good for a
donation

“Paul. Paul Mala,” he said. “Thanks for talking and
not judging. I can tell even when a person is trying not to. You
weren’t and that’s rare.”

Donna smiled and patted Paul on the shoulder. She
kept walking on to the gas station and picked up her two 22 ounce
beers for $3.33. When she came out two minutes later, Paul was
gone.

Chapter 7--The Good Men

Donna battled more mid-day traffic heading back west
to Inglewood. She was still feeling pretty frayed from having her
life nearly ended.

She didn’t give a lot of thought to what Paul said
afterward, although he surely had her attention at the time.

She was heading home and she hoped it would be an
empty one like she planned. She had her Coors Lights and she had a
definite idea of what music she wanted to play on the radio while
she sat outside and drank beer at a her chosen pace.

As she got closer to home, she had a persistent
bothersome feeling inside her. She wondered if she could be doing
more to save herself financially. Was she hustling enough?

When she was working jobs making ends meet, she was
proud of herself on one level, even if she was spinning her wheels.
In the way she viewed it, at least she was doing something
productive. At least she wasn’t Paul out there begging for handouts
while people drove by and saw him.

At the same time she felt worthless. Like her own
personal version of a lazy bum. She felt guilty she wasn’t working
constantly or beating the bush harder looking for a job.

She arrived home and to her great disappointment
there was Brea. She was on the couch and channel surfing like
usual.

“Hey,” her daughter greeted her with a tone that was
definitely different.

It was warmer and had a trace of understanding and
even caring for her mom.

Donna only saw that Brea was here, doing what she
always did. Her feelings of personal guilt about her own level of
production were easily transferrable to her daughter in light of
what she saw go on a mere month ago with Chris.

“How are you coming finding work?” Donna asked. “I
need some help around here. It’s not something where I am being
vindictive about everything. You are old enough. You can do what
you want. I love you. Clearly. But I need you to chip in.”

Brea was abnormally quick with an answer which also
surprised Donna because she saw Brea was actually engaged in their
discussion..

“Mom,” Brea said with even more caring and
understanding in her voice. “I know how hard you have worked for
me. I know how difficult it is to have to work so hard when you’d
rather be doing other things. I don’t know if it matters, but Chris
and I are done. We’re friends but that’s all it should have ever
been. We got high together one day and that’s how it started. I
wanted you to know more, even though you never asked.”

When Brea finished, Donna turned around from her
position a few paces down the hall taking special care not to
appear too surprised by what had amounted to the longest string of
words she had heard from her daughter in a decade.

It got Donna's attention.

“Brea, I…” she started to talk thank stopped and
gathered herself again. “I am past it. Chris and I are friends too.
You are my baby girl. A lot of what you are facing right now and
what you are dealing with regarding him and the need to bring in
money, it’s my fault. Remember, when you start out behind the 8
ball money wise in this world and you don’t have a plan or good
education or both, time can travel awful damn fast….”

Donna began to cry as she spoke. It wasn’t a cry for
anything or anyone, but for her own deep feelings of ineptitude.
Something she hid from everyone and something she knew could only
be overcome by being successful and having some actual money in
this world.

“You know, I am starting to see the world different
since you told me to find work,” Brea said. “By doing that, you
changed the way I thought. You shocked me into action. I got a job.
I’ll have money for you day after tomorrow. But you took the time
to help me see it a different way. Instead of getting pissed, you
made me first.

“I am so selfish,” she said. “I admit it. But I think
I know where my talents are. I think I know. But I just can’t get
myself to be what you are. I don’t want you to forget how unique
that is. You are. The good men and women who have that power, well
their dreams are never dead.”