She entered “haunted lighthouse” in the search bar and up came my videos.
“Is this you?” she asked, pointing at the screen. I felt like I was going to get in trouble if I said yes, even though I didn’t know what exactly for. But my YouTube user name (PerrySlayer) kind of gave it away.
“Yeah,” I eked out slowly.
“You’re kidding me. I saw this video posted in my Facebook feed at lunch, so I clicked it to see what the fuss was about. Damn if I didn’t know you were a ghost hunter.”
She didn’t seem mad. She was acting different though. I couldn’t read the strange expression on her face.
“Oh, I’m not a ghost hunter.” I laughed uneasily. “My sister is a blogger and she wanted me to write a few posts for her. This is what I came up with.”
“But it’s all true, right?”
“Yeah, absolutely. I mean, I don’t really know what happened but what you see is what I got.”
“Perry, I must say I am impressed.”
Oh. She was impressed. That’s the strange emotion she was trying to express.
I shrugged. “Well, thanks. It was nothing really. Was actually kind of fun to write.”
She leaned against my desk, arms and legs crossed and looked me up and down. “I mean it, Perry. I had no idea you were so web savvy. To capitalize on YouTube like that, get that video on Facebook, get a group started—”
There was a group on Facebook?
“—not to mention all the links back to your sister’s blog. Those are some good marketing strategies.”
“Oh. Well I—”
“Plus the writing. You’ve got a real knack for getting people to want more. Have you taken writing classes?”
Was she kidding me? Did she not read over my resume when she hired me?
“Yes, I have. In advertising school.” I raised my voice over the last few words.
She mulled that over. “Oh, yes. Now I remember. You went to Oregon State.”
“That’s what it says on my resume.”
She nodded slowly, not getting it. She straightened up and clapped her hands together.
“I have to tell you, Perry, this certainly helps your situation.”
“Uh, what situation?”
She cocked her head at me. She obviously thought she was keeping me up to speed on things around here. She did remember I had been gone for the last few days, right?
“Can you fill me in to use the Pacific boardroom for next Monday at nine a.m.?” she asked, turning her attention to my Outlook calendar.
What situation???
“I would like to have a meeting between you, me and John,” she continued, “so we can plan on our next steps here.”
John Danvers was the CEO of the company. If she wanted a meeting with him and me, this definitely meant I was in a “situation.”
“Sorry if I seem to have missed something here, but what are these next steps about?”
“Your job, sweetie,” she gave me a quick squeeze on the shoulder. “But you don’t have to worry as much anymore. Things should turn around now.”
And with that, she left the reception area.
What the hell was that all about? Don’t have to worry as much? Was I worried before? Things should turn around? I was in a situation?
Oh God, was I going to get fired? Suddenly it all started making sense. Maybe she sent me home on Monday so they could try out a few temps while I was gone and see if any of them were better than me. Maybe Alana wasn’t filling in for me after all. Only one way to find out.
I dialed Alana’s extension.
She picked up with a dry, “Yes?”
“Hi, Alana. Sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to thank you for taking over the phones while I was sick.”
“I didn’t answer your phones,” she spat out, clearly insulted. “They hired a temp for that.”
“Oh,” I replied as nonchalantly as possible.
“Yes, someone who doesn’t suffer from ‘ghost’ disease.” And at that witty remark, she hung up.
Very mature, Alana, I thought. It was safe to say now that everyone in the office knew about my newfound ghost fame.
I just couldn’t believe they hired a temp while I was gone.
Calm down, I told myself. Alana probably refused to do it and claimed she was overloaded with business card orders or something like that. A temp didn’t mean I was going to get fired.
Unless the temp did such a good job that they realized what fools they were to keep a slacker like me on the payroll and were planning all week to let me go.
Until today, of course, when my boss finally realized that I may actually be better suited to roles in the company other than answering phones and setting up meetings.
It was funny how I suddenly cared about keeping my job. I dreamed about this opportunity for such a long time, to be free of this horrid place and nine-to-five utter boredom. But even on welfare, which wouldn’t be much, I knew I would have to get another job. And dealing with finding another job was beyond me. So as much as I hated it, I needed this job.
There was that glimmer of hope on Monday, though. I started fantasizing. I know I said I didn’t want to stay in advertising, but it would be better than nothing. And who knows, I might actually be able to do something really cool with myself. Plus, my paycheck would be bigger and I would finally feel proud to answer the question “what do you do for a living?” without having to justify being a receptionist.
Still, the uncertainty was nerve-wracking, and I was in a bit of a downer mood when I arrived home after work. The reality was coming in cold and hard. I tried to keep an optimistic outlook but the jaded part of me kept telling me to expect the worst.
I walked into the house and heard my mom call me from the living room. I came in and saw her lying on the floor doing Pilates to a DVD. My mother was forever after the best at-home DVD workouts.
“Some man called for you,” she said without looking up. I absently watched her leg rise up and down in time with the instructor.
“OK...” That was a bit strange. I couldn’t remember the last time a man called for me, especially at the house.
“I gave him your cell number though. I thought he might have called you.”
I fished my phone out. No missed calls.
“Nope. Did he say what he wanted?”
“He said his name was Declan...something. And he was interesting in speaking with you about your blog,” she continued her scissor kicks. “I didn’t know you had a blog now, too.”
“I don’t,” I said slowly. Declan? Who the hell was that?
My heart started to beat a bit faster. Maybe it was someone like a book agent who saw my blog and wanted me to write a book. I know that’s pretty far-fetched but it happened a lot to bloggers and my hopes were suddenly, naively, sky-high.
“His number’s on the kitchen table,” she continued. “He said for you to call him as soon as you could.”
Well, it was at least intriguing. I went into the kitchen and picked up the pad of paper.
My mom had scrawled a number with a Seattle area code on it and the name Declan Foray.
Dex Foray?
I reached into my wallet and pulled out the business card he had given me. Sure enough it was the same number, though I had no idea his full first name was Declan. The way the name is usually pronounced (DEE-Clan) it didn’t even make sense.
I got strangely nervous when I had to call people I didn’t know. You would think that being a receptionist would have helped me get over that hump but it hadn’t. I tried to mentally trick myself into thinking I was making just another business call.
With my heart beating a tad faster than normal, I dialed his number from the house phone. It rang so many times that I was about to hang up when the other line clicked.
“Dex here.”
Ah, his voice; low, deep and rich, like a polished instrument.
“Hello?” he said more impatiently.
“Uhh,” I stammered. “Hi. Um, this is Perry. Perry Palomino. You…called me?”
“Yes?”
“Yeah. Well… just…calling you back!”
“I got that much,” he replied matter-of-factly.
This was off to a horribly awkward start. I rubbed my forehead and thought of what to say next.
“So, yeah, I—” I started.
“Listen, Perry. Can I call you back? I’ll be two seconds.”
“Uh—”
“Perfect. Talk soon.”
Click. The line went dead. I looked at the phone in disbelief. How long was two seconds? I stared at the phone for what seemed to be forever before I decided to head back over to talk my mom. Just as I was out of the kitchen the phone rang.
I raced back to it, composing myself before I picked it up. I needed to be more demanding.
“Hello, Perry speaking.”