Phoebe's Performance

The Other Girl

My sister and I are both unemployed. Not coincidentally, but catastrophically. I used to work for my sister and now...well...her coffee shop business has come to a screaming unexpected halt. I'm trying to save us, clinging onto every opportunity for dear life, like a skydiver would a parachute.

I turn back to face her.

"It's not about the money," I say, too proud to admit how helpful the cash would be, for there's a bigger picture – the job itself.

"Oh?"

This woman has been politely waiting for my response on bus fare. Maybe...just maybe...I could exploit her kind nature. Yes, that sounds wretched, underhanded or possibly manipulative but if she feels badly, maybe there's a chance to change her mind and I need this job. I really need it. "I wasn't given the opportunity to showcase my skills and expertise, before you made up your mind."

"You'd have to impress Otto," the woman says matter-of-factly.

"Otto?" I blink, so this woman's merely the gatekeeper for the fabulous Otto, whoever-the-hell he may be. The recruiter never told me who would be interviewing me but now it's absolutely clear that this Otto is ultimately responsible for this situation. He's the person who might have the power to change my fate, if only I could get in front of him. For maybe Otto hasn't yet provided a formal offer to this 'other girl'? Or, maybe there's no official contract in place? Maybe if he met me, he'd choose me, instead?

"Yes, Otto Arnold the classical pianist." There's smugness in her voice which gets right under my skin. "You might have heard of him?"

"I love the piano," I say. "It would be fantastic to work for a classical pianist."

"The other girl loves piano too."

I inhale sharply. Okay, so I don't think this woman and I have instantly clicked. In fact for some reason she's being deliberately cruel with all her talk about the 'other girl'. The audacity of her to keep throwing this 'other girl's' positives in my face, is a tad annoying, like she doesn't care that she's completely wasted my time or my efforts to actually turn up.

My brow knits and my mind whirs. Something ripples inside me and a pinprick of an idea forms in the back of my mind.

Do I dare?

If I don't I might as well walk away right now. But I can't afford to be a snivelling princess like my sister at the moment. I've got to push on. Move forward. There is absolutely nothing to lose if I try.

I shove my shoulders back. "It would be great to have a mere five minutes of yours and Otto's time all the same." I waltz past the woman and into the reception. It's at times like this that I feel my past injury ache in my hip but I must press on.

I've barged in the middle of this expansive reception, complete with chandelier and a ceiling so far above my head that the sound of my heels takes a few years to bounce back. I just hope she doesn't have security too who would throw me out onto the street. That would be mortifying.

This charade of confidence is a risk, if you could call it confidence. My insides are all watery because a voice in my head whispers that this woman was about to slam the door in my face, but if I'm pushy, bold even, maybe my luck might change direction.

My legs tremble as I swivel round. This time I smile brightly, teeth and all. "I won't take up a lot of his time, especially if he has his heart set on someone else."

"I don-"

"The recruiter is going to think I've botched this up. He'll never put me forward for anything else which leaves me in an awkward position."'

There I've said it. I've laid my cards out in front of her to see.

"I'm not sure if -"

"It doesn't even have to be thirty minutes. Just give me five. I only need five minutes to impress you or Otto. That's what you said, I'd have to impress Otto?"

"The other girl bakes." She gives me a condescending look.

For a moment I'm caught slightly off guard for surely this is trivial. "Bakes?" I ask for surely this woman is grasping at straws, trying to justify her decision of why she couldn't wait a few minutes to interview me. I can't believe I lost this opportunity because some other girl bragged about baking.

"Otto has specific Swedish cookie recipe that he likes and this girl seemed like she'd do anything to make him happy."

I struggle not to roll my eyes and every ounce of willpower kicks in so I don't ask whether this 'other girl' promises to wipe Otto's bum too.

"I can bake." I can't really but I've gone the point of no return here. I might as well promise I can do everything and apologise later, if I get the job, of course.

"This other girl just gave me a feeling that she'd be the right fit...." Her voice trails off. "The fit is very important, especially since Otto has let go of so many assistants." The woman's face pales even more so, she realized she has said too much.

"How many assistants has he let go? The recruiter never mentioned."

"Never mind."

"How many?" I insist. This is integral information.

"Four in four weeks."

"Not a fabulous statistic for either Otto or the assistants."

"Otto has very particular standards."

"He's got nothing to lose by meeting me. It's obvious he needs a backup plan."

"Why's that?"

"He's likely to fire this 'other girl' too."

"I'm hoping that won't happen. I'm about to start a six month tour."

"But what if it does? Will you be able to start your six month tour?" A few moments of silence pass. "I'm on your doorstep. The recruiter already sent you my resume and just chatting with me for a few minutes couldn't hurt. In a situation like this, maybe a backup couldn't hurt...?"

"I don't want to waste your time."

"Let me at least try to be an alternative." I extend my hand, hoping she'll eventually take my palm, but by the way it's going I think she's going to leave me hanging. "I'm Phoebe Vermont."

From the way the woman's hand doesn't stretch out immediately towards mine, I realise I've pushed things too far. My face hurts from smiling so hard that I'm afraid it might spasm and she'll think I have a facial tick. It's not like I haven't got enough disabilities in my life at the moment. I'm half waiting to see whether an alarm will sound because I dared trespass into the mansion.

"I'm Annika Arnold."

Annika finally extends her perfectly manicured hand and I'm silently thankful that she pumps. Her grip is steady and firm.

"If Otto agrees, I'll only give you five minutes, but only five minutes."

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