Page 47… in a fiction series
Miranda parked her car in front of the address Janet had written on the card, checked her lipstick, and stepped out into the snow. She had been to Petoskey a few times before, and found the office without any trouble. The building was two blocks west of the post office– a mix of residential homes and private offices. It was only thirty minutes from Charlevoix, a scenic drive along the frozen beauty of Little Traverse Bay.
The steps leading up to a restored craftsman bungalow were neatly shoveled and salted. ”Mr. Tiller isn’t in right now. Is there something I can help you with?” A receptionist named Rita was in her mid-fifties, pretty, with a southern accent. Miranda looked around.
The lobby was understated and masculine in design. There were some modern paintings, pottery, and a life-size German Shepherd statue in the corner… probably there for security. Ha ha.
Several offices were visible from the entrance hall, all within view of a closed door with a placard that said, Emerson James Tiller. The space was modern, beautifully remodelled. Great attention had been paid to the smallest detail. But there was no sign, no logo, nothing on the mailbox or front door, not even a brochure on an end table that would indicate the nature of this business. Was that disturbing or exciting? Miranda couldn’t be sure.
The reception desk was stylish, neat, and appointed with a computer, wide monitor, printer, and a complex phone system. A small black box with blinking lights was mounted off to one side. The cables and cords were neatly dressed and disappeared magically into the floor. Miranda was low tech, didn’t even carry a cell phone. What on earth was Janet thinking? Feeling a little deflated, she cleared her throat and told the receptionist that Janet had sent her. She hoped that name would carry some weight.
Rita looked up and smiled. “Why, of course. Mr. Tiller will be happy to meet with you,” and she scheduled an appointment for an interview. Rita took a card from a chrome holder on her desk and handed it to Miranda. Except for her name, phone number, and extension, the card was blank. Miranda handed Rita her resume and said she had just one question. “I hope I can help,” Rita smiled.
“Well of course… Mr. Tiller will be happy to talk to you about our business after your meeting. And Miranda–just a word of advice. Be prepared, and don’t be late.”
Going back to work was going to be harder than Miranda thought.
“Better to be ordinary and work for a living than act important and starve in the process.” Proverbs 12:9 (Message Bible)
To be continued…
*This story is based on some true events, however, has been fictionalized and all persons appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2012, Shoes for an Imaginary Life. All rights reserved.