The Red Car Read Free Page B

dressed in the same clothes I had worn to work the day before. “We used to call that the walk of shame,” she said.
    â€œI don’t even know where to begin,” I said.
    If only I had rolled out of my boyfriend’s bed.
    I always felt pleased by the fact that Judy liked me. Before getting this job, I had only temped at a couple of places. I had, in fact, started out temping for her. Even before the interview, I had that going for me. I had showed her a shortcut in Microsoft Excel that she thought was clever. “You can make spreadsheets!” she said, surprised and delighted.
    It was true. I had skills. I also told her about an Italian movie I had seen at an art house theater that I thought she would like. She went to see it and she liked it, too. It turned out she created the position for me. Until then, she had never had a full-time assistant because everyone bugged her too much. Judy had also tried teaching me how to knit, but it turned out that I did not have the patience for it.
    I would not know until later, years later, when I didn’t work for her, when I had left San Francisco, that I loved her. She looked like Liza Minnelli. She was divorced. She liked to paint. Almost everyone at the office was scared of her. She said whatshe thought. She had the power to hire people and also fire them. And she did fire people, frequently. Drunken custodians, incompetent receptionists, high-paid managers who went over budget. Rarely did anyone get a second chance.
    I told Judy about my night, leaving out the part about sleeping on the floor of the hallway. I knew about Judy’s ex-husband, an alcoholic who used to beat her before she got the hell out. She knew about my anorexic roommate and my boyfriend who was not actually my boyfriend. Still, I had to keep some things to myself. She had some clothes back from the dry cleaner, which she told me to wear.
    â€œReally?” I said.
    â€œYou can’t work looking like that,” she said.
    I was not only creased. My clothes were dirty. I put on Judy’s black skirt, the white silk shirt, and then, the blazer.
    â€œYou look like a different person,” she said.
    â€œBad?” I asked.
    I felt uncomfortable in Judy’s clothes. Like an impostor. She was six inches shorter than I was and so the skirt showed off way too much leg. Otherwise, her clothes fit.
    â€œNo,” Judy said. “You look incredibly put together. I am surprised.”
    What this told me, of course, was that normally I did not look put together. I supposed I knew that already.
    â€œYou need a new boyfriend,” Judy said.
    The observation made me wince. “I know that.”
    â€œAnd a new place to live.”
    â€œI know that, too,” I said.
    Judy sighed. Sometimes she knew when to back off. Sometimes,she reminded me too much of my mother. Other times, just as irritating, she reminded me that she was boss. Now, she handed me a folder.
    â€œWork,” she said. “We have a job opening for a new admin, level three, who is going to work for Harry over in contracts. Here are some job descriptions for similar jobs for you to go on. Can you write this up for me? I need a classified ad and the job description itself.”
    â€œOkay,” I said.
    I reluctantly took the folder.
    There were days at this job I didn’t have any work to do at all. Judy liked that I worked on my fiction at the office, advised me to lie to anyone who asked me, to always say that I was working, even when I wasn’t. Judy had high expectations for me. She quizzed me about my life. She always wanted me to write more, do more, be more. There were moments when I wanted to tell her to shove it. It was not like her paintings were showing in galleries, that she had a boyfriend. But I never did. At all costs, as a rule, I avoided confrontation.
    â€œWhy don’t you get this done by lunch?” she said. She saw the surprise on my face. “And then we’ll