Cupid's Christmas (11 page)

It was nine-thirty before she could muster up enough courage to once again tackle the resume. She returned to the den and clicked on the computer. As she waited, Lindsay listened to the click, click, click of the computer trying to find itself, but beyond that sound she could hear laughter coming from the living room—Dad and Eleanor were watching a movie. His was a robust laughter, the kind she hadn’t heard in many years. Eleanor’s was softer, more like a chuckle. “At least Dad’s happy,” she sighed but her heart wished that she was the one sitting beside him. He’d promised it would be like it had always been, but the truth was, it wasn’t. Lindsay was now an outsider, the unnecessary third wheel. When the computer finally flickered on she clicked documents and opened the file named Resume.doc.

When the page filled the screen, Lindsay’s eyes grew wide, “What’s this?” she exclaimed. Her name and address was at the top of the page, but almost everything else was different. A double-ruled box bordered her name and address and beneath the box was a long paragraph describing her capabilities. Included in the paragraph were words like
skilled communication professional, strong organizational abilities, excellent knowledge of…
she continued to read. Her experience at the Big Book Barn had been moved up to just below that paragraph and it included twelve lines of copy about her duties and responsibilities. Beneath that there was a full paragraph describing all the duties she’d had at Seaworthy—more words,
agenda coordination, document preparation.
The large block of copy about her employment at Gift Industry News overflowed the page and continued on a second page—
thorough knowledge of collectibles industry, editorial and proofreading supervision.
There was not a single mention of coffee-making. The lower portion of the page listed Lindsay’s activities in high school and college—
student council, chess club, editorial staff, cheerleading…

“Wow,” Lindsay sighed, and leaned back in the chair. None of the things listed were lies, but where she’d been seeing herself as a deflated balloon, this resume was pumped full of helium. It was big, round, plump and ready to soar. She printed three copies, then dashed into the living room and threw both arms around her Dad. “Thank you,” she said, “thank you, thank you, thank you!”

John looked at her with a puzzled expression. “For what?” he asked.

Lindsay knew it was so like her dad to shy away from taking credit even when he’d done something spectacular. “For fixing my resume,” she said laughingly. 

“I didn’t—”

“Oh, come on, I know—”

“No Lindsay, I didn’t,” he said, and this time the deadpan expression on his face meant he was telling the truth. He turned to Eleanor, “You were on the computer, did you—”

The edge of a smile curled Eleanor’s lips ever so slightly. “It wasn’t me,” she said. “I was looking up that recipe for crab cakes. I thought maybe I’d make them for dinner tomorrow.”

“Well then who…”

Eleanor and John both shrugged, but hers was definitely a bit less emphatic.

Lindsay left the room scratching her head. Her father was telling the truth, she was certain of it. She’d had twenty-seven years of watching his expressions and she knew every single one. Tonight it hadn’t been one of false modesty, it was bewilderment. Yet, Eleanor… It made no sense. Eleanor wouldn’t have known those things about her high school years, she wouldn’t have known about the sorority, and yet… “Impossible,” Lindsay muttered as she trotted up the staircase.

Y
ou think I changed that resume, right? Well, you’re wrong. Eleanor did it. I told you I wasn’t going to help Lindsay with her employment problem, and I didn’t. Okay, I planted the resume repair idea and moved the copy of that resume to where it was easily seen, but Eleanor was the one who pulled Lindsay’s yearbook from the shelf and gathered together enough information to make it work.  What she wrote wasn’t a bunch of malarkey either, Lindsay did all those things. Unfortunately, she’s so focused on what she’s lost, that she’s blind to what she’s got. That’s one of the major design flaws in humans.

Life Management can be blamed for a good part of Lindsay’s problem. This lack of confidence started right after they took Bethany. John tried to make up for the loss, but his mothering skills left a lot to be desired. He’s quick to react to physical needs, but when it comes to emotional needs—well, he’s a male. With humans, the male and female units don’t just look different, they have different operating systems. The males are designed for doing and fixing, the females for feeling and sensing. Here’s a perfect example—two days ago Lindsay complained that the outfit she was wearing looked hideous. Instead of telling the girl she was beautiful in whatever she wore, he offered to buy her a new dress. See what I mean? She didn’t need a new outfit, what she needed was to know that somebody thought she was special. Eleanor tries, but Lindsay closes her ears to most of what the poor woman says.

Centuries back I lost track of the number of successful matches I’d made, but this I can tell you—none have been quite as complicated as the Eleanor-John match. Yeah, yeah, I know you’re gonna bring up the Romeo-Juliet thing, but they weren’t in my jurisdiction, so I’m not accountable for that fiasco. 

Cupid…The Distraction Attraction

T
he laughable thing about humans is their gullibility. Even when a human is down to their last dollar, they can read a horoscope promising a large sum of money and expect it to be forthcoming. The realization that the horoscope has been written by another human with no more knowledge of the future than the reader never dawns on them. Little wonder my tricks work as well as they do. Lindsay is high on the gullibility scale, so she’s easier to maneuver than most. While this often works in my favor, I’m a bit concerned when it comes to her expectations about the new resume. I probably should remind you that employment is not mine to do or undo. Lindsay is on her own unless she’s got a friend in Life Management, which I can assure you, is an extremely rare occurrence.

O
n Sunday afternoon I watched Lindsay settle onto the sofa with the Courier Post, a ruled tablet and a ball point pen. She almost bristled with the renewed certainty of finding a job. Starting at the top of the listings, she read through them one by one. Automobile mechanic, Babysitter, Bakery assistant, Cook, Copywriter, she circled the copywriter ad and moved on. Delivery driver, Engineer… after she’d read through every listing, she realized that even with the new resume, her qualifications were suitable for only two of the jobs listed—copywriter and sales person for the Baby Boutique. She wrote both telephone numbers on the tablet and then colored in a star next to the number for the copywriter position. It didn’t take an all-seeing eye to recognize that was the job she wanted.

Tomorrow morning Lindsay planned to call both places, but until then there was little she could do. She set aside the Classifieds and picked up the Weekend Section. A Macy’s ad triggered the thought that if she got the job as copywriter, she would need a few new outfits for work. Suits, she wondered, or dresses? She was flipping through the pages when she saw it in the upper right hand corner of the seventh page—the ad for Heavenly Acres Animal Rescue Center. “It’s my dog!” Lindsay shouted and jumped to her feet.

With the folded back newspaper in her hand, she dashed into the kitchen where Eleanor and John were working on a crossword puzzle together. “Is it okay if I get this dog?” she asked waving the newspaper.

“A seven letter detective show starting with m-a…” John mused, “Matlock, that’s it!”

“Nope,” Eleanor answered, “The k has to be an r.”

“Oh,” John said disappointedly. He then turned to Lindsay, “What did you say honey?”

“This dog,” she repeated, handing him the newspaper, “…is it okay if I get it?”

“Since when do you want a dog?” John asked quizzically.

“I don’t just want a dog, I want this dog. It’s been following me everywhere.”

“Following you?” Eleanor questioned. “How can it be following you if the dog is locked up in the shelter and—”

“Not following me physically,” Lindsay said, “but its picture is popping up every time I turn on my computer, and I hear barking in my ear, things like—”

Both John and Eleanor were eying her strangely. “What’s going on here?” her father asked. “Is there something you’re not telling—”

“There’s nothing to tell! I’d just like to adopt this little dog and I thought since it’s your house, I ought to at least ask before I do it.”

Eleanor reached across and patted John’s hand, “Honey, I think having a dog would be good for Lindsay. If this Beagle is the one she wants then—”

“It’s not a Beagle. It’s a Maltese, or Bichon maybe.”

Eleanor and John looked at the advertisement for a second time. “It looks like a Beagle,” they said in unison.

Lindsay pulled back the newspaper, “How can a Beagle be long and shaggy?” she said, but when she looked at the ad, her jaw went slack. “This is the wrong ad,” she said, and began leafing through the other pages. There were no other Heavenly Acres ads in the Weekend Section. “It must have been in another section.” Lindsay turned back to the living room muttering something that went unheard…at least unheard by human ears.

She searched every section of the paper, including the comic pages and real estate listings—the ad she’d seen was nowhere to be found. For a good hour, Lindsay sat there looking at the same pages over and over again. Finally, she came to the conclusion that she had somehow developed a strange new ability to see things and remember things that never were. It was, she decided, an extrasensory perception of both past and future. The high school incidents she’d shared with Traci were definitely from the past, but this dog had to be from the future, and Lindsay had a feeling he was an important part of her future. She had to find that dog!

Monday morning Lindsay called the Baby Boutique first. “Sorry honey,” the woman said, “…that job was filled two weeks ago.”

“But, I just saw this ad yesterday,” Lindsay replied.

“Yeah,” the woman sighed, “running it for a month was cheaper than two weeks. We’re still getting calls and I’m thinking all this aggravation wasn’t worth the difference.”

Lindsay hung up and dialed the number for the copywriter job.

A woman answered, “Good morning, Genius Advertising.”

“Good morning,” Lindsay replied. “I’m calling about the copywriter position listed in yesterday’s newspaper.”

“Mister Morrissey is handling that,” the woman said, “hold on please…”

Lindsay waited for what seemed like an interminable amount of time until finally a gruff voice said, “Morrissey.”

He did not sound one bit friendly, which made Lindsay nervous right off the bat. “Um,” she stuttered, “I’m interested in the copywriter position you advertised.”

She’d barely finished speaking when he shot back, “You got any experience?”

Glancing at her new resume, Lindsay answered, “Yes.” The word came out weaker than she’d hoped for, but at least it was a yes.

“Well…”

“Well?

“Go ahead,” he said, “…give me a rundown of your experience.”

“Oh.” Not expecting this turn of events, Lindsay paused for a moment then began picking words off the resume. “I worked at Gift Industry News,” she said, “and I was responsible for the development and organization of editorial content, proofreading…” as Lindsay read the words, her confidence seemed to grow. It became fatter and bolder than it had ever been before. “…and at Seaworthy Insurance, I wrote the documentation for coverage of fishing yachts…” She continued on for almost two minutes and after she’d used up all the words on her new resume, she tossed in the fact that she’d gotten a Bachelor’s Degree in Communication from Rutgers. 

“Rutgers alum, huh?” Morrissey said, his voice now had a considerably more friendly sound, “I’m Rutgers too.” He went on to say, that to his way of thinking, the football lineup for the coming season meant several sure wins.

“I think so too,” Lindsay replied, even though she hadn’t read a word about the Rutgers football team in over four years.