Resist

Charlotte

You’d think having a cousin in a top position at a big-name newspaper would be an advantage for me. Apparently it’s not.

“I’m sorry, Char. It just isn’t going to happen at the moment,” Mara says, her voice so sweet I’m in danger of going into a diabetic coma. “I can’t even get you a job here making coffee or doing the mail run.”

Yeah, you’d love that too. There is a chuckle in her voice and I know she’s enjoying this. I swear she hates me. The fact that I’m struggling to find work must be making her freaking week. Nick cheating on me? Well, that probably made her year. All I need now is to suffer a life-threatening illness and all her wishes will have come true.

Seven years older than me, Mara has always harbored this weird jealousy toward me, which I’m sure has to do with the fact that our grandmother always seemed more interested in what I was doing and where I was, up until she died last year. I always had a close relationship with Nan, ever since I was a child spending weekends having sleepovers in her living room. As I grew older, I made sure I maintained that bond. Even when I moved father away to go to college, I called her every week to chat, right up until her death.

It probably didn’t help that Nan left me a sizable inheritance that I wasn’t allowed to touch until my twenty-fifth birthday. Oh, how I could use that cash right now! Mara, on the other hand, was given a much smaller amount, as were all the other grandchildren.

“Okay. Thanks.” I sigh, running my hand through my hair.

I hang up the phone and pick up the jobs section of the paper, scouring it again but this time lowering my standards to consider work outside of journalism. I’m beginning to get desperate. I need a job to at least tide me over until I find one I want.

Even with my now-basic requirements, there isn’t much listed that isn’t waitressing. Maybe I’m going to have to lower my expectations to rock bottom, because my savings aren’t going to help me for much longer. I consider calling Mom but decide against it. There would be something soul destroying about going back home, my tail between my legs. It would like admitting that life is too much for me. That and I know Mom would insist on calling my aunt, who would beg Mara to give me something. And I refuse to give Mara that satisfaction.

Mom and I have a strained relationship. I never quite accepted her remarrying after my dad died. At age thirteen, the last thing I thought I needed was a guy like Karl waltzing in, thinking he could take my dad’s place. In retrospect, Karl wasn’t a bad guy; he just tried a little too hard to be what he thought I needed.

My eyes mist at the thought of my dad. Losing him was by far the worst period of my life. We were close. Every weekend, without fail, he’d set aside time to spend with me—just him and me. When we found out about the cancer, I went into denial. I couldn’t imagine life without him. I always felt like Mom was jealous of how close we were. Especially when our own relationship didn’t improve after he died. If anything, it got worse.

After another unsuccessful morning job-hunting through the newspapers, I take my search online. I shoot an email to Erren, the editor I reported to at the LA Times, where I interned for a few weeks earlier this year. I’m not holding my breath that anything has come up since I last emailed him, but it’s worth trying.

I’m soon distracted by Jess on instant messenger, who apparently just has to tell me about the guy she hooked up with after I left last night. I giggle and settle in for another marathon chat session. It’s becoming a nightly ritual for us.

Jess: He was so fucking hot, Char. Like you have no idea…And the things that man could do with his tongue would be illegal in some countries. Sigh.

Me: Less interested in men with talented tongues and more interested in finding a job. Things are getting desperate. Topless carwash kind of desperate.

Jess: Fake a résumé with event coordination experience and I’ll get you a job with me!

Me: So I can watch you swoon over your boss? As tempting as that is…You know how bad I am at lying.

Jess: Nope. I’ve moved on. I refuse to sit here wasting my life on a guy who isn’t interested. And isn’t lying all journalists do? :p Joke! Okay, so when you say you’re desperate, how desperate is desperate, exactly?

Me: I don’t even know how to answer that.

A link pops up in the chat window and I click on it. I have no idea what to expect when Jess sends me job links, but I’m nervous. My money is on porn or stripping, neither of which I’m willing to do. Well, not yet, anyway.

Jess: This is a legit job. I think you should apply.

I groan and click on the link, preparing myself for whatever is going to pop up on my screen.

Position Open.

Successful, attractive male requires full-time live-in assistant. This is no ordinary position. If voyeurism and explicit fantasies are likely to offend, please do not apply. The successful applicant will be female, attractive, and very self-confident.

I am not looking for a slave or a submissive. I’m after a challenge.

Fight me. Resist me and you will be rewarded…

I reread it again, convinced that it’s some kind of joke, but then I look at the website and recognize it as one of the larger job-search engines in the country. I’ve seen some pretty out there stuff on here before. Just last week I saw a position advertised for a dog psychic, and the week before that someone was advertising for a porn fluffer. I’m embarrassed to admit that I even knew what that was.

I pick up my phone and call Jess.

“You’re kidding, right?” I laugh. “Can you really see me doing something like that? No thanks. I’ll starve first. I mean, what kind of person puts out an ad like that, anyway?”

“Hear me out before you go all high and mighty on me,” Jess insists.