Good Pet

I pull open the door to the private bathroom, pushing him ahead of me.

“Get in there. I’m going to fix you up as quickly as I can.”

Again, Tommy seems to follow my lead — my coercion — into the bathroom, even though he could resist it if he wanted to. I follow him in, close the door, and get to work. I only have a few minutes, if that, to work my magic.

Chapter Five

Tommy

Oh, my God. I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to get to my interview! If I’m late, I might as well throw in the towel. I might as well set my resume on fire, for as much good it’s going to do me if I’m late!

I’m thinking all this, but I don’t do anything to resist the sexy secretary — a person I know vaguely as Melissa, but mostly the “woman who has a British accent” — who is dragging me into a private bathroom.

Melissa puts me right in front of the mirror and immediately goes to work on my hair. I don’t know how, but she has a small personal salon stashed in her pockets — a comb and a small thing of hair gel.

“Tommy is it,” she states this, rather than asks it, as she begins to try to get my hair under control.

She combs it and puts a little more gel in it, before trying again to style it into place. Amazingly, a few of my most unruly pieces behave themselves for once.

I answer her question.

“Yeah, my name’s Tommy,” I say. “Thanks for helping me out… Melissa?”

Melissa combs her long, delicate fingers through my hair, adjusting it, so it’s just so. Focusing the way she is, she looks like the way I imagine a young mom should look helping her son get ready for an interview — focused and content.

She nods. “You’re welcome. Interviews are not something to be rushed through, Tommy. You’ve got to make sure you’re not just selling yourself, but the right qualities and the right image.”

So saying, she finishes the primping she’s doing of my hair.

My God, she’s some Goddess of the hair follicle. Somehow, Melissa has managed to accomplish something with my hair that I’ve been unable to do for as long as I can remember —she’s given me a style. Now my appearance has some measure of collectedness and grace with that style.

Melissa moves on to my clothes. That’s something I know can’t be fixed nearly as easily. Not unless she has a suit my size that looks as good as hers somewhere hidden in those slack pockets. She does what she can, adjusting my jacket, the tie, and a bit of the pants’ cuffs by the shoe.

“You really could use a wardrobe update,” she murmurs.

Before I can get offended, she adds, “You’re much better looking… much more handsome than your clothes give you credit for. If you went out and bought some nice clothes that fit you well, it would really increase your confidence level.”

I don’t feel offended by any of her words. Oddly, I feel cared for or loved, like I actually am worth a damn to somebody, and while the person saying it is mostly a stranger to me, I don’t care.

The way her hands and eyes attend to me, it makes me a little breathless and a little lightheaded, but I force myself to focus on the reality at hand. I need to be mentally preparing for my interview, not getting lost in Melissa’s deep, inviting eyes. Light brown and golden, they remind me of the sweet eyes on a cat I used to have, named Scooter.

“Feel free to thank my father for that,” I say, finally answering her comment about my ill-fitting clothes. “My father doesn’t think big people deserve to look good in anything. Especially me— he says I will never amount to anything.”

I rub at my eyes, feeling stung.

Melissa’s angry, pinched face appears next to mine in the mirror.

“What a terrible thing to say,” she says. “What an ugly little man!”

She uses her handkerchief on me, on my neck and face, wiping away sweat. As she turns me to face her to make a few last adjustments to the front of my jacket and dress shirt, she says, “Own that interview, Tommy.”

Her mouth, beautiful and small, becomes dark, serious, and deliciously tense. “The only ugly person in this world is a man like your father. Or any person who would say mean or disparaging things to you.”

She pats the breast part of my jacket.

“Own it. Be confident. Remember what you have to give and remember what you’re worth.”

I smile, feeling uneasy and blessed at the same time. In my wildest dreams, I would’ve never expected a secretary — the refined, English one at that — to be giving me a pep talk. But I listen and listen well.