Losing Charity

Losing Charity - 25

Molly is not impressed. "It shows a three year gap since college."

I shrug. "It has been three years since college."

"But you've worked. You've had lots of jobs!"

"Nothing I could put on my resume."

"You worked for Donna Karan! Why isn't that on here?"

"It was Danna Karen, remember? I designed flammable knock-off scarves made in Third World sweatshops. Probably stitched by child workers they beat and fed gruel."

"What is gruel anyway?"

"Runny oatmeal."

"Meh. Gruel." Mols nods. "You're right to leave that off."

"Yes."

"You were a nanny."

"I was horrible at it."

"You're great with kids!"

"I lost them at the museum."

"They turned up, though."

"A police report was involved."

Molly winces. "Leave that off."

"Yes. Let's. Do you want the last taco?"

She waves it away. I do not.

"You were editor of a fashion magazine!" Molly's fingers massage the keyboard. "I'm adding that."

"I wasn't an editor."

"Assistant editor."

"Editorial assistant," I correct. Pause. "Sintern."

"Sintern?"

"Editorial assistant's intern. Sintern. I sucked."

"You had an article published. A byline!"

"It was a sidebar. No byline. Only a libel suit."

"I forgot about that."

"You were supposed to. It was settled out of court."

"We'll leave it off. Still, you were a buyer at Macy's."

"Trainee. Buyer trainee." I blush. "And Christmas elf."

"That should go on!"

"Prancer tried to molest me."

"Oh. Right."

"And the unfortunate tree fire."

Molly's eyes widen. "It was a shame about that partridge."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Dog walker, though. You did that for half a year."

"How is dog walker supposed to impress a potential employer?"

"It shows you're responsible."

"I lost four poodles, two retrievers, a Shih Tzu, a chihuahua, a Great Dane, and a pug. On the same day."

"They turned up later, right?"

"By lost I mean it involved a city bus and a cement truck. Lost that way."

Mols shrugs. "Who has room for a Great Dane anyway? They're huge!"

"I don't like to think about it."

"You were a cat groomer."

I rub the faint scar on my left hand. "Sometimes, when the weather is especially cold, it still hurts."

"Salome." Molly speaks the name in a whisper.

"Salome."

"She was a bad kitty."

"The worst."

"Who doesn't declaw their cat?"

"No one should. It's cruel." I rub the matching scar on my right hand. "But Salome? Salome is an exception to that rule."

"You had to get rabies shots, right?"

"I did. And tetanus. And other things. So many shots."

"Such a bad kitty."

"I don't like to talk about it."

Molly furrows her brow. I can see she's doing the math. I beat her to the bottom line.

"That covers most of three years," I confirm. "With some sweater folding, gelato scooping, waitressing, and other general gophering here and there. All of which ended. None of which ended well."

"Not so much for the work history," Molly concedes. She closes the laptop.

"Not so much."

"At least you're cute."

"True."

"And adorable."

"Adorably unemployed."

"You need a job."

"You think?"

"We'll find you one. It's my mission!"

I laugh. "Suicide mission."

Molly is not impressed.

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Losing Charity © Dan McGirt 2019. All rights reserved.

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