Page 34

SYMPHONY

T he rest of the day goes by with no word from Diesel, then the night, and then the morning.

I stopped texting him once we got home from his house. There didn’t seem to be a point in stacking them up. He’s either not getting them, he’s blocked me, or his phone is lost. I have no way of knowing which.

The last thing I tried was calling the Leaky Skull shortly before midnight. Jake answered. Merrick and Diesel never showed, and nobody’s heard from them since Merrick called Vicki.

At least we got that tidbit of information. I have no confirmation that Diesel has looked at his phone since his last message to me.

But I have to let this go for the moment. It’s interview day, and I need to pull myself together. My future is calling, and Diesel might very well be in my past.

I put on my one corporate pantsuit, a midnight blue set with a sharp white shirt and tailored jacket. With a tiny red scarf tied around my neck, I look exactly right for a federal office.

I imagine being that top aide always standing beside the person in power, leaning in with critical reminders about who’s who and how to approach important players.

Ha. I’ll be slaving in some basement office with sickly lighting. But a girl can dream.

I slide on low blue heels and finish it with an oversized bag tucked at my side. It holds my resume, CV, and recommendation letters. Some interviewers like paper in their hands. For everyone else, I have LinkedIn.

Mina also has her interview today, about an hour after mine. I might hang around and meet up with her. I’ve been to the Government Center in Miami before, of course. The enormous library is there as well as historic courthouses.

But it’s nice to walk it, especially on a summer day.

Which it is, so I’d better stick an umbrella in my purse. Most days this time of year include a random rain shower by midafternoon. It’s why Disney makes so much money on ponchos.

Not that I would know firsthand. Poor kid to foster kid to young adult strung out on student loans doesn’t allow for pricy vacation trips.

But I’ll get there. Maybe with my first real adult paycheck.

I’m hoping that today will be the start of a whole new life.

I twist my hair into a tidy knot and shove a fake pearl pin in it. I keep my makeup light and lips glossy.

I’m done.

But the face looking back at me looks tired and sad. I force a smile. “Come on, Symphony,” I tell the reflection. “Look alive!”

But whatever is happening to Diesel weighs on me. I know my Spanx predicament and subsequent date to the wedding weren’t the crux of it. Bailey could have outed the bar’s location without any of that happening.

But it was the beginning of the end of their evasion of the Pickle family.

Rather than trying to park in the middle of the Government Center, which is notoriously impossible, I make the dubious choice of taking a city bus.

I hang on to a pole, trying to prevent my bag from banging into my neighbors, hoping I make all the right choices today.

But when another round of passengers pushes the capacity to the limit, I can’t take it. I squeeze my way out and call for a ride. I made it most of the way, so it won’t be too terribly expensive. And hopefully, this jaunt is leading to a paycheck that will make everything easier.

When I’m let out in front of the historic limestone courthouse with its low Mediterranean roof, my chest swells.

I’m here! This is what I’ve been working for. It could be closer than I think!

I’m early, so I take my time walking to the tall glass-covered building where my interview will happen. I’m filled with a sense of wonder and anticipation.

Will I walk this path every day? Are these flowerbeds something I’ll admire all the time?

Who will my boss be? Kind or a curmudgeon? And my coworkers? Potential besties or stanch competitors?

I draw in a deep breath. Diesel seems far away, like a long, delicious dream that is fading.

This is my future. I can feel it.

When the time draws close, I enter the building. There’s security to go through, then a check-in procedure. Finally, I’m ushered into a room lined with chairs.

A scowling older woman presides over the space from behind a dark wood desk. “Symphony Collins?”

“Yes, I’m Symphony.”

“Have a seat. They’ll call for you shortly.”

I settle on a plastic chair, my bag in my lap. The decorations are sparse, a few paintings, a couple of side tables. A sad Ficus droops next to the desk.

Government buildings. Only the public-facing places are kept nice.

I’m the only person in the chairs for a few minutes, then a lanky young man arrives.

“Sid Harris?” the woman asks in the same tone she did for me.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

“Take a seat. Someone will call for you.”

He chooses a spot on the opposite wall. Our gazes glance off each other.

He pulls out his phone, and the woman immediately barks, “No cell phones.” She taps a small sign by her computer.

I hadn’t seen it either, and I’m glad I resisted pulling mine out.

“Sorry,” Sid mutters and shoves his into his jacket pocket.

From the deep recesses of my bag, I feel my phone buzz. Probably just a random notification.

Then it buzzes again.

And again.

Something’s happening.

It has to be Diesel. Maybe he’s in trouble. Maybe the Pickles took them somewhere. Maybe he’s the one who needs rescuing.

Sweat beads on my brow. I dab it with my fingers, not wanting to mess up my makeup.

The buzzing stops.

It’s hard to breathe. I’m miserably hot in these layers and dying to know who messaged me.

Maybe I can sneak a glance.

I watch the woman from the corner of my eye as I slip my hand into my purse.

Perhaps I can simply angle it from inside. My fingers brush against the smooth surface. I tilt it, but too many notifications are stacked.

I make sure the woman isn’t looking and swipe the screen.

The top one is Bailey.

I need to talk to you.

Yeah, whatever.

Unless she knows where Diesel is.

Unless he’s going through her to get to me.

Oh, gosh.

I can’t take it. I adjust my purse to act as a shield and quickly pull out my phone, hiding it on the far side so the desk woman can’t see it.

Sid notices and grunts, settling further down in his seat.

Whatever.

I flick through the messages.

It’s all Bailey.

I know you’re mad.

But Sherman and Martin went to the bar and talked to Diesel and Merrick.

Sherman said he’d come back today to help with some permit problem. But D&M aren’t there. The staff won’t talk. D&M aren’t answering texts or calls.

Can you please tell Diesel to stop shutting them out? They’re trying to help!

I dump my phone back in my bag.

No, no, and hell no. I’m not helping Bailey or the Pickles, not like I could anyway. I have no way of knowing where Diesel is.

But it’s clear he’s shut everyone out.

The door near the desk opens, and a tall woman in a pantsuit very similar to mine, but with a pink shirt, calls my name.

She smiles at me as I get up. “We have great taste in clothes,” she says. “Come this way.”

“We must be all the rage,” I say as we walk down a short hall.

She laughs. “We are.” She leads us into a conference room. “Symphony, I am definitely impressed by your recommendation letters. Professor Hofsteder? I thought he hated everyone.”

“You know him?”

She settles in a chair and gestures to one in the corner. “Know him? More like barely survived him about ten years ago.”

“Maybe he’s gotten gentler with age?”

She shakes her head. “Or maybe you’re something special.

Let’s talk about the position. The situation with student loans caused more turnovers than we expected at the beginning of summer.

The grad students we normally maintain are spooked about debt, and they moved back home in unprecedented numbers. ”

So, there’s one answer about why so many positions came available.

“I’ve seen some dropouts in our program,” I say. “It’s rough out there.”

“I’m glad you’re surviving to the end.” She moves aside papers until I spot my application. She’s friendly and prepared. This is good. Really good.

As I set my bag and its pointless buzzing under the table, I shut out all thoughts of anything else. I’m off to a wonderful start here. I can’t be distracted by a man who may never talk to me again.

Time to focus on my future.