Chapter 5

MacKenzie

I have to give them credit. Mom and Dad are being pretty decent about the wedding fiasco. Once Abby and I got back, she went back to her life and left me to pick up the pieces on my own. It started with a breakfast conversation a couple of mornings after my return.

“So, Mac, have you decided how you want to handle this?” Mom is asking me rather than telling me for a change. I immediately pick up on this and realize we’ve had a major adjustment in our relationship. Apparently, even though I didn’t get the ring on my hand, she is willing to recognize that I might have reached adulthood and is willing to take into consideration what I want to do, instead of telling me what to do. I appreciate the gesture, but this is hardly the time to let me grow up. I need their help. I’m sitting on a mountain of student debt, not to mention wedding debt, most of which I had expected to be cleared up by my new husband. Obviously, such is not going to happen. I knew it wouldn’t place on hardship on Dad and Mom. They wouldn’t even miss it, but I do have my pride and my becoming an adult hinges on my being independently able to take care of myself.

“I appreciate that this isn’t exactly how we thought things would be today. To tell you the truth, I spent the last few days trying to rub these days out of my memory rather than plan on where I go from here. So, in short, I’m open to suggestions.”

Dad is giving Mom a sidelong look which tells me they’d had this conversation ahead of time. He finally speaks up. “Will you be wanting to just continue to live here with us or would you feel better being out on your own?”

That remark sort of hits me in the gut. I’d not yet thought about it. It feels like they’re asking me to leave, but where am I going to go? “Does that mean that your wedding present of the house is going away?”

“I won’t lie, Mac. Your mother and I have discussed this. The house is already in your name, but we feel as though you might be more comfortable, and it would take away the stigma of having been a wedding gift, if you were to, let’s say over time, pay us back for it.”

I roll my eyes visibly. “But you know I don’t even have a job. How can I possibly afford to make house payments, much less pay for the running of the house?”

“Yes, we thought about that. So, our plan is to encourage you to find some sort of employment, commensurate with your experience and degree, and at least give it a shot to pay for your own expenses. We will forgo mortgage payments for the next five years or so. You never know, you may just begin a new relationship with someone and eventually marry and want to live there. Our offer would allow you to do that without any bad memories attached.”

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” I say, with a little bit of sarcasm attached. My stomach is forming into knots, but then I remember that I will be coming into an inheritance left to me by my grandfather on my thirtieth birthday. That will more than pay for the house, so it is really a non-issue. I suspect my parents remember that as well, and this is simply their way of framing the situation in a way that I can stomach the reality and move forward. For that, I’m really appreciative and love them for their thoughtfulness. I also take from that conversation that we are going to talk about that again.

“Very well, then that part is resolved. Naturally, we will take care of all the expenses until you find a suitable position. The thing we wanted to impress upon you is that although you will be single, it is time for you to make a life for yourself. Naturally, you’re always welcome here, but it’s better for you to make the decisions that affect only you, and it would be easier if you were on your own to do that.”

“Actually, I completely agree with you. Dad; if you’ll back me while I buy some furniture and essentials for the house, I would appreciate that. Naturally, I’ll pay you back for those as soon as I’m able.”

Mom is nodding her approval. “I think you’re handling this with a very mature attitude, Mac. I’m very proud of you. I only wish now that we’d encouraged you to seek a degree in something with a little more income potential, shall we say? It never occurred to us that you would be self-supporting.”

“I can handle it, Mom. You know I love you and Dad, but I’ll be on my way as soon as I can manage it. In fact, I’m going upstairs right now and check out the job market. I don’t want either of you to call in any favors on my behalf; let me do this one on my own. Deal?” They both nod, and I finish my orange juice and head upstairs as promised.

I sit down in the shabby chic rocker by the window and pop open my laptop. I have absolutely no idea where to begin. I don’t even have a resume. I had pretty good grades in school, but certainly, nothing to compare to Abby’s, so this is the point where I hope that liberal means exactly that.

I know it’s a long shot because Abby works in a laboratory, but I text her.

MAC: Are they hiring where you work?

ABBY: I have no idea, why?

MAC: The folks are letting me keep the house, but I have to pay for my own expenses. I need to find a job.

ABBY: No shit? What are you going to do?

MAC: I’m sort of hoping you were going to have an idea.

ABBY: Sorry, but I don’t think they’re exactly looking for people with liberal arts degrees here. Have you looked online?

MAC: Where do I look?

ABBY: Geez, you are such a neophyte. Just Google jobs with your ZIP Code.

MAC: OK

I do as she tells me, and it takes me to a ton of job boards. Each one has their own gimmick, so I choose the one with the highest ranking and take a subscription. I search for my ZIP Code and then filter it down until I have a pretty good idea I’m qualified for the ones that remain. I still have no resume, though. I back out and search for examples of resumes until I find one that doesn’t look too tough. I plagiarize the darn thing, substituting my name and education, etc.

Back at the job site, I select anything that looks remotely interesting and send them a copy of my new resume. I’m satisfied with my efforts for the day, so I close the laptop with resolve, grab my keys, and head out on a shopping spree to buy furniture for my house. I go by the house first so I can remember what it looks like. Luckily, I’d thought to bring a notebook and a long measuring tape. Maybe a little bit of what Mom does is beginning to come out in me?

The house is much bigger than I remember. I’m feeling fairly overwhelmed and decide to choose just a few rooms to start and do the rest later. The kitchen will come first. Luckily, all the appliances are in place and new. This is one big check mark off my list. But there are plenty of other items to take its place. There are dishes, pots, and pans, silver, glassware, the list goes on and on. I end up walking from room to room, taking pictures of it and decide to find myself a few decorating magazines and a nice glass of iced tea somewhere. That seems to be the most appealing plan.

I choose a cozy little place that serves awesome chef salads. Ordering the biggest glass of iced tea they offer, I begin my magazine shopping. That’s when it occurs to me that I could order everything online and simply have it delivered. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? Oh, now this is starting to look up. This, I can handle.

I spend the next two hours flipping through the advertisements and circling the things I want. Afterwards, I head back home and am stopped by Mom just as I clear the doorway.

“Been looking for a job?” she starts in on me. I know this is the beginning of a new era of questioning.

“Hi. I’ve already got you beaten on that one. I sent out resumes this morning.”

“Oh? Really?”

I can tell she is impressed. This is one more check mark in my column. If I keep her happy, life will be easy. I nod and bounce up the stairs to my room. “I have to check if I’ve had any responses,” I call down to her just before I close my bedroom door.

True to my word, I pull out the laptop and open my email. To my amazement, there are actually a few responses. I become immediately suspicious. Are these plants from Mom and Dad? Then I look at the magazines filled with lovely furniture and decide it really doesn’t matter. I’ve already done my time contributing to charities and social events. Maybe it’s time I use a few of those contacts.

Beginning with the first, I start calling the numbers in the emails. I find two that interest me, one in particular. There is a small, contemporary art museum in South Beach, The Orpheum, that is looking for someone to raise funds, apply for grants, and seek to become beneficiaries so that they could enlarge their collection. This is right down my alley. While I’m not an art major, certainly, I do know my fair share. I do know how to run social fundraising events, and most certainly, many of my parents’ friends could be prime targets as supporters. I’m filled with the confidence that I’m a sure fit. I call the number as requested in the email, and a very nice lady named Margaret asks me to meet her at a local café for a face-to-face interview.

I’m thrilled to find something so quickly! Surely, this is a sign that I’m meant to be single! We agree to meet in an hour’s time, so I quickly jump in the shower, dry my hair and tear through the closet for something that could be considered businesslike to wear. This is easier said than done, as my wardrobe is more suitable for a debutante than a career woman. Nevertheless, I do find something that isn’t pink, doesn’t have ruffles and actually does have sleeves. I put it on, grab a modest looking handbag and whip out the door before Mom has a chance to interrogate me.

I’m early for my interview, so I order a cup of coffee and reread the email on my phone. I thought about the job all the way there and how I could sell myself. To my horror, I realize I’ve overlooked one very important thing.

There at the bottom of the ad it reads, “Must be married.” What? Could they even do that nowadays? Why on earth would you have to be married to seek donations of art? Well, so much for this. Now, I’ll have to go home and admit to Mom and Dad that I’ve screwed up my very first job interview because I can’t read. How humiliating is this?

I debate whether to make a run for it or to stay and try to sweet talk my way into the job anyway. After all, I was almost married, in a manner speaking. My heart is pounding, and I look around the room for a woman who might be Margaret waiting for me. I don’t see anyone who would fit her description, but I do see something else. In the corner is a group of men at a table. I can tell by their body language that it’s a semi-business meeting since none of them are wearing suits, and they politely wait for one another to speak and then make gestures to underscore their own opinions. Body language is something I’m pretty good at. I’ve always been resourceful, and this is sure the time to prove it. I jump up from the table and head towards them.

“Excuse me,” I say to a good-looking guy who happens to be sitting at the end of the table nearest me. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m in trouble and wondered if you might be willing to help me?”

He looks up at me, and because he is very tall, and I’m on the short side, it’s a short distance. “What seems to be the problem?”

I extend my finger in a ‘follow me” gesture, and although he hesitates a moment, he stands up and follows me. I lead him into the hallway outside the restrooms and turn to face him.

“I’m so sorry, but my name is MacKenzie, and I’m supposed to be meeting a woman here for a job interview. I got here early and reread the ad and just realized that it requires that I be married.”

His face freezes, but his eyeballs look wildly from side to side as though he is trying to figure out what all that has to do with him. Obviously, I haven’t explained it well enough. “So, here’s what I need. I need you to be my husband.”

“Your husband?”

“Well, not really my husband, but my pretend husband.”

“Your pretend husband?”

“Yes, that’s right. It will only take a few minutes.”

“And what happens when she finds out that I’m not your husband?”

“I’ll worry about that later. For right now, it’s important to me that I get this job. You see, it will be my first, and my parents will never let me hear the end of it if I don’t get it.”

“I see.”

“Sir?”

A man is approaching behind the guy I’m talking to and evidently wants his attention.

“Mort, it’s okay. Go back to the table and fill in for me. I have a damsel in distress.”

The second man looks surprised, but turns on his heels and promptly does as he’s told. “You mean, you’ll help me?”

“Why not?”

“Oh, I could just kiss you. So, what’s your name?”

“Michael.”

I can see a woman meeting her description looking around. “Oh, my God, it must be her.” I hold up my finger. “I’m going to ask you to wait here for no more than thirty seconds. I’ll go and introduce myself and sit down, and then you can join us. I’ll tell her that you are in the bathroom.”

“Just one question.”

“What’s that? I really have to go.” I’m looking over his shoulder and can see Margaret getting frustrated in her search. Another ten seconds, and she may think I’m a no-show.

“What’s your name again?”

“It’s MacKenzie.”

“Your first name?”

“Yes.” I can’t stick around to listen to any more questions, I don’t have time. I approach the woman who is headed for the door. “Margaret?”

“Yes? Are you MacKenzie?”

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry, I was in the ladies room.”

“That’s no problem. Why don’t we sit down?”

I sit down at the table she indicates and scoot my chair forward. I see the man named Michael take a tentative step from the hallway and think I’d better explain quickly. “My husband, Michael, will join us in a moment. He was in the men’s room.”

Margaret looks at me oddly, and I realize that both of us going to the restroom at the same time could have been misinterpreted. “We both wanted to be fresh prior to meeting you.” What an idiotic thing to say. This is not going well. “I brought my resume with me,” I say, sliding the single sheet of paper across the table to her. At that moment, Michael arrives. He’s standing next to the table, waiting to be introduced. I lift my napkin, and behind it, gesture to him to sit down. It would be only logical that he would take a seat next to his wife. “Margaret, may I introduce my husband …” Oh, my God. I have forgotten his first name. My mind has gone totally blank!

Thank God, he is less nervous than I am because he quickly improvises. “Hello, Margaret, I’m Michael.”

She nods in approval, and I don’t blame her. He really is very good looking. “How do you do, Michael.”

He sits down next to me and appropriately, as well as thankfully, keeps his mouth shut. It’s my turn to improvise.

“Margaret, it’s such a coincidence, but it just so happens that Michael had a business meeting here at the very same café. As you can see, there’s a table of gentlemen over there, and he really needs to rejoin them. Would you mind?”

She looks a bit flustered, and I have to admit that the lie is thin. “No, I guess not. You understand, of course, that it’s important that we meet the spouse of all our candidates. We are, very broad-minded; however, in this line of work, appearances do count for a great deal.”

“I understand,” I nod. “Michael, thank you, darling. I’ll see you at home later.” I lean over and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. I feel his cheek muscle twitch beneath my lips and think it’s rather cute. To his credit, he takes it without blinking those gorgeous brown eyes.

Michael stands up immediately and nods toward Margaret. “It’s been my pleasure,” he tells her, turns, and heads back toward his table. The man who had come in search for him is watching us, his eyes confused and almost suspicious.

“Well, now. Let’s get down to discussions, shall we?”

“Out of curiosity, Margaret, I’m wondering why you required this position to be filled by a married woman? I wasn’t even sure that it is legal to require that?”

She has the grace to look a little disconcerted. “Well, actually, you are right. But, I can tell by looking at you that you are comfortable with, shall we say, a certain social level, and so you will understand that there are proprieties which must be observed in our endeavor. A young, attractive woman such as yourself would be meeting with a great many successful and wealthy individuals. You would also be attending fundraising functions. Being married, especially to an appropriate husband, will prevent you from being targeted for, shall we say, irresponsible approaches. We can’t have even the least whisper of scandal attached to our museum. While it may be small at present, naturally your job would be to help us grow, and that will take substantial funding. Our reputation is all we have now.”

I nod. She’s right. I totally understand what she’s trying to say, and I agree. That isn’t to say that nothing shady ever went on in Mom and Dad’s set, but if it did, it is never an open discussion. Old money has no interested in hobnobbing with new money. New money can’t get a shot at hobnobbing with old money unless they are equally sterile in their behavior. I know, it’s a weird situation, but there you have it. Margaret is speaking, and I tune into her voice and answer her every question appropriately. I can tell as the interview goes on that she is happy, and I think I might have actually snagged this one.

I feel a presence at my shoulder and turn sideways to see Michael, his strong hand extended toward Margaret. “Darling,” he says to me, “I’ll see you at home later. And Margaret, might I say it is a true pleasure to meet you.” She takes his hand to shake it and then looks to his other hand which he has placed on my shoulder as he leans over the table. Her glance then goes to my hand and with a shock, I know instantly what she is looking for. Wedding rings. I have to think quickly.

“You may have noticed,” I laugh nervously, “that we aren’t wearing our wedding rings. They’re at the … cleaners.”

I might have gotten away with my lie had Michael not said “jewelers” at the exact same beat that I said “cleaners.” Margaret looks confused, and the three of us have a laugh. “She always does that,” he explains. “She loves her ring so much that she sends it out once a week to the jewelers to be cleaned. So, in her mind, it’s the cleaners,” he fills in, and Margaret nods, looking appeased. Me, on the other hand, I’m ready to puke.

“See you later, dear,” I say, and he nods and leaves. My heart is hammering. It isn’t that I’m afraid of getting caught as much as it is the fact that for a few short minutes, I had been “married” to a very handsome, age-appropriate male. He made me feel a little gushy in my lower tummy, and then I become sad, remembering my failed wedding. Margaret is speaking again. I tune her in.

“… talk to you soon. It is a pleasure to have met you and your husband. I feel as though our interview has gone well.” She is holding out her hand, and I stand to shake it as well.

“Thank you for your time,” I say, ending the interview, and although I sit back down, my heart is hammering as Margaret leaves the café.

I think I have a pretty good shot at the job, but I must admit, I’d much rather have a good shot at Michael. I can hardly believe my eyes when the man who approached us when we were in the hallway reenters the café doors and heads toward the recently abandoned table. He picks up a sheaf of papers from one of the seats. Apparently, they’d been left behind.

“Excuse me,” I say in his direction.

“Yes?” he answers, coming closer to me.

“The gentleman I was speaking with earlier, the one you asked to talk to. I owe him my thanks, but I don’t have his name. I wonder if you might tell me where I can find him?”

The other man looks flustered and doubtful, his glance at the door indicating that he’s in a hurry to leave. In an exasperated motion, he pulls a business card from his inner pocket and hands it to me. “You’ll find him at that address, he works for the foundation.”

“Thank you.” I nod, accepting the card.

His name is Michael Daughtry. There is an address, but no title and no telephone. How curious. You’re damned right I am.