of any job openings will you please let me know?”
“Of course I will. I don’t know of any right offhand but I’ll think about it.”
“Preferably somewhere fun. I mean, I don’t mind working. Honestly. I’ve just run a restaurant all by myself. Well, actually, I had a partner but that’s another story. With all that’s gone on, I can’t help but wish I could just work at a place where I would feel excited about getting up in the morning.”
“What’s your degree in? Remind me.”
“Communications.”
“Oh sure. Ole Miss?”
I nod my head.
“Tim works in TV. You know WZCQ down in Midtown? He’s the sales manager there.”
“I’d forgotten that,” I say, a glimmer of hope returning.
“It houses FM 99 and AM 59, too. Would you like him to check to see if there are any openings?” she says, with genuine interest.
“Yes! That would be great.”
“Okay, what’s the best number to reach you on?”
We exchange cell phone numbers and promise to get together in the next week or two.
“We’ll find you a job, sweetie. Don’t you worry,” she says.
I hug her once more and watch as she walks to her car. Why can’t there be more Natalie Walkers and less Cissy Greens in this city? For gosh sakes.
* * *
Later that afternoon, no more than two hours after leaving Natalie, my phone rings. I’m driving back to Kissie’s after slipping into a Kroger closer to her house. I grab my cell, in hopes of seeing a certain Vermonter’s number, but am disappointed when the area code reads “901”—Memphis. I answer anyway. “Hello.”
“Hi Leelee, it’s Tim Walker. How are you, girl?”
“Hi Tim, I’m fine. How are you?”
“I’m great. Doing fine. Natalie says you need a job.” He’s down to business but friendly.
“I do. I really do.”
“They need an assistant over on the FM side here at ZCQ. You’d be answering phones, handing out prizes—you know, the items that people call in to win on the radio?”
“Sure. I won a prize on the radio once. But it was a long time ago.”
“You’d do a lot of that and some administrative work. Plus you’d be assisting the program director and the promotions director. Sound like something you might be interested in?”
“Definitely,” I reply, hoping my desperation doesn’t sound too unprofessional.
“I don’t know how much the pay is, but I do know it’s the kind of place where you can work hard and move up in the company.”
“That sounds great, thank you so much, Tim.”
“No problem. Glad to help you.”
Tim told me to call an Edward Maxwell to set up an interview. I jot down his phone number on a piece of scratch paper I find in the console. “I’ll call him when we hang up,” I say.
“Okie doke. Hope it works out. Lemme know.”
“I sure will. Thanks so much, Tim.”
“My pleasure.”
After hanging up with Tim I almost want to scream I’m so happy. I’m confident I could be wonderful at that kind of work. I have a real love for music and to be among radio and music personalities sounds like a dream job. WZCQ is always throwing rooftop parties at the Peabody Hotel and their promotions van seems to be everywhere—car dealerships, Memphis in May, charity events. My mood lifts just thinking about the job. I hang up from Tim and call Mr. Maxwell right away.
After talking with him, I agree to come in for an interview. I’m intrigued to meet him; during the phone conversation he sounded a bit strange, arrogant almost. After working for Helga, I’m determined not to have another boss who makes my life miserable. That said, lord knows I need a job, so I really can’t be too choosy.
Ed tells me that he needs a copy of my résumé, which I decide to drop off first thing in the morning. I could email it but I don’t want to chance it ending up in his spam folder. It’s six years old. I know what I’ll be doing till the wee hours of the morning.
* * *
Wednesday afternoon I walk in the front door of
“Of course I will. I don’t know of any right offhand but I’ll think about it.”
“Preferably somewhere fun. I mean, I don’t mind working. Honestly. I’ve just run a restaurant all by myself. Well, actually, I had a partner but that’s another story. With all that’s gone on, I can’t help but wish I could just work at a place where I would feel excited about getting up in the morning.”
“What’s your degree in? Remind me.”
“Communications.”
“Oh sure. Ole Miss?”
I nod my head.
“Tim works in TV. You know WZCQ down in Midtown? He’s the sales manager there.”
“I’d forgotten that,” I say, a glimmer of hope returning.
“It houses FM 99 and AM 59, too. Would you like him to check to see if there are any openings?” she says, with genuine interest.
“Yes! That would be great.”
“Okay, what’s the best number to reach you on?”
We exchange cell phone numbers and promise to get together in the next week or two.
“We’ll find you a job, sweetie. Don’t you worry,” she says.
I hug her once more and watch as she walks to her car. Why can’t there be more Natalie Walkers and less Cissy Greens in this city? For gosh sakes.
* * *
Later that afternoon, no more than two hours after leaving Natalie, my phone rings. I’m driving back to Kissie’s after slipping into a Kroger closer to her house. I grab my cell, in hopes of seeing a certain Vermonter’s number, but am disappointed when the area code reads “901”—Memphis. I answer anyway. “Hello.”
“Hi Leelee, it’s Tim Walker. How are you, girl?”
“Hi Tim, I’m fine. How are you?”
“I’m great. Doing fine. Natalie says you need a job.” He’s down to business but friendly.
“I do. I really do.”
“They need an assistant over on the FM side here at ZCQ. You’d be answering phones, handing out prizes—you know, the items that people call in to win on the radio?”
“Sure. I won a prize on the radio once. But it was a long time ago.”
“You’d do a lot of that and some administrative work. Plus you’d be assisting the program director and the promotions director. Sound like something you might be interested in?”
“Definitely,” I reply, hoping my desperation doesn’t sound too unprofessional.
“I don’t know how much the pay is, but I do know it’s the kind of place where you can work hard and move up in the company.”
“That sounds great, thank you so much, Tim.”
“No problem. Glad to help you.”
Tim told me to call an Edward Maxwell to set up an interview. I jot down his phone number on a piece of scratch paper I find in the console. “I’ll call him when we hang up,” I say.
“Okie doke. Hope it works out. Lemme know.”
“I sure will. Thanks so much, Tim.”
“My pleasure.”
After hanging up with Tim I almost want to scream I’m so happy. I’m confident I could be wonderful at that kind of work. I have a real love for music and to be among radio and music personalities sounds like a dream job. WZCQ is always throwing rooftop parties at the Peabody Hotel and their promotions van seems to be everywhere—car dealerships, Memphis in May, charity events. My mood lifts just thinking about the job. I hang up from Tim and call Mr. Maxwell right away.
After talking with him, I agree to come in for an interview. I’m intrigued to meet him; during the phone conversation he sounded a bit strange, arrogant almost. After working for Helga, I’m determined not to have another boss who makes my life miserable. That said, lord knows I need a job, so I really can’t be too choosy.
Ed tells me that he needs a copy of my résumé, which I decide to drop off first thing in the morning. I could email it but I don’t want to chance it ending up in his spam folder. It’s six years old. I know what I’ll be doing till the wee hours of the morning.
* * *
Wednesday afternoon I walk in the front door of
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