HOPES AND DREAMS

HOPES AND DREAMS

A Short Story by Charles E.J. Moulton



I now lit my fourth cigarette within fifteen minutes. The match ignited and approached the tabacco. Noticing the severe shaking of my left hand, I closed my eyes, concentrating on my breathing. I inhaled again, my lips trembling.

No fear, I told myself. They will know how good I am. The other girl has another offer. I don’t.

         The sky called me by the way of my restlessness, because the leather chair just chilled me to the bone, the clock on the wall ticked too vehemently, my elegant skirt squeezed my thighs so bad I felt like a sardine. So, I stood up, walking to the window and looking out.

         I inhaled again, tasting the smoke of the cigarette, feeling it warm up my body. But my soul ached. Everything depended on this job. Trying to concentrate on the panorama, I forced myself to divert my thoughts. New York City, my dream town. Haliburn Associates, my dream firm. Central Park, what a beautiful place. If I got this job, I could have my lunch there.

Here we go again.

A smile surfaced from the depths of my soul. The smile reeked of cynicism. How many times had I been here? Knowing I was perfect for this job, knowing my credentials could impress the president and me still leaving empty handed. What did they want? A Harvard graduate with high honours, one that still, after two years, had not landed a single job. Thirty-nine applications and counting. Mom assured me of the normality of the situation. So close and yet so far away. This was the closest I had been in two years. This job offered me everything. Money, love, success, the works.

I looked at my watch, extinguishing my half smoked cigarette inside the ashtray and realizing that I smoked to much. Too much for a thirty year old woman. Twenty to two. They promised me what? To have the decision within an hour? The pizza in my stomach made noises. The waiter’s insults forced me back into the waiting room. Had his cynical Italian laughter really been necessary? Just because I was nervous, some pizza guy laughed me in the face. Me! I mean, really.

Gosh, what was taking them so long?

I adjusted my jacket and blouse, practicing my breathing excercises, just like always.  I filled my lungs filled with air as I walked to and fro in the waiting room, hearing my high heels click on the shiny floor and echo into the secretary’s marble chamber. Slowly, my nerves ceased to rattle. Maybe, my job searching cost me too much pain. If this job failed, my next stop had to be Boston. I am sure that my dear mother could fix me a nice job as an assistant somewhere. Maybe, that would be better for all of us. I wouldn’t have to move anywhere. I would remain in Boston and become a spinster.

Geez, I’m glad I am alone here, I thought to myself. I won’t have to pretend to be calm and collected. I feel like throwing up.

The smile of the secretary around the corner oozed a perkiness I loathed. At least, for the moment. I wandered over to the mirror, away from the secretary, and glanced at myself. My hair impeccable and my make-up perfect, I still looked like crap. This business suit? Whose idea had that been? Mom’s.

My thoughts wandered toward Josh. If I lost this job, where did that leave him? I loved him. This job sealed the stamp on our relationship. If I got it, our thing could work. He wasn’t leaving New York City. After ten fiasco applications here, the boost of Anthony Robbins’ success seminar gave me an appeal that turned proverbial heads. A beautiful Harvard Graduate with no self confidence now owned some self esteem. I believed in myself. Okay, at least, a bit.

If this job failed, my mother’s promise of pulling some strings in Boston opened doors. So much for my self esteem.

Josh? Marriage, yes. I needed him, but a relationship on the basis of a four hour drive each way? Eventually, life in the same city eased the pain. I grew restless. I smoked to much. This was it. Josh knew that. I did, too. No waiting. No more. I just couldn’t.

I picked up the small notebook that rested in my jacket pocket. My scribblings of positive quotes quickly turned that tiny red thing into an old tattered scrap of junk. However, its importance exceeded the look of it.

My eyes flew over most of the quotes, all written in pencil. Voltaire, Shakespeare, Washington, Isaac Newton, Einstein, Gandhi, words found by me in books and noted here.

One quotation ejected its enigma into my face that day.

Fate proposed a toast seconds before triumph.

Titus Maccius Plautus, the earliest surviving Latin playwright, mused: "Let us celebrate the occasion with wine and sweet words."

Calm inspiration cooled my senses like fresh water on a summer day. Immediately, my spirit rejuvinated itself. All the former fiascos in this city erased themselves. An angel appeared in my heart, promising me that all dreams eventually would come true for me. The angel gift-wrapped all of my childhood dreams and gave them to me, neatly packaged within ten words. I dreamed of myself a rich, married architect, a mother of three with a Central Park apartment with two expensive cars parked in the garage.

         The door opened behind me. I turned around, startled, probably looking like a scared bird attacked by a giant snake.

         The CEO of Haliburn Associates stood there in the doorway of his office, his hand clutching the handle. His clean shaved face broke into a smile. This meant something. Did it mean that his news contained good information? Was he sacking me, just as the others had?

“Cindy,” he said. “May I call you that?”

I swallowed, feeling that one drop of sweat trickling down my forehead. “Yes. Sure.”

He laughed. “I have a request.”

My heart started beating faster. I felt as if my heart now turned into a racing car.

“You have to call me Paul.”

I shook my head. “Does that mean ...”

Paul Delaney looked like Santa without a beard.

No, he looked like God.

“You are starting on Monday. Welcome to the firm.”

My knees started rattling, my belly shook. That pizza now turned into little jellyfish swimming in my tummy, the perky secretary now turned into my best friend, the insults of the Italian waiter turned into a compliment.

Out of my nervous mouth sprung an extactic fountain of laughs my spirit never had known it owned. Cindy Hollingdale proved them all wrong. Cindy, the successful architect, won.

The tension that gripped my soul fell away from my hips and landed somewhere in the cannisters. The world seemed like a friendly place. I rushed to that beardless Santa, embraced him, yes, even kissed his lips.

He chuckled a surprised: “Ooh!” as the secretary popped her head into the room, wondering what the hullaballoo was about.

“Do you mind, if I call my fiancée? After all, he will want to know that we are now sharing a flat.”

I laughed, confused and delighted.

“I mean, a life.”

Paul giggled, nodding.

“Sure. Go out and party. We will talk tomorrow, okay? Say, noon time? Will your hang-over be gone by then?”

I burst into tears. “I think so.”

I couldn’t stop laughing. “Oh, Paul. You have saved my life. This is the happiest day of my life.”

The CEO grinned. “Now, go and tell your hubbie. Noon tomorrow, okay? I have informed you about payments, payrolls, insurance prior to this meeting. Company cars, all of that. Just go out and have fun, now. Your office will be waiting for you.”

I nodded, turned around and faced the other way, bumping in to the secretary.

“Oh,” she said, giggling. “Sorry.”

She stepped toward the elevators and so did I. Then, she stepped toward the windows and so did I. We ended up doing that funny dance for three minutes until I started shrieking with laughter.

“I can dance with you only a minute longer, then I gotta go. My office will be waiting for me.”

I bubbled inside.

“I can’t believe it. My office will be waiting for me.”

The young blonde secretary, whose home was a leather chair behind a big marble counter, made a prissy, shy face.

“I can see that having you here in the firm will be a lot of fun.”

I shook her hand so ferociously, I must’ve hurt her. Poor dear. I ran toward the elevators, dropping my notebook, having to return to pick it up. As I pressed the button, I noticed that had left my purse on the couch.

I ran back, confused, startling both the secretary and the CEO to tears, but I didn’t care one iota. Out on the street, I dialed Josh’s number. It rang once. It rang twice. No answer. This guy had to know this, right now. I painted, in my mind’s eye, the wonderful life we were going to have together.

Come on, man, I cried, pick up.

Receptions in a penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park, soirées with opera singers and architechture assignments all over the county.

“Pick up the phone, Josh,” I mumbled.

The silence followed that mischievous click.

“Cindy?”

“Josh?”

I began laughing. “I can’t get a word out, Josh.”

”What happened, baby? Tell me.”

“I got the job. Josh, I am moving to New York City. I can’t believe it.”

Josh now laughed, as well. “You are standing in front of

the office now, right?”

“Uh-huh,” I chuckled.

“Wait there,” he cried, still laughing. “I am telling my

boss that I have the rest of the day off. Hell, I will take the week off. Wait there, I am taking you out to our favourite French restaurant, Tout va bien, you know that one close to Broadway?”

“Whatever,” I responded.

Josh hung up. I must’ve stood there for ten minutes, just

singing my heart out. My atonal, unmusical melodies probably scared away every stray cat in The Big Apple, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care. So happy. My joy knew no bounds. I laughed and cried at the same time.

         Two minutes after I had stopped crying, Josh was there.

         The first thing he said was:

         "Let us celebrate the occasion with wine and sweet words."

         I inhaled, exhaled, opened my eyes wide, laughed, cried, gasped. “I read those exact word in my notebook shortly before Paul gave me the announcement.”

         Josh kissed me, my toes tingled, my heart jumped. My life felt like a Hollywood movie. I was Jennifer Anniston, he was Ben Affleck. This was Warner Brothers, not reality.

         It couldn’t be real.

         “This is going to be great,” he said, putting his arm around me and seeing me to the car.

         “It certainly is,” I responded.

         And off we went, planning to get ferociously drunk in the greatest city in the world.

         New York City, I thought to myself. Your greatest adventure is yet to begin.