Six and a half weeks had passed since Celia told Dog and the TDLR to fuck off. It had been almost that long since Rod laid her out. Like most traumas, the stigma of being hit stayed with her even as she tried to leave it in the past.
She got daily texts from Rod.
I'm sorry!
It'll never happen again.
Can't we just go back to how it was?
Each one received a resounding NO!
Maybe I should just block him?
But common sense won that argument because they still had unfinished business.
So far, Celia had managed to stave off depression. But if she let her guard down, it crept up without warning, and the tears came fast. She enjoyed the solitude, but desperation lurked around every corner, and it was a battle of wills to see which side of her psyche would triumph each day.
On this morning, Celia took stock of her progress to keep her spirits up. She'd completed her name-change application, started the uncontested divorce filing, and applied for every job she could find.
To buy herself some breathing room, she'd extended her stay in the shithole for one more month.
$1,200 down the drain.
But after six and a half weeks of scrounging for work, she had nothing to show for it. The ever-present depression marched closer with that thought.
Stop it. You got this.
Financially, she'd figured she had about three months tops, but she knew how quickly that could change, especially once she had to put down a deposit on a new place. If she'd known she would end up here, she wouldn't have had the surgery, but there was no going back now.
Hindsight's always 20-20.
She ran her hands over her breasts as reassurance that it wasn't a big mistake.
I do love these boobs.
The ten thousand she started with was already down to about $7,500. Three more months' rent, combined with living expenses, and she'd be on the street. Since she voluntarily quit, she wasn't eligible for any state assistance. There was a 'good cause exception' to that, but it was her responsibility to prove that she had tried to negotiate the situation with her boss. Apparently screaming, 'You fix this, or you can shove this job up your ass,' didn't qualify as compelling negotiation.
Anxiety clutched at her chest, making it hard to breathe. Questions about her choices kept needling her. Did she really have to quit? Should she get back with Rod? How will she manage a new apartment on her own? Every time one of these doubts came up, a surge of panic and insecurity swept through her. Her body would physically shake. She had to verbally talk herself down. Walking around the kitchen island, she would recite her mantra. "You're just scared. That's okay. You should be scared. Use the fear! It's motivating. Don't be scared, just find a damn job. You got this.
She spent a lot of time walking around that island.
There had been a few inquiries, and for a moment she thought she'd found an opening with the Texas Workforce Commission. But it turned out to be a lateral move at a lower salary. It appealed only as a last resort, and the thought of needing it made her stomach turn.
It seemed pointless to keep apartment hunting before she knew where she'd be working, so she decided to put that search on hold. Instead, she devoted every second of every day to the job quest. Luna called yesterday to let her know that she hadn't forgotten about her. There was nothing left to do now but wait, and waiting brought anxiety, along with the constant dodge-the-depression dance.
How stupid. I really thought I'd be a more desirable commodity. Asshole.
To fill the time, she practiced introducing herself as Celia. As the days passed, the name settled onto her with ease. She could already imagine a near future in which Valerie was only a distant memory.
Oh Celia, could you come over here for a minute? - Sure, be right there.
Then the phone rang.
She dropped her head. More likely than not, it was Rod—calling to whine again about not having enough money. He wasn't eligible for unemployment or welfare because he was an independent contractor who never paid taxes anyway.
Too damn bad! How many times did I tell you to start an LLC?
But it wasn't Rod. Looking at the screen, an extension she didn't recognize popped up. She almost disconnected, but when you are desperate for work, you really need to answer every call. If it turned out to be a telemarketer, she would just hang up.
"Hello," she said in as professional a manner as she could muster. A man on the other end cleared his throat. "Hello, I'm looking for Cordelia Barlow. Is she available?"
She almost told them they had the wrong number, and then a jolt of excitement shot through her. For the first time, someone had called her by her new name over the phone. Even if it turned out to be spam, she might have stayed on the line just to hear it again.
"Yes, though I go by Celia. Uhm, who's calling?" she said. "Good—Celia. Hi, my name is Clifford Dean Flynn. I'm with CAPPS HR.
We handle payroll for the state, and I have your resume on my desk along with several glowing recommendations. The folks in TDLR HR seem to think very highly of you. Do you have a minute?" the genial man asked.
Celia's heart kicked hard. She had updated her resume and LinkedIn profile with her new name, the first step to becoming Cordelia. Already, there was validation for being that bold. And Luna had kept her promise—the people in HR were trying to make things right. She took a deep breath, maybe three, and kept her voice as steady as she could. "Yes. As a matter of fact, this is the perfect time."
"We have an opening for a Supervising Payroll Analyst for Agency Services, and I'd like to talk with you about the position," Clifford said.
She caught a hint of desperation in his voice. Did she have the upper hand here? Did they need her more than she needed them? The thought brought a smile to her face, and a small laugh bubbled up inside. No way they needed her more than she needed them.
"That sounds great. What does the position involve?" she asked, masking her excitement. Her eyes widened as she pumped her free arm.
"Wonderful. The position involves performing advanced computer systems analysis work. Is that in your wheelhouse?"
She blurted, "Sure. I was assistant to the director of TDLR for almost seven years, and he had me doing that kind of work all the time. He wasn't the most computer-savvy guy on the planet. So yes, I understand those procedures, and I have mid-level coding ability." Her excitement was beginning to overflow.
Clifford continued, "Excellent. That's an added bonus. The work involves research, analysis, and problem-solving related to system functionality and requirements, along with some more mundane tasks—I'm sure you can imagine. I see you have your bachelor's degree," he added, his keyboard clattering in the background. "But I don't see any work experience directly tied to it." Celia had prepared for this question.
"That's right. I only finished my degree recently. But I've spent seven years working in Texas state government administration, so I understand the procedures and policies inside and out. The only thing keeping me from a job like this was the degree, so on my boss's advice..." She smiled as she delivered the lie that made her sound compliant with corporate hierarchy. "I took online courses and got it. Summa cum laude, actually." She exuded pride in being able to throw that out with an as-a-matter-of-fact lilt in her voice.
"Excellent," Clifford said, sounding equal parts encouraged and relieved. "We wholeheartedly support advancement within the ranks. You're a real feelgood story, no doubt about it. Tell you what—I need to run this up the flagpole, but with your experience and these recommendations, I don't see any obstacles. Could we do a Zoom meeting tomorrow, maybe?"
Celia failed to contain her excitement. "Absolutely," she said. "Do you have my info? Can you send me the link?"
"I'll have my secretary set that up. How's 2:00 pm?"
"Perfect. I'll see you then," she blurted with a smile the size of a Texas longhorn.
"Goodbye for now." Clifford hung up.
There are all kinds of screams. The Jamie Lee Curtis scream of terror came to mind. There were screams of fear, of warning, even of encouragement. But the one that tore out of her now was pure joy.
Jumping up and down, she ran around the island, twirling out of control.
She flung open the balcony door and shouted to the heavens, "I think I got it!" Then she marched around the kitchen like a queen, singing, "Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Oh yeah!" Jubilation would need to be reimagined.
Once the initial excitement had subsided, she popped open her laptop and looked up the job, its requirements, and, in particular, the salary.
She read aloud as she scanned the posting. "Bachelor's degree. Why yes, I do have one... Management position. No shit... Experience working within the Texas state government. Oh, hell yes!"
"This might be my dream job," she concluded in triumph. Her phone buzzed. Clifford's secretary had sent the interview link for tomorrow. She checked who else was copied and looked up each of the four names—two men and two women. That alone was an upgrade over ol' Dog's office.
With a little further digging, she found the pay scale.
Holy shit. That's 30% more than I was making before. And it would all be
mine.
She spent the next several hours studying CAPPS HR's protocols and procedures. They were similar enough to TDLR's that they came easily to her.
With that handled, her next thought was, "Now, what am I going to wear, and what should I do with my hair?"