On Tour (19 page)

"Okay, then let's get to work." Carol rubbed her hands together eagerly. I took a seat in front of her desk. "Here's your itinerary for the first week."

She handed me a clump of papers. I flipped through. Monday:
Meeting with HR at 9:00 and 1:00. Meeting with Department Heads 10:00. Meeting with plant supervisors 2:00.
And so on.

"What's with all the meetings?"

"I agree it's a lot, but they want to get to know you by having you sit in on all of their regular meetings. Helps you get a feel for what's going on behind the scenes as well," Carol explained.

"So where are the temps while I'm in these meetings?"

"Out working on the lines." Carol gave me a "Duh" look.

"So who's watching the temps if all the supervisors are in meetings all day?" Hey, I'm no genius, but I'd worked with temps long enough to know you just don't leave a bunch of temps to supervise themselves. That's probably how the Apocalypse would start.

Carol blinked at me. I think she was struggling with the idea of having to change her neat itinerary, including contacting the customer with the changes, and the Apocalyptic vision I'd now planted in the corner of her brain reserved for worst-case scenarios.

"Oh, my," she said.

"I think I should attend most of these meetings on the first day just to make an appearance. But my time should be spent in each department making sure the department supervisors are happy. Maybe I could get there early when the shift starts to check for any no-shows and try to get replacements. Then when I walk into a meeting I'm not getting crucified by the supervisors because they don't have enough temps." I had a picture in my mind's eye of me sitting in a meeting, munching a donut, while a production supervisor blamed a line shut-down on me.

Carol regrouped. "Okay. Good idea. And let's send an extra three people per shift per department. If they don't need them, we'll pay show up time."

"Or I can shop them around to another department."

Carol snapped her fingers. "Bingo!" She furrowed her brow. "The shifts are staggered by department starting at 7:30, 7:45, 8:15, 8:30, and there's a small second shift at 3:30 and 4:00. You'll access the computer and confirm if they've punched in on our time clocks."

"We have our own time clocks there? Cool."

"Cool but really expensive. I'm hoping they pay off. So you get there at 7:30 and count off all our temps. See if the supervisor needs anything else and then move on to the next time clock. Once you've checked everyone in you can go to the meetings."

Sounded easy enough. "Seems straightforward. I'd better wear my running shoes. How big's the plant?"

"Big," Carol replied. "But make sure you still look like the boss. Suit jacket, slacks, etc." She glanced pointedly at my jeans and tank top.

"Yes, Mom. I clean up good, you know. So I call back to you as I need people during the day, or do I fill the orders myself?"

Carol nodded. "If you have excess temps in a department and can move them around, then you handle it. But you have to put the work order changes in the computer or the wrong department will get billed, and you'll really tick off the supervisors. Their bonuses are based on expenses. If you get new orders, enter them in the system and give us a call."

"I'm assuming 'us' is you and Tabitha." I sighed.

"She's learning the ropes, Diana. Frankly, I've got no one else, and when Mr. Pyres comes back from Yugoslavia, we'll probably have to find someone to replace her."

Tabitha was easily the worst office temp in the history of office temps. She was like so like immature that she like drove you like cuckoo to put it in Tabitha-speak.

"She's on you." I pointed at Carol. "So I guess I'll have some kind of office there, right?"

"The HR coordinator, Megan, said she had found a small office for you. No frills, she warned me. She'll be your main contact. She coordinates the temporary staffing agencies. She should be happy about this new contract since it centralizes everything into one service. Before, there were five services on site all charging different rates, different hiring criteria, etc. The new president put the whole thing out to bid."

"Good news for us!" I was really excited about this job. I knew there'd be problems. Weren't there always? But I was finally feeling involved with my own business.

We wrapped up our meeting around six and headed over to McGlynn's for Happy Hour. I texted Mark our plans, and he replied he'd be there as long as it wasn't Karaoke Night. I had to giggle at that one. We'd met at McGlynn's on the Karaoke Night to end all Karaoke Nights.

I sighed with contentment as I walked into the bar. This was where I'd cut my teeth musically.

"Lady Di in the house!" Woody, the bartender, called. Yeah, I know. The TV show. And people really did know my name. But don't mention
Cheers
to Woody unless you like your drink watered down.

 "See you brought your sidekick, Karaoke Carol. None of your other wacky friends are joining you tonight, are they?" He looked towards the door.

"Only Mark. But I don't think you'd call him wacky."

"He's with you, isn't he?" Woody countered.

Carol snorted at that. "He's got you there, Diana."

Woody turned towards Carol. "Aren't you in business with her?"

"Hah!" I crowed. "Schooled by the bartender." I high-fived Woody.

Carol made a face, saying good-naturedly, "You going to make us a drink or talk us to death?"

Woody was already working his magic behind the bar. "Margarita on the rocks with salt, right?" he asked as he set a drink in front of Carol.

"Wow—you have quite a memory."

"I never forget a karaoke singer." Woody's face was straight, but I could see the corner of his eyes crinkling.

Carol took that as a compliment and sipped on her drink.

Woody pointed at me. "Now you're a little bit tougher. But seeing how everything looks to be normal with you tonight, I'm thinking a nice appletini would be in order."

I nodded. "You guessed right." Woody walked away to get the special vodka, and I looked around the room. Pretty small crowd for a Saturday night. It would pick up once the live music started at nine.

Woody put my drink down in front of me and waited for me to take a sip like it was a hundred dollar bottle of wine.

"Perfect," I purred. He nodded and went back to wiping off glasses.

Carol turned to me. "Okay, now give me the scoop on Andre and Marsha. And don't leave out a word."

"I don't have many details yet. But when Mark gets here you can help me pump him for info." I went on to tell her what I knew. She oohed and ahhed at the two holding hands while talking to the press.

"Oh, Diana," Carol said breathlessly, "how romantic is that? Marooned on an island. Nothing but the two of you working together to keep you alive. And Andre is a real dish."

She was right. I had first-hand knowledge of exactly how great a dish Andre was. And I'm not ashamed to admit the green-eyed monster was aching to get its talons into Marsha. But I was happy for Andre if he and Marsha were together. He'd been disappointed when Mark and I had become an item and had tried for a while to come between us.

"It's an unlikely place to find love," I agreed. "But love's all around you just waiting to be found, Carol."

Carol gave me a doubting look and glanced around the room. "Yeah, over there is a guy who loves his toupée and another who appears to have way too much love for his beer. Are you suggesting I pick up a guy in a bar?"

I shrugged and took a sip of my appletini. "Well, you never know. I met Mark here."

"Which was completely against your three rules of dating," she reminded me.

She was right, of course. Until Mark, I'd never dated musicians, co-workers, or guys I met in bars. "Sometimes love is like that. You know you're with the right one, and all the rules just fly out the window."

We watched one guy stumble from his table and lurch towards the bathroom. He gave Carol a thumbs-up as he passed the bar. "I think I'll keep my rules in place."

Now she had my attention. "So what are
your
dating rules?"

Carol licked salt off the rim of her glass and took a sip. "Same as yours, except instead of ruling out musicians, I rule out anyone wearing glasses."

I turned and stared at her. "Glasses? Really? Ah—pot to kettle," I teased.

"I know. I know. But it's because I wear glasses that I don't want a guy who wears them. I once shattered a pair at a Homecoming Dance when the boy I was with moved in to kiss me and our glasses crashed together."

"How about just take them off before you kiss. Or maybe you should think about contacts."

Carol stared at me. "Contacts? I doubt they'd have any strong enough."

"You mean you've never even tried to get contacts?" Unbelievable.

"I tried hard contacts years ago, but they were awful." Carol made a face. "But maybe the soft ones would work. Oh, Diana, do you really think I could get contacts?" She grasped my arm in delight.

"I think it's worth a try if you want to."

"I bet my dating life would take off if I didn't have glasses." She looked wistfully into the mirror behind the bar.

I knew I would regret asking this. "Do you want to date? You've always seemed kind of settled in with being single."

Carol turned to me. "Of course I do. I'm only settled into being single, because I haven't really had any other choice."

This put a whole new light on things. In the three plus years I'd known Carol, I hadn't known her to date. "Maybe you should try a mini-makeover," I began cautiously.

Carol clapped her hands together. "Oh would you, Diana! Let's go in the bathroom and try it right now."

Whoa there! I'm not sure I had all the necessary equipment for this job. "Maybe you should get the contacts first, and then we'll get a professional to do the makeover."

Carol clutched my arm. "No. Let's try doing a little tonight just to see if it works. I don't want to waste time and money doing all that if I've got no shot at finding love."

I was sure her reasoning was being affected by the alcohol. But it would be fun to see what she looked like without those giant glasses and with a little makeup and hair fluffing. Hair fluffing can go a long way for some people.

"Oh, what the heck," I said finishing my appletini. "Let's give it a go."

Okay, so hair fluffing doesn't work for everyone.

We ordered two more drinks from Woody and wrangled the employee bathroom key away from him. It had been surprisingly easy. My bet was that it was a slow night, and he knew this would be entertaining.

The employee bathroom was also the dressing room for the music acts. Lighting was adequate, and there was a large countertop next to the sink. We set up shop there. It didn't smell the best, but it was definitely better than the public bathroom.

"Let's pool our makeover resources." I reached into my bag and produced a can of hairspray, six bobby pins, a cosmetic bag stuffed to overflowing, and tester-size bottle of perfume.

Carol laid a comb on the counter.

"That's it? That's all you carry in that big purse of yours?" I pointed at the duffle-size Dooney over her shoulder.

"Of course not," she rummaged around. "Sale flyers, a notebook, calculator, check book—"

I interrupted her. "Okay let's just keep it moving. Mark's going to be here soon."

Carol nodded and sat down passively on the stool in front of the mirror. We both looked at her reflection. Carol's face was hopeful; mine was doubtful. Oh, boy. I definitely didn't have enough equipment for this.

"I really think we should wait until you get your contacts. How are you going to see the rest of the evening?"

"I can see fine up close. I'll keep my glasses in my lap in case I really need to see something in the distance." She took a swig of her drink. "Please, let's just give it a try." She took off her glasses and smiled into the mirror.

"You can't see a thing, can you?" I asked.

"Not really."

So it began. I went to work on her eyes, trying to make them pop with some smoky hues, eyeliner, and mascara. It's really hard putting eye makeup on someone else. I'm not that good at putting it on myself. But at least Carol couldn't tell the difference. She was wearing a light base and powder already so I warmed up her complexion with a few swipes of powdered bronzer. I added some glossy brown-toned lipstick to finish the makeup job.

"I think that looks good," said Carol squinting at the mirror and messing up her mascara in the process.

I dabbed at her eye with a piece of toilet paper, but it just smeared more. She was starting to get that raccoon look you had the morning after an all-nighter. I was debating scrubbing her down and starting all over when a knock came at the door.

"Be just a minute," I called.

"Hey, it's me," Mark said. "What are you up to in there?

"Oh, just a little girl talk," I said airily.

"Well, could you do it out here? I've got two hotties eyeing me up at the bar. I might need you to defend my honor."

I snorted at that picture. "Be out in a minute."

Okay, time to get down to work. The makeup was going to have to do. It was hair time. Carol's mousy brown hair was thick and cut into a severe chin length bob with a heavy fringe of bangs. I tried pulling it back away from her face. I peered over her shoulder at the effect. It actually made her look more severe if that were possible.

I sighed. When in doubt, tease it out. I took my can of hair spray and Carol's comb and went to work. In a few minutes her hair was sticking up around her head like an Afro.

Carol squinted at the mirror. "I'm not so sure I like that, Diana."

"I'm not done yet." I smoothed the messy hair back and swept it all into a twist at the crown of Carol's head. I glanced in the mirror. It looked like I might be on to something here.

I stuck bobby pins in helter-skelter and then pulled a few strands down to frame her face. The bangs were still a little severe, but they camouflaged the raccoon eyes and the up-do gave her a more elegant look.