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“Yes.” I stopped playing with my ring and shifted to twisting my index finger.
“Did you go to the wedding?”
“I was one of their bridesmaids.”
The redhead scribbled notes on her paper.
Other panel members exchanged glances.
I’m so missing how this is related to the job?
Mr. Stone leaned his head to the side. “Why only two sexual partners?”
“Excuse me? What is the relevance of these—”
“You’re a pushover with no fashion sense, but you have a gorgeous face, nice body, and an interesting pair of eyes. Are they hazel?”
“Yes.”
“I gathered from your background check that you grew up in a rough neighborhood on the South End. It makes sense that you would’ve had sex with more than two men.”
Just go ahead and say it. “You have a stereotypical lower income background, drug addict black mother, unknown white father, most of your relatives are in prison or receiving government assistance. Why aren’t you pregnant with your fifth kid?”
An exasperated breath escaped my lips.
Relax. This is just a weird test. Worst case scenario is I don’t get the job. Suck it up.
I cleared my throat. “I only had the opportunity to sleep with two guys.”
“I don’t believe that.” He tapped the edge of his desk with his thumb. I’d noticed he did that a lot.
Is he nervous too? Doubt it.
Again, he tapped. “Come on. You’ve done a lot to get to this final phase. Don’t bore me with half-thought-out answers.”
I had done a lot.
The hiring process incited exhaustion and manic hysteria. Stone required a recommendation from his employees to even be considered as an applicant. My friend’s father, Benny Nix, was on the company’s corporate legal staff and had been my sponsor. Once I met that requirement, I underwent a knowledge examination, lie detector test, two sessions with a psychologist, and a medical physical that included a pap smear as well as drug and STD tests.
He repeated the question. “Why only two lovers?”
“I have five older brothers.” Who enjoy shooting people and think the county jail is their second home. “No one wanted to deal with them. I remained a virgin until college, where I met my two ex-boyfriends.”
“Abortions?”
I flinched as if he’d slapped me. “I’ve had one abortion.”
“Why?”
“I’d just discovered my boyfriend cheated on me. I had no money. I was at Harvard on an academic scholarship—”
Mr. Stone raised his hand to stop me.
I exhaled, but the guilt rose inside my core. I’d taken a life, due to inconvenience and my own stupidity from not taking my pills. The choice haunted me each time I thought about it.
God, will this interview ever end?
He snapped his fingers. “Are you with us?”
