“Grant, what do you want? I’m in the middle of a crisis here.”
“You need an editor and I’m here to apply for the job.
“Editor! What do you know about anything but TVs and girls?” he asked. Well of course it takes the suaveness and debonairness out of the scene when your parents give that kind of reference to your prospective employer.
“I happen to have quite a bit of experience in publishing,” I told him. “I was the editor of the Wordsworth College paper for two years and worked closely with Miss Spain and the Pen’s printers to get it out fifteen times a year.”
He blinked at me and I could see his brain processing girls, televisions, Ester Spain, the school paper, and cheap labor.
“The job doesn’t pay much but I know you’re looking for work and you’ll have an income from the investments your grandfather left you. You can have the job, at least until I find someone who is actually qualified. Ester and Jenny can show you where we are with this issue.”
I knew that “finding someone” meant someone as cheap as me so unless I made an absolute mess of things I could keep the job.