"Did you see this ad?" Zelda pitched the newspaper in my lap.
Circled in red, Classical Manager Position, apply in person, Camp Bowie.
"That's interesting," I commented. "I wonder what happened to Mike?"
"That's the store you shop at. You could do that job."
"I'm hardly a classical expert," I answered.
"You listen to classical. Your last job was with the symphony."
"As a phoner. Before I got fired," I grinned.
"Just visit. You never know. You've certainly spent enough money there over the years," she added.
"What's going on with Mike?" I stood outside the Manager's Box, spoke with The Boss.
"I honestly don't know. He's been gone a month now. Hasn't contacted anyone. Not a word."
"Yeah, I haven't seen his byline in the paper recently. What about the other Mike? Over at Berry."
"He'll never come back. He's their assistant. I placed an ad in the classifieds."
"I saw that," I paused. "I was thinking about applying.
"Really," he replied. He seemed distracted. "Say, do you know who wrote the 1812 Overture?"
"What?" I made a face. "Tchaikovsky."
"Ha ha. How about ... oh ... forget it. Look. I already hired someone. But with classical, you never know ... "
"I know the music, but I'm not an expert," I confessed.
"That's not what I meant. Classical types are ... ha ha ... never mind." He stopped. "Would you consider part time?"
Part time was better than no time. If John's and my business picked up ... well, I'd cross that bridge when I came to it.
"That'll work. I have another job rebuilding player pianos. But business has been dead over a year now."
"I need someone Tuesday and Thursday, midshift, 2:00 in the afternoon until 6:00. And Friday, 6:00 until close."
There was the offer. I weighed it for fifteen seconds.
"I can do that," I accepted. "Do you need an application, or something?"
"Fill one out Tuesday. Dress casual. Not over dressed, not shabby."
"Two o'clock. Tuesday. See you then."
The Boss stood up, extended his hand, "Welcome aboard."