Chapitre 3: III.
For a moment, there's complete silence, and I fear the line has gone dead. Then, I hear someone speak. "The house of Mr. and Mrs. Romanov, how may I help you?" It's a different voice.
"Uhm, hello, Maureen Orlando here. I'm calling about the job position for a housemaid... I found it in the newspaper?" I can tell my mom is a nervous mess, and I worry the woman will perceive her as unprofessional. Not that I would do any better; I'd probably be worse.
I've never been good at conversations, especially with strangers. Even in school, I was the 'good and dutiful girl,' speaking only when necessary—and often, that wasn't very much.
"Oh!" the woman replies.
We grip each other's hands tightly, filled with anticipation.
"What luck you called, miss! We almost gave up on finding someone. We really need help, and so far, we've only found one maid. So we have two openings right now."
I gasp silently at the news.
"Oh my god, that's wonderful!" my mom exclaims. "Because I'm here with my daughter, and we both want to apply for this job." She lets out a sigh of relief, her hands less shaky now.
"Your daughter?" the woman asks.
"Yes, we'd both love to work for you."
"How old are you, and how old is your daughter?"
"I'm 42, and my daughter is 18."
There's a pause before I hear murmuring, as if the woman is conferring with someone else in the room. Her voice drops too low for us to make out the words. Finally, she clears her throat. "Ahem, I assume you read the advertisement. Do you have any questions?"
I scramble to find something to ask but come up empty. I look at my mom and shake my head. She replies, "No, no, I don't."
"Great!" she exclaims. "When would it be convenient for you both to start working?"
Right now, please! "Uhm... when do you want me to start?"
"As soon as possible. We really need two pairs of hands. You could work for my daughter-in-law as her personal maid, while your daughter can work for my—"
The line suddenly cuts off, and we hear the dreaded beep beep beep, indicating we've lost the connection.
"Oh god! No!"
What just happened? We stare at the receiver in confusion, as if it might offer us an explanation. Then it hits me: we don't have any money left for another call.
"Do you have any more coins, Lisa?" my mom asks frantically.
"I... I don't think so," I murmur, searching my pockets and praying for at least a penny.
I dig through my jacket pockets but find only tissues. I check my jeans, and there's nothing there either.
Desperately, I lean down and rummage through our suitcases. I turn everything upside down, shaking out clothes and flipping over shoes—still nothing.
My eyes sting from unshed tears, but I refuse to let them fall. You're strong. Fight. You can do this. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I can't give up—I have to be strong for my mom.
I run out of the phone booth without a word, scanning the street. Not too far away, I spot someone walking along the snowy path. I start to run, careful not to slip on the ice-covered ground.
As I get closer, I can see the man's features more clearly. He hasn't noticed me yet, so I yell out, breathless, "Sir! Sir! Please wait!"
"Lisa? What are you doing?" I hear my mom calling after me, but I don't turn to look or answer.
I have a feeling he either didn't hear me or is ignoring me, so I push myself to run faster. Suddenly, I trip over something and catch myself just in time, bracing my hands against the cold ground to protect my face. This is going to leave a bruise, I think, but I don't have time to worry about that. I lift my eyes and see the man approaching me, concern etched on his face.
"Miss, are you alright?" he asks.
He extends his arms, helping me to my feet. "Thank you," I say, offering a shy smile as I brush the dirt and snow off my jeans, trying to shake off the embarrassment. I'm breathless and probably bright red in the face.
The man gives me a barely visible nod and starts to turn away. I gather my thoughts and remind myself why I was running in the first place.
"Sir! Wait, please!"
He stops and looks around, confirming I'm speaking to him. I step closer, my heart racing. "Would you... um... maybe have any loose change? I..." I cough, glancing down at the ground, feeling terrible for asking. "I have an important phone call to make, and right now... I don't have any money on me."
Sympathy rises in his eyes, and my own fill with tears again. I hate that look. I drop my gaze to the ground, whispering, "I would be really grateful..."
There's a palpable silence between us for a few moments. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see him pull out a wallet. My heart begins to steady, and I exhale a breath I didn't even realize I was holding.
Without a word, he suddenly presents a few bills and a small handful of loose change right in front of me.
I look the stranger in the eyes, and I can see the warmth in his gaze. He smiles softly and nods toward the money he's offering.
"I really don't need so much... just some loose change, really," I say, trying to downplay my request.
"Take it, girl. Make that phone call, buy yourself something to eat. You look starved—I can tell from your dry lips."
His voice is low, almost a whisper, and his words come out with a gentle urgency.
I'm so grateful I could hug this kind man. My chest swells with appreciation, and in my mind, I'm kissing the ground he walks on.
A tear escapes down my cheek, but this one isn't from sadness; it's a tear of happiness. I let myself embrace this feeling because my father's betrayal has made me question everything about men. If the man I once loved more than anyone could turn on me overnight, what hope do I have that any other man wouldn't do the same?
"Thank you. Thank you! I can't express how grateful I am," I manage to say, my voice hoarse as the tears continue to flow.
The stranger waves his hand dismissively. "I believe you're a good girl—I can see it in your face. It'll pass one day, trust me."
I nod and smile, even though I struggle to believe his words. Everything has changed for my mom and me so quickly; we became homeless faster than we could blink. I don't know how we'll make it better.
"Well, goodbye. And good luck," he says.
"Goodbye," I reply, almost bursting with gratitude. I wave as he walks away, standing there for a moment, clutching the money tightly in my hands before I dash back to the telephone booth.
I find my mom and hand her the money. "Here, this should be more than enough."
My mom takes the money, and a lone tear rolls down her left cheek. "Did you hurt yourself when you fell?"
I shake my head, placing my hands behind me just in case there's a bruise, hoping it isn't bleeding. "Don't worry, Mom. Just make the call."
She nods, offering a weak smile as she holds the phone and dials the number again.
"The house of Mr. and Mrs. Romanov," the now-familiar woman's voice comes through, making me relax.
"Hi. Hello. Maureen Orlando here. I was talking to you before, but we were interrupted."
"Thank God, Miss Maureen! I called back, but I couldn't get through again, and for a moment, I was afraid I'd lost you."
My mom and I can't help but laugh, and I feel a wave of relief wash over me. "I'm sorry for that, ma'am," my mom says, and I giggle. Wow, I'm acting like I'm still in high school. I roll my eyes at myself but keep the smile on my face. No one can steal this joy from me today.
"Ah, it was nothing. Now, where were we?"
Even though I've never met this woman, I already like her. I hope she'll be someone who helps us with this new job—if we get it, of course.
I watch my mom search her memory for their last conversation. "Oh, I got it!" she exclaims. "We were talking about when I could start."
"Oh, right, exactly. You and your daughter will need to answer some questions first. I think my son will need your daughter's CV, and I'll need yours, of course... just a moment, let me recall if I forgot anything..." I bite my lower lip as I wait for her to continue. "You will be assigned to my daughter-in-law if you get this job, and your daughter will be assigned to my son. I believe she would be more suitable for him as he is... well, you'll see. Or she'll see. I will be interviewing both of you, but I don't think my daughter-in-law will be interested in asking you any questions. Your daughter will have to answer some questions my son will ask."
"That's okay, ma'am. We understand completely," my mom responds respectfully.
"What's your daughter's name, by the way? I didn't catch it earlier."
"Her name is Lisa Volkov."
"That's a lovely name… Oh! I almost forgot the most important thing," she exclaims, her voice rising in excitement. "I just spoke with my husband, and we both agreed that you could start as soon as possible. Would you have time today for both of your interviews?"
I cover my mouth to stifle a scream of happiness. I remind myself not to count my chickens before they hatch.
"Yes, of course, ma'am. We are available even right now."
"Perfect! Let me give you the address; I'll be expecting you this morning."
She shares the address, and I quickly jot it down in her notebook.
As I glance at the address, I realize it's in the wealthiest part of town—the kind of neighborhood reserved for the rich of the rich.
After my mom says goodbye to the kind stranger on the phone, we hurry out of the booth, eager to get there as quickly as possible.
"I hope we both get this job," I say as we step into the chilly morning air.
"I hope so too, Lisa."
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone