Miranda Dickinson - I’ll Take New York

Bea had to admit that it would be good to talk to the barman again. Their conversation about the benefits of singledom had been a lot of fun. ‘As if that’s likely to happen. Apart from in your head.’

Imelda grinned. ‘Hey, my head is a nice place to be, believe me. I’m just saying, honey, it’s possible that last night was an opportunity you were meant to take. And in my experience, if life wants you to take a certain road, you’ll end up coming back to it time and time again. My great-aunt Lavinia always says life is like the baggage carousel at the airport: if you don’t collect your case first time around it will keep passing you until you do.’

Bea wasn’t sure if Jake could be compared with a suitcase – or if Imelda’s batty great-aunt’s philosophy carried any grain of truth – but it made her smile nevertheless.

‘Excuse me, do you have air-drying clay?’ A customer peered over the counter.

‘We do,’ Imelda replied, casting a wink in Bea’s direction as she headed into the store to find it.

On her own again, Bea considered what her friend had suggested. Meeting Jake had been a fluke.

Hadn’t it?

The thought was still playing on her mind that evening when Bea finally arrived home from the bookstore. Feeling better after talking with Imelda, she had returned to Hudson River Books and thrown herself into work, much to Russ’ relief.

It was almost seven p.m. when she turned her key in the front door of her apartment, swinging the paper bag of Chinese food onto the breakfast bar before taking off her coat. The thought of what had happened last night and the possibility that it might be the start of a new chapter of her life intrigued her. Not that she thought for a minute that Jake had anything to do with her future. But the very fact that she had met somebody engaging and different when only days before she had been at her lowest ebb was enough to give her hope. Relationships might be a thing of the past for her, but at least New York had proved it still had the ability to surprise her. Perhaps if the luggage carousel of life was turning in her favour, a new friend might be on the way …

Jake studied the long list of possible PA candidates in his notebook, acutely aware of how long this day was going to be. In the week following Rosie and Ed’s engagement party he had been making a determined effort to focus on practical matters, with an impressive rate of success. All around him, plastic-wrapped office furniture, still-boxed computers and a rather impressive counselling couch were testament to his recent activities. He had already confirmed details of the final design with his interior decorator and the team of painters would begin work in two days, leaving him this window of time to recruit new staff for the practice.

But there was where the problem lay: the search for a suitable replacement for Pam was proving tricky. The recruitment consultant Jake had contracted from a prestigious Manhattan personnel agency had assured him that all the shortlisted candidates were amply qualified. According to the CVs laid out on his new desk, the excellent SAT scores, Ivy League degrees and proven aptitude for clinical administration promised great things. But so far this morning, Jake had been faced with a seemingly never-ending stream of humourless, ambitious airheads bearing no resemblance to the ideal-on-paper candidates whatsoever.

‘My inspiration is Kim Kardashian,’ one candidate had earnestly informed him, ‘because of her business acumen .’ She had emphasised the words as if to add gravitas to her argument. Jake, his smile as steady as he could keep it, had nodded knowingly as he carefully drew a definite line through her name.

Another woman had blatantly misread the job description before applying for the post and was most surprised to learn that a psychiatrist did a vastly different job to a psychic . Yet another laughed when Jake asked whether she enjoyed the challenge of office administration, answering: ‘Are you nuts? It’s like dying slowly on your feet. I just need a job until my agent finds me the right movie …’

How was it possible for so many supposedly well-educated young women to be so devoid of personality, common sense or intellect? Jake strongly suspected the recruiter’s mention that the prospective client was a newly single young doctor with expensive Manhattan offices might have had more to do with the interviewees’ enthusiasm to apply for the job than their natural aptitude.

‘Why do you want to work at this practice?’ he asked the latest candidate, a softly spoken twenty-something who had listed Friedrich Nietzsche as one of her major life influences on her résumé but, when pressed, couldn’t recall any of his theories.

‘I think working for you could meet my career aspirations.’

‘Which are …?’

‘To progress my career in an interesting and challenging environment.’

Jake suppressed a sigh. ‘Listen, Madison, forget the accepted interview responses and just talk to me. I want to know about you as a person: what interests do you have? What beliefs do you live by? What makes Madison Montgomery who she is?’

Madison blinked. ‘Working here?’

Switching into analyst mode, Jake leaned towards her and softened his voice. ‘Apart from that. I’m curious as to why you applied for this position. What excites you about working in a psychiatry practice? Do you have an interest in the field? I notice in your résumé that you mention several philosophers as key influences on your life ’

Madison was having a hard time disguising the growing panic in her eyes. After a few excruciatingly long moments of silence, she sighed. ‘I just need a job, OK? I can organise an office and your diary. I can field calls, prioritise tasks and act as a point of first contact between you and your patients – sorry, clients . But beyond that, I don’t care whether you are a doctor of psychiatry or a CEO of a Dow Jones listed company.’

And there it is , Jake congratulated himself for seeing this coming the moment Madison entered the room. ‘Great. Thank you for your honesty. I’ll be in touch.’ He watched her leave the room without so much as a parting thank you and sank back into his brand new office chair. Maybe the recruiter he had chosen was wrong for the task. He knew there were bright, intelligent candidates in New York. So how come none of them wanted to work for him?

The list of names was nearing the halfway mark now. That was something. He checked his watch and stood, wandering over to the window overlooking Broadway where a flurry of yellow cabs was backed up in early afternoon traffic. The Lincoln Center was draped in huge banners advertising the New York Ballet’s upcoming season. A lone dancer appeared to be jumping across the grey concrete expanse of the building and the undulating ripples in the banner’s length gave the impression that she was flying. It was an intensely positive image that Jake instantly liked, as if the dancer represented the creative, driven spirit of the city thriving in its hard landscape. He smiled. There was a good reason he had chosen to return to New York. It would be tough, but he was tough. Growing up here had woven stubborn drive into his DNA and that counted for a lot. It would get him through his divorce; spur him on to find success in his new practice; and then, who knew?

Three hours later, any vestige of enthusiasm Jake had for appointing a new PA had evaporated like the steam rising from Broadway drains in the early evening air. Nothing – not even someone he could train to love the job. He’d had three offers of telephone numbers, a crash course in how not to write a résumé and several hours’ experience of identical stock answers, but nobody had even come close. In frustration he had dismissed the final eight candidates, who vacated the premises with little more than resigned disinterest. Were his standards too high? He half-wondered if the problems stemmed from a subconscious need to sabotage his new business before it had begun. Without a decent PA, how could he hope to offer the level of service his San Franciscan clients had enjoyed? Tired and irritated, he dismissed the thought. If he was going to end the day without his first employee it wasn’t for lack of trying.