Free Less Than Perfect by Ber Carroll

denominator, the style not just of the commuters but of the city itself. Today I’m wearing a swishing skirt, a scooped short-sleeved top and stilettos, all black. The only colour in my outfit is my necklace, silver knotted around blue stones, and, of course, my hair.
    â€˜Hey, Caitlin.’ Jo, the receptionist, smiles. ‘Have a good weekend?’
    â€˜Yeah. How about you?’
    â€˜Busy. Too much on. Came to work to recover!’
    Jo is joking. There’s no time for ‘recovering’ at the Learning Space reception desk: the phones are relentless. Jo already has a queue of calls, most of them from lost, panicked trainees who aren’t used to finding their way around the city.
    She answers the next call in the queue. ‘Yes, we’re on Collins. Near the corner of Elizabeth. Keep walking …’
    I continue on to my desk, smiling at people on the way. Learning Space is a friendly company, small enough for everyone to know each other and big enough to be dynamic, exciting and sometimes unpredictable. And there’s something nice about the notion of training, of enhancing someone’s education and skills and sending a better, more knowledgeable person back out into the workforce. Training suggests optimism, an openness to change, the possibility of a different future. It resounds with me, and for that reason I’m very good at selling it.
    â€˜Caitlin!’
    Jarrod, my boss, has seen me pass his office and summons me inside. I change direction, stifling a sigh. I always prefer to have a settling-in period before facing Jarrod: he’s hard to stomach first thing in the morning.
    â€˜Morning, Jarrod,’ I say brightly.
    Jarrod’s face is angular and exact, just like his personality, and his eyes seem to stare rather than see. Even his hair has attitude, short at the sides, spiky at the front. He’s excellent at reading clients and for him, like me, nothing is out of bounds when it comes to keeping the customer happy. Sometimes, though, all that’s required is a smile and it’s a pity he doesn’t seem to realise this.
    â€˜What happened with Derek on Friday?’
    Jarrod should really save this question for the sales meeting that’s scheduled in an hour’s time, but patience isn’t one of his strengths.
    â€˜He’s talking about discounts,’ I reply. ‘It’s getting closer.’
    â€˜There’s a board meeting next week. Will I know by then?’
    I’ve never been to a board meeting and the thought of Jarrod going in there, making my deal look like his own, is enoughto make jealousy ricochet throughout my body. The reality is that I’m a mere sales consultant and he’s the manager. He is the face of sales while I’m background, invisible. I imagine that the board members love him. He takes himself and the business very seriously. He’s articulate, well informed and respectful. The fact that he lacks a sense of humour would be barely apparent to them.
    â€˜That’s cutting it tight,’ I say in a voice which, to my credit, doesn’t betray my feelings. ‘I’m doing the pricing today. I expect some argy-bargy with Derek before he agrees to an order.’
    â€˜Will I call him?’
    â€˜No. If we push too hard, the whole thing could fall through. You know how perverse he can be.’
    Jarrod nods: he understands. He won’t make me push. He asked only because sometimes his impatience gets the better of his judgment, but once he realises this he always backs off.
    â€˜Was it a late one Friday night?’ he asks.
    His question is not as casual as it sounds. Jarrod has a rather unimaginative approach to entertaining clients, sticking rigidly to expensive meals and wines consumed within the limitations of a self-imposed curfew of 11 pm. He doesn’t approve of my more flexible approach, and is better off not knowing about the beer, bourbon and pool playing that