Chapter 3
Chapter Three
ZOE
I’m not saying this job is completely without merit, just that the work is emotionally soul-killing and that security should take your belt and shoelaces each morning as a precaution.
Everyone in my row of cubicles is one tough call away from snapping.
Even the ancient building I work in is depressing.
It’s never the right temperature, smells mildly of blue cheese, and rumor has it there’s still asbestos in the walls.
We work in a gray world of half-sized cubicles constructed in two rows, on a floor that used to serve as an orphanage a hundred years ago.
Every time someone coughs, I hear echoes of long-forgotten children suffering from consumption.
The ping comes in my ear, and I speak even before I register the meaning of the words I’m saying. It’s like I’m in a trance or something, half asleep and reciting from rote memory. “Regal Health. How may I help you?”
“You denied my wife’s claim. She’s very ill and needs chemo to save her life.
The hospital says Regal is refusing to pay.
” The voice on the other end of the line is male and trembles with barely contained rage.
I’m betting he’s called before, and I’m betting that I won’t be able to give him a different answer.
“Can I have the name and address on the account, please?” He gives it to me, and I bring up his claim.
Jesus Christ, he has called before. Like fifty times.
Wife has a rare form of cancer excluded from the policy.
He’s insured by Regal and is up-to-date on his premiums, but his policy doesn’t cover her specific illness.
My eyes go blurry as I recite the canned response the system gives me, redirecting him to his insurance agent to review his policy.
“You people are heartless!” he seethes. “How do you look at yourself in the mirror in the morning?”
Everything feels heavy. This isn’t my fault, but I feel complicit in what’s happening to this man.
Maybe a few years ago, I could work a little magic on the system and help him without Regal ever knowing.
I come from a long line of powerful witches after all.
But I pushed too hard and abused my craft.
I’ve been cut off. I’ve got nothing anymore.
I can’t even conjure myself a cheese sandwich.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble into my microphone. “I’m just a call representative. There’s nothing I can do.”
He sniffs. “Right.”
The call disconnects.
“That’s going to get you fired,” pink-haired Emily says from behind me. We all call her pink-haired Emily to differentiate her from brunette Emily who works down the hall.
I squeeze my eyes closed. “I know,” I whine. “I just couldn’t kick him when he’s down with a trite ‘Thank you for calling Regal Health.’”
She rolls her chair closer to me. “They all sign the contracts, Zoe. It’s not our fault that no one reads them. Exclusions are exclusions. It helps if you don’t think about the human element.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You pretend the person calling you isn’t human? What, like they’re all robots or something?”
She sniffs. “No. Just…there are charitable agencies that will help them, eventually. Regal Health is a business. Just because we don’t pay for something doesn’t mean they won’t eventually get treatment.
I picture them figuring something else out once they know their policy won’t cover them.
Like, we’re doing them a favor providing them with closure on that. ”
I stare at her for a few long moments, but she’s actually serious. She’s convinced herself that everything always works out for people, that somehow, someone other than the people our customers paid to insure them will swoop in and solve this man’s problem.
Unfortunately, I know better. I don’t believe in heroes or guardian angels. The only thing at rock bottom is the rock and you. I would know. I’ve been there. And the only person who can push you off that rock and start the long and arduous climb back to ground zero is also you.
That man on the other end of the line is probably going to lose his wife.
She’s going to die because he didn’t read, or maybe didn’t understand, a fifty-four-page contract written in a way that is beyond most people’s comprehension.
She’s going to die because he probably didn’t have any other option anyway when he signed that contract.
People’s employers often choose these accounts.
She’s going to die because they’re poor and can’t pay cash.
“You’re probably right,” I say stiffly and turn back to my computer.
Three more hours until my shift is over.
I glance at the clock. With every tick of the second hand, it feels as though my energy is slowly being leached from my body.
I’m being drained of my blood, one drop at a time.
I close my eyes. I can do this. I have to do this.
I need the paycheck. I need the health insurance.
“Hey, Zoe, is this you?” Pink-haired Emily rolls her chair into the aisle again, her wheels squeaking and knocking against the linoleum floor.
With a sigh, I pivot slowly, almost wishing another call would come through.
Almost. I cringe when I see what’s on her screen.
It’s a picture of me in a slinky, disco-ball dress, sitting on a stool with an acoustic guitar in my lap.
The Barrel Room is advertising my show tonight.
Of course I’m using a stage name: Aimee Oliver.
I look different now that I’m healthy. Along with my decision to switch to folk-inspired pop music, more conservative clothing, and smaller venues, it’s given me a second chance at a baby music career.
It’s nothing like the one I had with Raven’s Wish, and the opportunities and money are nowhere near what they were and probably never will be.
But at least I have the smallest sliver of light in my life to look forward to.
I’m rarely recognized as Zoe Willow these days, which is for the best.
“Uh, yeah. It’s just a hobby.”
“Oh my gosh! I was just out looking at places to take Gary for his birthday, and there you were. I didn’t know you were a singer.”
I snort. “Well, you know…” I don’t mention that there was a time that I thought I could be the next Taylor Swift.
That dream has died a slow, painful death.
Only a few venues in the area will schedule me since my personal implosion and fall from grace, and, again, the pay barely covers transportation to the venue.
Singing, truly, is something I do only for personal fulfillment these days.
“Exciting, though!” Emily says. “Maybe I’ll head down there tonight with Gary. Have a few drinks. Cheer you on.”
“Oh, don’t put yourself out.” I would never invite anyone from work to one of my shows.
It’s awkward, especially considering the one area of magic that hasn’t left me is my voice.
Things always seem to get out of hand when people who have heard me sing see me in real life.
And I need this job. If things go wrong here, it could mean trouble for me.
“I’d like to watch you perform, and I know Gary would too,” she says sweetly.
I frown. “Here’s the thing, Emily,” I start, digging for a good lie. “I’m not very good as it is, and if you were there, I’d be really nervous. I know you want to be supportive, but honestly, you’d make it ten times harder for me.”
“Oh.” She tucks her chin and extends her lower lip as if she can’t believe I’ve just suggested that her presence might not be welcome.
“Well, okay. I guess being an amateur is hard. I get it. I was once in a play in high school, and every time I was supposed to go onstage, I suffered major anxiety.”
“Right. So… Tell you how it goes on Monday?”
She looks completely deflated. “Sure. Of course.” She holds up a finger as a call comes through, and she turns back to her computer to answer.
Bullet dodged.
I may have burned all my bridges in the music industry, but I intend to sing until the day I die. My big dreams may be dead, but my talent isn’t. And I will protect this tiny niche of happiness with everything I’ve got.
I glance at the clock. Two hours, fifty minutes until I can log out.