Wicked Game

1 It's Only Rock 'n' Roll (But I Like It)Family curses never die, they just mutate. In Greek mythology, the curse of the House of Atreus began with some smart-ass making soup du jour for the gods out of his own son's meaty bits. Things went downhill from there. These days, though, the curse probably just makes the Atreus family forget to send each other birthday cards.The curse of the House of Griffin, whatever sinister form it may have taken in the Old World, has left me with a gift for the persuasive arts. In the straight world, this means sales and marketing -- or as I like to call it, S&M.The slim, thirtyish dude across the desk scans my skimpy resume. Short dark hair flops over his forehead as he nods along with the blues squawking from a wall speaker. His fingers tap the wooden surface between us in unconscious synchronicity.The tiny office's clutter of memorabilia would shame the Hard Rock Cafe. Near one boarded-up window, a life-size cardboard John Lennon peers into my soul; near the other, Jerry Lee Lewis peers through my blouse."So, Ciara..." David slips me an earnest glance. "Why do you -- ""It'skeer-ah, not see-air-ah." I rattle off the pronunciation as politely as I can. "Not like the mountains.""Sorry. I bet you get that all the time." He flips my resume to look at the other side. Blank. He lifts my portfolio folder, probably searching for another page. "Where's the rest of your job experience?"I give him a wide-open smile. "In the future, I hope."He blinks, then looks back at the resume. His eyebrows pop up. "Well, it's very readable."Due, no doubt, to the sixteen-point font I used to fill up the page.He inspects it again, green eyes flitting back and forth in a desperate search for an interview kickoff. "Ciara. Interesting spelling.""It's Irish. It means 'dark and mysterious.'" I point to my tawny hair and studiously guileless eyes. "Even though I'm neither."David's lips twitch up briefly, then he puts the resume aside and opens my portfolio. While he examines it, his thumb pumps the plunger on his ballpoint, creating a staccato of clicks that wears my nerves down to the nub. I resist the urge to wipe my clammy hands on my only interview suit.The air-conditioning clunks on. Above my head, backstage passes begin to flutter in the breeze, hanging like Christmas decorations from the antlers of a peeved-eyed deer."This first project's dated six years ago," David says. "I take it you go to Sherwood College part-time?"My shoulders tense. "I take sabbaticals." Oops, this was supposed to be an exercise in honesty. "I mean, I take breaks so I can earn tuition."He nods in sympathy. "It's expensive. I gave the army four years of my life in exchange for a degree.""The army, wow. Did you kill anyone?"His gaze sharpens, and I wince at my nerve-induced idiocy. Usually when I botch an interview, it's on purpose. The fact that I actually want this job makes my stomach ache.David's mouth relaxes into a smirk. "Shouldn't I be askingyouquestions?""Sorry. Ask anything." As long as it's not about me."Why do you want to work at WMMP?"I knew that one was coming, and I've been working on a convincing answer ever since David found me through my college's job-match program."I love rock 'n' roll." Damn, that was cheesy. I rub my nose and look away. "I wasn't allowed to listen to it growing up, but I did anyway. I'd lie under the covers at night with my Walkman, listening to tapes I'd stolen -- I mean, borrowed -- uh, stolen." This truth thing is harder than I expected. "Anyway, I figured a radio station might suck my soul less than a corporation would. Plus it's already June tomorrow, and I'm desperate. I can't graduate without a summer internship, and if I don't get out of this town soon, I'll -- " My mouth shuts, about three sentences too late.David blinks, and blinks, until I wonder if the