by Tara Ellis
They arrived 15 minutes early at Starbucks. Artemis popped the trunk and tried to see if he could resolve the problem himself. He couldn’t. The inside of Shelby looked like a convoluted mess. He slammed the trunk pissed at how illiterate he was. He cursed. He shook his fist. He saw his oldest friend’s reaction which made him embarrassed.
“See if she’s there would you?” he said. A dainty little sweet thing of a voice came from behind Timsley.
“I’m right behind you.” To Artemis the interviewee was too young to have had the qualifications Timsley spoke of. She was practically jailbait. She was a tall girl somewhere just under 6 foot, without the heels she would be shorter, but with them she met eye to eye with Timsley. She was a little on the slim side, Tim’s frame could engulf her image from Artemis. She had her ebony hair in a ponytail that dangled long, reminding him of a whip ready to snap. She was gorgeous. She had supermodel good looks. It’s odd because these types aren’t the ones vying to be a theater technician; these were the types that wanted to live on the stage.
Timsley put out his hand, she took it and gave her name; “Selena Santana.” Artemis told them to get acquainted inside and he would join them later. He pulled his trusty brown baggy thinking he needed to ease his nerves. He carefully pulled a bump out and peeled the wrapping carefully. Scooped a little with his key and inhaled. He wanted the powder to bring him back down to tranquility. He got his wish.
After he walked inside, Artemis extended his hand to the young lady. “Hello, nice to meet you. I am Artemis Sebring.” He tried to keep his poise; tone very cordial and professional.
“I know who you are,” she said. She had a glimmer in her eyes. Star struck. But he allowed it, he thought that people couldn’t help themselves when they saw him; after all he was famous. “Me and my family watch you on television.”
“Well thank you for the flattery.”
She gave him a giggle. She faked it well enough to make him seem funny. He knew he wasn’t funny off stage, not the slightest bit. She was just putting her best foot forward; the foot she wanted to get in the door.
Artemis got right down to business. “This is how your interview is going to work, were going to be running a brief history of my company to you….uh miss. I’m sorry, I forgot your name. Miss?”
She opened her mouth to answer but Timsley beat her to it. “Miss Selena Santana.” He rolled his tongue as he said her name then sipped his coffee.
“We’ll be giving you a little bit of what the job requires and giving you some questions. Sounds good?”
“Sounds good,” she replied.
“Basically were trying to see if this will be the right fit for us.”
Timsley interrupted “I have a feeling it will.” She gives him a smile.
“Still we have to interview you and go through proper procedures.”
“I’m sorry before you begin Artemis. I just want to let you know Selena that this position requires you to be over eighteen. How old are you exactly?
“I just turned twenty-one not too long ago.”
“Really wow you look a lot younger.”
“Everybody says that.”
“Don’t take it as an offence when you’re a lot older you’ll appreciate it.”
“Mostly people say I still look eighteen….”
“Really?” said Artemis. “I was guessing eighteen but in a really good light you would pass for sixteen.”
She laughed it off. “OH wow gosh.”
“No way, that wouldn’t be legal,” said Timsley.
Artemis gave his friend a funny look and refocused on his interview.
“I started my company in 1975….” He gave her a rundown of how it all began. He read from a clipboard. She was in some way set back by the professional sounding man in front of her. She had an image in her mind that Mr. Sebring was always jolly, prancing and singing in sparkly outfits. But she felt this wasn’t an interview with the entertainer, this was an interview with Mr. Sebring entrepreneur. He went on for 5 minutes about his accolades and another ten about what the job requires. His tone was very dry. But she kept with him.
“Okay now Selena this is the Q and A portion of the interview,” said Artemis. He gave her 12 questions she nailed them, every last one. She didn’t stumble, she didn’t hesitate; she owned the interview. He asked her if she was comfortable living on a train for the duration of the tour. She told him it would be an adjustment but she could settle.
He asked her about her experiences, she told him she earned her bachelor’s degree at Notre Dame. She whipped out her resume. Timsley and Artemis eyes scampered across the sheet of paper. They were impressed. But in Artemis’s head there was a small itch he had for this young and impressive woman. He couldn’t place it exactly. He sensed a small fraction in her character. From the thirty years he’d been dealing with the entertainment business, signing deals, getting interviewed on television, meeting fans, having wild rumpuses with groupies, he obtained the ability to read people. What he saw was this fakeness to Selena’s character. The longer the interview went it became clear to him that Selena Santana was hiding behind some type of mask. She was almost a little too good to be true. He started to second guess her credentials. He wondered about that for a moment while still keeping the momentum of the interview.
Timsley had his turn asking questions. He couldn’t see what Artemis saw, he was stuck in the marvel of this young woman. Their Q and A had finished. He was going to rap everything up until he decided to ask this “Do you have any questions for us Miss Santana?”
“I sure do. With every show you give what impression do you want to leave the audience?”
Artemis had to think about it for a moment. “That the performance I gave was heartfelt. And that I was genuine.” He said that last portion slowly to see if she would give a small flux in her body language. She didn’t. She gave him a smile, a wide one, but she didn’t show teeth. She had more questions for him and he answered with the best of his ability. He soon wrapped up the interview with this line, “We still have people were trying to interview, if something is available we will call you.”
They all stood up from the booth. Selena’s resume was left on the table. Timsley gave Artemis a look that said what the hell are you talking about.
The lady didn’t like that at all; she felt the rejection in his voice. She was a lady that wanted the job so she had to go the extra mile for it. She told him “I know what’s wrong with your car.” She headed outside.
“That’s not necessary; I’ll just take it…” She was already out the door. Timsley then walked out behind her, and Artemis followed.
She popped the trunk. She moved like a surgeon in the innards of Shelby. “Please this car is three times more valuable than your whole college education.”
“Give er’ a chance will you,” pleaded Timsley.
“Good news,” she said. “There is nothing major wrong with your car. You’re just out of oil.”
She made Artemis feel even more ignorant. Maybe she was right, but his pride wouldn’t allow it. “Who does she think she is, making me out to be a fool?” he thought.
“There some extra oil in the trunk,” said Timsley.
“I can guarantee you it is not the oil,” protested Artemis. But the trunk had sprung open anyways and then shut. She came back under the hood and carefully nursed Shelby like a baby newborn. She shut the hood. She told him to give her a try. He went and switched the ignition. She came alive. She sounded like a healthy girl; none of that coughing or sneezing she was doing earlier.
Sebring was proven a fool. He was also impressed because rarely has he been proven wrong in the open. She swaggered over to Artemis. He read her body language once more; she was totally self satisfied.
“I wouldn’t want you to forget this,” she said. She ha
nded him a sheet of paper stained with the oil on her fingers. It was her resume.
Faux
