by Hamel, B. B.
Even though he had been a total asshole, I still couldn’t get him off of my mind. The news that his father was a big movie producer only made him that much more alluring to me. It wasn’t the money, but the fact that he had a connection to something I loved that interested me. I imagined what his life must have been like growing up in the film industry. My mother would have killed for something like that considering she had made her professional academic career analyzing movies.
I kept thinking back to his perfectly fitted faded jeans and designer shirt, distressed perfectly to appear vintage, and I realized he looked like the consummate rich guy. But there was something in his look, behind his cocky, self-assured grin, that I couldn’t understand. Not to mention he walked into the theater showing Pierre Le Fou, which was a French movie by a famous filmmaker named Jean-Luc Godard. My mother adored Godard, and I was surprised Noah was interested in watching his stuff. I never got into it, but I would have given it another chance if it meant sitting next to Noah in the dark for an hour or two. Chris and I ended up seeing an old Clint Eastwood western, which spared me from having to bump into Noah again. I couldn’t decide if that was fortunate or not.
I huffed as Chris and I stood up and went back inside, trying to forget the thoughts that kept swirling through my mind. Noah Carterson, asshole, playboy, and rich kid, was lodged firmly in my skull, and I couldn’t shake him loose.
I loved the first day of class. The previous week was full of freshmen moving into their dorms, upperclassmen lounging around in the shade, and everything generally gearing up for the coming semester. When classes were out, campus was a ghost town; even the lunch trucks closed up since the majority of their customers were either at home or just not coming around. But things slowly got more frantic and exciting until it all peaked on the first day.
I walked through the center of campus, passed by the bell tower and the library, and made my way toward Anderson Hall. My first class was the one I was most excited for: Survey of Early American Films, 1901 – 1951. That time period in film history was so romantic to me; everything was new, every technique was just being discovered, the way to write and market a film was slowly being understood, and the big studios rose up around Hollywood and began to dominate the industry. It was full of gossip and intrigue and amazing stories. I breathed in the warm autumn air and smiled as hoards of lost-looking freshmen walked by.
Campus was perfect when the weather was nice. I wore my favorite sundress, clean white sneakers with white ankle socks, and a new backpack I got over the summer. I eyed up everyone around me, but I didn’t recognize anyone, except for the annoying kid who always sat on the Bell Tower’s steps and played his awful guitar music. That wasn’t surprising though, since Temple had thousands of kids. Still, I recognized a general pattern and flow, the way people sat on benches and ate on their breaks, professors hurrying through the crowds to make it in time for their next overfull class, and general maintenance guys lining up outside the pizza lunch trucks. I smiled and felt strangely at home.
I pushed open the door to Anderson and walked through the crowded downstairs atrium. My class was on the second floor, so I bypassed the packed line for the elevators, and started to climb the steps. Anderson was probably the most poorly designed building in the world. It had only two main elevators for twelve floors, and they were constantly packed like sardine cans. I always avoided them when possible. Usually, only freshmen and people on the uppermost levels took the elevators anyway.
After a short climb, I pushed out into the hall, and found room 237. I was ten minutes early, but I liked having time in case I couldn’t find the room. Temple’s campus was notoriously difficult to navigate, and rooms seemed to appear and disappear in different spots every semester. I sat down toward the back and began to unpack my bag, looking around at the other students.
People slowly filtered into the large room, taking up most spaces. With a few minutes left before the start of the class, Professor Johnson entered, looking haggard and tired. I had heard about him from my mom; he was supposedly brilliant, but incredibly weird. He sat down in front of the class and started to unpack his briefcase.
As Professor Johnson looked like he was about to start the lecture, two more students entered. The first one was a tall, slim blonde girl, wearing short jean shorts and a tight white T-shirt. She was the typical hot blonde girl, and I could have sworn I had seen her a hundred times before. The guy that followed her, however, took my breath away: it was Noah, grinning his usual cocky grin.
I couldn’t believe it. Noah Carterson, that asshole, was in my class, and was headed my way. The blonde skank led him into the back of the room, and as they passed by, Noah locked eyes with me. A small smirk replaced his grin, and he stopped next to me as he walked past.
“Hey there, polka dots,” he said quietly. I turned bright red.
“Hi, Noah,” I said, getting lost in his intense gaze.
“Fancy meeting you here. What’s the color today?”
My jaw dropped. Was he serious?
“Noah, come sit with me,” came the whiniest voice ever. We both looked over at the skank, gesturing impatiently for him to join her.
“Looks like your Barbie is calling,” I spat back.
“Tell me later then. I’d love another show.” He gave me a spine-melting smile, and then walked back to sit next to Stripper Barbie. I kept my head down, face bright red, and my heart was beating hard as excitement filled my chest.
I was seething and hot as Professor Johnson started his lecture. I couldn’t follow a single thing he said; it was all a blur of times, dates, and assignments. I was furious that Noah kept calling me “polka dots,” and couldn’t believe his nerve. He was walking around with the most cliché-looking skank I had ever seen, and he decides to stop and flirt with me right in front of her? It was insulting on so many levels, and yet I was flattered. I couldn’t help myself; he was wearing a V-neck shirt that showed off the top of a chest tattoo, his hair was pushed back and wavy, and his muscles looked perfect.
As soon as the class was finished, I shoved my stuff into my bag and rushed out the door. I didn’t want to give him another chance to imagine what color my underwear was, let alone have to engage with that horrible chick he was with. As I sped down the hall, I wondered if she was his girlfriend, but I doubted it. Based on what Chris told me, she was probably his most recent conquest.
I obsessed about his smile and the way he came on to me with such confidence as I filtered out into the beautiful day. I had to hustle to make it to my next class on time, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to mentally pick apart every detail of the short interaction. I wasn’t normally such a prude; I’d been with a few guys, though nothing really serious. I wasn’t a virgin, but I had only ever been with my high school boyfriend. Finding a crush was just never a huge priority for me, though I wasn’t as adverse to it as Chrissy seemed to be.
I thought I had experience with assholes like Noah, but he seemed like something completely different. I had never met a guy with such obvious self-assurance and easy grace. He was charming even when he was being obnoxious, and I hated and wanted him for it.
Chapter Three
That night, as I plopped down on the couch after a long day of class, I had to come face to face with my financial reality. My parents were helping as much as they could with tuition, but it was up to me to pay for my living expenses. I had some money saved up from my summer job, but that was quickly running out. I had to get the worst thing imaginable for a young girl living on a college campus: a job.
That was an exaggeration of course; I was used to working as many jobs as I needed to get by. I had always been as independent as possible, and hated the idea of someone else paying for everything.
I pulled out my laptop and navigated through the university’s job listings page. Last year, I had worked in the dean’s office answering phones, but it was such a miserable position, with so many people complaining all the time, that I couldn’t bring my
self to go back there again. I scrolled through the postings, feeling more and more despair, until finally I came across what seemed like the perfect job.
I clicked the link and read the description. It was ideal, and I had plenty of experience in the position already. As Chris sat down beside me and launched into her usual early-semester bitch fest, complaining about her workload and schedule, I sent out my resume, hoping I’d get a call soon.
I didn’t hear anything the next day, but the day after that I got a call. Beyond excited, I offered to come in as soon as possible for an interview, and the kind-sounding woman on the phone scheduled me to come in that very night. I guessed they really needed the help if they were willing to meet with me that day.
My next film history class in room 237 was better. I sat up front and managed to more or less avoid Noah, though he did give me a huge smile as he walked by. That time, though, he didn’t sit next to Stripper Barbie, and I briefly wondered what had happened between them. I felt thrilled and terrified, all at once. I was able to actually pay attention that time, and found Professor Johnson’s lecture style was interesting but all over the place, which was exactly what I’d been expecting.
Afterward, I floated through my next classes, nervous about the interview. It wasn’t the first interview I had ever been on, far from it. But I really needed the job, and it was the perfect gig. I could have easily seen myself working there for the rest of my time at Temple, and the pay would definitely have covered everything I needed, at least with a little budgeting.
Finally, as my last class let out, I hurried over to the student center. I was scheduled to meet with the manager at four-thirty, and since my class let out at four-twenty, I had to hustle. I followed the familiar path through back hallways, skipped down the familiar staircase, and came up to the box office ticket window of the new student-run theater.
“Hi, I’m here for an interview,” I said to the bored-looking girl sitting behind the glass. She looked me over and nodded.
“That would be with Miss Havisham.”
I paused at the name. “Seriously?” I asked.
The girl grinned. “Yep. And don’t mention it to her, she gets weird about it.”
I nodded. “Thanks,” I said.
“She’s in the back office, right around this corner. Good luck.”
I gave her a little wave, grateful, and followed her directions. There was a black door with “Staff Office” in silver letters. I knocked on it twice, and a voice inside told me to enter.
I pushed the door open and was hit full-on in the face with a thick cloud of perfume. The room was small, dominated by a single desk in the center, but the walls were plastered with old movie posters. There was a coat rack in the corner with feather boas, top hats, and other costume parts thrown carelessly all over it. The woman sitting behind the desk was probably in her late fifties. She wore heavy makeup, and was pretty, despite the somewhat clownish appearance she had. Her hair was cut short and brown, and her smile was kind.
“Well hello there, what can I do for you?”
“I’m Linda, I have an interview.”
She stood, smile growing larger. “Linda, great to meet you.”
We shook hands, and she gestured for me to sit down in front of her. I took a seat, feeling strangely at ease. We started the interview with the usual questions: previous experience, why I was a good fit, my weaknesses, etc. Miss Havisham was incredibly easy to talk with, and her boisterous personality, mixed with the old-school Hollywood décor of her office, made her seem like a 1930s film star. We hit it off immediately, and ended the interview chatting aimlessly about Charlton Heston. Finally, she checked her watch, and looked surprised.
“Well dear, it’s already past five.”
“Really? That went fast.”
“It truly did. Look, I’m not supposed to do this, but I’m going to offer you the job. Salary and all that jazz was on the posting. If you’re fine with it, I’d love to have you around.”
I couldn’t believe it. “I would love that, thank you so much.”
“Fantastic!” she exclaimed, and stood up. She gestured dramatically toward the door. “Let’s go meet the rest of the staff and get you acquainted!”
I stood, and she moved around the desk, then I followed her out into the main room. It had been one of the strangest job interviews I had ever gone on, and I had never heard of someone not only landing the job on the spot, but also getting to meet the other staff. She introduced me to the girl in the box office. Her name was Chelsea, a junior, and she gave me a warm smile. I liked her right away. I followed Miss Havisham toward the concession stand, where she introduced me to Chuck and Mikey, both seniors, and probably the goofiest-seeming guys I had ever seen. They were obviously good friends, and grinned at me stupidly the whole time.
“Now this young man is the heart and soul of our little rag-tag group,” she said as we moved back toward the theaters. “He does tickets mostly, though he’s doing your future job right now. Where has he gotten himself?”
We walked into the largest of the three theaters, and Miss Havisham waved at a guy sweeping up the floor between the rows of seats in the front.
“Noah, come here darling,” she called out.
Noah? Was she kidding me? There was no way it was him. And then it struck me: his dad had paid for the theater. How could I have been so stupid? My heart began to hammer in my chest.
As he got closer, my jaw almost dropped from my face. Of course it was Noah Carterson, grinning his huge, cocky grin, and looking me up and down. How could I have been so dim as to think he wouldn’t be working there?
“Noah Carterson, Linda Lewis.”
His eyes locked on mine, and he reached his hand out. “Linda, great to meet you.”
I turned bright red, and shook his hand. His fingers were soft but his grip was firm, and it sent chills along my arms. His eyes were practically laughing, and part of me wanted to run away. Instead, I met his gaze.
“Do you two know each other?” Miss Havisham said, noting the tension.
Noah grinned at her. I fully realized how charming he was in that moment, gracefully moving to dispel the awkwardness and to make Miss Havisham feel like a part of the moment.
“Not really, Miss H. We had a small run in the other day.”
“Good, since you two will be working closely together.”
Working closely together? I couldn’t imagine anything I wanted to do less.
“Looking forward to seeing more of you,” Noah said. I caught the double meaning of his comment and blushed. I had no clue what it was about him, but every comment seemed to put me off.
“Same to you,” I said.
“Back to work you lazy miscreant!” Miss Havisham announced dramatically, and Noah laughed as he moved back to the row he had been working on. As we turned to go, I caught him staring at me, and he gave me a small nod.
“So dear, can you start on Monday?” Miss Havisham asked as we emerged back into the lobby.
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Great! Stop by sometime tomorrow to fill out the paperwork. I look forward to seeing you!”
“Same to you. Thanks so much.”
She shook my hand again then moved back into her office. I walked back toward the stairs, up into the student center, and headed back toward my apartment in a daze. I couldn’t see the people milling around campus, the bright colors of their clothing and of the turning leaves, the beautiful late August sunset, because I’d be seeing a lot more of Noah in the future. We’d be working very closely together, according to flamboyant Miss Havisham.
It was, without a doubt, the weirdest job interview I had ever been on. It felt like it had happened in a dream, complete with the nightmare turn at the end.
Chapter Four
That night, after climbing the stairs to my apartment, head still reeling from finding out about Noah, I immediately called my mom. We’d always been pretty close, especially when I was younger, and I talked to her about
everything. Well, almost everything. I hadn’t told her about Noah’s nickname for me, or even about his existence yet, since I had no clue what I even thought about him yet. But since I was going to be working with him, and his dad was a famous producer, I figured I might as well mention the name and see if she knew who he was.
“Hey, Lindy,” Mom said when she answered.
“Hi, Mom, how are you?”
“Oh I’m fine, just dealing with the start of the new semester. How’s school? Professor Johnson giving you any trouble?”
Sometimes it was a little odd that Mom knew everyone in the film department. She taught at the University of Pennsylvania, which was across the city in west Philly, but pretty much everyone knew each other in her field.
“He’s fine, just pretty weird.”
“Yeah, well, he’ll get even weirder. Trust me.”
I laughed. I couldn’t imagine how that was possible, but I believed her.
“How are your classes?” I asked.
“They’re fine, you know how it goes. Same students ever year, just different faces.” My mom had the theory that the same twelve students took her class every year, but they got lots of plastic surgery between semesters. She was always complaining how she couldn’t tell them apart.
“They’re probably aliens,” I said.
“Oh, that’s a good idea. Shape shifting aliens.”
“Start on the script.”
“Already halfway through.” We laughed together. We always had a really good relationship, and I thought my mom was the funniest person I knew.
“So anyway, I got a job,” I said carefully.
“Great! What are you doing?”
“It’s in the new movie theater.”
“Oh, that’s fantastic sweetie. I heard it’s pretty nice.”
“Yeah, it is. My boss is this crazy lady named Miss Havisham.”
