If you’ve never interviewed with a video game company, let me just say don’t bother dressing up.
James
Easy for him to say. When it came to job interviews, being told not to bother dressing up didn’t simplify matters. Should I wear jeans and a t-shirt? Corduroys and a sweater? Lederhosen?
Then there was the panic over how—come to think of it—I didn’t know the first thing about video games, and my Star Wars knowledge was a mile-wide and an inch deep, and how exactly did I think writing a few chapters of a chintzy novelization translated into a skill for which I would be paid?
Promptly at 2:45 on Monday, the express bus dropped me a block from the high-rise downtown where Free Universe rented a floor. I had opted for the corduroys and sweater, and Phyl had lent me a messenger bag to hold my few writing samples and a notebook. Going in the revolving door, I checked my watch: 2:46. Too early.
Across the atrium I spotted a Starbucks, however, and headed over to kill ten minutes. It would never do to arrive with coffee breath or even to go in carrying a drink, but I could get a bottled water and slip it in my bag when the time came.
“Frak me!” exclaimed the tubby guy two people ahead of me in line. “Lewis, that’s why I won’t come down and order your Starbucks drinks—you drink girl coffee. Guys don’t do flavored syrups.”
“God, Riley,” said the thin, rather monotone girl in front of me, “would you quit with the Battlestar Galactica cusswords and the sexual harassment. I take black, drip coffee just like you do.”
“My point exactly,” said Riley, earning an exasperated huff from her. “You’re a guy with the best of them, Jer, not like Lewis here with his sugar-free vanilla.”
Lewis was not an undersized guy, and Riley’s attacks on his manhood didn’t seem to faze him. “Don’t knock it till you try it, Ri.”
“Are we going to get James or Murray anything?” the girl spoke up again after she and Riley had ordered their tall drips.
“No way,” declared Riley. “If we get them something, then everyone sits there with a drink except new girl.”
“It could be okay,” ‘Jer’ insisted. “Intimidating, like, ‘we all have a drink and you don’t.’”
“You gonna bully her, Jeri?” asked Lewis.
Jeri scrunched up her nose and looked grouchy. “No, but I don’t see why we need another writer. I was glad Mindy left. Hope she likes it over there at Nintendo.”
“We need another writer so you won’t be a total bottleneck,” said Riley. “I’m sitting there and I’m magic. I’m spinning out the ideas as fast as they come. You can’t keep up with my moves.” He started bobbing and weaving around her like a boxer, shooting out a hand every once in a while to bip her on the head.
Sighing dramatically while she tried to bat his hand away, Jeri said only, “Frak me.”
By this time I had put two-and-two together and figured out I was seeing most of the interview team, but I was spared having to decide whether or not to reveal myself when I heard my name called. Lewis, Riley, and Jeri turned as one at James’ voice, and I caught Riley and Lewis cracking up and nudging each other out of the corner of my eye. Jeri seemed to be turned to stone.
“Hi, there, Cass,” said James. “I was just going to grab something to take into the interview. Can I get you something?”
“Just a bottle of water, please,” I answered.
“Did you meet the team?” he asked, gesturing at the trio. When no one answered immediately, James made the round of introductions. “And Murray will join us in the conference room. Our office doesn’t have one, so we’ll use the building’s, one floor up.”
When the drinks were in hand, he led the way with his characteristic quick stride, and I found Riley next to me. He looked unembarrassed and unrepentant, as far as I could tell, and even grinned at me. “Down the crapper with Jer’s ‘we all have a drink, and you don’t’ strategy, huh?”
• • •
After such a beginning, it was hard to be nervous anymore for the interview itself. I suspected James wanted everyone on their best professional behavior because he looked mildly irked when Riley referred to him once as “Jimbo” and then couldn’t find any business cards except a crumpled one that had made the trip through the wash in his pants pocket. Not to mention when Riley told me to quit saying Free Universe: “Just call it F-U, like the rest of us do.”
Jeri was stiff and silent throughout, probably from having said the most incriminating things; I tried to put her at her ease by asking her questions, but she didn’t unbend. Another tough case was Murray the sound designer—I don’t think he cracked one smile and spent most of the hour making notes on his pad that, on closer inspection, looked more like a flow chart than anything to do with the matter at hand.
Lewis was friendly enough. When I admitted my general ignorance of Free Universe games—(“Just say FUG,” corrected Riley)—he whipped out his laptop and walked me through the two that had actually made it to market, while James explained how the pieces came together. “Good as Riley’s ideas may be, or those of our other developers,” he said, “only a percentage of games will finally see the light, depending on circumstances. Everyone works their hearts out—developers, programmers, artists, sound engineer, writers, testers—but there’s no guarantee that project will make it to the shelves. It’s pretty cut-throat, but it’s a creative work environment and a stimulating one.” (Here Jeri snorted.) “The good news is our first couple games have done pretty well, and we’re looking to ride that wave with our next product. We have one we were hoping to ship in November, but it’s looking like that’s going to slip.”
“Good-bye December,” put in Riley.
“Yeah,” agreed James. “Looks like December will be crunch time, unfortunately, but that wouldn’t really affect you, Cass. We were thinking of trying you out on some games still in concept stage. Riley’s got a lot of ideas swirling around in his brain—”
(“Bip!” went Riley, pretending to box Jeri again. She slapped his hand away and I saw the infamous “frak me” form on her lips.)
“—so we figured that would be the best team to start you out on. Jeri’s trying to cover for three teams at once, and it’s getting a little much.”
Rather than looking eager for the additional help, Jeri merely sniffed. Murray also looked up at this point from his flow chart and said colorlessly, “Do you think you need me anymore, Kittredge? Vil isn’t happy with the Elf Archer’s voice—he says it’s too Munchkin and wants me to take it down a register.”
James nodded. “No problem. Catch you later, unless Cass had any last questions for you.”
If I had, I wouldn’t have had the nerve to ask them, the way Murray was tapping his pencil impatiently. As it was, James wrapped up the interview fairly quickly after that. “This was great,” he assured me, shaking my hand as I stood up. “Thanks for coming down. We’ll be in touch.”
You would think I’d never met the guy before, but I happened to glance back as I was shutting the door behind me, and he gave me a conspiratorial wink.
(October 6, 5:30 p.m.)
James, Lewis, Riley, Murray, and Jeri:
Thank you for talking with me today. I appreciate your time and the thought and imagination inspiring Free Universe games. It would be a pleasure to work with you all, whether in writing or voice work or both. I look forward to hearing from you.
Cass
(October 6, 6:42 p.m.)
Cass:
You were a total hit today! I know Riley went right back to his cube and burrowed in, trying to figure out which storyboard he wanted to go over with you first. He drives everyone here off their nut from time to time, especially Jeri who sits next to him, but he’s probably the most creative guy we’ve got.
Speaking of Jeri, don’t worry about her weird vibe—since our other full-time writer left she wants to be Queen Writer and will brook no rivals. However, we’ve got too much going on for her to do all of it, so she’s just going to have to d
eal with a Writer Princess. Or should I say “goddess”? That’s the other thing—Murray agrees with me that you are the perfect voice for the Snow Goddess in Tolt! He’ll be following up with some script that he’ll want you to come in and read for him. It’s pure tripe, but I think I warned you that game writing isn’t Shakespeare, right?
Have a good trip. We’ll try to pull things together in the meantime, and maybe we can set up some times for the week of the 13th. You’ll probably hear from Riley before then. And Keri our HR person will mail you some paperwork.
By the way, I think I’ll see you before then for the Camden School mentor bowling thing, right, on the 11th? If we thought the sailing event was humorous, I can’t wait to see the bowling.
Cheers.
(October 6, 10:15 p.m.)
James—
Thanks for the feedback. I am so excited to work with you all at Free Universe. Kyle is going to be amazed! He might even emote! I’ll look forward to hearing from various team members soon then and seeing them when I return.
And yes, Nadina and I will be at the bowling event on the 11th. If you think I’m a gifted sailor, wait till you see me bowl.
Cass
Clicking the “Send” icon, I sat back with satisfaction. I was once more a (somewhat) gainfully-employed woman.
Chapter 11: Cornered in the Marché
For at least an hour after losing Troy and Min, I considered moving down to California to be closer to family. Make that half an hour. It wasn’t that I didn’t love them and wish I wasn’t the only member of my immediate family still in Washington—and heaven knew I had no objection to more sunshine—it was that California had never been home. Dad and Mom had moved to Washington before I was born to take up professor jobs at the U, back in the day when such jobs went begging, even in fields like Classics (Dad) or Comparative Literature (Mom). Ours was the only branch of the McKeans to leave the San Francisco Bay Area, so all growing up, visits to extended family involved fifteen-hour car trips down I-5, with the requisite stop in Ashland to take in a play if the Shakespeare Festival was going.
When Troy and Min died, just about every one of those McKeans made the trek up to attend the memorial, a gesture I appreciated, and I saw several of them in the intervening year, but the thought of seeing them all again this week for Mom’s 60th aroused more dread than eagerness. There was going to be crying and fussing, no doubt about it.
Mom was worried about other things. She had called the week before to say my little brother was occupying their spare room again, his attempts at supporting himself screenwriting still not paying off, and his wife having gotten sick of financing him.
As children, Perry and I had fallen into the roles of high-achieving, well-behaved oldest child and low-achieving, family-clown youngest child, and those roles carried into adulthood. Where I went right to college and graduate school and worked until marrying a respectable man, Perry took two years off after barely graduating high school, meandered through an expensive college in five years, and then married someone he met on Spring Break in Cabo. He had dabbled in local theater, local radio, culinary school, and waiting tables before convincing his wife to move to Los Angeles so he could try screenwriting. As Betsy had thrown him out before, we didn’t know if this was for real, but my mother sighed, “It would be nice to turn sixty without a son at home as if he’d never left.”
Exasperating as he could be as a son, husband, or brother, Perry had been the very best of uncles. He had spoiled Min silly, buying her huge, noisy toys that drove me nuts and would always “mysteriously” disappear or run out of batteries; he would carry her around on his shoulders and feed her even more sweets than Raquel or Mom, and she adored him, calling him “Peh-wy.” One of the worst moments after Troy and Min died had been seeing Perry. I couldn’t even bear to call him in my state and foisted the task on Mom, and when he and Betsy flew up, he just sat on my sofa holding some talking bear he had given her, weeping silently.
Mom sent Perry to pick me up at San Jose International, not fifteen minutes from where she and Dad lived in a modest condo on Santana Row. They had finagled jobs at San Jose State University when Perry and I both ended up at California schools, only to have the two of us move away again right after graduation. By then they were too established with their friendships and church to relocate, and they’d gotten used to all the sunshine and drought.
Perry was right on the other side of security to meet me—a surprise, given he’d always been more of the curbside and fifteen-minutes-late kind of airport ride. My brother had never been exactly handsome, just as I had never been a knockout, but he had my father’s big frame and engaging, elastic features. He was looking tanned and had grown his hair out longish, and I saw heads turn when he enveloped me in a giant bear hug.
“Cass!” Loosening his grip slightly so I could breathe, he studied my face intently. “You look good, Cass. Way better than the last time I saw you.”
I cleared my throat and smiled weakly. “Yeah? Well same to you. And what’s with the big Public Display of Affection?”
He grinned and relieved me of my carry-on bag. “What? Haven’t I always been big on PDAs with you?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“Well, my loved ones have been dropping like flies lately, and I’m determined to hang on to the ones I’ve got left. What with Troy and—and Min—and I’m guessing Mom told you that Betsy has kicked me out again..?”
I felt the catch in my throat when he mentioned Troy and Min, but I had been prepared and swallowed it down ruthlessly. “Will she take you back this time? You could surprise her by getting a real job and cutting up that credit card you share with Mom and Dad.”
“I could,” Perry said noncommittally, “not that it would do much good. Betsy says it’s for good this time.”
Not for the first time did I offer the usual comforts. “Well, she’s said all that before, hasn’t she? I’m sure she’ll come around. A few months of nightly take-out instead of your Academy cooking, and she’ll be begging for mercy. You’d better just hope she doesn’t meet someone gainfully employed—it might be more temptation than she could withstand.”
So much for the new affectionate side of Perry—he put me in a headlock and growled, “Go easy, Cass.”
Heads were turning our way again, so I cried uncle quickly, but I couldn’t help adding, “Perry, really, I went easy on you both the first few times you separated. Can I help getting a little jaded? After losing Troy, it’s hard to put up with people who can’t decide if they want to be married or not.”
He nodded. “I told her we should just take the divorce option off the table, but she told me she was seeing the lawyer this time. And she was really careful to check Mom and Dad’s address. I think she’s going to serve me papers.” His shoulders slumped, and I could only pat him wordlessly as we watched the luggage carousel rotate.
Betsy and I had always gotten along, without exactly being kindred spirits. It was hard to get too close to someone who was always kicking your brother out of the house, even if that brother was often aggravating and still showed no signs of wanting to sell out and get a real job. However I might sympathize with her, he was still my brother, and while he did pursue careers with infinitesimal chances of success, at least he pursued them wholeheartedly and tirelessly.
In silence, Perry hauled my suitcase off the carousel, but somewhere on the shuttle between the terminal and the parking structure I could see his irrepressible spirits beginning to lift. Honestly, it was only after Min died that I think I saw him depressed for more than a few hours running. As we got in the car and started driving, I could almost hear his brain switch gears and start ticking.
“The good thing is,” he began abruptly, “suffering produces character, as we know, as well as better art. We just have to see if the genre ends up romantic comedy or tearjerker. And then, it’s not at all a bad time to be out on my ear, on the verge of divorce.”
>“You mean there’s a good time for d
ivorce?” I asked skeptically.
“It means all bets are off. If I’ve got a few months of being on my own, I may as well spend them in Portland.”
“Portland? Why Portland?”
Perry got a mischievous look in his eye. “Because an old director friend there broke up with his dramaturg, and now he needs a new one ASAP for an upcoming musical production. It’s about aspiring actors in Hollywood, and who would know more about that than me?”
I made a face. “It can’t be any good, can it, a musical opening in Portland? Sounds like a rehash of A Chorus Line.”
“I’m hoping not. I think Sam said it’s called Waiters: the Musical.”
Then I did laugh. “What? To differentiate it from Waiters: the Board Game or Waiters: the Epic Poem?”
“Cass, look, I don’t know if it’s any good or if it will even pan out, but I might as well explore it. And if I’m in Portland I’ll be able to get up and see you.” Given Perry’s propensity for unannounced visits of indeterminate length, I didn’t know if this was a good idea. We had never discussed Daniel’s policy on house guests, and I was reluctant to have unpredictable Perry be my hypothetical case.
When I told Mom she gave me no sympathy; I think she secretly saw it as an easy way to get rid of Perry for the time being, or at least until Betsy took him back again. “What’s the worst that can happen, Cass? He might come up for a few days without telling you ahead of time, but if he’s employed in Portland he’ll have to go back sooner rather than later.” As with most things completely out of my control, I put it out of my head, to be dealt with later. After all, Mom’s birthday dinner was more than enough to be going on about.
Mourning Becomes Cassandra Page 11
