Iron & Wine
Page 8
The week went by quickly. I avoided Max like the plague, trying to keep to myself at all times. Naturally, since we sat next to one another, there were a few incidences where our paths crossed and she seemed to intentionally bump my shoulder or mutter insulting comments under her breath, but I kept my cool. Will became a regular part of mine and Julie’s life. We went to school with him, we hung out at the cafe while he was working and he hung out with us when he wasn't. We had regular movie nights and Will showed us all the great spots in the city like the waterfront and the outdoor theater downtown. I settled into a comfortable routine and felt happy with the addition to our tiny group. Life in the city wasn’t so bad.
"So, I think I might look for a part-time job," announced Julie one day. The two of us were hanging out at the cafe on the old brown leather couch where we usually sat. Will was working. Well, he was sitting on the arm of the couch while keeping an eye on the counter. "You know, for some extra spending money."
"Yeah, maybe I should, too,” I replied. If my only two friends had jobs outside of school then what would I do with all that free time? “Plus, it would give us something to do while Will is supposed to be working." I gave him a playful grin.
"Hey, I don't mind you being here, it keeps me company when it's slow. But if you're looking for part time work I know that a gallery downtown is looking for an assistant."
"What gallery?” I asked.
"Um, I think it’s called Gallery Danes or something," he replied.
My heart jumped at the name. "Really, are you sure that's the one?" Gallery Danes was my favorite gallery in the city, the world even. Tess took me there once when I was younger. I instantly fell in love and obsessed over it for years. To work there would be a dream.
"Yeah, I’m positive. I read about it in the paper at school yesterday.”
I sat back on the couch and smiled at the thought of working at Gallery Danes. But I was just a student. Would I stand a chance at getting a job like that?
The next day I parked my bike on the side of the building where there are usually a few bicycles and motorcycles. I took off my helmet and laid it on the seat. Hopefully, my hair wasn't scary looking. I quickly did a flip and untangled it the best I could with my fingers. I caught a glimpse of myself in my side mirror. Good enough, I guess. I did a quick rub under my eyes to make sure no makeup had run and took a deep breath as I walked into the gallery.
Man, it was as breathtaking as I remembered! The cathedral ceilings were at least fifteen feet high and everything inside was white and massive. The cold marble floors stretched all the way to a large front desk crafted out of shiny metal. I walked up to the desk clerk to let her know that I was here for the open interview. She completely ignored me. After a few seconds, she finally looked up from her computer. Her tired gray eyes washed away against her pale complexion, the poor thing looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
"Can I help you?" she asked in a very flat and bored tone.
"Uh, yes, I'm here for the interview," I replied. "With Celadine Danes."
The clerk eyed me suspiciously and then rolled her eyes before turning back to her computer.
"Go sit down over there with the others, I’ll let Ms. Danes know that you are here." And then she went back to completely ignoring me.
I brushed that confrontation off for the time being. I needed to focus on the interview. I so badly wanted to work here. I'd work here for free for Pete's sake if they'd have me.
I turned into the waiting area only to find about a dozen other kids from school here for the interview as well. Oh well, a bit of healthy competition never hurt anyone.
Then I noticed Max, the nasty blonde, just sitting there with her legs crossed like a super model and her usual angry look on her face. The chairs on either side of her were empty; no one would dare sit next to her. She literally was like the plague.
I boldly made my way over to Max and plunked down on the chair to her left. I heard quiet whispers of shock from the rest but Max just shot me a look so cold I would have frozen to death on the spot, if possible. I just smiled a brazen smile back at her and grabbed a magazine from the table in front of us and pretended to read it. God, I hated her. But, if there would be any competition at all, she would be the healthiest, so to speak.
It seemed like an eternity as everyone went in and out of the interview. In the end, only Max and I were left.
"You know, you can leave now," she suggested. "I won't tell anyone."
What the hell was she doing? Did she actually think that she could intimidate me?
"Now, why would I do that?" I asked, playing along.
"Because you know, deep down, that you won't get this job over me. I've worked far too long and hard for this job and it shows in my portfolio." She seemed a little unsure of herself as she said this. "So, to save yourself the trouble, I suggest you just leave. I'm just trying to offer you some friendly advice."
I stared at her in amazement. She actually believed this. She actually believed that I was not good enough to get this job.
I smiled coolly and said, "Now, why the hell would I want the likes of you as a friend, Max? Why would anyone for that matter?" I knew this was hitting low, but I didn't care. I'd had enough of her attitude.
"Oh, maybe, that’s why you don't have any friends?" Her jaw dropped as I added that. From the look on her face, she was about to come back at me with something even crueler, I’m sure, but the desk clerk called to her.
"Ms. Danes is ready for you now." She motioned toward the door with her hand then went back to her computer. I smiled at Max and simply said, "Good luck."
Max got up and strutted into the interview room without even so much as a glance back at me. She was in there for a good twenty minutes or so before she emerged. She looked at me with a fake surprised look.
"Oh, you’re still here?" she asked. I ignored her and continued pretending to read my magazine.
"Well, good luck, although, I'm sure I got the job, Celadine loved my portfolio." She grabbed her jacket from the chair next to me and turned on her heel as she left, blonde hair swinging back and forth as she strutted out.
"Avery?" asked the very bored desk clerk. I looked up at her in acknowledgment. "Ms. Danes is ready for you now." She gestured toward the door just as before. I smiled in thanks and made my way into the room.
At first, I was taken aback by the sight of Celadine. I’d expected an old artsy looking woman with gray hair and glasses or something. But, instead, I stood looking at a young woman barely in her early thirties, with creamy skin and cat-like dark violet eyes that were framed by thick black eyelashes. Her hair was a heap and tangle of beautiful and silky black dreadlocks that she kept whooshed on top of her head. She was kind of scary, yet absolutely stunning. She smiled at me and motioned toward the chair in front of her. "Sit down, please," she offered with a slight accent that I couldn't quite place.
I didn't know what to say. I’d been fairly confident all day, until this moment. I stuttered as I spoke, "It's very nice to meet you, Ms. Danes, thanks for having me." That sounded so lame. I mentally slapped myself.
"Please, call me Celadine, I insist. Formal references make me feel...old." She smiled and stifled a giggle at some private joke I wasn't getting. "Now, why do you want this job, Avery?" she asked bluntly.
This caught me off guard. "Um, well. Uh, I like art, a lot." I cringed. Did I really just say that? Geez, Max was right.
Celadine laughed at my little moment. "Well, one would hope so, Avery, any other reasons?" Was she just amusing me or did she actually consider me a candidate after that?
"Well, ever since I knew I wanted to attend the school for arts here in the city, I automatically knew that this was the gallery that I wanted to work at some day. I love the collections that you choose to show here. The effect and feeling that each collection gives is moving and unique to this gallery. My aunt is a designer and she helped bring out the creative person inside of me at a very young age."
"I guess about six years old. She would give me a canvas and a brush and tell me to go to town. At the age of ten, I probably had more art supplies at my disposal than any mature artist." I smiled at the thought of my awesome aunt.
"So you lived with your aunt as a child?" Celadine asked.
"Ah, yeah, my dad was always away for work so Tess took me when I was an infant. I've been with her ever since." This was kind of getting off topic for an art gallery interview. But who was I to say?
Celadine was looking at me, eyeing me curiously. "I see, and your mother, where is she if you don't mind me asking?"
I looked down at my hands. I didn't really know much at all about her and it always saddened me to think of her. I mean what kind of mom doesn't want her own kid?
"She...left, when I was a baby." I continued to stare at my hands, fidgeting with a strand of my hair.
"I'm terribly sorry to hear that, and I’m sorry for asking such an intrusive question," she apologized. "Sometimes I don’t think before I speak."
"Um, that’s okay," I replied. "Do you want to see my portfolio?" I asked, trying to get off of this uncomfortable topic.
"Yes, I do, of course. Hand it here." She held out her hand, getting back on track.
I passed her my black portfolio, a gift from Tess when I finished ninth grade. Before that, I kept all my work in shoe boxes. Celadine flipped through everything with an expressionless face. When she finished she handed it back to me without a word. I was starting to get self-conscious; did she not like anything in there at all? There was a brief, uncomfortable silence for a moment.
She stared at me curiously, elbows on the desk and her head resting on her palms. I just stared back at her, what else was I going to do?
Finally, she broke the silence. "Well, this was an interesting interview. I have a few people that I’m considering, give me a few days and I will call to let you know either way," she said coolly.
"Okay, thank you for seeing me. I look forward to your call." I stood up and shook her hand. Wow, she was unusually chilly, like a doctor. As I turned to leave, I looked back at the strange woman. "Oh, by the way, good luck with the Bryant showing this weekend." I knew she was showing his line because it was in the paper this morning. She looked surprised and impressed.
"Thank you, I’m very excited to work with him. You’re welcome to come to the showing if you like," she offered.
"Wow! Thank you." I smiled at her and left the room a little more confident than a few seconds ago, but completely unsure of how the interview went. She seemed genuinely interested in me personally but showed nothing toward my work. I guessed I’d just have to wait and see.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A WORK OF ART