Page 88 of The End of Summer

The hotel is fine. The room is small but clean, and the view of city lights and the people down below me on the streets who are tiny dots, like ants scurrying this way and that, is insane. The sound of sirens is never ending, and I can hear it even through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my room. I try to drown it out by watching SportsCenter, which I leave on all night, because I’d rather sleep with the sound of people analyzing baseball than the melody of mayhem that exists outside my door.

Fun to visit, for sure. Maybe not alone, and maybe not under such nerve-wracking circumstances, but still. I just don’t know how anyone would ever be able tolivehere.

I sleep. Well, sort of. I drift in and out. At 6:00 a.m., I give up, head down to the gym and run a few miles on the treadmill just to burn off the nervous energy. I grab breakfast from the complimentary selection in the lobby (a packaged muffin and a cup of coffee that is extremely strong). I go back to my room, get showered, packed, and dressed in my new suit. I stick my hands in the pants pockets to flatten out the fabric against my legs. That’s when I discover the little piece of paper in my right pocket.A receipt?I wonder.

I pull out the paper, unfolding it.It’s a note.

You’re going to kill it, babe,it reads.I believe in you. Love you so much! Xoxo, G.

I steel myself.She’s right,I decide. Iamgoing to kill it.

For her.

Forus.

I check out, drop my bag in my car in the hotel’s parking garage, and head to the building that houses Gildersleeve Marketing Group. It’s in Suite 1626, which, according to the map in the lobby, is on the 16thfloor of the building. I go up in the elevator at 8:40, with about ten other people, all of whom ignore one another and either look straight ahead or down at their phones.

Once I locate the correct suite, I find a receptionist at a large glass front desk. She’s changing out of sneakers and putting on a pair of high heels.

“Morning,” she says. “How can I help you?”

“I have a 9:00 appointment with John Stellaris?” I ask, even though I realize it’s not a question.

She clicks around on her desktop computer. “Brady Hawthorne?” she asks.

I nod.

“Have a seat. His team will be with you shortly.”

I sit in a leather chair next to a glass table with a small stack of magazines on top of it.Forbes. Time. The New Yorker.

I opt to flip through my portfolio, which houses five copies of my resume (printed on fancy paper), a pad of lined paper, and a silver Diamond Excelsior pen. I focus on my breathing. Close the portfolio. Scroll through my phone. Put the phone away. Want to seem adult. Secure. Capable of eye contact, not always glued to a screen.

I pick up a copy ofThe Wall Street Journalthat sits on the mahogany coffee table in front of me. I’m not reading the words. I’m just pretending to. It feels like forever, butfinally a tall, broad man with white hair and a grey pinstripe business suit enters the waiting area.

“Brady Hawthorne?” he asks.

I stand up, smooth out my jacket. “Yes, sir. Mr. Stellaris?”

He shakes my hand. “Please. Call me John.”

“Nice to meet you, John. Thanks for having me.”

“Thanks for coming. Follow me,” he says.

We head down a hallway into a room with a long, executive-looking conference table in the center. It’s surrounded by easily a dozen black leather office chairs on wheels. All but four of them are filled.

I scan the room quickly, positive that there must be a mistake. There are eight people in here.

“Have a seat, Brady,” John Stellaris says.Fuck. I only have five copies of my resume.

“We’ll start with introductions,” John goes on, and while each high-level adult member of this team introduces him or herself, I try – really, really try – to remember their names. I pretend we’re playing that old game,We’re going on a picnic, and I’m bringing…but by the fifth person I’ve forgotten the names of the first two people, and I’m starting to sweat.

Breathe.

John takes the lead on questions, at least at the beginning. He asks me about my previous work in the industry and why I left. (Easy softball. COVID. No one can argue with that.) He asks me what I enjoy about market research. I go on for a bit. I describe growing up in an area fueled by tourism and learning the role market research can play in creating a viable economy. I discuss the impact of the pandemic and how market research elevated the health and pharmaceutical industries during that time. I explain that in such a volatile business environment, market research analysis remains more important than ever, as we need to forecast trends in order to keep companies sustainable and relevant.

They like my answers.

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