Page 124 of We Met Like This
“So,” Cheryl said. “I know you’re not looking for a job, what with starting your own agency and everything, but if you need something to fill the gap, my company is hiring.”
“Oh.” The word came out as shock. Maybe even offense. “No. I mean, I have a job. I’m trying. I don’t need…” I paused as my pride settled and the thought of Rebecca’s text took over, about how long it might be before I started making any money, let alone a livable wage. I hadn’t heard back from Kari about the videos I’d sent her either and she still hadn’t paid me. Maybe Rob had threatened her as well. Maybe she was going to ghost me as well. And maybe I was going to fail miserably at this whole agenting thing. I was used to having backup plans. It seemed like I always needed them. “Yes, actually, I could use a temporary job.”
“Great! I’ll send you the info and put in a good word for you. They’re interviewing tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there.”
CHAPTER 37
“What qualities will you bring to this job that other candidates might not?” the man who couldn’t have been more than twenty-four asked me.
Tomorrow had come, and here I was, all dressed up, makeup on, talking to the assistant of a movie producer asking me what qualities I could bring to taking coffee orders and stocking dressing rooms with snacks. For some reason, when Cheryl told me her company was hiring, I had pictured something more administrative. She was a casting director. I thought she wanted me to give input there. But I realized that was a ridiculous notion. That wasn’t a job someone walked into with no experience. I’d also thought this interview was a formality, but as I took in the overly serious expression of Mr. Jeans and T-Shirt, I knew that it wasn’t.
“I’m really good at blending in,” I said to the twenty-four-(twenty-three?)-year-old. “Making myself unseen in the most helpful ways.” That probably wasn’t the answer he wanted. He wanted to hear that I was a hard worker or a team player orhad a photographic memory or something. But my answer felt more true right now.
The impressed downward turn of his lips made me think that being invisible was probably something he hadn’t considered a strength before now.
We were sitting on high stools in the corner of a warehouse, set pieces and lights being moved around us by a dozen or so people in orange shirts. A golf cart zipped by outside. My heel slipped off the bottom rung of the stool where it had been resting, causing me to jolt forward before regaining my balance.
“Well, Margot, the job is yours if you want it.”
“I got the job?” I asked, somewhat surprised. My answer to the last question wasn’t any better than my answers to the dozen before that had been. Maybe this really was just a formality.
“Yes,” he said, standing. “Report here tomorrow at sevenA.M.sharp.” He took in my pencil skirt and button-down blouse. “You can wear something more comfortable.”
“You don’t think this is comfortable?” I asked.
He finally cracked a smile. “You’ll want sneakers. Trust me, you’ll be walking a lot.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow… I guess,” I said.
“Great,” he said.
Yes, great, I thought with a sigh as I walked away. This was just temporary, I reminded myself. Just until I could get some clients, sell some books. Just temporary.
I drove home trying to think of this as a good thing. I’d have some money coming in. The pay wasn’t terrible. It would take some stress off. It would keep me busy. Help me not be in my head all day or incessantly checking emails.
I had all but talked myself into how amazing this wasgoing to be when I pulled into my designated spot back home and walked the path to my door. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, twenty feet from my destination. A figure sat on my front porch.
She stood when she saw me. “Hi.”
“Audrey.”
“Can we talk?” She pointed over her shoulder at the apartment.
“Okay.” I finished my walk and unlocked the door, her floral scent hitting me in the face as I did.
She followed me inside.
I threw my keys on the kitchen counter, then stood facing her, my arms crossed, waiting.
She took in my living room, her eyes landing on each of the poor decorating decisions Sloane and I had made over the years. A mishmash of clutter, really. She sunk to the couch. “We’ve never fought like this before.”
“That’s because I always apologize,” I said. “I’m not apologizing this time.”
“You wantmeto apologize? You called me a bitch.”
“A judgmental bitch,” I amended. “You really didn’t come here to apologize?”
