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“Okay, so tell me what other reasons would you have for wanting to work here?”
“Just freedom to be myself and to explore my art style,” Becca answers me, “Aside from why I want to leave my current job.”
“Big Sammy?”
“He’s a perverse asshole,” Becca says.
“I know him so I understand, believe me,” I say truthfully. I chew on my lip slightly before saying, “Okay, do you have your portfolio with you?”
“Yeah, here it is,” Becca says, handing over a leather bound book. I open it up on my lap and am amazed as I take in the various designs and tattoos that Becca has done. While very different from her sister, she’s just as talented, if not more so. Her artwork really impresses me and even though she isn’t the bubbly outgoing person I want, I know she’ll be a good fit here. Besides, it seems like they’re a dream team and I don’t want to split that up.
“Okay, I’m going to offer you a three month trial contract. Can I keep your portfolio to scan some of your work to our website?”
“Yes,” Becca says smiling brightly, “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me yet; let’s see how the next three months go. I gave your sister my details to email me her biography and photo; please do the same as soon as you can.”
“I will,” Becca says, standing up, “You won’t regret this.”
“I hope not,” I chuckle and smile at her. “Thank you for your time, and please keep Saturday open to come set up your booth and sign the temporary contract.”
“I will, thanks again, Lyra.”
“Pleasure, have a good day,” I say, “And please call the next person in.”
Becca walks confidently towards the door and I can’t help but smile. I really do hope she works out because she is seriously talented. As I wait for the next candidate I wonder if maybe I shouldn’t focus on filling my studio with bubbly people with outgoing personalities who are talented, but rather people who are talented who will gel well with others. I feel like I’ve been approaching this wrong. It doesn’t change my mind about the first few candidates though, they were assholes, but it does give me something to consider as I go forward with the interviews.
The rest of the afternoon passes, with one candidate after another. Some of them aren’t so bad but they just don’t seem to click with me, or they aren’t as talented as I hoped, or worse, they have zero personality. I try my best to ask better questions to see if I can draw them out of their nervousness, but most of them just want the job because they want the income, and that’s not what my studio is about. It’s about more than that.
At five in the afternoon I decide to call it quits and go outside to the remaining queue, which is still quite long. “Sorry guys, that’s all I have time for today; please come back tomorrow.”
There are groans and moans from some of the people, but I don’t care; it’s my final word on the matter and I want to go home, eat something, and have a nice long bath before I work on the website tonight. At least I have two people whose information I can add to the website, if they have sent it. At the very least it’s a start and with those two people I won’t have to push back the opening of the studio. I watch as everyone leaves before I head inside and grab my coffee cup, rinsing it out in the small sink and putting it aside to dry. I gather my things and head out, locking the studio up behind me before I go stand at the bus stop, waiting for the next bus uptown.
I look at my arm again, at my prom dress so beautiful tattooed there, and I think back to that night. Brady had looked so handsome that night, his shirt matching the colour of my dress, his black suit fitting him snugly but comfortably. We had danced to every single song they played and by the end of the night we had fallen, exhausted, into bed together. While everyone else used prom night as an excuse to finally get laid, we were content to simply lay in each other’s arms, talking sleepily until we both dozed off, cuddling in the bed. It was a beautiful memory and I cherished it as much as I cherished the tattoo on my arm. It was there to serve as a reminder that even though Brady broke my heart, we had that night, that one positive memory that would last a lifetime.
The bus pulls up and I climb on, swiping my ticket with the driver before finding a seat. I can see some people staring at me, but I pay them no mind. I’m used to people judging me for what I look like on the outside; if only they bothered to get to know me they might like what they find on the inside. A woman behind me makes a comment about tattoos and devils to her child and I roll my eyes, reaching into my messenger bag and pulling out my earphones. I stick them in my ears, plug them into my phone, and blare the heaviest metal I can find. If it’s the devil she wants, I’ll oblige. I smile at the thought, she’s probably praying for her soul behind me, people are too easy.
Once I reach the apartment I stop by Mrs D’s place to get my cookies, chatting to her briefly before I go to my apartment to eat, bath, and relax a little. Both Becca and Lacy have sent me what I asked for so I spend the rest of the evening setting up the website with their details, their photos, and scanning their portfolios so I can upload the images before I grab Miko and head to bed, calling it a night.
I feel groggy as I squint and open my eyes slowly. I feel like I have a ton of bricks weighing heavily on me, but something is calling out to me. Something is annoying.
It’s my alarm.
I snake my arm out of the warmth of my blankets and I reach for my phone next to my bed, trying rather desperately to shout off the annoying sound that has filtered into my dreams. I want to sleep. I want to just stay in bed the whole day and pretend the world doesn’t exist.
Sometimes I feel like this.
Especially when I’ve been dreaming about Jason.
I lift my phone slowly and look at the time that’s shining in big numbers at the top of the screen. SHIT! I have overslept! I’m going to be late getting downtown for the interviews.
Forgetting the bricks that were weighing me down, I toss the covers, and Miko, to the floor of my bedroom as I rush to the bathroom to freshen up. I keep muttering “shit” to myself as I pull on a pair of jeans and a top that I pray is clean. I found it on the chair in my room, odds are fifty/fifty.
I don’t even stop to have some coffee or say sorry and goodbye to Miko, who is sulking by the window now, as I rush out of my apartment and downstairs to go to the bus stop and hopefully make the next bus downtown. The bus is already at the stop and I scream for it to wait; luckily someone hears me and holds the bus driver up as I pant my way up the stairs and swipe my tag.
“I’m so sorry and thank you,” I say breathlessly, but the driver waves me off and I hurry to my seat. I’m such a wreck; I realise I left my laptop at home, but luckily the studio keys are clipped to my apartment keys so I’ll be able to get in.
I almost miss my stop, which irritates the driver further, and I rush off the bus and towards the studio. There is a line formed again and it makes me wonder how desperate the unemployment situation is that there are so many people looking for work.
