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Angling my shoulders so Thomas can’t see my phone screen, should he even deign to look my way again, I begin my long-awaited binge.
I make it almost 20 percent through the first book before my body begins to weigh heavily against the leather and the words on the screen drift in and out of focus. It’s not the book’s fault. The tension is building between the two characters and I’m certain in just a page flip or two there’s going to be a thigh-squeezing, page-turning scene. A scene that I probably shouldn’t read next to my boss.
My eyes flick to my left, landing on his computer screen.
‘Is that my proposal?’ I shift closer, looking at the digital copy of the design board I’d given him.
His fingers pause, poised above the keyboard. ‘Yes.’
Forgetting to keep my normal distance, I lean in. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Making notes.’
‘Oh.’ I blink a few times, trying to shake off the looming exhaustion and focus.
He makes a few more notes in the margins.
I lean even closer, pausing when his fingers stop typing mid-sentence. ‘Ah.’ I sit back once more. ‘I just thought—’ I fiddle with my phone, it nearly sliding out of my grasp ‘—I mean, I’m here, so we could, uh, discuss the display now.’ Taking a breath, I force myself to meet his dark eyes. ‘If you want.’
‘Hmmm.’ He holds my gaze for an uncomfortable beat before pointing to his screen. ‘Before I give you my notes, explain your concept to me.’
‘Okay.’ I draw out the word, shocked that I initiated conversation with him and then shocked even more that he’s engaging. ‘Well… I want to make use of the length of windows on either side of the main entrance and create a timeline of sorts.’ Two nine-hundred square foot windows flank the brass and glass turnstile entrance to Moore’s.
When I pause, he looks at me as if to say, And then?
A fresh spike of irritation helps me continue, this time with more confidence. I explain the concept of a journey through spring. A rebirth after the home-bound winter months. Bright blues and greens with varying pops of colors like flowers sprinkled throughout Central Park. How I’d highlight the athletic department on both ends moving through career-wear, weekends out, vacation mode.
He nods when I finish, staring at the screen again.
My shoulders tighten. ‘I know I don’t have a lot of experience and this is my first solo design, but I paid very close attention when Bell called in that professional visual design team for the big Holiday display this past December, and I’ve been studying on my own after work and I really think that the story I’m telling through the various tableaus leading up to the entrance will make people take notice.’ I’m dizzy after spewing that out in one breath.
No reaction, he just continues to stare at the screen. I take deep breaths and try to control my desire to fidget, remembering what Bell once told me about maintaining an air of confidence, even if it’s fake.
‘The storytelling is good.’ He leans back in his seat, his thumb and pointer finger cradling his chin in thought. ‘But the design is missing something.’
I’m too shocked by the compliment to be irked by the criticism. ‘It is?’
He drops his hand. ‘Height.’
‘Height?’
‘Yes. You’re used to working and creating on the sales floor. You can’t build too high there because you’ll block the customer’s line of sight to the surrounding merchandise. However—’ his eyes lock on mine ‘—the front windows are enclosed. There’s a solid backdrop. So while you’ll want the majority of the merchandise at eye level, you still need to fill in the encompassing space.’
I stare at the screen, mentally arranging my design like chess pieces on a board.
His forefinger glides over the mouse pad. ‘Here.’ He minimizes my design board bringing up a rectangular blueprint of the window display case measurements. ‘If you take into account the mannequins, signage, furniture and accessories you have listed, you’re only using a little over half of the available height.’
My design slides into place, and it hits me. ‘There’s too much dead space.’
He flashes a small smile before flattening it out. ‘Correct.’
I wait for the feelings of embarrassment or shame that I thought would come after having my boss, the man who thinks of me as a former shoe girl, point out my first big solo design’s failure. But it doesn’t come. He doesn’t feel like some overlord throwing out criticism and demanding results. His smile wasn’t one of condescension, but of approval.
Right now, Thomas Moore feels like a colleague, a collaborator.
I wonder if this is a turning point in our professional relationship or a side effect of the Dramamine.
Surprisingly, I hope it’s the former. I’ve always fed off collaboration, my creativity often triggered by topical conversations. I find the act of saying the things I’ve been thinking aloud helps me solidify ideas.
