I’m outside the door of her house, a minute early.
It’s a big interview and I don’t want to mess it up.
I ring the bell and its opened by a uniformed maid.
I sit on the white sofa, in the stark but stunningly designed living room.
I’m suddenly conscious of a loose button on my shabby cargo pants.
As I wait, I glance around the room. Many paintings, a stunningly simple vase, and an elegant black piano stare at me, asking, “And what might you want?”
I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at them.
Suddenly she appears. Casual, just out of bed, in her printed kaftan.
I sit up and clear my throat, but she’s so chilled, I find myself relaxing immediately.
We chat and then move to another room so she can see my work on her computer.
I sit facing the door, talking her through my work.
She reacts positively, and seems excited.
It’s going well, I can tell.
Suddenly, there’s some movement outside the door.
Distracted I glance up.
There’s a big naked man standing there, a towel barely, barely covering his jewels.
He looks as stunned as I do.
I’m mid sentence, talking about a piece of work I’ve done for some boring bank.
I feel the blood rush to my face and think I’m going to explode.
I avert my eyes, and continue talking as if nothing happened.
In my head I’m screaming and laughing and startled all at once.
From where she sits, she can’t see the door and doesn’t seem to have noticed a thing.
From the corner of my eye I see him scurry away.
The interview over, we walk out to the living room.
On the same white sofa, sits the big man, now dressed.
She introduces me to him, “meet my husband” she says.
I’m turn bright magenta. I can’t even look him in the eye.
I mumble a hello.
And he mumbles back.
I leave.
I get the job.
I’m sure he told her.
She laughs inexplicably the next time we meet.