interview. In fact, if I’d shown up at this place soaked with rain and beat to shit, they probably would’ve loved it. Feeling amazingly at ease, I glance around at the super fun décor. Brightly colored chairs and Miró-inspired fixtures hanging from the ceiling. I hand Devon my portfolio. She takes it and waves me through.
“Come on back. Let’s have a drink.”
I follow her past several room dividers hanging from ceiling chains to where Nate is sitting on the floor thumbing through catalogues of high-end light fixtures. When he sees me he smiles broadly and reaches up a hand to shake.
“Good to see you again, my friend!” he exclaims. “Do you drink wine?”
I gape at him for a second before catching myself. “Uh, sure.”
“Red or white?” Devon asks, heading for a vintage bar set up against the brick wall. She pulls three wine glasses from an elevated shelf.
“White, please,” I manage, forcing my confident voice through, even though I’m starting to feel so excited about the prospect of working here that I’m absolutely sure I’m going to blow it.
Devon opens a bottle of white and pours us each a glass. After handing them around she joins Nate on the floor and waves me down. “Have a seat. Let’s check out your bitchin’ work.” She throws open my portfolio and immediately gasps at the first sketch. “Fuck, that’s gorgeous, girl!”
I can’t stop grinning. I sit down on the floor and sip my wine as they turn the pages, effusive with their compliments. I’m struck with an overwhelming feeling of safety. Of belonging. The wine tingles in my head and makes my body feel warm and relaxed.
“Who was it that fired you yesterday?” asks Nate, his eyes still glued on my work.
“Jude Lazarus.”
Both their heads snap up simultaneously.
“What?” gasps Nate.
“No shit?” exclaims Devon.
She and Nate exchange a look.
“Well la-tee-fucking-da!” she laughs.
“He had her working as an assistant,” mutters Nate. “Probably never even asked for her portfolio.” He looks up at me. “Did he see your work?”
“No,” I shake my head. “But I wasn’t applying for a design job. I didn’t think anyone would hire me for that. I mean I just graduated from college.”
“Are you nuts?” Devon’s eyes go wide. “Everyone loves discovering a hot new talent! But Jude Lazarus…” She throws up her arms dramatically. “There’s no room in that spotlight! No way!”
She gets to her feet, goes to the bar, and grabs the bottle. “Okay, let’s get our asses in some real chairs and talk shop.”
We settle into some funky chairs that look like the palms of upturned hands, and I can’t tell whether they’re supposed to be serious or ironic. I perch awkwardly on one and cross my legs, as Devon refills my glass. Then she settles comfortably into one of the hand chairs and pulls her knees to her chest. She looks me up and down, as if seeing me for the first time.
“You have a great look, Michaela. I can already see you at some of our fabulous cocktail parties. Last year we had a pop art theme party and people came dressed as Andy Warhol or wearing make up that made them look like pointillist paintings. It was awesome.”
“God, that sounds amazing,” I gush with genuine appreciation. “This place is amazing. I really feel good here.”
“Yes. It’s a good fit,” says Nate matter-of-factly. “We’ve been struggling to find someone that matches our style. Our energy. And then you fall on your ass right in front of me.”
I blush, but force a smile. “Yeah. Good thing it wasn’t totally mortifying or anything.” I give Devon a sheepish look. “I was having a bad night.”
“Well, when one door closes…” Nate makes a sweeping gesture toward their own glass-fronted door. He raises his glass and we all follow suit. After taking a long drink, Nate turns to me with a serious business face.
“We’ve been
“Come on back. Let’s have a drink.”
I follow her past several room dividers hanging from ceiling chains to where Nate is sitting on the floor thumbing through catalogues of high-end light fixtures. When he sees me he smiles broadly and reaches up a hand to shake.
“Good to see you again, my friend!” he exclaims. “Do you drink wine?”
I gape at him for a second before catching myself. “Uh, sure.”
“Red or white?” Devon asks, heading for a vintage bar set up against the brick wall. She pulls three wine glasses from an elevated shelf.
“White, please,” I manage, forcing my confident voice through, even though I’m starting to feel so excited about the prospect of working here that I’m absolutely sure I’m going to blow it.
Devon opens a bottle of white and pours us each a glass. After handing them around she joins Nate on the floor and waves me down. “Have a seat. Let’s check out your bitchin’ work.” She throws open my portfolio and immediately gasps at the first sketch. “Fuck, that’s gorgeous, girl!”
I can’t stop grinning. I sit down on the floor and sip my wine as they turn the pages, effusive with their compliments. I’m struck with an overwhelming feeling of safety. Of belonging. The wine tingles in my head and makes my body feel warm and relaxed.
“Who was it that fired you yesterday?” asks Nate, his eyes still glued on my work.
“Jude Lazarus.”
Both their heads snap up simultaneously.
“What?” gasps Nate.
“No shit?” exclaims Devon.
She and Nate exchange a look.
“Well la-tee-fucking-da!” she laughs.
“He had her working as an assistant,” mutters Nate. “Probably never even asked for her portfolio.” He looks up at me. “Did he see your work?”
“No,” I shake my head. “But I wasn’t applying for a design job. I didn’t think anyone would hire me for that. I mean I just graduated from college.”
“Are you nuts?” Devon’s eyes go wide. “Everyone loves discovering a hot new talent! But Jude Lazarus…” She throws up her arms dramatically. “There’s no room in that spotlight! No way!”
She gets to her feet, goes to the bar, and grabs the bottle. “Okay, let’s get our asses in some real chairs and talk shop.”
We settle into some funky chairs that look like the palms of upturned hands, and I can’t tell whether they’re supposed to be serious or ironic. I perch awkwardly on one and cross my legs, as Devon refills my glass. Then she settles comfortably into one of the hand chairs and pulls her knees to her chest. She looks me up and down, as if seeing me for the first time.
“You have a great look, Michaela. I can already see you at some of our fabulous cocktail parties. Last year we had a pop art theme party and people came dressed as Andy Warhol or wearing make up that made them look like pointillist paintings. It was awesome.”
“God, that sounds amazing,” I gush with genuine appreciation. “This place is amazing. I really feel good here.”
“Yes. It’s a good fit,” says Nate matter-of-factly. “We’ve been struggling to find someone that matches our style. Our energy. And then you fall on your ass right in front of me.”
I blush, but force a smile. “Yeah. Good thing it wasn’t totally mortifying or anything.” I give Devon a sheepish look. “I was having a bad night.”
“Well, when one door closes…” Nate makes a sweeping gesture toward their own glass-fronted door. He raises his glass and we all follow suit. After taking a long drink, Nate turns to me with a serious business face.
“We’ve been
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