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Three P.M. On My Feet & Staggering

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Heads Will Roll plays through my headphones and I know I should go. This is like the tenth song on my playlist, telling me I've already been here too long. Sometimes, I loose track of time when I'm working. Which is exactly what I'm doing in Starbucks. Emphasis. In Starbucks. Not at Starbucks. In it. Being an artist has it's perks. Besides living paycheck to 5 days before my next paycheck, I get to work where I want. Which is what I am doing currently. At the moment it's shading. Stupid picture. Stupid dog. But I wouldn't say that. The dog I am currently drawing is Ms. Lancaster's. Her name is Sugar. The dog, not Ms. Lancaster. The dog lives downstairs from my apartment with Ms. Lancaster, the lady who owns the bookstore. She is crazy and old, and likes her scotch a little too much, but what can I say. She pays a fair price. This dog is the difference between food for the next two weeks, and starving. I finish my shading, and select a fine point pen to date and sign the corner. Gingerly, as to not bend the paper, I slide the dog into my portfolio, and then my portfolio into by bag. Time to go deliver the dog, and then go grocery shopping. I position my bag in the crook of my arm, and drop my empty cup in the trash. I spin around a take a step toward the exit, when I collide with something. Or more likely, someone. My bag falls to the ground, and my portfolio falls out, and slides across the floor. I stumble back a few steps, and catch myself on the wall. I am like, the clumsiest person ever!

"Sorry." I mumble, and duck my head. I pick up my bag, and the stranger picks up my portfolio. Now that I can see him properly, I notice key features about him. He is tall, and wears an expensive suit, in all black. He isn't a terrible duffer though, his handkerchief is floral.

"An artist, are you?" He asks, walking toward me as he rifles through the portfolio. He takes a few moments to look through a few of my drawings, and I am lost for words.
"Here." He says finally, offering me my book back.

"Thanks." I offer him a small smile, and slip it back into my bag as he continues to talk.

"You're really good, you know. Where did you go to school?" He seems generally intrigued, and I spot a fine opportunity to make some money.

"I got my G.E.D. at 13, went to undergrad at the local community college, and attended Yale University in Connecticut for grad school." I blush at the compliment, but professionalism is always key. I regret not wearing higher heels. Even in these, he is still almost a foot taller than me.

"And, are you looking for a job?" His eyes are big and wide, the color of the moon. Makes me feel like he can see right through me. Yikes.

"Yes, sir." I give my most winning smile, and try not to show how much this guy is creeping me out. But this just makes him smile wider. He pulls a card out of his breast pocket and hands it to me.

"We're looking for a merchandise designer to travel with us. You have an interview tomorrow at noon at The Mark hotel, Room 218. Do not be early, and do not be late. I will see you then." I take the card and look at it.

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Jon Syverson
Stage Manager
Tour Manager
Band Manager

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On the back of the card it lists various ways to contact him. I am stunned to say the least. This has to be the quickest and oddest way I've ever gotten an interview. I look up, and Jon offers me one last smile before walking off to order his coffee. I stand shocked for a moment, before exiting. I get in my car, and start the engine. I stare at the business card a moment longer and tuck it into my visor. Time to go give Ms. Lancaster her dog.

Notes

Polyvore
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Kat_Mouse