Chapter 1
Interviews are never quite relaxing, but this one in particular, certainly has Carrie jumbled up in many nervous feelings. The young 18 year old was sitting in a waiting room outside the interviewer’s office, similar young and pretty girls surrounding her. They were anxiously waiting to hear the runner’s voice yell, “next!” to signal for the next girl in line to begin the interview stage.
Carrie had finished her paperwork, her pink clipboard balanced easily on her lap with her legs crossed, her hand clutching anxiously at her pastel pink skater skirt. She had the plan to walk in confidently, not to trip, successfully complete the interview, and go home excited to await the results. What made her the most nervous was how many girls had shown up to be interviewed, but specifically the part that there was only one open slot for the job.
The girls were interviewing for an assistant job for the famous fashion designer and model, Brendon Volta-Marcello. Mr. Volta worked for the fashion company, Ralph Lauren, and was one of the top designers in the corporation. His experience in fashion made Carrie question her outfit choice while looking around at the other girls’ clothes, but she quickly slaps her doubts away, reminding herself that she got the approval of her outfit from not only two of her friends, but three.
Carrie was determined to succeed; she wanted this job, and desperately needed the experience if she wanted to continue her degree in fashion. She wasn’t going to let the fact that Brendon Marcello is an intimidating and sexy Italian fashion designer distract her from impressing him enough to hire her.
A few minutes passed, and Carrie heard the runner announce their famous line, “next!” signaling that it was Carrie’s turn. She gingerly stood up, holding her pink clipboard against the front of her white sweater, giving the girl who had just been interviewed a small smile. Taking a deep breath, Carrie followed the runner down the long hallway towards his office.
Once the runner had checked that Mr. Volta was ready for the next interview, they opened the door for Carrie and allowed her inside. Carrie glanced one more time at the runner before the door closed, and she looked up to see Brendon Marcello sitting at his desk, finishing a few notes from the last interview.
Carrie watched him curiously for a moment, wondering if she should be the one to initiate conversation, and after a few hesitating thoughts, she spoke out, “Hi, Mr. Volta. How are you?”
Silence.
Her face turned a pale pink as her heartbeat rapidly sped up, anxious thoughts beginning to swarm inside her mind. It was as if he couldn’t hear her.
Carrie quietly cleared her throat to try to catch his attention, and after a few more seconds of silence, he looked up at her.
“Sit down,” Mr. Volta instructed, motioning to the chair in front of his large wooden desk.
“I- Yes,” Carrie answered, her face flushed, his eyes piercing her as she walked over to the chair and sat down, straightening her skirt out over her lap.
He watched her for a moment, his eyes darting her body up and down, then with a soft sigh, he sat back in his leather desk chair, his shoulders slumping.
“What’s your name?” Mr. Volta asked, his eyes staring at her face. Carrie cleared her throat, “Carrie.”
He flipped through his papers to find her application she filled out a few weeks ago, the pink ink staining the white paper she had printed out at the school library.
“Right,” he said, and skimmed through the application. He then took his leopard-print glasses off and folded his hands on his desk. “So, talk.” He stated flatly, his heavy New Yorker accent making “talk” sound like “taulk.”
Carrie sat up, a little taken aback, and quickly recited what she had planned to say before coming in for the interview, “My name’s Carrie Cambrie. I’m 18 years old, and I’m in my freshman year in college. I’m shooting for a degree in fashion and in business, and I would love to have the opportunity to work for somebody who has had experience in both fields.”
Mr. Volta made a soft, “mph” sound in response, and Carrie wasn’t sure if that meant to continue or not. After a moment of heavy silence, she continued,
“My grandma taught me how to knit sweaters when I was 7, and I gave cute winter sweaters as presents to my friends and family, despite growing up in North Carolina,” she exhaled a nervous laugh, trying to gain emotion from him, but he continued staring.
Carrie increasingly began to feel more uncomfortable by the second, and she wondered if he interviewed all the girls like this or if she somehow managed to tick him off. Thinking of every possible thing she could’ve done wrong, moments passed until he finally opened his mouth, making Carrie’s heart sink.
“So, North Carolina,” he mused as he stifled a yawn. Carrie couldn’t help but stare at the man in confusion and she hesitated, “Yeah, Kinston.”
“Why come to New York City?”
“It’s a great fashion town,” she responded, a little flustered at the sudden question.
“Mph,” Mr. Volta made the sound again, setting his glasses down on his desk and took a long sip from the golden looking drink in his glass. Definitely liquor.
Carrie started regretting that she even applied for the position, he obviously was uninterested, and he barely was paying attention to her. She cleared her throat, and with a mental jab of confidence, she began, “You don’t seem very interested in this interview, and I understand that it must be draining to have to interview a bunch of young girls, but I’d really appreciate it if we could at least talk a little about my application.”
Mr. Volta broke out into a soft chuckle as he finished his beverage and Carrie felt chills run up and down her spine, despite being in a warm sweater.
“You’re right, it is draining. I don’t even fuckin’ want an assistant,” he thought aloud, setting his glass down on his desk with a clink as the glass tapped against the wood. “I can do all this shit by myself.”
Carrie swallowed her surprise at his sudden profanity and tried to respond in a casual, curious way, “Why are you doing it, then?”
“My boss.”
Carrie felt her shoulders slump a little in disappointment and crossed her arms across her chest. “I’m sorry, should I just leave?”
Mr. Volta cocked an eyebrow and he sat back, setting his hands on his lap. “Ya know why all these girls showed up today?” He deflected, ignoring her question.
“Um… I’d assume to work for you,” she guessed, a little unsure if it was a rhetorical question.
“No,” he paused, turning his chair to the side to motion behind him at the tall glass window overlooking the skyscrapers. “Those girls see Brendon Marcello on a billboard in Times Square and their pussies flare up.”
Carrie’s eyebrows raised and she blushed at his choice of foul diction. “What do you mean?”
Mr. Volta sighed and turned his chair to face Carrie again, leaning forward to be closer to his desk. “They don’t want the job because they want the opportunity to learn more about fashion. They came here today, wearing their little pantyhose and sweaters, because I’m a male celebrity with a shit ton of publicity and power. Most of those girls in that room would get on their knees to get this job.”
“I would never,” Carrie quickly defended herself, insulted by his comment.
He cocked an eyebrow at her and his tone became more serious, “Then why would I hire you, a girl that writes in pink ink and dots her i’s with little hearts, when I could receive easy head from a desperate, slutty girl, every morning when she brings me my coffee?”
Carrie couldn’t believe what he said; in fact, she gaped at him and drew in a sharp inhale before exhaling, “I’m different.”
“How are you different?” He continued, using the same tone that made Carrie feel like he was quizzing her, carefully grading each of her responses as if it were an exam.
“I…” Carrie went silent for a moment, her heartbeat racing as he stared hard at her; a hard, cold stare from his coffee brown eyes. Carrie expected herself to be uncomfortable by the way he looked at her, but in some crazy way, even though he undoubtedly made her nervous, she didn’t necessarily feel unsafe by his gaze.
She took a deep breath and recranked her brain before stating, “I want this job for different reasons. I want to be a model someday, maybe even design clothes on my own. I really want this job, and I’d be lying to say that I wouldn’t be disappointed if I didn’t get it, but I would never take the desperate measures that you’re describing. If you want to hire a girl that will expose herself for your entertainment, then don’t hire me. I have enough respect for myself to forget this interview and apply for another job.”
Mr. Volta resumed staring for a moment, and Carrie watched his eyes, noticing that, even observing his pupils, she could assume that his brain was processing information at a very fast rate. Even though she couldn’t tell exactly what he was thinking, and despite his inappropriate language for being in an interview, Carrie could tell that he was very intelligent. She theorised that perhaps since Brendon’s an intellectual, he doesn’t feel the need to impress people vocally.
She watched as Mr. Volta’s expression abruptly changed, a small smile tugged at his lips as he said, “You’re hired.”
Carrie’s eyes widen and she shook her head, “You haven’t interviewed everyone yet.”
“Are you really going to argue with me?” he chuckled, his smile shifting to a charismatic smirk; a smirk that made Carrie blush, and she shook her head in response, “No.”
“Then go before I change my mind. I’m going to continue the interviews to be fair, but expect a call by tomorrow morning and we’ll get ya started,” he concluded, standing up from his chair to put his hand out for Carrie to shake.
Carrie shook his hand reluctantly, her feminine hand drowning in the size of his, and she let out a shaky sigh, “Thank you so much.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go home and relax, ya did well,” Mr. Volta finished, letting go of her hand and sitting back down in his leather chair.
Carrie walked towards the door, carrying her clipboard, and she halfway turned around to wave goodbye at him, catching his eyes directed at her skirt. Mr. Volta waved back at her and she blushed, saying a final, “thank you” before leaving his office. She felt a heavy weight lift off of her chest once she was out of there, and she finally felt like she could breathe normally again.
Carrie walked back into the room where she started in, and she swore that the air around her felt different. After leaving the building, Carrie walked into the parking lot where she parked her car, and she reenacted what happened through her mind. On the drive back to campus, Carrie felt like her mind hadn’t left his office, and he was still giving her that look that sent shivers down her body.
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