Chapter 5: The Interview

*Serene POV*

“My name is Stacy and I work for studio 70,” the woman continued. “We received your script and were very impressed. Are you available for an interview today?”

“Yes, yes I am!” I answered enthusiastically.

“Perfect,” the secretary answered.

After telling me the location and time, Stacy hung up. My heart hung in a state of suspended excitement. I couldn’t believe it, after all these years….

My interview was at 2:30pm and my Hello Kitty alarm clock stated it was still only 10 am. Four and a half hours felt like four and a half minutes to do everything I needed!

I scurried to the bathroom to experiment with makeup, which I hadn’t been using since working as a hotel cleaner. I settled on a subtle nude toned blush. It was best to appear humbled. Or…maybe I needed to be flashy in this industry?! Fine! Nude blush, but fire red lipstick!

Surely, they’d be more concerned about my actual script than such frivolities. I went over the plot again and again in my mind.

“Sasha knows that the world has been boiled down to ‘likes’ and views,” I repeated to myself as I put on my mascara. “She knows there has to be more, more than what the world sees online...”

I trailed off at the end. I knew what happened. I knew how to say it. What more can I possibly say to give a good impression? I sighed in anticipation.

I was pleasantly surprised by my own reflection. My hazel eyes looked accented without seeming bombastic, and my blonde-roast coffee-colored hair was best suited in a fierce high ponytail that showed I wasn’t there to just sh*t the bed.

“Okay, let’s do this Serene!” I gave myself a pep talk. “This is your second chance at the life you’ve always wanted!”

I grabbed my off-brand purse and left the bathroom. Earl Gray was sleeping on my bed, but he peeked at me long enough to say goodbye. I grinned and closed the door gently behind me.

My stepmom was in the kitchen eating a premade breakfast burrito, since she was too lazy to actually cook. I heard grunts forced from her throat trying to speak, but the burrito in her mouth prevented that.

I quickly dashed out the door before she could swallow, making my way down the street. I was feeling optimistic about today. This was the opportunity I was denied before.

The forecast today was fully sunny, with no clouds in the sky, and a reassuring seventy-five degrees with a slight breeze. It seemed like whatever power sent me back here was rooting for me.

I practically skipped all the way to the station. The building was ominous, its gray concrete frame jutting high into the sky with windows plastered sporadically to break the monotony. In comparison to the weather, it was so impersonal and gloomy. Its brutalist architecture instilled slight doubt in me like whatever was waiting for me inside could be just as chilling.

Distracted by the concrete structure, I struggled to recall in my head what the directions were that Stacy gave me.

I walked through the front doors, which were the confusing spinning ones, where the harder I pushed the slower they seemed to revolve. Everyone in the building stood stoic and judgemental, a similar appearance to the associates whenever I wandered into a Louis Vuitton boutique in sweatpants.

I rotated my head to take in the lobby. It was austere, and screamed ‘money.’ The floors were outfitted with light-beige marble that had just been shined like the top of my father’s bald head.

An antique gold-flaked and crystal chandelier, with more candles than a Catholic church, was suspended in the center of the hall, but merely for decoration. Minor floral arrangements adorned the waiting area, making the adjacent black leather couches feel like executive coffins.

It was suffocating, yet I needed air. By breathing ‘normal people’ breaths, was I polluting their building? I felt so lost here.

“Ma’am?” I heard a lady’s voice call to me. The room was so large it echoed and scared me. Was that God?

“Ma’am!” the lady’s voice called again, and I saw that it came from a young lady at the receptionist desk. I gathered myself and approached as confidently as I could.

“Hello,” the receptionist greeted me in a cold tone. “How may I assist you?”

“Oh, well, you see I am Jones. I mean, my name is Serene Jones,” I stammered, struggling to not seem like an idiot. “I have an interview today.”

“Yes,” the girl responded, staring at her computer screen. “But, it is not until 2:30pm. It’s only 12. Are you sure you want to stay here waiting?”

“Of course!” I declared without thinking.

The girl eyed me slightly strangely like I wasn’t welcomed here. “Okay, Ms. Jones,” she answered bluntly, printing something off her computer and handing me a receipt. “This is your pass. Hand it to the guard and he will let you in.”

I thanked her and started walking to the right.

“Ma’am,” she said to me, a twinge of annoyance in her voice. “It’s to the left, up the stairs, and then make another left. You will see the guard. Present him with that slip.”

I nodded and walked away. To be frank, I hated girls like her. They were so stingy and stuck up I felt like it must be painful for them to walk. They’re that stiff!

I made my way up the steps, turned left, and saw a man who was over 6 feet tall and burly standing in front of a seemingly impenetrable iron door. The door looked like it was made of iron and the walls around it were white marble which made the room look more like a mausoleum than an office. The guard had no expression on his face.

I cleared my throat several times as I stood before him. He didn’t speak. He just looked at me. I swallowed hard and handed him the paper slip. I felt like an 8-year-old kid next to him. He looked at the paper for a long time as if it was written in a foreign language. Then, finally, he moved aside and opened the hulky door with just one finger.

The door was slammed shut, locking me in here like I was in a prison cell. The waiting room was decorated entirely of redwood cherry furniture and red velvet. Bookshelves lined the walls with first editions that looked undisturbed for a long time. Emerald wall sconces lined the room since there was a shortage of windows.

It reminded me of something I’d expect to see in the Great Gatsby.

I sat in this strange room for over two hours. I didn’t sit on any of the chairs because I was too afraid. I just sat on the hardwood floor.

Finally, 15 minutes after my scheduled interview a tall, muscular woman came out from the office into the waiting room. I jumped up and greeted her.

“Hi there,” the woman answered in a raspy voice. “You must be Serene, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Please, come in.”

She had brown, blown-out hair like a 1980's model. She wore a beige office suit and a plastic smile. She handed me a cup of coffee which I drank out of obligation.

“My name is Tasha, I am the director of operations here,” she told me. “We were pleased with your submission. Please, tell me about yourself and your work.”

I was so pleased that my words came out clearly. I went over every character and plot point at nauseum. She remained silent, simply nodding subconsciously and writing in a notebook, as I spoke.”

Finally, when I exhausted every last detail, I stopped. She looked up pleased and nodded.

“Impressive, Ms. Jones,” she commended in a steely tone. “We’d love to offer you a lump sum of money for using your script.”

“Oh, thank you,” I said timidly. “But, will I not be working with you on the project?”

“Oh, honey, no,” she laughed. “We only have experienced writers working with us. You have no experience, although we appreciate your talent. We are willing to compensate you well.”

I stood up, clenching my folder. My face was red and my eyes were tearing from frustration.

“No,” I said firmly. “I wrote this. This time people will know that I made this!”

Before she could respond I stormed out of her office, making my way back to the unwelcoming lobby. Not wanting to deal with the receptionist again, I snuck out the side entrance.

As I pushed the door open, I realized I wasn’t outside. In fact, I was in a dark hall with a masculine voice screaming in the distance.

“You are nothing but a has-been!”