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“I don’t know what to say”, I say.
Brandon eases back into his chair. “Like I say, it might be nothing, but I’m going to put the feelers out and see if there’s something that might suit you. If you’re as good as Katie promises me, we might find you impossible to turn down.”
I can’t help but tap the table, readjust the glasses, line the cutlery up perfectly and cross and recross my legs.
“Thank you”, I say, when I’ve finished my routine. “That’s really kind of you to do that for me.”
Brandon brushes it off with a wave of his hand. “Hopefully it’ll be of some help”, he says as though offering a hundred dollar bill to a homeless girl, which I suppose in a way he kind of is. “Now, who’s hungry?”
“I’m famished”, Mom says eagerly, her eyes lighting up and meeting his in a way that makes thinking of the reasons why absolutely unavoidable.
I guess this is what I’m going to have to put up with now, a mother with a better sex life than mine, a brand new step dad, a job as a storyboard artist. As Brandon takes care of ordering, in a language specific to the world of expensive eateries, I’m still not sure whether to believe it.
Mom in genuinely, very strong like with someone is difficult enough to comprehend, despite how much I’ve been trying to avoid the clues, but the hardest thing to digest of all right now is the fact I think I’ve just been offered a job. A real job at that, with art and drawing and actual potential recognition.
Part of me wants to ask him again just to check I’ve understood properly, while the rest just wants to enjoy this delightful experience while I can, in case it turns out I’m completely mistaken.
The food is the best I’ve ever eaten, and when we are all done, I have to stop short of asking the waiter for a box to take the leftovers home in. I also have to resist drawing on the walls when I go to the restroom - an enormous marble tiled chamber bigger than my tiny studio flat - which I figure probably won’t work in my favor if my mom’s new boyfriend is also going to be my future benefactor.
“What do you think?” Mom asks me when Brandon disappears to the restroom.
I shrug. “He seems nice”, I say, purposefully understating it.
“I think he could be the one”, Mom says, before leaning towards me and mouthing the words he’s loaded.
I laugh because I know mom’s just gossiping. She wouldn’t care if he had everything or nothing as long as he treated her right, and really that’s all I care about too.
“So when’s the wedding”, I joke.
“I’ll tell you that when he asks me”, she says conspiratorially.
“You’re serious about him aren’t you?”
I know she is and I know she knows I know too so asking her is more about having it out there for both of us than needing to know specifically. That’s the thing about both of us being like Sherlock Holmes, you spend all the time knowing and hardly any of it saying.
Mom gives me the shrug back I gave her a moment ago. “I guess you could say that.”
“Well just don’t hurt yourself this time”, I say, our mother daughter relationship turning on its head.
“Are you going to go to that interview?” she asks, changing the subject.
“Is he for real?” I say.
“One hundred percent”, Mom confirms. “If he says he can get you an interview, that’s as good as saying he’ll get you a job.”
“I’ll have to talk to the store”, I lie.
“I’m sure that’s not going to be a problem”, Mom says. “You know you can always come to me if you need any help”, she adds.
How she knows, I don’t know, all I know is that she knows.
“Moms just know, darling”, she says as if confirming my thought for me. “They never stop being moms regardless of what else happens.”
I can’t narrow my eyes any more at her without the whole room falling into darkness. Moms never stop being moms even if they have sex with billionaires.
“If you need to borrow some money or anything like that, just let me know”, she adds.
“If it doesn’t work out with Brandon’s company, I might need to move in again”, I say, only half joking.
“I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out”, mom says. “Your bedroom is always your bedroom.”
“Even when it’s an office.”
“Exactly.”
Mom’s smile spreads out across her face in a way that reminds me of when she and I were both a lot younger, and she still had the promise of a future together with dad.
“Thanks Mom”, I say reaching for her hand.
“Well, fingers crossed you won’t need it.”
Brandon rejoins us and pulls his chair up to the table. “Did I miss anything?” he asks.
“Not really”, Mom says taking hold of his arm. “We were just chatting about this amazing job offer you’re sorting out for Penny.”
“Mom”, I complain.
“I’ll speak to them first thing in the morning”, Brandon says. “So hopefully we’ll have something organized this week. Does that suit you or is that too short notice?”
“That’s perfect for me”, I say, trying to play it cool. “Any time this week will be absolutely fine.”
Chapter Ten
It turns out that Brandon is extremely efficient at what he does. The following morning, even before I’ve got out of bed, I have a message from Mom saying that Brandon has spoken to his people - I have never heard my mom use that expression before in my life so I guess she’s just writing word for word what he’s told her - and that his people are very excited about meeting me. She sends me a name and a number to contact to arrange an interview, and reminds me that I should probably try and organize my portfolio so they get a general idea of my strengths and weaknesses.
Weaknesses? I scoff at the screen of my brand new phone, I haven’t got weaknesses.
You know, apart from being OCD, socially awkward, prone to panic attacks, and liable to daydream at any given moment, but that’s hardly got anything to do with my ability to draw. I mean, if anything, it only serves to enhance it.
Who am I kidding?
No matter how much I try to pretend and talk myself up, it’s clear I’m absolutely shitting myself. I haven’t had an interview for a proper job for what feels like a million years, and there is more pressure riding on this because it’s with one of Brandon’s companies, even though it’s not certain whether there’ll be a job at the end of it anyway.
Whatever happens, I’ve got to look good so I don’t make him look bad for suggesting me in the first place, which was a super nice thing to do considering he’s never seen any of my stuff before.
I set to work making my portfolio as clean as possible, which means removing pretty much every single drawing from the last six months, and in doing so, get an awkward reminder of exactly just how obsessed I’ve become in that time over sexy superhero twins. I’m not entirely sure where this fantasy has come from, but it wouldn’t take a vastly experienced psychologist to guess that the dark haired, full figured girl in the centre of all of these erotic scenes is intended to be me. Yeah she looks a little bit different - sexier, thinner, longer and more lustrous hair, better tits, but definitely me all the same.
I take everything out that has ejaculating cocks, erect nipples, orgasmic screams and the kind of graphic eroticism that would make even the most worldly of people blush, leaving behind about a tenth of my entire life’s work but enough still that should convince whoever I need to convince that if anything else can be said about me, at least I know how to draw.
When I’ve done that, I call the number Mom has sent me, my heart beating so fast I feel like I’m having a heart attack.
I won’t bore you with the entire conversation. She answered, I told her who I was and why I was calling, which she seemed disproportionately excited about, and then she said this:
“Can you come in this afternoon?”
