The Position (7 page)

I reach across the table again and touch her arm. This time she doesn’t recoil. “That has never changed.” I look at my phone to check the time. It’s an hour from my appointment with Nathan Klein. “I’ve got to go. Call me soon, okay?”
 

Liz nods and wipes at her eyes. “Okay.”
 

When I leave the café, my head is spinning and I feel strangely drugged. Life has never been easy for me, but at least it’s been predictable. Now it’s like the whole world has been shaken like a snow globe and nothing makes sense anymore. All I want is a little stability, a baseline of normal where I can just chill out for a while. I unlock my bike and head in the direction of downtown.
 

And this time I’m going to watch out for doors.

Chapter Twelve

Nathan Klein’s building looks nothing like Lazarus & Smith’s gleaming tower. His is in a funkier part of town, with elegant, red brick buildings and old growth trees. Mixed in with the smaller design and architecture firms are fancy cafes, tapas restaurants, and a movie theater that shows foreign films.
 

When I step through the doors, a friendly woman immediately turns to greet me. She has very short black hair, a nose ring, and a completely tattooed right arm. She’s wearing a casual-but-funky tank top, crazy pants full of zippers, and chunky-heeled platform boots. She gets to her feet and walks toward me with her tattooed arm extended.
 

“Hey!” she calls, as if I were across the room. “Michaela, right?”
 

I smile and nod. She shakes my hand with a grin. “I’m Devon. I work with Nate. He told me about your work. Stoked to meet you!”
 

I’m completely thrown. It could not be more different from showing up at Lazarus & Smith for my 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 hired to design a new nightclub. It’s the vanity project of a Hollywood celebrity, actually. He loves the mountains and Colorado, and wants to plant a little flag here, I guess. You know how these people can be. They always want something special. Something unique. And your stuff is unique.”
 

I blush again, this time in a good way. “Thank you.”
 

He looks at Devon as if signaling her. She smiles at me. “We’d like to see what you can do with it.”
 

I gape at her, my jaw opens, and I nearly slip out of my chair. Then I look at Nate. Are they messing with me? Is it possible this is really happening? That something amazing is finally happening to me? “You want me to design a celebrity nightclub? But you’ve only just met me.”

Nate shrugs. “Your sketches tell me all I need to know. And we have the time. If you botch it, we’ll survive.” He arches his eyebrows. “But if you’re the next design genius we think you could be, the world will be kissing our asses. What do you say? Will you be our own little wunderkind?”
 

I don’t even pause for effect. My hand shoots out toward him and I get to my feet. “Absolutely! I’m your girl! You won’t be sorry!” My whole body feels warm and strangely strong. Muscular. I flash to the childhood fantasy of my future self; the cosmopolitan woman living a glamorous life in the city. Is it possible it could actually be coming true?

For the rest of the afternoon, Nate and Devon show me pictures and videos of the projects they’ve done in the U.S., Madrid, and Mexico City. They’re not as high profile and world famous as Lazarus, but they are cool and fun, and clearly loaded. Their world isn’t that of museums, estates, and office towers. They design funky, modern hotel interiors, private pool areas, and nightlife establishments.
 

Finally, Nate gathers our glasses and brings them to the small sink area in the back while Devon has me fill out several forms to establish my official employment. When it asks for my address, I write down Travis’s, as usual, but this time I feel a little weird about it. Nate appears just as I’m finishing up. He fishes around his inside pocket and pulls out a folded slip of paper.
 

“Consider it a retainer on the project,” he announces, handing it to me with a warm smile. “And I look forward to many more.”
 

It’s a check. I open it and look at the number. Immediately, I let out an audible gasp. It’s more than my own father used to make in six years combined. I’ve never had more than a few hundred dollars in my account at any given time. How is it possible that this money is for me? The moment is so unreal that, for a few seconds, I actual question whether or not I’m dreaming. But the paper in my hands is real. It’s happening. My dream is coming true.
 

I hug Devon and Nate goodbye, and then step out into the fading afternoon light in a daze. My bike is chained up outside, but I’m not ready to go quite yet. Instead, I head across the street to a red brick café where beautiful young people sit reading books or working on their computers. I order an espresso and settle down at a window table with an outlet just below so I can plug in my nearly dead laptop.
 

For a long, lingering moment I watch the people pass by outside, purposeful and professional people, and for the first time in my life, I think I might actually belong with them. Belong here in this neighborhood. In this café.
 

Then I turn on my computer and find the site I’m looking for. Listings for apartments in the Denver area.

Chapter Thirteen

“It’s perfect.”
 

Travis stands at the bay windows looking down at the activity on the street below. It’s only two blocks from my new office and the neighborhood, I’ve discovered, is even cooler than I realized. There are art galleries, kava bars, bookstores, and movie cafes—like a Bohemian dream.
 

“I don’t know, Travis,” I mumble, walking around the beautifully spacious living room, with great natural light and refinished hardwood floors. “It’s expensive. I’m thinking I should stick with that garden level place…”
 

“Garden level,” interrupts Travis, “is just real estate code for depressing, basement apartment. And that neighborhood is horrible. Not to mention the disgusting carpet.” He turns around and watches me opening closets and inspecting their ample interior. “Mickey, you have to let yourself have something nice. You can afford it. And you deserve it.”
 

I sigh. The place is a dream come true. I can’t imagine it being all mine. With everything happening so fast, I don’t know how to get my mind around it. “There’s no guarantee this job is going to work out, you know. Then I’ll be stuck with the rent.”
 

Travis approaches me and puts an arm around my shoulders. “This check will keep you solvent for the rest of the year, even without work. And if something happens and you don’t keep the job, you now have proof that your work is awesome and you’ll be able to find another one. Come on. You’ve paid your dues. Let your first real apartment be a beauty.”
 

He turns me around and walks me over to the bay windows. There’s a view of the Front Range just past the rooftops. The mountains look misty and blue in the afternoon light. I picture myself standing here alone on mornings with a cup of coffee, starting my day with that view. It sends a thrill all through me. Could I really do it? I hear the muffled sounds of a busker playing the guitar and singing down the street. I smile.
 

“You’re right.” I look at Travis, my eyes dancing with excitement. “Why not?”
 

Travis throws his arms around me and swings me in circles. “Can you believe it? After all this time. You fucking did it. You finally fucking did it!”
 

I laugh and squirm until he sets me down again. But instead of releasing his grip in the normal friend way he always has, he keeps his arms locked around me. His eyes are piercingly blue. Loose black curls hang over his right eye; his handsome face is angled down toward mine.
 

“You done good, Mickey,” he says in a low, husky voice I’ve never heard before. It’s almost a boyfriend voice. His chest feels warm and strong against mine. I can feel it expand and retract with each breath.
 

I remember that first year in college when I longed to be the object of Travis’s affection. Back then I’d watch him hold girls close and gaze down at their pretty, perky-nosed faces with his dopey puppy dog eyes. It’s like I’ve fallen into a vortex where all of my old fantasies are coming true at once. I’m just not sure I want this one anymore.
 

Whether I care to admit it or not, Lazarus’s hands felt right on my body. Travis’s don’t. I slip out of his grasp, playing it off as a joke.
 

“Thanks, Dad!” I laugh and turn away, afraid to see his hurt expression. Before he can say a word, I clasp my hands together and jump up and down like a little kid, trying hard to bring him back to the goofy friendship we’ve always had. “Now lets go look for furniture!”

Travis drives me to a tony street in Cherry Creek that looks way too rich for my blood. Still, I follow him along the sidewalk, gazing into shop windows filled with furnishings that cost more than my parent’s entire house. When we pass a sprawling furniture store with beautiful sofas and mango wood dining tables, Travis grabs my hand and drags me inside. Dance music thrums from hidden speakers.
 

“Dude, I can’t afford this stuff,” I mutter.
 

Travis collapses into a leather armchair and kicks his feet up on an ottoman. “Ooooh,” he groans. “You have to get this, Mickey. Because I don’t think the sales folk will ever get me out of it.”
 

“What a deal,” I laugh. “It comes with its very own boozy smart ass! Just what I needed!”
 

Travis makes a face and pushes himself up. His eyes lock on something across the room. He grabs my hand. “Come on, girl.”
 

He drags me over to the display of ridiculously priced mattresses, dressed with elegant duvets and collections of throw pillows. Before I can say a word, Travis sweeps me off my feet and tosses me onto one of them. I squeal.