Gilded Cage

Chapter Seven

Halfway through November, I got a job interview. It wasn't a proper job, more like an internship, but it was at one of the most important Scottish publishers, the salary was satisfactory and I would have gained some experience in the field. I had no intention of becoming a publisher, but maybe I could make some useful connections for when I started working on my plays. It was always a good thing to know people who could open doors for you. The interview was in Edinburgh so, on a Tuesday morning, I got on the bus that had led me to the campus that first day, and rode back to the city. I hopped off at the station, shivering from the cold wind. Luckily, the place wasn't too far; Queen Street was just about a ten-minute walk away, and the building was right next to the Portraits National Gallery.

When I arrived, I was greeted at the reception by a middle-aged woman in a green suit. She regarded me with a polite smile and ushered me to the lift after I gave her my name. "Second floor, darling," she said and returned to her desk. The second floor was an open space, with a few offices and a meeting room behind a glass wall. There was an old man in there who I assumed was waiting for me; as soon as he saw me approaching, he gestured for me to get in.

"Good morning." I shook his hand and sat down on the chair in front of him.

"Good morning, lad. I'm Samuel, but you can call me Sam." Sam had a strong Highlander accent, and the friendly attitude typical of a Scotsman. He had short, white hair, and a long grey beard; his blue eyes looked small behind his spectacles, and he smelled of something woody. He was dressed casually; a shirt and some wool grey jeans. I almost felt overdressed, with my black turtleneck and white trousers, even if it was supposed to be a formal meeting. I had gelled my hair back in a quiff for the occasion, and stolen some of Christian's perfume; delicate on the nose, nothing like one of mine.

"Thank you for having me." I crossed my legs and waited.

"Of course. Of course. You have an impressive academic curriculum." He giggled like he just made an absolute jam of a joke. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"

So, I did. I told Sam everything he could have found interesting about me, presenting myself in the best possible way. Was I hardworking? Yes. Was I a team player? Definitely. Was I fascinated by the publishing world? Of course. I was everything he wanted me to be in that moment.

"Remind me which university you go to," he asked, at last.

"St. Joshua's College."

"Oh, right. I thought it sounded familiar. You're not the first St. Joshua's student I interviewed."

I raised an eyebrow. "Can I ask who is the other one?"

Sam came to learn about me in a twenty-minute talk, but I also acquired some information about him. I came to the conclusion that Sam was stupid. It was either that, or old age was getting to him. He definitely didn't think before speaking, and he looked often confused as he did, like he wasn't sure he was saying the right thing; he kept asking me the same questions more than once, and smiled like he had no idea what to do with his face. I didn't know if he was truly listening to me or if he was lost in his own head. So, Sam was stupid enough to actually answer my question, even if for the sake of privacy, he shouldn't have.

"A lovely fella named Alexi. Bright young man. Do you know him?"

I felt my hands twitching on my lap. "No," I said, forcing myself to stay still. "I don't."

"Anyway. I think we're done here. The internship should start around the middle of January. If you get it, that is." He laughed again.

"And when will I know if I got it?" I asked, standing up.

"I'll call tomorrow to let you know. Thank you for coming."

I shook his hand again and sorted myself out. The wind outside felt colder than before, and as I trembled all the way to the station, my mind started racing. I tried to think of a reason why Alexi would need an internship, why this internship. He was rich and famous; he didn't need to make money and I assumed his mother could open every door for him, and get him any job he liked. Then, I remembered I had told him once that I had this interview when we were at lunch. It had been just a passing thought, I didn't give it too much weight, and he had never said anything about it either. I imagined he didn't care.