Cult

Interviews

<pre style="line-height: 17px; white-space: normal; color: #2a2a2a; font-size: 13px;">"That will be all, Miss Lowe. Thank you for coming today," <br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Thanks for having me," I sigh, standing up from the interview with Mr Higgins.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />Mr Higgins works for a company that manufactures clothing. Not that this is my ideal job, but it'll do for a temporary basis.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />You see, I've run away from my demanding parents who live in New York, and have made my way down to Tampa in Florida. I'm eighteen, and I'm nervous. I've never been without my parents or my brothers, so I'm really scared - even though I've moved from the most frightening city in the USA. <br style="line-height: 17px;" />I have a small fortune to myself, having a few jobs in NYC and being a part time model, and Tampa prices are surprisingly low compared to the Big Apple. This means I can take care of myself, but I blew most of my money on the plane, and the hotel is pretty pricey.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />Not my brightest move, running away, but I had to do it. I just had to.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />Though the search for a job has been painful, and I'm in desperate need of one, I know that I should be fine here, if I find the right lifestyle.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />So far I've had six interviews which haven't gone so well, as each of the employers has asked the annoying question of "So what made you move to Tampa?". I have two more today - one with a supermarket and the other with a surfing store. I do hope they go well, as they are my last ones. <br style="line-height: 17px;" />As I make my way into Starbucks, I'm hit by an ache of need. I need a job. <br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Can I take your order?" an overweight man asks.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Caramel frap," I huff, but he continues to stare. <br style="line-height: 17px;" />After a while I urge him by saying "Please," and he snaps out of his gaze and moves along in a hurry.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />I'm used to this. I'm used to everyone staring. I don't think I'm pretty, but everyone else does.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />He comes back within seconds, red in the face. "Your n-name?"<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Alex," I say, and move along to wait. <br style="line-height: 17px;" />The wait isn't bad. I check my phone, which has had five missed calls from my mom, seven from my dad and one from each of my three brothers. I know they wouldn't have called willingly, but either one of my parents would have forced them into doing it. They're like that.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Maybe she'll answer to you," I can hear my mom saying to each of my brothers.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />Maybe I won't. I've had contact with Daniel, Nicholas and Peter since I've left, and they all think what I'm doing is great. <br style="line-height: 17px;" />Growing up with triplets as older brothers has been hard - especially when they're a year older than me - but they are who I miss the most. I will never find a guy who I'll love more that my brothers.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Alex?" someone calls. I look up to see another flustered man staring at me, though this one isn't too bad on the looks. Not my type though.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />But what is my type?<br style="line-height: 17px;" />I smile for a second and snatch the frap out of his grasp, and peer down at it.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />'Alecs'. <br style="line-height: 17px;" />What is it with Starbucks and their spelling? How hard is it to spell Alex? Fair enough if I gave them my full name, Alexandra, but Alex? Really?<br style="line-height: 17px;" />As I check my watch, I curse. I run out of the cafe as quickly as I can, realising that if I go any slower I'm going to be late for my next interview.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />Too bad looks can't get you anywhere with those. <br style="line-height: 17px;" />I hurry across the road and knock a guy off his feet as I do so.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Sorry!" I shout as I continue to run, looking back and seeing him standing up, looking at me with his sharp blue eyes.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />I continue to run and finally reach the surf store. I enter it and take the first sip of my caramel frap. I inhale deeply and go up to the desk.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Hi, i'm -"<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Alexandra Lowe," the beautiful brunette behind the counter hums, "Yes, we've been expecting you. Go through the curtains and into Mr Cult's office."<br style="line-height: 17px;" />I smile at her, and mutter "Cult," as I walk away. What a weird name.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Ah, Alexandra," he smiles as I knock and enter. "We thought you weren't going to show up,"<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"I was..." I trail off, looking down at my plastic cup with 'Alecs' on it.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Great taste," he smiles. "I enjoy a Starbucks myself, though only today."<br style="line-height: 17px;" />I nod, "Today?"<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Yes. I adore a coffe shop across the road. Same quality as 'Bucks, but half the price. It's closed on a Thursday. Please, take a seat," he smiles, pointing at the chair across his desk.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />I put myself into the chair and look up at Mr Cult. You can tell he once was a gorgeous boy. He's about fifty, with grey hairs twining with his brown. He has piercing blue eyes and dazzling teeth. <br style="line-height: 17px;" />"So, you want to work for my business," he smiles. He's constantly smiling.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Yes," I say, confused. He hasn't asked my a question.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Why?" he asks, still smiling.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"I want to try something new. I've only recently moved to Tampa," I say, dreading the next question.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"And you think 'Cult Lagoon' is the place for you?" he asks, his eyes digging into me. Oh, that's surprising.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"I've looked at your business online. It's set across all hot states in the USA and I'm intruiged at it." I say.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"I'm trying to get bigger than Ron Jon's," he smirks.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />Like that's gunna happen.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"I'm very interested in your business, Mr Cult," I say, bashing my eyelids. Judging by the woman behind the counter, he likes beauty, and apparently I have it. "And I want to work in the original store."<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Someone's done her research," he smiles.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Research? No." I say, "I don't do research. I know things, and originality is very important to me,"<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Obviously," he smirks.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"What do you look for in a job?" he asks.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"A lot of things," I murmer, "Experience mostly,"<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"This shop has experience," he beams, "Can you surf?"<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"I've surfed," I say, but I'm not very good. He doesn't need to know that.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"But can you surf?" he asks. Damn.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"A little. Living in New York doesn't give me much oppurtunity," I smile.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Why did you move from New York, Miss Lowe?" he asks.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />Crap, there is it.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />There's a knock on the door. We both look up, and a beautifully stunning figure steps into the room.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Ah, Miss Lowe, this is my son, Ross," Mr Cult says. Oh my.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />"Got to the interview then?" he smirks, and it's not for the reason his father assumes. This is the boy I knocked over while running here.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />I'm not going to forget those eyes in a hurry.</pre>