She looked at my resume, and tossed it to the side. “What are you wearing?”
“Double breasted three-piece with pleat front pants in a taupe houndstooth tweed, fully lined. A white cotton linen blend cream shirt with pinned cuffs. A silk tie in a four-in-hand knot, paired with my Bruno Magli penny loafers. Oh, and my lucky llama socks.”
She chuckled. “All custom?”
I pursed my lips. “I would find it insulting to have an interviewee show up for a fashion position in something they didn’t make. At least one item. I enjoy sewing, so I pulled out my favorites.”
“The vest?”
Fuck. “Is going in the discard pile when I get home. There’s an issue with the darting and it’s pulling in the back. And that’s after hours of repair.”
She nodded, then pointed to my portfolio. “Show me, Mister Orback. What have you got?”
I pulled the massive portfolio up and laid it on the desk so she could easily see the pages. I unzipped it. “Would you like the whole chronological evolution, ma’am? Or just—”
“Show me what you’re proud of, Mister Orback.”
That was easy. My master’s project. I’d worked with a small recital at Julliard to design their costumes for the half hour ballet that was the graduation piece for one of the students.
I flipped right to it. “This is Danse Sous la Cite Pomme, a short ballet. They didn’t want traditional tutus or body suits. The ballet was based on survival in the underground of New York.” I pointed to the first sketch. “This is No, the character we follow. He was left to the underground, and has been trying to survive there.”
I walked through the whole project. No, Ani, Some, Macabre, Morte, and Vive, The half hour program followed No through a terrible day in the sewers and ended with him dying in the lap of Vive. The story and choreography were brilliant, the music had been perfect. The whole thing was a master’s final—a collaboration between the composer, the pit, choreographer, the set designer, the principle dancers, and me—the costumer. We’d passed with amazing grades, and the ballet was in the repertoire of short programs at the Met.
I had climbed down into the sewers, and walked through the underground, and the people who lived there. All of the costumes were based on what I saw down there—some of them ridiculous and some of them sad and desperate.
“So you choose something hopeful for No,” Ilson said. “Why?”
“Most everyone who lived down there was hopeful, in ways I didn’t understand. Broke, lonely, hungry, forgotten, and yet they moved through their lives with joy. Grateful for things like buttons and pillows and socks. No found the joy in those things as well, so I choose hope for him.”
“Wait…you went downinto the sewer?”
“Yes, ma’am. Research is research.”
“But you’re wearing Bruno Maglis.”
“I wore boots down there. Thrift store boots.” I pointed to the corner of the stage in the production. “Those boots. The set designer incorporated them.”
She leaned back and her expression was completely unreadable. Made worse a moment later by her folding her hands in front her mouth. She tapped her fingers in rhythm and studied the designs in front of her.
A moment later she flipped through the rest of the portfolio. Her eyes wandered the pages and I could see her chewing her lip in thought.
I really thought I was going to piss my lined pants.
Leaning over, a good ten minutes after her last question, she flipped the switch on the intercom. “Tia. Numbers?”
“One hundred, full, year, two assistants.”
“Thank you, Tia. Cancel the other interviews.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I was pretty sure I had released my bowels.
“Is a hundred agreeable with you, Mister Orback?”
Hanging my head, I swallowed. “You’ll forgive me if I have no idea what that means, ma’am?”
“A contract, Mister Orback. To be head costumer for the new musical I’m producing.Catching a Unicorn. It’s a one year position—six months of design and rehearsals, two months of tuning and previews, four months of final touches. You’ll have two assistants you can hire, and you’ll receive full benefits per the theater guild. The pay will be a hundred thousand for the year, but I like your work so much, I’ll make it one-twenty.”
