Short Story : The Interview

Mickey was always late, and today was no exception. Sweat streaked down his face and chest, firmly gripped his shirt to his armpits as he ran down the street towards his local tube station. Struggling with an A3 plastic portfolio filled with props for his presentation, he sprinted through the station entrance, only slowing down to slip his travel card through the barrier gate.. It was his first job interview in months, and if he didn’t hurry he was going to be very late. Very late indeed.

He ran down the station escalator, praying to whatever deity might be listening that he wasn’t already too late to catch his tube. If he missed it, it could be another ten minutes before the next one, and he still had to change at Bond Street.

As he tripped onto the platform he could see his tube sat there, waiting for him. He breathed a sigh of relief that instantly turned to panic as the doors started to close. Sprinting as fast and as hard as he could, Mickey launched himself through the nearest closing doors, tumbling across the newspaper strewn floor and colliding with the closed doors on the other side of the carriage.

“Hey, watch it, will you?” a voice yelled at him. Mickey looked up to see an attractive pair of legs leading up to a curvaceous bottom that tapered off into a perfect waist, leading upwards to a sensational pair of breasts that seemed to support the shoulders, neck and face of the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen.

Mickey picked himself up off the ground, “Sorry,” he apologised as he managed to reach his feet, just as the tube lurched into gear. He staggered sideways, flailing his hands out to stop himself from falling over, dropping his portfolio in the process. His hands found the attractive woman’s breasts.

“What the hell!” she shouted as Mickey tried not to squeeze them, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, “I fell.”

The woman glared at Mickey, kicking out at his leg. Mickey flinched, trying his best to turn sideways, but this only resulted in the kick hitting him in the side of the knee, where it seemed to do more damage. He winced, clutching his knee and struggling to stay standing up.

Picking up his slightly battered portfolio, Mickey looked around the tube carriage, spotting an empty seat at the far end. Hobbling slightly, he made his way through the crowd of people until he found himself standing in front of the surprisingly empty seat. He looked at the reasonably pretty woman sat in the seat next to it; she was trying to suppress a smirk behind her newspaper, but on meeting his eyes she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Smooth move, Mister Smooth,” she chuckled, lowering the paper, her earphones jiggling against her long neck. Mickey grimaced as he took the seat next to her.

“I wouldn’t sit there if I were you,” the woman with the earphones said after Mickey had already taken a seat.

“Why not?” Mickey asked, starting to get a little annoyed with how his day had so far started out.

“The last guy who sat there may have had a problem with incontinence,” she smiled, putting the back of her hand to her mouth in a losing attempt to suppress further laughter. She failed.

Mickey tilted his bottom upwards, looking at the slightly damp seat beneath him. It didn’t look like there was any dampness on his actual trousers, and the way his knee was feeling he wasn’t about to stand up for the remainder of his journey. Instead he grabbed a copy of the Metro newspaper from the back of his seat and placed it underneath him.

“Much better,” he said, placing his portfolio on his lap and tilting an eyebrow at earphones-girl. She smiled slightly, turning back to her own newspaper.

As Mickey settled back to enjoy the long tube journey to the best of his ability, he took a look at his watch. It was ten thirty-five, and his interview was at eleven. It was possible he still might make it in time. As he told himself this, he felt a jerk as the tube ground to a halt.

“Oh, what now?” he mumbled to himself as he looked out the window behind him. All he could see was the faint outline of the cabling that ran along the tunnel wall – other than that, there was nothing but blackness.

“Looks like someone pulled the emergency cord,” earphones-girl sighed, “Guess we aren’t going anywhere for a while.”

“This is brilliant,” Mickey complained to her, assuming she cared, “I’m already running late for a job interview.”

“Really?” she asked, “I’m due at a job interview too. Where’s yours?”

Mickey looked at the girl suspiciously, “It’s a publishing company...” he offered cautiously.

“Me too!” earphones-girl beamed, “Which one?”

“What is this, twenty questions?” Mickey asked, “What are you playing at?”

“Nothing,” she said, “I just thought we could kill the boredom by having a chat. So, what firm are you interviewing with?”

“I’m not sure how that’s any of your business,” Mickey replied. He wasn’t sure about his girl – what if she was going for an interview with a different firm and hadn’t heard about the job opportunity he was hoping to fill? She might call them up and go for an interview as well. And what if she got the job? It would be Mickey’s fault for giving her inside information.

Earphones-girl rolled her eyes, “How about if I give you information first,” she suggested, “I’m interviewing with Arbitrary Abode - how about you?”

Dammit! Mickey cursed in his head. He was interviewing at Arbitrary Abode, one of the biggest book publishing houses in the UK. And now he was faced with competition. Should he admit he was going for the same interview? Or lie and say he was going to another company?

Earphones-girl looked down at the portfolio that Mickey had sat on his lap, “Looks like you are heading to the same interview,” she smiled.

Mickey looked down at the portfolio where the corner had caved in slightly when he’d dropped it. An envelope could be seen through the crack in the plastic, and the red stamp design on the front clearly read Arbitrary Abode. The question was, had this girl seen that before or after she said she had an interview with them?

“Yes, I am,” Mickey admitted, “I’m going to be pretty late now, what with being stuck in this tunnel.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” earphones-girl shrugged, “You know what publishing companies are like – the interviewer will probably be late as well. They might even be stuck on the same train – it’ll give you something to talk to them about.”

That actually helped Mickey to relax a little, and he felt himself sinking into his seat as his tense muscles loosened up. Then he remembered his urine-soaked seat and every muscle tensed back up again.

“So, what’s you favourite book?” earphones-girl asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re favourite book,” she repeated, “What’s your favourite one?”

Mickey frowned, “I don’t know really, I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“You know they’re bound to ask that in the interview,” she told him, “You’re going for a job interview in a publishing house – they’ll want to know what your tastes are like. And they won’t want you to come up with obvious authors, either. They won’t want to hear about how much you love Graham Swift or Ben Okri, and as for Hilary Mantel – well, that buck toothed old crone needs to let someone else win a prize or two.”

Mickey could tell he looked confused. When it came to popular, award winning literature, he was pretty clueless. He thought Graham Swift might have been the guy who wrote Gulliver’s Travels, but Ben Okri sounded like a character from Star Wars. He decided not to comment on those authors, and instead tried to think of one he did like that not many people would have heard of.

“Robin Jarvis is quite good,” he said, unsure of whether his suggestion was any good, “I liekd him when I was a kid.”

“The mice guy?” earphones-girl asked, referring to Jarvis’s Deptford Mice series of books. Mickey nodded, “Well, I guess he’s a pretty good children’s author. Very dark. Did you ever read his Dancing Jax books?”

Mickey shook his head.

“You really should,” earphones-girl smiled, “There’s some messed up stuff in those books, I tell you.”

“What about you?” Mickey asked, “What authors do you like?”

“Have you heard of Connie Willis?” she asked.

Mickey smiled, “The time-travel woman?”

“Yeah,” earphones-girl grinned, “Isn’t she awesome?”

“I loved To Say Nothing Of The Dog,” Mickey said enthusiastically, turning his body towards earphones-girl, actually finding himself enjoying the conversation, “I never got around to reading those World War Two books she did though.”

“You definitely should read those,” earphones-girl’s eyes widened, “They might not be as good as Doomsday Book, but they’re still a good read. Though it did annoy me that she kept referring to Murder On The Orient Express by its American name when the characters were meant to be English.”

Mickey nodded, “That happens a lot – Americans never spot it, though.”

“Well, I guess that’s what you’ll be doing when you get this job,” earphones-girl smiled, “checking for errors in people’s manuscripts and stuff like that.”

“If I get the job,” Mickey corrected, “At this rate I won’t even make it to the interview.”

Earphones-girl held out her hand to Mickey, “By the way, my name is Maxine.”

Maxine? Mickey thought to himself, shaking hands with the girl. Why did that name ring a bell...

“Maxine Priestley?” Mickey half-asked, his hand lingering in hers, “But I’ve got my interview with you?”

“That’s right.”

“But you said you were going for the same interview that I am.” Mickey questioned.

“I am,” Maxine chuckled, “but I didn’t say I was the interviewee. I’m the interviewer. Well, one of them – I’m part of the team you’ll be working with.”

Mickey lowered his head, finally releasing Maxine from their hand shake, “And you saw me fall over and grab that woman’s tits.”

Maxine’s chuckle got louder, “That was funny,“ she admitted, “but it wasn’t your fault.”

Mickey sighed, “I guess I’m not getting the job after my performance this morning, huh?”

“Far from it,” Maxine beamed, “We’re looking for someone with unorthodox tastes in books. It’s kind of depressing when people have googled Booker Prize winners and just reel them off in an interview. They’re usually in the same reverse order of winning, as well. They don’t even mix it up by throwing in some runners up. Just once I’d have liked someone to mention Tan Twan Eng or Karen Joy Fowler.”

“Didn’t she write Sarah Canary?”

“See,” Maxine smiled, “most people would have mentioned The Jane Austen Book Club because of that stupid movie. Even the smart ones would go for We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves, which got nominated last year, but not you. You, my friend, think outside the box.”

“Which is ironic, since we’re trapped in this one,” Mickey chuckled.

“And you’re funny, too,” Maxine chuckled. As she did so, the tubes engine whirred into life and the tube started to move again.

“I guess they scraped that particular corpse of the rails,” Maxine joked a little sickly. Mickey actually found the joke quite heartening – it was the kind he would make with his friends. Maybe he and Maxine could be friends. They certainly got on quite well, plus it helped that she was quite pretty. Now that he’d spoken to her she seemed even prettier to him.

“Does this mean I got the job?” Mickey asked a little nervously.

Maxine nodded, “Definitely,” she smiled, “When can you start?”

“Just name the day and I’m there,” Mickey smiled, “Will I be working under you?”

Maxine raised her eyebrows, “Only if you play your cards right,” she said, “How about we discuss things over breakfast?”

Mickey looked at his watch which now read ten to eleven, “Isn’t it a little late for breakfast?” he asked.

Maxine leaned towards Mickey, “Who said anything about breakfast today?” she smiled, leaning in to kiss Mickey on the lips.

Originally Posted 18/5/2015

Result - Joint 1st Place