The Waiter Bradleigh Collins (autobiographies to read TXT) 📖

I walked out into a huge open loft. It was filled with modular workstations and racks and racks of clothing. There was a kitchen with a full-size cappuccino bar in the back corner and a photo studio set up right next to it. I walked over to the reception area, which contained a white lacquered desk and a large neon “e-Styled” sign. It was by far the coolest office space I’d ever seen.

There was a woman leaning over the reception desk finishing up a phone call, so I waited off to the side before approaching. She hung up the phone and looked up. It was Jackie. And I was instantly intimidated. She was even more attractive in person.

“Hey! You have to be Sammy,” she said with a big friendly smile.

“Yes,” I responded.

“I have so been looking forward to meeting you. I’m Jackie.”

She walked around the desk and shook my hand. She was wearing a perfect white pantsuit that reminded me of Bianca Jagger in the Studio 54 days. Her red hair was parted down the center and slicked back into a bun.

“Our receptionist George is out right now, so I was filling in for him. Come back to my office and we’ll have a chat.”

I was taken aback not only by the fact she had a male receptionist - how modern, but also that she, the owner and CEO of the company, was just casually filling in for him like it was nothing.

“Ann Marie,” she said to someone as we walked by, “can you keep an eye on the reception area until George gets back?”

“Sure,” she nodded.

Jackie was wearing sky-high red-bottomed Christian Louboutin heels that made her seem almost six-feet tall. Without them, she was probably closer to my height, give or take a few inches.

Scattered throughout the office along with clothing racks were foam board website mockups, stacks of fashion magazines, and tables full of shoes and accessories. The whole loft was one big fashion closet. My heart began to palpitate at the thought of this being my workplace.

There were no enclosed offices in the loft aside from Jackie’s, which was in the back left corner. There was one glass-enclosed conference room opposite her where people were gathered watching a slide presentation.

“Have a seat,” Jackie said. Her office was modest but stylish. She sat in a silver Herman Miller Aeron chair behind a white lacquer desk, similar to the one in the reception area but smaller. I expected the exposed brick walls to be covered with photos of her with Anna Wintour and other fashion industry people, but it wasn’t. There was just one large framed photo of the entire e-Styled staff. A beautiful bouquet of fresh flowers in a round glass bowl sat prominently on her desk.

“Those flowers are beautiful,” I said.

“Aren’t they? I stop every Monday morning at the bodega on the corner and pick up fresh flowers for myself. I’ve been doing it for years.”

“That’s a lovely habit,” I remarked.

“The fact that you use the word ‘lovely’ is a lovely habit,” she said.

I laughed.

“I have to say, I really loved your writing samples. You have a very distinct voice. Southern chic, I’d call it. Funny, clever, but real and honest.”

“I have a full portfolio for you.” I took it out of my bag and handed it to her. “Do you need another copy of my resume?”

“Nope!” she said as she thumbed through the pages. “This is impressive. And the recommendation letter from your boss was very heartfelt.”

“I adore him,” I replied. “He’s retiring soon. He’ll be greatly missed in that office.”

She started the interview by telling me about the company. There were eighteen full-time employees, and they also worked with several freelancers. The company was well-funded, having just received another round of financing, and was now in the pre-IPO stage. She was currently in the process of hiring five additional full-time employees which would include two sales managers, another programmer, a marketing assistant and my position.

“So, Sammy. Tell me. Why do you want to move to New York?”

“Because it’s New York,” I said immediately. “Every time I visit, I don’t want to leave. It’s starting to feel more like home than Atlanta.”

She looked at me and smiled. “Well, you certainly have the New York look down. I love that Missoni on you.”

“Thank you. I picked it up yesterday at Scoop.”

“They’re one of our clients,” she said.

“Really? I was panicking about what to wear, which makes me your target audience. I packed several outfits, but I hated them all. Lucy turned me on to Scoop.”

“Lucy is the best ad rep they’ve got at Vogue. I tried to poach her, but she’s out of my price range.”

We continued the standard interview back and forth. I told her about my experience at the ad agency. She told me about how she came up with the idea for the company when she couldn’t figure out what to wear to a wedding in the Hamptons. She envisioned a website where she could just type in “what do I wear to a Hamptons wedding?” and get different outfit options and advice from legitimate stylists and industry insiders. Our conversation flowed effortlessly. I felt more like I was chatting with a friend than being interviewed by an icon.

She finished flipping through my portfolio. “So I have one more question that has absolutely nothing to do with your writing skills. And I hope you won’t think I’m completely shallow.”

“Okay,” I said nervously.

“Is that your natural hair color? Because if it is, you’re coming to the salon with me right now.”

“This is so not my natural color! This is Joshua at Van Michael Salon in Atlanta.”

“What’s your natural color?” she asked.

“Blonde.”

“Why did you change it?”

“Spite.”

She looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Long story short. I was in a play in college where I had to wear a red wig. My boyfriend at the time loved it and was always trying to get me to dye my hair red. The day he broke up with me, I