Judging Books
“That is so not in the cards.”
“Just for a month or two,” Presley said. She was always good at pressing an issue. “It would be good to give yourself options.”
“No can do,” I replied. “I’ll start work just two weeks after graduation, and I still need to find a new apartment before our lease expires. I refuse to move back home. I’m not going to be one of those people who live with daddy into their thirties.”
“Always want to prove something to everyone, don’t you?”
“Just to myself.” My words were a lie but only partially. I did want to prove to myself that I could do well on my own without Dad’s backing. Inside, I knew I wanted others to look at me and realize I had done it on my own, too.
I took a deep breath and looked back in the mirror. At least I looked the part of a highly paid executive. If I added up the money spent on this single outfit, I would find something close to the gross national product of a small country.
“Are we done here?” I asked.
“Nope.” Presley tapped her finger against her lips and shook her head. “One change needed.”
I continued to stare at my reflection as Presley disappeared into her giant walk-in closet and rummaged around in the back. She returned with a pair of shoes.
“Seriously?” I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes at the monstrosities in Presley’s hands. Three-inch heels with pointy toes seemed a bit much for a job interview.
“Definitely. You can never go wrong with Louboutin.”
“There are steps leading up to the office building, you know.”
“You’ll live.”
“Ugh.” I grabbed the shoes from her fingers, sat down on a nearby chair, and put them on. I stood up, wobbled for a moment before getting my balance, and looked back in the mirror.
Presley was right. The shoes made the outfit.
“Now that is the look of an up-and-coming CFO!”
“I won’t start as the CFO.” I shook my head and laughed. “I’ll be her assistant until she retires.”
“I’ve seen her,” Presley said. “She should have retired last year.”
“She’s only sixty.”
“Right. Practically dead.”
“That is my aunt you’re talking about.” I scowled, but Presley only shrugged.
Presley plopped down on the edge of the bed and grabbed her phone. Her fingers flew over the touch screen for a few minutes as I flattened my skirt out with my hands and walked a few steps in the shoes. They weren’t too uncomfortable, and I wasn’t planning on walking in them very much. I should be fine.
I glanced at my childhood friend. She had nar
rowed her eyes and pressed her lips tightly together. I wondered who she was texting with so emphatically and hoped she wasn’t going to demand pictures of my outfit to send to our friends. I appreciated her help, but I never liked being the center of attention like she did.
“Club Mania tonight.” Presley leaned back and dropped her phone on the duvet beside her.
“I don’t know how long the interview will last,” I said. “Dad will probably want me to go out for dinner or something afterward.”
“So? Come later.”
“We’ll see.”
“We’ll see you there.” She stood, grabbed her phone again, tapped furiously for a few seconds, and then grabbed her purse. “Gotta run. Chem lab starts soon, and I need a mocha. You can let yourself out. Good luck and all that. See you tonight!”
I watched as Presley, the straight A chemistry PhD candidate, exited the room with a parting wave and a two thousand dollar backpack to hold her books. A moment later, I heard the apartment door close.