Interview with the Van-pire

Someone finally turned up after more stilted conversation with Van. I wanted to be the kind of girl who could talk to anyone about anything, but I wasn’t. Just being in his presence made me nervous and I was really glad I hadn’t known who he was in advance or I would have been a blubbering mess, screaming his name and snotting over him. Fan girls are so sexy. That’s not fair, some fan girls are utterly awesome and spend their time making gifts for the people they admire and understand personal space and boundaries. Then there are the other kind who only seem to understand restraining orders. Would I have to deal with that? Should I be taking self-defense classes? Van was certainly built well enough to fight off a crowd, but he wouldn’t really be able to hit girls. Maybe that’s where I came in? I hoped not, I was bloody useless, had never been in a fight and used to carry foreign coins in my pocket to throw in the face of would be attackers. It was something I’d remembered being told at school. The problem was, the jingling coins made me sound rich. Thankfully I’d never been mugged, though this was more than likely due to the fact that I chose to have an out of date phone, didn’t upgrade my iPod and dressed like a poor kid. I had been a poor kid!

          The caretaker let us in, warning us that the company that owned the building was rarely on time. Did they not realize who they were dealing with? Van’s eyes narrowed in irritation, but he said nothing. He was friendly and polite to the caretaker, chatting away about motorbikes. He really could charm anyone it seemed. I needed to be on my guard against that, I needed to keep a clear head to do this job. I was glad I was here solely on in observational capacity, as I didn’t know what to do other than follow Van around like a lost puppy. He was comfortable enough with the caretaker, but as soon as the interviewer arrived, his whole body language changed, like a child about to be taken to the dentist. It was like a shadow falling upon him; his eyes lost their humour, his jaw tensed and his whole body seemed to become taught. He looked like he wanted to run. I couldn’t blame him when the peroxide blonde with nails like talons trotted over.

          She was Hollywood in all its plastic, false hell. Nothing was real from what I could tell, with her thick postbox red lipstick, orange perma-tan (you live in a sunny place, there’s no need for it!) pedicured toenails that peeped out of some label brand shoe. She couldn’t walk in them but she didn’t seem to care. Van was a bunny in headlights, extending a cautious hand for her to shake.

          “Van! How are you darling? You look as gorgeous as ever! I saw the modeling campaign you did for…” I zoned out, her voice was too quick, too high, like a thousand birds twittering. It was incredibly false and irritating. Her gaze fell upon me, her distaste evident.

          “And who do we have here?” She sneered down at me from her towering heels.

          “This is Georgiana MacManus, my PA.” He said, looking at me for help.

How could I save him from this demented Gorgon? I felt like stone as she looked me up and down, wrinkling her nose as though smelling something offensive.

          “I love your shirt! Where is it from?” She said, not even trying to sound convincing.

I smiled and thanked her saying I had no idea, I’d had it a while. Lying is fine in some situations, especially if it ended the conversation. She knew. She had a look in her eyes that was accusing. Thrift store, it seemed to cry out. I didn’t honestly give a shit what this hell spawn thought, but she was (despite the fifteen tons of plastic and filler) gorgeous. Her shirt was unbuttoned a little too low, her implants being pushed out as she arched her back for this specific purpose. I was happy with my A cups, they didn’t hurt my back, they didn’t get in my way and they wouldn’t be down by my knees when I was 40. Suck it bitch! I felt defensive against this creature (for I doubted there was enough left to be called Human) and wanted to run. It looked as though Van did too.

          Pleasantries aside she lead us into a huge office with glass walls and blinds to cover them. She tried to shut me out ‘by accident’, giggling as she ‘hadn’t realised I would be coming in’. Van was not impressed.

The interview was, as Van had warned me, repetitive. It was interesting to find out what work he had lined up without having to ask him outright, but to see that ‘thing’ pouting, hair flipping and giggling like a cliché teenage cheerleader made me want to vomit. I may actually have thrown up in my mouth a little. My input wasn’t required which was a relief as I doubted I would be able to pretend I didn’t want to punch the bitch out. She made a point of looking at me every so often, shooting me a fake smile and making demeaning comments whenever she could. I didn’t care, I just smiled back at her in the sweetest way I could muster, imagining running over her with a steam roller, her silicone body deflating like the bad guy’s at the end of ‘Who Framed Roger Rabbit?’ That kept the smiles genuine.

 

We were finally done as no photos were needed as they would use stock ones. Van looked completely drained as we stepped out into the sunlight, chewing his fingers and yawning. It set me off unfortunately. I’m sure interviews could be interesting, but that one was just an attempt for her to get in his pants, which he clearly didn’t want. Thank god. If the days were like this, I didn’t know if I could do this job. I would be subjected to bitches left, right and centre, sitting in silence for long periods of time and not really being needed. I didn’t understand the exact purpose and requirements of this job, but Van didn’t seem to either.

          “Let’s go get coffee. I’ll be asleep in 30 seconds otherwise.” He yawned again and lead the way to the café I’d found earlier.

          “What can I get you?” He asked, pushing his Raybans back up his nose.

          “I’m ok, thank you Mr. Murphy.”

          “Van. And just for that you have to have something,” His grin was mischievous and so boyish I smiled despite myself.

          “I’m Vegan, they probably don’t have anything I can eat.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and asked the guy behind the desk what they had. I was lucky; they had soya milk so I could have tea (Van grinned knowingly when I asked for it. The British and their tea!)  and a banana and apple. I was so rock and roll.

Van didn’t eat anything, but ordered coffee. Strong, black, no sugar. The boy clearly had some form of addition problems, and I’d only known him for a few hours. It’s amazing what you can learn when you just look and listen. He held the coffee cup like it was the last cup on earth, striding over to a table in the window and holding the chair out for me. Chivalrous too! I wasn’t used to that kind of thing, back home men didn’t hold doors anymore, you were generally thankful if it wasn’t slammed in your face with a grunt.

          I sank into the seat and tried to suppress the yawn I could feel was coming. I sipped my tea, burned my tongue and stared out of the window into the glorious sunlight.

          “What’s it like being here?” He asked me, his legs stretched out under the table, slumping down in his chair like he was preparing to doze.

          “Insane. I don’t do things like this. And the sun! I don’t think I’ll ever get bored of how beautiful and warm it is!” I was a kid at Christmas.

          “Is England so bad?” I couldn’t see his eyes under the shades, but from the way he tilted his head, I could tell he was looking at me.

          “We have a joke over there that is said waaaaay too often; ‘In the Bible if it rains for forty days and forty nights they call it a flood. We call it summer.’”

He snorted back a laugh, nearly spitting coffee at me. We tended to exaggerate about the weather, but being here in the sun made me realise that we dipped out in the climate stakes.

We sat in a surprisingly comfortable silence. He was dozing, I was stirring my tea too much to keep my hands busy, when I suddenly heard a snort. He was asleep! I shook my head in disbelief and smiled. Poor tired boy. I carefully stood and took off his sunglasses, as I didn’t want him falling on them or anything awful like that. His coffee cup was empty so I ordered another, placing it on the table before him. He looked so serene and peaceful, I didn’t know whether I should wake him or not. Instead I did what any self-respecting girl with a crush would do. I took a photo on my phone and texted it to him. The bleeping of his phone woke him with a snort, and he looked around in confusion.

          “Morning sunshine.” I said with a smile.

He rubbed his eyes and looked around groggily. He picked up his phone and looked at the message, laughing when he worked out what it was.

          “You could probably sell that to the newspapers.” He said, yawning.

          “Is that what you think I would do?” I asked feeling a little stung.

His eyes lit up when he noticed the magic refilling coffee in front of him and he cradled it in his hands lovingly. The way to a man’s heart (or at least this man’s) is through caffeine and fags. Urgh!

          “No…” He said, his eyes meeting mine and searching for something. “I don’t think you’re remotely mercenary. But, I’ve been wrong before.” He sighed deeply and sipped the coffee.

          “Someone betrayed your trust.” I said sadly.

He nodded, but said no more about it. I didn’t push. I needed to remember that he was my boss, not my friend, not my future husband, but my boss.