Definition of Beauty

The Interview

        "Is that really what you are going to wear?" my mom scuffs, looking up and down at my choice of clothing.
        I look down, "What's wrong with this?" 
        "First of all, women with curves shouldn't hide it with baggy blouses. It makes you look even bigger-" 
        I narrow my eyes. "Gee, thanks, mom. Real big boost to my ego." Way to bring down what little confidence I have.
        "You know what I mean, Honey," she tries placing my hair how she wants to. I move out of her way. Don't try to fix me after insulting me. "Also. I don't think wearing black slacks with a grey blouse is very... Oh, what is the word? Anyways, I bought some clothes for you. Well, actually Mr. Davenport did."
        'Where did he shop? The parachute store?' a dark voice snickers deep in my conscious.
        "I don't think Davenport knows my size, mom." I cross my arms, my self-consciousness slowly wrapping around me. 
        "I may have had one of the maids looks through your luggage for your sizes. We guesstimated a few sizes, so whatever doesn't fit just put in a pile and we will have them returned." She gives me a smile tells me she probably did good. 
        Sighing I brush my hair back with my fingers in frustration. "Fine," I huff, walking back upstairs. Why can't I have the kind of mother that is supportive with everything I say or do. Instead I had the mother who tells me my best feature is my nose. One that no matter my looks she has always found something to judge, or try to change. Instead of trying to comfort me as a kid she would hand me a sippy cup of fruity alcohol and tell me to drink up. Such a loving mother, right?
        Undressing, I look through the clothes I found in the closet, and finally picked a grey tank top, a white blazer, and a black high waist skirt. Putting on a pair of white stilettos, I finally look in the mirror. I guess I could look worse. My brown hair twisted into a high, neat bun, pinning any shorter layers back. My makeup is neat and isn't caked on- more so because I don't want people to think I am morphing into someone else when I sweat. If I lift my chin high enough, maybe there will be no trace of a double chin. Oh, hell. Who am I kidding? My bust is big, and keeps trying to keep over my tank top. My curves- also big- give a not so flattering look- to me- for my body. And my mom thinks this is any better?  Sickened with that fat ass in the mirror I leave the room and find my mom.
        "I'm about to leave out," I say, finding her with James.
        The two look at me. My mom looks at me in surprise and James smiles. "You look good! So much better than the other outfit!" my mother chirps. Liar.
        James, still smiling tells me, "You look beautiful, Arianna." Go ahead, and just laugh at me already. Get it over with. "Break a leg at the interview," he adds.
        "Well, it's not like she won't get it." 
        "I am gonna get going," I say not wanting to stay here. I can just see the judgement in their eyes. I can tell.

       
         "GOOD LUCK, Miss Arianna," Davenport says opening the door.
        I step out of the car and stare at the building. Two glass buildings stand tall, looking like two large mirror pillars. In the middle of the two, on every level is a clear window walkway. This is way too fancy for me. I look at Davenport and say, "Remind me why I am here again?"
        "For a job interview, Miss Arianna," he states matter-of-factly.
        Nodding I mumble, "Right. Thanks Davenport. Uhh... go have some fun. I will call when I am finished." I give him a nervous smile. 
        "Thank you, and if I may speak freely- you will do just fine." 
        "Mr. Davenport! You speaking freely? What is the world coming to?" I ask trying to sound horrified, my smile giving my playing around away. He returns the smile and bows leaving me. My sarcastic humor isn't going to get me out of this one. Damn. 
        I walk into the building and immediately feel intimidated. Everyone here looks like they should be working at a modeling agency. I go to the receptionist and awkwardly stand there as she finishes her conversation on the phone. When she hangs up, she scribbles something on paper with one hand and types numbers with the other. "Can I help you?" she asks kindly, as she multitasks.
        "I'm here for my interview with um.." I blank for a second before seeing the building's name behind her, "Mr. Patterson at 3:30."
        She smiles kindly at me. Does she get paid extra for that? "He is on the 50th floor. Please sign in with the receptionist there, and wait as needed. If there is anything else you need, they will be more than happy to help you."
        "Thank you," I give an awkward smile, She is so much prettier than I am. 
        'I bet she is silently laughing at you. Look at you! No one else on this entire floor is as big as you!' the voice laughs.
        I slink to the elevators and wait for one of them to open. Two elevators down, the doors shift open and people disperse from it. I hurry in and push 50. I wait in the corner, stopping for others to come aboard and leave according to their designated floor. Finally I step out into a very nice and perfectly decorated room with a lady sitting in front of a waterfall sign with the business's name. 
        "Hello, how can I help you?" she asks, smiling as she looks up from whatever she was typing.
        "Hi, I have an appointment with Mr. Patterson..." I trail off not knowing what else I should say. 'Way to look professional.'
        "Oh, Miss Fawn!" she exclaims, typing frantically on the computer, "please have a seat. Mr. Patterson will be with you momentarily. We have water and coffee over there, please help yourself. Oh, and we also provide open guest wi-fi." She then continues her work. Why is everyone here so nice? 
        'First off, it is their job, stupid. And second, shouldn't you be asking why everyone is so much better looking than you? Why did you even come back? Obviously your mother doesn't want you back. Did you honestly think things would be better here than at home?' the voice nags, like a hammer slamming into my head. I close my eyes and silently agonize in pain. 'Look around here. Do you see one person that is remotely your size? I think you would do better working at McDonald's.'  I get up and grab a bottle of water. My hands begin to shake as I pour the liquid down my throat. I hate this voice. I hate what it says... I hate that it is right.
        "Miss Arianna Fawn?" a deep voice calls.
        Looking up I notice an older man, around my mother's age. I swear he could double as a brother to George Clooney. Wow. "That would be me," I reply, realizing how stupid I must look. No one else is in the room, of course he figures it's me. I walk up to him and he has a smile on his face. Is he secretly mocking me? 'Yes. Yes he is' the dark voice whispers. 
       He opens the door wider and stands to let me through. "Hello, Miss Fawn. I have been looking forward to meeting you for quite sometime. Your mother has always talked about you, you know. I only wish we had met under different circumstances." George Clooney with a faint accent. What is it? Australian? British, maybe?
        "I wish I could say the same, but I guess my mom is only a talker when I'm not  around," I laugh at the sad truth, making it seem like a joke. Luckily he laughs, too. I follow him to his desk, where two eats are placed in front of it. As I sit in one, he rounds the corner and sits in his.
        "Well, being the business man that I am, I can not simply hand out jobs. Don't worry too much, however, because I can already tell there is potential in you. So let's get started. shall we? Can you tell me a little about yourself?"
        Placing my hands in my lap, seeing that I am too far from the desk, I sit up straight. "Well," I start, "I am majoring in art at Rosewood Community College. I am going into my third year. I am hoping to become either an Art Director or as a fall back an art teacher. I am majoring in Fine Arts and Art History, as well as minors in Photography and Painting."
        "Community College? What made you choose that?" This guy doesn't miss a beat. 
        Taking a deep breath I tell him, "I didn't want to depend on my parents for the rest of my life. That is one of the reasons why I had moved and started college in Indiana. That way I was far enough away that I didn't have the urge to crawl back to them when things got tough." Good, Ari, good. 
        "Very nice, it is good to see the younger generation having some hope left. My son would never do that," he laughs, I smile politely in return. Finally he returns to his professional state."So what exactly do you know about the company?" 
        I think for a moment. I don't think he is going to like my answer. "Um, well, besides the name and your the big man behind the name.... nothing. My mother isn't one to elaborate on topics." 
        Nodding he informs me, "This company was actually founded my great grandfather, Peter Patterson. Patterson's Mark is a company that buys and sells various art pieces that would be of great profit for us. We have one of the biggest art shows in the world. We have second place to be exact." I didn't know that! No wonder this place is so beautifully decorated! "We also provide art lessons, art exhibits, and hold contests here monthly." I am in awe. This place is so beautiful. For the first time in many years, I could hug my mom.
        Time goes on and he asks more questions. What are my strengths, weaknesses, my ways to deal with stress, all the usual questions. When I finished talking he nods and smiles at me. "Thank you so much for coming in today, Miss Fawn. When can you start?"
        "So I got the job?" I ask smiling.
        "The job was yours regardless, but after interviewing you, I would have hired you on the spot then, too! Such a young independent woman with so much potential! Now, for the first week, I will have someone go on runs with you and help you get the gist of everything."
        Smiling I stand, "Fantastic, thank you Mr. Patterson! I can start Monday!"
        He stands and rounds his table, walking me out of the room. "It will be a pleasure seeing you again. Until next time," he holds his hand out.
        Taking it he places a hand over mine. Why do I feel so amazed he even knows how to shake a woman's hand correctly? "Good day, Mr. Patterson."
        "Same to you, Miss Fawn."
        I make my way into the waiting room and the receptionist asks, "Would you like a beverage before you leave?"
        "No thank you. Have a good day," I pass with a smile. 
        I push the elevator button and wait. Looking down I glance at the water bottle. Even that had its own Patterson's Mark logo on it. The doors open and I begin to walk. Just as I look up I ram my body into a body like a ball flying into a brick wall. I ricochet backwards stumble, fumbling for the water bottle I almost dropped. When I look up again, the elevator is almost empty. Someone is standing in the way of the doors.
        Being tall, I have to look up at him. His hair brown hair tousled everywhere, his hazel eyes beaming down at me, lips either pursed or just soft and plump, nice tailored grey suit and he has one hand in pocket. A sexy commercial guy just walked out of the elevator... maybe a God... maybe a walking dream. I don't know, but might I just say 'Damn'. 
        I stare at him open mouth like an idiot, holding the water bottle to my chest. The elevator doors start to close. "No!" I shout starting to lunge for the door. The man turns to the side, and halts the door from closing. I mumble a thank you as I clamber into the lift. He moves and lets the door close, never taking his eyes off of me. 
        Holy crap. Did that really just happen? He must think I am a freaking idiot!
        I look down at my outfit and groan loudly. "He probably thought I look like a cow," I mutter to myself. I lean my head back against the wall and look at the ceiling. God, he was hot. I mean, wow. I wonder if he works there. Will I see him again? I hope not and at the same time I do. The internal struggle of a woman. Why are we so difficult?
        I sigh and step out of the elevator, walking to the front entrance. I message Davenport that I am ready to be picked up and sit against the wall. 'Did you see the look he gave you? It was the look royalty give to peasants. Of course, with a fat cow like yourself, I can see why.' and so she is back.
        Maybe he just doesn't care.
        'Oh. He cared. Otherwise he wouldn't have been shooting daggers from his eyes.'
        Well, it doesn't matter because I will never see him again. 
        'And yet, you hope you do. Why? It isn't like a guy like that will ever go for a cow like you. Perfect people, like him, aren't meant for the pathetic broken people, like you.'  She had a point. 'Of course you know I am right. That is what your subconscious is. That little voice that whispers what is right in the world.'
        Is she really my subconscious? Something so cruel and relentless? 
        'Being cruel and relentless is better than lying and not telling the truth. Now get up because Davenport is here,'  it says as I watch the car pull up.
        Standing, I walk over. Davenport hurries from the driver side to open my door. "Thank you, Davenport," I murmur getting in. He gets back in and starts to drive.
        "Are you alright, Miss Arianna?" he asks. I forgot how keen he is.
        "Key lime," I say in a shallow voice. It is a secret word only he knows. Since I hate key lime, we made it a code word for when I started getting negative thoughts, and really depressed. 
        "You still feel like that, Miss Arianna?" he looks at me through the rear view mirror. 
        Nodding I tell him, "The feeling went away for a little bit. Then I stuff happened. First it was one thing, now it is the other. I can't win Davenport. I just can't."
        "It will get better, Miss Arianna. I truly believe that."
        "I'm glad someone does," a sad smile crosses my lips.

        MY MOTHER is persistent on getting out what all was said during the interview and why it took so long. Apparently she thought it would have been a quick hi-and-bye type thing. Sitting in the lounge room, she sips on some tea. "Honey, why won't you tell me?"
        I shrug, sitting on a sofa, now in comfy clothes. "It really isn't important. I mean, I got the job. What else do you want out of me?" 
        "Fine, don't tell me. I'm only the person that got you that interview. I am the one who gave birth to you. But it really isn't that important I guess."
        I narrow my eyes, looking at her with a dumbfounded glare. "Did you seriously just say..." I trail off. I pick up my voice, but I start with, "Alright. I start Monday, I work from eight till five. He asked me the usual interview questions like what I like and dislike. I asked him about what I have to wear. I am going to be working with someone to get the gist of things for a week. No, I don't know who it is, and I really don't care. Thank you for getting me this job interview, and I am so terribly sorry that I made you go through nine terrible months of pregnancy and made your body change in a way it can never be the way it was before." 
        My mom seemed interested until I started getting sarcastic towards the end. She narrows her eyes and says, "Smart ass." She sips her tea and then adds, "oh, I forgot to tell you, I called one of your old friends to tell them you were back. She are really excited to see you. She told me you haven't even messaged them. Why haven't you called? Well, they were wanting to try to visit tomorrow. Here is Amanda's number." She hands me a piece of paper then moves towards the door. "I am going for a stroll, care to join?" 
        "No thanks. I think I'll, uh, give Amanda a call." I say waving the paper. I get up and leave moments after her, heading towards my room. I really don't want to see any of them. They are snobby, rude, and hella annoying. But my nosy mom, being the thing that she is, decided to do something stupid. Why did she even call them? If I really wanted to talk to them, let alone hang out, I would have contacted someone by now.
        Sitting on my bed, I dial the number onto my phone. I take a deep breath then press call. As I hold it, I chant in my mind 'Don't pick up, don't pick up, don't pick up.' After the fourth ring it stops and it was the moment of truth. Either this is the voicemail, or this is her. I am really hoping it is the voicemail.
        "Hello?" a confused voice asks.
        Dammit. "Hi, uh, is this Amanda?" I squeeze my eyes shut, praying she'll say no, even though I recognize her voice.
        "Yea, who is this?" she snaps.
        Shit. "It's Arianna," I say in defeat.
        "Oh my God! Ari! How have you been?"
        "Good, good. How about you?"
        "I have been really good! Oh my God, I have missed you! Your mom told me you have been here for like a week! When were you going to tell me?" She doesn't give me time to answer. "I talked to Rachelle and Diamond and they really want to see you! I was wondering if you wanted to go to Blue Bloods tomorrow evening?" Of course they want to hang out, and why shouldn't it be at an expensive ass club. 
        "Yea, sure, what time do you wanna get there?" I ask rubbing my eye.
        "How about eight?" 
        "Sounds good to me. Hey, I am really tired. It has been a very eventful day, so I am gonna go. But I will definitely see you tomorrow!" I pretend to sound enthused at the end.
        "Oh, yea, of course! Night chica!" She hangs up before I can get another word in. 
        Good night, chica.