The interview

"Alright everybody," Gary Kent said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "Thanks so much for being here today, I really appreciate it. So, this is how this is gonna work: I'll call you one by one until I've spoken to all of you. I think I'll be able to give you an answer at the end of the interviews, but we'll see. There aren't many of you, so this should be quick."

Gary was an interesting guy. When compared to Professor Reynolds, he didn't command the same respect, he didn't talk in an intimidating way or even gave the impression that he was indeed older than us. He looked very jovial, his energy easing everyone. He made us feel like we were just going to have a chat as opposed to a formal interview. I liked that.

One by one, the students were called. I sat on the corridor floor, leaning against the wall. The rest of the students that were waiting spoke among themselves, but I chose to use that waiting time to set up an account on a private tutoring website. I had thought about what Maddox said and I was liking the idea more and more.

"Blair De Montmorency." Mr Kent called. I was the last student waiting to be interviewed, so I was feeling impatient.

"Nice to see someone pronounce my name correctly for once." I said as he made way for me to enter the room, closing the door behind him. I sat on the chair in front of the teacher's desk.

"Only an idiot wouldn't immediately recognize a French name." He said, sitting in front of me, flipping through papers.

"You should tell that to your friend, Professor Reynolds." I said with a smile. I was so at ease that I even forgot that we were there to talk business. "On his first lecture he called out my name incorrectly."

Mr Kent laughed, a full, belly laugh. "Classic Felix. He's an idiot."

I couldn't help but smile as well. He had such a cool vibe.

"Well Blair, before we start, I realized while interviewing the others that you guys don't know what this project is actually all about. But that is my fault I guess."

"I assumed it would be something relating to your next collection. I went to the opening night of your exhibiting and I'm sure, given the success, that you are expected to produce new work, fast."

He chuckled "Are you sure you aren't licking my boots?"

The tone in his question suggested no malice. "Of course not. Your presentation in Mr Turner's lecture was very insightful and helpful to understand the meaning behind your art, Mr Kent. It allowed me to appreciate it even more and it was indeed an impressive body of work"

He leaned back on his chair, his eyes sparkling like a kid in a candy story "Tell me which painting was your favorite from the collection and why. Consider this the first question of the interview."

I pondered my answer in silence. My memory took me back to the museum, and despite my best efforts to try and recall other pieces, my mind took me straight to the one Professor Reynolds and I discussed that night.

"I liked the painting of the man with the bookshelf chest. You know, I had this strange feeling while looking at it." I said, gesticulating with my hands. "It spoke to me in a way that many paintings haven't. I'll be honest with you, I'm a French immigrant, I came to this country when I was three. The story that I've been telling myself about my identity is that I'm an outsider, that I don't truly belong. What the man represents to me is breaking the chains, ridding ourselves of the weight of who we think we are, of rejecting what people have convinced us we are: failures, burdens, losers, outsiders. That one was my favorite because it forced me to confront myself and ask some serious questions."

I only realized I had used Dr Reynolds' interpretation of the painting when I finished speaking. Afraid that Gary might suspect the origin of my argument and accuse me of stealing, I added: "That was the conclusion Professor Reynolds and I reached about the painting."

The rest of the interview went smoothly. He asked me about my background, motivations, my experience, my availability. He went on to say that the people he'd choose as assistants would be credited as contributors of the exhibition, making us co-authors of sorts. That also meant that the work we'd be doing wasn't going to be easy.

"Alright Blair, here's the deal." Mr Kent explained. "I have a set working schedule. You'd be expected to work from 6 P.M. until midnight on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, but things might change, especially close to the due date. What I'd want you to do is complete tasks ranging from getting supplies to actually doing some painting and crafting, following my instructions, of course."

I turned my head inquisitively. "You sound as if I already got the job."

"I want you to understand the conditions before officially making you the offer."

My eyes bulged out of my eye sockets. "What about the others?"

Mr Kent glanced at the door and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I mean, some of those kids are good, but they haven't quite understood the vibe of my work. You, on the other hand, have. You also seem responsible and could provide interesting feedback given your background."

I accepted his offer right away. I couldn't believe I had been chosen. It dawned on me that if I hadn't had been for the conversation with Dr Reynolds that night at the museum, I'd probably not have gotten the job.

I shook Mr Kent's hand, him already wanting me to call him by his first name. He told me he'd send me an e-mail with all the necessary information so I could start next Monday.