Lace & Adire

"What is your name?"
"Catwalq". I answer trying to hold her gaze. It's her eyes you know, they bore into me unflinchingly, like she is trying to impale me with them.
"How old are you?"
"23"
"Where are you from?"
"Lagos, Nigeria"
"Interesting...and how long have you been here?"
"Four years now."
She uncrosses her fabric clad legs. I try not to marvel at the fluidity of her movements. Her pants are expensive, I can tell, the colour is rich and it suits her. I am thirsty but I do not reach for my drink.
"Why do you want this job?"
I pause because I am thinking whether or not to be honest.
"I need a position that will pay me well and does not include the hassle of paperwork."
She smiles. She knows what I mean. I need a job. I am not allowed to work off campus. There are no jobs on campus to hire me and I am running on an account of red with bills piling up left, right and center. She needs an assistant. I am here.
"How did you think to get in touch with me?" her voice is as warm as the tea she sips. I feel cold. Why, I don't know.
"It just occurred to me."
What was I to say? That I had emailed more than twelve others after having perused the internet for weeks and that she was the only one to get back to me. She was my first actually. I try not to think about the fact that she might have simply asked me here for her own amusement. I don't want to walk out of the cafe with a croissant and a glass of juice as my reward. I want a job. I want to work for Tamara Cesare. I want this job. I need this job.
"I was not looking for an assistant, " she begins and then adds when she sees my expression"But that is not to say I don't need one."
I have to be careful to curtail my facial expressions. She is reading me like a book. She needs someone as mysterious as she. She needs me to be as elusive as she. She needs me to be as private as she. She needs...
"I am sorry, can you repeat that again?" Shit! I wasn't listening.
Her smile is not amused.
"How much of your time can you give?"
My answer is rehearsed.
"I can work ten to fifteen hours during the week and my weekends are optional."
"Where do you go to school again?"
"On the Hill"
"What do you study?"
"Architecture"
"That is pretty demanding...you believe you can make it work."
"I am capable of balancing the responsibilities. In fact, I..."
"Very well," she interrupts "I will put you on a temporary basis...we'll see how that works out."
I nod.
"I expect the highest form of professionalism. I do not joke with my business."
I nod.
"You have to be discreet....And I will not tolerate slip ups."
I nod. Dis she expect me to comment?
She peers at me from behind her tea cup.
"I don't know about you...but at least you don't have that wide eyes innocence that one would expect but you are not that sharp either."
I am silent. Why is she insulting me.
She reaches into the flat purse that has lain in on the table between the two of us since we met. She pulls out a card, a pen and begins to write. I am thirsty.
"You haven't touched your juice...or your croissant for that matter."
I give her a weak smile.
She chuckles. "You honestly think that slurping liquid or chewing out loud will dictate whether or not you get the position?"
I don't know what to say, so I nod.
She hands me the card.
"Tomorrow at seven thirty. Can you make that?"
I quickly browse through my schedule for the next day in my mind. Seven thirty is late but it's good.
I nod.
"Do you drive?"
"No" My heart catches in my chest. Oh no.
"Can you drive?"
I shake my head. She looks at me for a long minute.
"Don't be late."
She rises as she speaks. I try to rise with her so that I can shake her hand before she leaves. She walks away before I can say a word; my hand hangs extended.
I look at the card. It is a local address. I hope it is metro accessible. I can't wait to get home and check the internet for the directions.
If all is well, I might have a job. As an assistant to one of DC's highest paid female escorts.