Page 19 of Unconventionally, Elle
Now
I?t was a morning-run kind of day. Jogging through the Comm Ave Mall was my favorite way to think--or not think, for that matter.
The fall leaves were vibrant and stunning, and it was a cool fifty-eight degrees as I jogged into the Boston Common.
I felt my wrist vibrate and glanced down at my smartwatch to check the notification. An email.
I'd seen Emma again in class, but she hadn't mentioned anything about her boss or the magazine.
In fact, she was complaining about her older brother, who'd missed family dinner again on Friday night.
Apparently, he and their father didn't quite see eye to eye.
Curious who was emailing me at seven a.m., I slowed down to read the entire message and hoped it was Emma.
"No fucking way!" I yelled and immediately covered my mouth.
A mother pushing her baby in a stroller glared at me when I looked up. Oops, definitely didn't mean to say that out loud .
From: Emma J. Henry [email protected]
To: Elizabeth Watson [email protected]
Dear Elle,
I forgot to mention in class yesterday that I spoke with my editor in chief, Olivia Hughes.
I read the samples you sent, and she agrees with me that your writing is special!
She'd love to set up a meeting with you and even discuss a piece she's been hoping to get into our next issue.
Are you available to meet next Tuesday at our office at 10 am? Please let me know at your earliest.
Best regards,
Emma Henry for Olivia Hughes
Tuesday parking was usually scarce on Newbury Street, but my stars were aligned, and a car pulled out of a spot right in front of the magazine building as I was driving up.
Across the street was Align, the yoga and Pilates studio where I'd met Emma.
I glanced inside and saw Finn, my favorite instructor and the studio's owner, behind the desk.
He looked up as if he could sense my stare and gave me a crooked grin.
I waved and walked to the crosswalk on the corner.
I'd fill him in on the interview at the coffee shop afterward.
I was counting down the minutes until I had a lavender latte with oat milk in my hands.
Emma Henry stopped me right as I stepped off the elevator. Her crystal-blue eyes caught me by surprise, and I had the weirdest sense of déjà vu.
"Elle, oh Elle, so glad you could make it." She came right over to me and gave me a warm hug, no professional handshake, no pitiful ass-out hug--a delightful, authentic hug just like she did when she saw me at Align.
"Of course. You said ten o'clock, and I wouldn't miss this opportunity if I had to run a marathon to get here," I joked.
"Oh please, we have enough of those around here.
" She laughed back. "Okay, Olivia is on the phone right now with a photographer about a shoot for tomorrow, so you can come with me to my desk, and we'll just wait for her to call you in for the meeting.
She knows you're here; Audrey downstairs rang up already.
Isn't she the nicest little thing you've ever met?
" She shook her head and beckoned for me to follow.
I zigzagged with her between cubicles, all low so that the roomful of creatives could talk to each other whenever they needed to.
I saw a group of people gathered around a large table with pictures and fonts spread out before them.
A gorgeous petite woman with straight red hair and cat-eye black glasses was in the middle talking to a blonde on her left.
Emma noticed me staring and stopped in front of me.
"Ah, I see you've discovered our design and layout team.
They are fantastic." Then she pointed to the redheaded woman I'd seen before.
"And the woman in the middle, that's Margaret Thompson.
She's our art director." Margaret looked our way, and Emma quickly pulled her finger back.
Margaret tilted her head down and pulled her frames to the center of her nose.
Nervous, I smiled weakly and offered a quick wave.
She continued to stare, pushed her glasses back up, and turned away.
"She seems nice," I muttered.
Emma rolled her eyes. "Don't worry about her; you won't have to meet her officially today anyways. Her office is between mine and Olivia's." I nodded slowly and continued to follow Emma.
"Here we are!" Emma opened her arms to display her cozy office.
Walking through the glass door, I felt like I was in her personal library.
She didn't have a cubicle like the others; she had two walls covered in bookish quotes and magazine covers, and the back wall was a large window overlooking Newbury Street.
Her brown oak desk was centered with the view behind her, and two bookshelves full of hardcovers and plants lined the wall on the right with the door.
"Wow..." was all I could muster as I took in her space. "I didn't realize you had a corner office here. Are you sure you can't hire me?" I said with an awestruck chuckle.
Her espresso-brown curls bounced as she walked over to her desk and sat down in her chair complete with lumbar support.
"Elle, go ahead and sit down." She motioned to a pink velvet barrel chair in front of her desk.
I took a seat and looked around. "Yale undergrad, that's awesome. I didn't know that." I didn't realize the words had come out of my mouth until she replied.
"My whole family went to Yale. My brother, parents--all of us." She sat up straighter and crisscrossed her legs on the chair.
"Oh, cool, I didn't know you had a brother. Oh, wait, yes I did. You mentioned him in class."
"Yep, he's here too. Well, not at the magazine. I mean he's here in Boston." She laughed. "He comes around sometimes. I'm sure you'll meet him if you decide to freelance with us."
"Wait, I'm still new to this. Will I have to come into the office if I freelance with you guys?" I hadn't thought about going into an office, and it made my chest itch.
She shook her head and leaned back in her chair.
"Oh, no, no. That's not what I meant. Of course you can work wherever you want, but we leave two spaces open for any freelancers who want to come into the office and work.
Especially if they want to chat with design or Olivia about something they are working on.
" Emma gestured in the direction of the cubicles we'd passed.
"Where did you say you went to school again? " she asked.
"Oh, I went to Duke. But I'm an NYC girl at heart."
"Oh yeah, I remember you telling me about the city in class. So how did you end up here in Boston?"
"That's a very long story, actually, but in a nutshell, I'm taking a chance and hoping I don't crash and burn."
"Fair enough," she said, and then the phone rang. She picked it up, gave a quick "Mm-hmm," and hung up. "That was Olivia, she's ready for you. Let's go!"
I followed Emma into Olivia's office and was pleasantly surprised that my Devil Wears Prada expectation was the furthest thing from reality.
Olivia wore a classic 1950s green pantsuit with dangling gold earrings.
Her wispy short blond hair was perfectly styled, and her gray eyes revealed neither her thoughts nor her emotions.
Yet despite her professional demeanor, she had a warmth about her.
She could have been my mother's age, mid-fifties, and I felt myself wanting to trust her. I wanted to know her.
"Olivia, this is Elizabeth Watson," Emma said as we walked through the door.
"Hi, Ms. Hughes. Elle." I extended my hand to shake hers.
"Oh, no, don't call me that. Please, I'd rather not sound like I'm reading my obituary." She laughed, so I laughed as well, albeit nervously.
"Call me Olivia, please. And, Elle, I'm so pleased to meet you. Emma told me all about you and showed me some of your work." She motioned for me to take a seat, and Emma too.
"Oh, that's great! Thank you for taking the time to review it. What did you think?" Nervous excitement was bubbling in my chest.
Olivia smiled at me with a tiny glint in her eyes.
"Well, Elle, I must say, you have natural talent.
I was committed after the first sentence, and that's a tough feat when I'm reading a blog on skincare and another on pool maintenance.
" She pressed her lips together, suppressing a laugh.
"Emma tells me you are looking to freelance, correct?
" She rested her chin on her fist and tilted her head to the side.
"Yes, that's correct." I looked over at Emma, who sat beside me in a leather chair. "Emma mentioned that your publication hires freelancers and that I might be able to submit work for you, as well." I smiled confidently and Olivia smiled back in response.
"Of course, my dear, we are always open to freelancers who are interested in submitting their work.
Whether or not their work is satisfactory is always to be seen.
" Olivia lifted an eyebrow and tilted her head toward me.
"After reviewing the blogs you sent over, I certainly see potential with your writing.
It's got emotion, and it draws the reader in despite the subject matter.
Your voice is strong and unique. That can't be taught. "
My cheeks heated; I hadn't had a compliment on my writing since my grandmother passed away.
"I have a proposition for you, Elle." Olivia picked up a small black book and opened it.
She scanned the page, then looked up at me.
"Cirque du Soleil is coming to town next week, and I need a writer to cover the event, and even further, write a piece about the significance circus fashion has had on street fashion.
" She stopped, and I felt the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
For the record, I knew nothing about fashion, let alone the circus or cirque.