Chapter 1 – The Interview

Monday, 2nd April 2018

Hyndland

Glasgow

I’d had my breakfast, but I wasn’t due to start my shift at the home improvement store until ten o’clock.

“Another mind-numbing day of irritating customers and merchandising stock.”

I fixed another coffee, sat at the dining table, and opened my laptop. I’d applied for several jobs with magazines of various types, saying in each covering letter that I’d be happy to adapt to their style and content.

I’d had quite a few letters and emails in response, and mostly they were pleasant. I was beginning to see that without experience, it was going to be difficult to get a position. I’d been applying for jobs for the final three months of my degree course.

“How am I supposed to gain experience unless I have a job?”

In my more recent applications and speculative letters, I’d stressed that I’d be happy to complete a probation period at a lower salary.

I thought that with my university days behind me, my worries would decrease, but things were getting worse. I was no longer in a flat with others, and the studio apartment I was renting was tiny. It had been a good decision to keep my part-time job at the big Do-it-Yourself store, but even with a few extra shifts, things were getting tight financially.

As I was sipping my coffee, an email notification appeared on the screen, but I tried not to get too excited. It was probably Spam, or an African prince looking for someone to help move his fortune into a safe bank account. It might even be yet another attractive Eastern European girl looking for a British boyfriend.

I opened my inbox and was surprised to find an invitation to an interview. I reread it in disbelief and took note of the details.

“Patricia Spencer of Naughty Press Publications.”

I recognised the magazine title because I recalled that with the job application, I had to include a 1,000-word article on Sexual Stereotypes. I didn’t respond immediately, but instead, to refresh my memory, I performed a search using the name and the company. A few minutes later, I sat reading about Patricia Spencer, an attractive woman of about forty who was the editor of three magazines. She was also the co-owner of the publishing company, and her business partner was the editor of the remaining two magazines.

*

Thursday 5th April

Glasgow

I arrived in the city centre with plenty of time to spare, and went for a coffee. For half an hour, I sat gazing out at the passers-by, my head full of possible questions and answers.

At ten-fifteen, I strolled along Bath Street to the Naughty Press Publications offices.

“Fifteen minutes early,” Alicia, the pretty young receptionist, said. She entered my details into her computer. “Patricia will be impressed.”

“I’m hoping to impress her at the interview, so any advice would be welcome.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Be deferential. I know she enjoys the power-trip when interviewing men, and especially young men.”

“Thank you,” I said, and when I recalled Patricia’s appearance, I knew it would be easy.

A few minutes later, near where I was sitting, waiting, Patricia Spencer’s office door opened. I knew it was her as I gazed at her. She was around five-ten, with shoulder-length auburn hair, a big chest, a thick waist and shapely legs. Patricia was statuesque, and her red figure-hugging minidress complemented her curves.

She turned and smiled at me. “Lenny?”

“Yes,” I said, and stood, realising that she’d caught me appraising her.

“Patricia,” she said, offering a slender hand with glossy red fingernails.

I enjoyed the warmth of her hand and went into her office when she directed me. It was spacious with a massive window and a view over the city. Her desk, executive chair and all the other furniture and fittings were modern. A large potted plant stood near the window, and the walls only had two pieces of tasteful artwork.

She locked the door behind us, but instead of going around to the other side of her large white desk, she smiled and indicated for me to sit in one of two armchairs on either side of an occasional table. She waited until I was seated before she lifted a handful of printed sheets that were on her desk and lowered herself into the other plush white leather chair at the table.

“Thank you for seeing me,” I said, immediately demonstrating respect and gratitude.

“Now that I am seeing you, I’m pleased I invited you.” She grinned and studied my face as she crossed her legs, which gave me a glimpse of her stocking tops. “It’s so refreshing to see a young man who doesn’t feel the need to grow stubble or a beard.”

I silently watched as she glanced at each page, nodding slowly.

She said, “I enjoyed reading your piece on Sexual Stereotypes, which is the main reason I invited you to interview.” She smiled. “You should be pleased with yourself, because I received over one hundred and fifty applications for the position, but I’m only interviewing three applicants.”

When I’d set eyes on her in person, I’d promised myself I’d do whatever it took to get the job. To hear that I was one of only three people being offered an interview increased my determination to be part of Patricia’s company.

For twenty minutes, the interview followed a similar pattern to others that I’d attended. Patricia asked about my favourite reading material, why I wanted to be a writer, and which parts of my degree course I’d enjoyed. When she asked about my knowledge of her company and the titles that came under the brand, I was well-versed and able to talk about the company history, its position in the marketplace, and what made it stand out from the competition.

“Well done,” she said, and smiled. “I’m always impressed by a job candidate who knows how to research and what to highlight at an interview.”

“I believe it demonstrates mutual respect. A candidate must know that the company will be digging deep into the qualifications, skills and history of any applicant.”

“Quite correct,” she said. “Personal circumstances are also important to me, so tell me about your present situation, please, Lenny.”

“I graduated from my Creative Writing course last summer, but followed it with a six-month course in Psychology.”

“I believe the regular courses are one year or two years, so did you enrol on a shorter course with specific elements?”

“Yes, the first four months were a foundation for the subject, and the other two months focused on relationships and, in particular, sexual relationships.”

She nodded slowly. “That would explain why the article you submitted to me on Sexual Stereotypes was so impressive.” She paused. “Continue, please.”

“Since last summer, while I was still at uni, I was sending articles to various newspapers and magazines. Simultaneously, to ensure I always had an income, I’ve continued to work for a large branch of a well-known home improvement company. I started with them when I was at college, so I’ve now been with them for about five years.”

“I take it that they offer you more than the usual weekend hours that students are contracted for?”

“Yes, I’ve demonstrated my versatility, and so for the past three months I’ve been working thirty hours per week, and I can work in any of four departments.”

“In your application, you’ve said that you share an apartment. Would you mind telling me about your flatmate?”

“I live with Peter, who is a Personal Trainer, but also has a part-time position with a health and fitness company in the city centre.”

“Are you in a relationship with each other, or were you childhood friends who decided to move in together for convenience?”

“Neither,” I said and smiled. “We met when we started at uni, and shared an apartment with another young man. Before we graduated from our courses, Roger had a job lined up in France, so he left the UK. Neither Peter nor I wanted to return to our family homes, so we agreed to share a flat for a year, if we could find something affordable that met our criteria.”

“I like that type of thinking.” She made notes on the sheets in front of her. “So, you and Peter had gotten to know each other over a couple of years as students, and felt that you could both use the place as a base to get established without returning home?”

I nodded. “It sounded strange to fellow students we told about it, but many of them agreed it was a good way of maintaining our independence.”

“Are either of you in a relationship at the moment?”

“No. I was dating a girl at uni, but I haven’t been seeing anyone for about six months. Peter broke up with his girlfriend about three months ago.”

“That’s interesting.” She made more notes before meeting my gaze. “My next question may sound strange, but you’ve shown a clear knowledge of the magazines produced by the company, so you’ll appreciate I have my reasons.” She smiled briefly. “How do you view gay, bisexual or transgender people of any persuasion?”

“I’m unbiased regarding anyone who comes under the general heading of LGBTQ, and I’m confident that Peter is just as tolerant.”

She nodded. “What makes you so confident that Peter is as broad-minded and accepting as you?”

“Over the past couple of years, we’ve both had friends who were in various categories of the LGBTQ lifestyle.”

“Okay, so if you had a spare bedroom in your apartment, you’d both be happy to live alongside someone who was, for example, a gay woman, a gay man, or a crossdresser?”

I nodded and smiled. “Our only concern, if we had a spare room, would be that the person could afford their share of the accommodation and food expenses.”

She uncrossed and recrossed her shapely legs and caught me looking at them. “You’ve already proved that you know about our company, and that you know how to research a topic. How far would you be prepared to go if your role were that of an investigative reporter, and not simply a columnist, or agony aunt?”

“I like to think I’d be prepared to do whatever it takes to obtain the best results.”

“How often do you browse porn?”

“I … maybe a couple of times a week.”

“Try not to consider this next question for too long.” She continued to study me. “Tell me your three favourite porn categories—quickly, please.”

“Crossdressers, fetishists, and … gay men.”

“Do you have a fetish?”

“No.”

“Have you ever crossdressed, or considered it, Lenny?”

I hesitated and felt my face warming with embarrassment. “No.”

“Let me try a different question.” She studied my features. “Have you ever fantasised about it?”

I worried my lip for a moment, and finally nodded. “Yes.”

“Are you finding this line of questioning embarrassing?”

“Yes.”

“Why, and you’ve studied psychology, so I’m sure you know the reason?”

“I’ve always considered myself heterosexual, irrespective of the porn categories I browse.”

“That’s a good answer.” She smiled. “Do you think Alicia, our receptionist, is attractive?”

“Yes, she’s very attractive.”

“Do you find me attractive, Lenny?” She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, slowly.

“Yes, I think you’re stunning.”

“Would you do anything I asked if you thought it would secure the job we’re discussing?”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes … yes, I believe I would.”

She stood, moved to the side of her armchair and reached under her dress to pull down her black lace panties. “There’s an en-suite through that door. Take these, go in there, and put them on. Come out here wearing those instead of your boxer shorts, which you can throw in the waste bin in there.”

I stared, my lips moving silently for a few seconds, and then I stood and accepted her freshly removed underwear. I swallowed hard again, turned and went through the door into the en-suite.

***