"We are going to go upstairs, where it's a bit quieter to talk.", he said as we reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Also, I hope you have a choreographed dance ready to demo for me."
"Don't worry, Mr. Jackson. I wouldn't come to a job interview unprepared. I have a good routine for you."
"Glad to hear."
At the top of the stairs, we turned to the right. There was a floor-to-ceiling window in a little niche filled with tropical plants. A stone bench sat near the window flanked on both sides with a potted palm tree.
Mr. Jackson invited me to sit on the bench with him. Then for the next fifteen or twenty minutes, he asked me questions about what types of dancing I knew, where I learned the dances from, where I had worked previously, ect.
Then, he asked me to go with him to the Party Room, where he said he had the necessary equipment already set up.
"Here we are.", he said as he opened the door. The lights were on, already. The room was a good size; it was tucked into the eastern-facing corner of the building.
The Party Room was also built for dancing, and lots of it. Most of the floor was covered in the same wooden paraquet squares.
Without a word, I placed my purse and faux-fur jacket on a chair at the edge of the room. I switched my heels for ballet flats. I smiled at Mr. Jackson as I walked back to meet him.
"Shall I set up the music then?", I asked.
"No. Let me. This expensive equipment is so fickle."
He returned my smile and went to check the volume setting of the speakers.
"What song?", he asked me over his shoulder, as he changed the input to match his phone.
"Upon the wings of Isis."
"That's something Middle Eastern, right?"
"Yes, something like that.", I giggled coyly.
'It's an old Egyptian instrumental prayer song.', I thought to myself. 'You aren't going to find a recorded copy of that anywhere, especially not in the western world.'
I just waited patiently.
A few minutes later, Mr. Jackson stated: "I can't find it anywhere."
"Oh, well! That's alright. I can do a different one."
"Which different one?"
"I think," I began as I walked closer to him, "…you could pick one for me."
"Pardon? Pick one for you? Do you presume that you could dance as well to any song off my phone's playlist at the spur of the moment, as a prepared dancer could a choreographed dance they'd worked weeks on?!"
"Yes. That's it exactly!", I answered full of confidence.
His jaw dropped.
"Here, let me help you."
While I sat in the plant niche with Mr. Andrew Jackson earlier, I took excess energy from the damp, water-drenched soil of the tropical inhabitants. He hadn't noticed a thing.
Now I channelled that water energy and created the necessary spells so that without touching anything, manipulated the environment around me.
Mr. Jackson watched in amazement as his phone scrolled through his playlist all by itself and then chose a song.
"What the…?", he said aloud as the song 'Suzette de la Moulin Rouge' began to play.
"Ah! Perfect!", I said as I readied myself to masterfully shoot my work-sample job interview through the roof.
Mr. Jackson turned to face me as the lighting adjusted itself just-so.
I smirked. His jaw was slack again and he hadn't even seen me dance yet.
I posed so he could notice my outfit (if he hadn't noticed it before). My style of the night was a dress with a slim-fitting bodice with a full skirt. It reminded me of a 1950's evening dress.
It was bright red, and sleeveless. The fabric on the bodice was bunched and sewn to look like ribbon overlapping and, on the left-side of the waist, ended in a matching satin bow. The poufy skirt was just endless layers of ankle length tulle.
For a beginner ballet dancer, dancing in such a dress would be impossible. But as I pirouetted and danced along, I showed-off the best of my ballet skills. As the routine went on, I purposely forgot I was being judged and concentrated on dancing elegantly, emotionally, and gracefully landing every leap.
At the very end of the song, I landed a leap and then dropped into a crumpled heap on the floor, like a marionette who just had her strings cut. I waited there for the last bars of the song to fade, before lifting my head and torso to smile up at Mr. Jackson from the floor.
In the silence of the room, Mr. Jackson looked at me like I was a large lump of rare metal. He smiled like he had won the lottery.
"Brava!", he cheered and bent to offer me his hand.
I smiled and blushed coyly.
"Oh, it was nothing, Mr. Jackson!", I said with my eyes averted. "It wasn't my best dance. And, after all I was at a disadvantage, as it was my second choice."
I took his outstretched hand and he easily pulled me to my feet.
"I hope you're not still mad at me, Mr. Jackson. You looked rather angry just before I danced.", I said with a small pout.
"Now, there, there.", Mr. Jackson said, still holding my hand and giving it a friendly pat. "You misunderstand me. I'm not mad at you at all! Not, at all. I was merely surprised by the turn of events!"
"You mean…" I asked trying to make my eyes look big and fluttering my lashes at him.
"I mean, I know all about Alpha David's recommendation and you, my dear, are hired."
"Really?", I inquired, genuinely happy.
"But of course! You were hired before you danced. I just wanted to see what I was getting into, so to speak. But put your mind at ease! I see now that I worried needlessly!"
I held both his hands and gave a happy scream of excitement.
"Now, my dear, let's not burst my eardrums."
"Sorry, Mr. Jackson.", I said contritely, letting go of his hands. "Thank you!"
I gave him a curtsey.
But something about what he said came back to my mind, and I found it odd.
"I am ecstatic to have the job, Mr. Jackson. But it seems odd, you're saying I was hired even before I danced."
"Not at all! You had a good recommendation.", laughed Mr. Jackson.
I had the nagging feeling I might want to know who the owner of the establishment was.
"When do I get to meet the owner?"
"He's not here right now. He's taking his vacation, currently. He won't be back for a week."