And it vaguely resembleddestino.
At 1.45 pm, Stella stood on the street outside the address Gabrielle had given her, and so far, everything had gone her way that afternoon.
The universe, she figured, was finally behaving itself.
The weather, despite being cool, was clear and dry, so she had decided to walk the short distance from Trastevere. The fresh air had helped clear her head and settle her nerves.
She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the brass nameplate by the intercom. She looked confident and excited, and her rosy cheeks helped lift her complexion. On a deep inhale, she steeled herself, then pressed the buzzer.
‘Sì?’ A man’s voice filled the portico where she stood.
‘Buongiorno.Sono Stella Chiaro. Ho un appuntamento con la Dottoressa Belmont.’
The loud metallic clunk of the latch releasing scared Stella half to death. Pushing through the door, she made her way up to the first floor.
A man with thick-rimmed circular glasses and overly manicured eyebrows checked her in and asked her to take a seat in the waiting room with the other attendees.
As she entered the waiting room, feeling a mix of excitement and nervous tension, she found peace in the thought that surely she stood a chance. After all, Gabrielle had invited herpersonally.
It was then that she noticed the other two attendees.
The first, a woman thirty years her senior, with a large leather-bound folio by her side. She wore the kind of clothes Stella recalled middle-aged female curators from her gallery wearing – one-off, handcrafted, multicoloured leather shoes, cropped leggings, billowy organic cotton dresses with geometric patterns and mismatched abstract resin earrings. The woman epitomised the kind of stuck-up know-it-all woman Stella had always been surrounded by and desperately didn’t want to become.
Sensing Stella’s gaze, the woman, who had been reading, gave Stella a once-over, rolled her eyes and returned to her book,Plato and Other Theorists for Today’s Modern Mind. Stella’s stomach suddenly plummeted and landed in her boots. What chance did she stand against this woman?
The second attendee, an East-Asian gentleman perhaps in his late-forties also carrying a large folio, smiled politely at Stella. Stella followed suit, returning the gesture, as her heart dropped.
Should I have brought my folio? Gabrielle never said anything about a foli—
There was no time to worry, as the man from reception reappeared and led them to a meeting room.
‘DottoressaBelmont will be here soon,’ he said, gesturing for them to take a seat.
They each occupied a chair on one side of the table, leaving two empty chairs on the other.
The moment suddenly feltreal. This was an interview, albeit a group one.
Stella knew nothing beyond the job title – not a single thing about the role and its responsibilities. In essence, she was in for a wild ride, ready to fly by the seat of her pants. In that moment, she resigned herself to accepting that no matter what happened, it would be a valuable life experience. She was at the AAI, andthatin itself was worth a celebration.
A little smile crept across her lips.
C’mon Stella. April second.
The three of them suddenly straightened in their chairs as Gabrielle strode confidently into the room. She occupied the large leather wingback chair while her assistant, the gentleman from reception, occupied the other.
Stella heard herself swallow.
‘Thank you for being on time. Dr Wang, Prof Villette and Ms Chiaro. This is my assistant, Piero.’ Gabrielle gestured to her companion. ‘Should you require anything during your time here at AAI HQ, please speak only with him.’ Piero gave the three a smile. ‘Per the interview booking information you would have received, today’s interviews will be conducted in English, given the fact that English is one of the priority languages used to facilitate our work here at the AAI.’ A wave of acknowledging nods met her from across the desk. ‘Now, we shall begin . . .’
Prof Villette walked towards Gabrielle. ‘Here’s my comprehensive folio, Dr Belmont. Enclosed within, you will find countless references from my esteemed colleagues from theAcadémie d—’
‘None of that interests me in the slightest.’ With one swift blow, Gabrielle cut Prof Villette down at the knees, sending her recoiling to her seat. ‘Using the pencil and paper in front of you, draw what comes to mind when you think of the word “child”. You have three minutes. Begin.’ She gestured to Piero to keep time, which he obediently did.
Dr Wang was thrown by the task, and spent the first two minutes caught between confusion and frustration. He managed only a series of abstract words on his page. Prof Villette had furiously set to task to sketch the figure of a child; her interpretation was literal and lacked any stretch of creativity.
Stella, who was used to thinking on the spot when under pressure, had taken a moment or two before putting pencil to paper. She sketched a series of forms, each representing something she felt embodied the childhood experience, including a representation of curiosity by way of a cloud-shaped question mark. It hovered over an oversized felt-tip marker, which represented creativity. Hanging off the shoulders of the marker was a superhero cape with the letter C emblazoned across it, standing for courage.
Each attendee was given the opportunity to share and explain their work. Gabrielle reacted in no way to what they presented.
