delivered this conciliatory speech to a number of intern rejects before me.
âItâs true,â she continued. âWe only hire from within. We used to work through HR, up on the seventeenth floor, but they kept sending the wrong types of peopleâHR handles all the magazines at Hoffman-Lynch, twenty-something titles, but some of the other magazines arenât as . . . discriminating as Régine . You understand, Iâm sureâthe qualities Régine seeks in a staff member are very hard to determine from a résumé. We canât just get anyone off the street, who can technically do a âjob.â The perfect candidate has certain other qualitiesâthey look Régine , they act Régine âthey know Régine because they are Ré gine . When they leave the office after a day at work, people need to be ableto say, âThatâs a Régine girlââor boy, in your case. They have to be a person we can groom . We take them on as internsâspecial cases, you knowâand when a position opens, it belongs to them. Because they belong. . . .â
Sabrinaâs hand fluttered open, like she was demonstrating for me the way her own delicate fingers belonged âor, perhaps, inviting me to appreciate her ring of diamonds encircling a shiny emerald. Draping one forearm over the upholstered arm of her chair, she dangled her hand over the adjacent glass side table. Her wrist was moving lightly in a circle, as if she had picked up a martini glass by its rim and was swirling around an olive inside. âIâd be happy to see you in the first category,â she conceded at last. I realized I had been holding my breath. âWeâd give you this opportunity, as a minor endorsement of sorts . . . youâd work hard, and then weâd send you on your way. Iâm just . . .â She kept toying with the invisible glass. âFor some reason, Iâm just not so sure . . . that you fall into the second category.â
My head raced through alternative interpretations of the words that had just left Sabrinaâs mouth, but there was nothing to interpret: Sabrina had declared me ultimately unsuitable for Régine . It was a judgment overwhelming in its offensiveness, yet she appeared so calm, so lovely reclining there, as though she had merely commented on the weather.
In a kind of stupefied daze, I shook my head. âIâm sorry, butâdid I somehow give you the impression that Iâm unqualified for this?â
Upon detecting my indignation, Sabrina livened up. âI donât mean to upset you,â she equivocated grandly, with an expression so deliberately innocuous as to acquit her of all malign intent. âBut with these things, I think itâs important to be honest, donâtyou? If I let you have certain expectationsâfor instance, that you stand a reasonable chance of becoming a fashion editor at Régine âwell, that wouldnât be very considerate of me, would it?â The corners of her mouth turned up, with the wistfulness of a weeping willow branch caught in the wind, and in a second, my latent suspicions of her malevolence were confirmed.
âBut, Iâm extremely qualified,â I protested. âIâmy whole life Iââ
Sabrina gestured lightly toward me. âWho makes your suit, Ethan? In that lovely color.â
âWhat?â My disorientation was complete. âIâI donât know,â I replied. âItâs just . . . thrifted.â
She pressed her lips together and nodded. âThrifted?â she repeated with a feigned ignorance, as though to spare me the dishonor of my own admission. âIâve never heard of them.â Then she slipped a finger under her Chanel bracelet and rotated it so the charm with the diamond logo was facing up. âIâm guessing your shoes tooââthrifted,â right?â
I suddenly saw us from above, as a fly would see