Far From Home // t.h.

4 - (y/n)

The moment that Zendaya had hung up the call, you called your mom. Trying to remain as civil through the conversation as possible, meaning not bursting out into happy tears and shrieking out about what had just happened, you told her that you might be getting a new job. But, unfortunately, your mother seemed much less enthusiastic than you had hoped, imagined, or expected.

"An assistant?" she sounded apprehensive. "So you'll be doing what exactly?"

"I'm not entirely sure."

"And who will you be assisting?"

"I don't know yet, but considering it was Zendaya that called me," you emphasised the name as if it would mean anything to your detached mother. "I can only assume it's a very important movie star." When talking to your mother, you had to speak her language, which was not-so humble bragging and over-exaggeration of success and achievements.

"So you will be getting minimum wage pay to bring coffee to some rich people?" And yet, still, your mother was not impressed.

"Well, I assume I will be getting a bit more money than minimum wage, mom," you sighed. "I mean... I won't be working for the production, but the actor." I think, you thought, but you didn't say that out loud.

"Well, just let me know how much you will be getting out of this because if it's not enough, you can always come work for your father."

"I know, mom." Another sigh escaped you, and you knew, with that, you were only a strike away from getting a lecture on attitude, so you decided to say your goodbye and quickly hang up.

It was unbelievable. No matter what you did, your mother was never satisfied. It didn't matter if you would work for an actual Hollywood actor; she did not care for it one bit. To think she actually still tried to convince you to work for your dad's company. You would, most likely, be doing the exact same things, except there would be much more screaming and much less glamour. This was, at least, you could start to form connections in the business, and who knew, maybe the assisting thing could become a real long-term thing for you. Not just a frantic call once in a blue moon.

****

You had agreed to meet at the pud at 12, yet you walked through the door at 11.38. You knew because of the large clock that hung directly opposite the entrance. You thought that you could ease some of your nerves by getting there earlier because, hey, you weren't late! That's one job well done!

But instead, this led you to overthink every possible choice you had made that morning for the next 22 minutes. Maybe it hadn't been the best idea to meet up at a pub in the middle of the city? But, of course, you never planned to drink alcohol. Instead, you ordered yourself a cup of tea, which you could barely even bring up to your face because your hands were trembling so much. And damn, has it always been that hot inside? Just so you wouldn't break out in a nervous sweat, you decided to take off your jacket. It kind of ruined your look since you had made sure that everything fit together, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make.

You had decided to go for a simple look, jeans and a black, loosely fitted top. The jacket was a dark denim one that seemed to merge everything together. Simple, timeless, casual.

Before going out, you had consulted with your lifeline- Zendaya. It was kind of insane to think that she had made this possible to happen for you. The same evening that she had called you, you had gotten a bit wine drunk to both celebrate and take the edge off, and in this giddy and drunken state, you had texted her a chaotically long message saying thank you. The following day you thought that was it. You had just ruined it. Zendaya would read your message, realise what a mess you were, and say, "sorry, we found someone else" or something. But you couldn't be more wrong. She had replied with an equally long, just as chaotic, text, and from that moment on, you kind of had not stopped texting?

As the day of the interview neared, you kept asking her for assurance. Was she 100% sure that the Globe would be a good place to meet? She helped you pick the outfit, and even then, you couldn't help but doubt your choices... which was redundant, considering Zendaya might just be one of the most stylish people to ever walk this earth. If anyone would know what you'd look good in, it was her.

Don't worry! She texted, you look great! It's gonna be okay. See you tomorrow ;)

With "see you tomorrow", she meant to say that she was sure you would get the job and would be able to see her on set because apparently, the interview for your job was literally one day before you were meant to start working. Or maybe the actor (who was still a mystery to you) just wanted you to begin as soon as possible. Both scenarios were very nerve-wracking.

When you got to the pub, you had decided to sit at your favourite table. It was a booth, more to the side of the room. Even though there was nobody in the pub to stare at you, sitting in the booth felt more private. Having the walls around you felt comforting since you didn't feel like you were vulnerable, so out in the open.

It really was much more empty than you had expected. Besides the fact that the pub was only a street away from your house, you chose it thinking that it wouldn't be as awkward having some people around you. You've seen it before, people holding their job interviews in restaurants, over some fancy meals and glasses of wine, plenty of conversations going on around them. Well, you couldn't afford the overpriced meals nor the Châteauneuf-du-Pape, so you decided, with Zendaya's seal of approval behind it, that this was an excellent second choice.

But when you walked in, the place was basically deserted. Made sense, in hindsight, considering it was a workday, so most people were at work, but even then, you had never seen the Globe be so empty. To think you had come over the day before to reserve a booth.

You already knew the owner, Greggy, pretty well. He was tall and a larger than life lad, and though at first sight, he may look intimidating, he was a true sweetheart. When you came over yesterday, you had explained to him the reason why you needed that booth. So, when you came in looking more nervous than a Chihuahua at the vet, Greggy understood.

Maybe that's why he had given you an extra biscuit with your tea. You saw it as a "good luck" sign, or at least a "get it together, lassie" sign. Whatever Greggy's intentions were, they came highly appreciated.

As the minutes went by, you had considered changing places at least five times. Maybe the booth was too intimate? Intimate was definitely not good in terms of a job interview. But a table would be so open for everyone to see how you got rejected- Woah, you had to remind yourself that your mystery employer wasn't even there yet. There was no need to keep that negative attitude.

After Greggy gave you a look from behind the counter when he saw you shuffle around in the booth for the hundredth time, you finally settled down. With a few deep breaths, you finally picked up your tea and was glad to see the drink not sputtering about. Calm and steady won the race.

You looked at the large clock again. It was 12.08. They were late. This would not have been a problem at all if it wasn't for the fact that you were in such a state that the slightest inconvenience would make you question your sanity. You had started to tell yourself that this was all a big elaborate prank, that no one would ever show up and leave you to rot in this booth. Or even better, they had changed their mind about you. Somehow being that disappointing felt worse than never even being considered in the first place.

The shakes in your hands were coming back as the door of the pub opened.

Oh shit.