Page 100 of An Irish Summer

She offered a polite smile, and I wondered if she also heard the strange note of disappointment in my tone.

“Bridgette, hi. Ms. Gold is here for your meeting,” she said into the receiver, still smiling at me. She hung up a second later, clapping her manicured hands together. “She’s ready for you. Right this way.”

Iris came around the front of the desk and motioned for me to follow, and together we walked the length of a hallway off the lobby. I tried to sneak peeks at everything we passed along the way: a cozy bar with wingback chairs, an indoor pool with a smattering of fake palm trees, and the entrance to a sort of garden. The wallpaper from the lobby changed twice on our walk, splashing deep green leaves and faded lilac petals across the hallway.

“Just in here,” Iris said, opening a door and gesturing inside. “Good luck.”

I thanked her and followed the direction of her arm, letting the door close behind me. The conference room was neutral in comparison to the rest of the hotel, but there was still an eclectic gallery wall coloring one side and mismatched, colorful chairs surrounding the table. Bridgette sat at the far end but stood to greet me as soon as I was inside.

“Ms. Gold, welcome. Thank you for making this work on such short notice. I’m glad you were able to come in.” We shookhands, and I hoped my smile looked genuine and approachable and not at all insane.

Bridgette wore a linen tent dress with buttons down the front of varying colors and sizes. Her hair was wrapped in a patterned scarf not unlike the wallpaper. She looked nothing like anyone on any other hiring committee I’d seen all summer, which I took as a good sign.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” I said. “Thank you for making the time to meet with me.”

“Oh, please,” she said, pulling out a chair, “the pleasure is mine. Have a seat.”

She had a casual air about her that made me relax instantly, and I tried to channel her confidence for my benefit. As she shuffled a few papers, my résumé included, I watched a few employees pass by the window. They wore blazers of assorted colors with shimmering gold ID badges pinned to the lapels and laughed over clipboards and tumblers of iced coffee.

I tried to imagine myself as one of them. What color would I wear? Would I be the one making people laugh or the one laughing in the background? Who would I be here? Who would Ibecomehere?

“So, Ms. Gold,” Bridgette said, pulling me from my reverie. “Tell me a bit about yourself. Who are you? Beyond what’s on the résumé.” She laced her fingers in her lap and leaned back in her chair, giving me the floor.

When I had prepared for this interview, I practiced talking about my time at O’Shea’s. I planned to spin my move to Ireland as adventurous and impressive. I even was primed to talk about some of the work I did at the Wanderer. But after all that, I didn’t know exactly who I was. Or, at least, who was the version of myself she wanted to meet.

That question hung between us like a rain cloud, and I had to take a few deep breaths before I responded.

“Well,” I said, “I’m a Boston native, so after a summer away I’m looking forward to getting back to my roots. I’m also from a tight-knit Jewish family, so it’s a priority of mine to bring that close family feel to my clients and their events.” That much was easy. Those were facts. And they made me seem like a good candidate for the job. I was on solid ground, and I was determined to resist sliding intoI have no idea who I amterritory, no matter how open her face was.

“Yes, yes.” Bridgette nodded. “And what brings you to Hotel Blue? After a bed-and-breakfast and a hostel, I imagine this is a bit of a change.”

“That’s exactly what brings me here,” I said. “I’m ready for the next step of my career. I’m looking to bring what I’ve learned during my time at those places to a higher-end location. I think there’s value in synthesizing the culture of different styles of accommodation. It’ll allow me to plan events for different types of guests looking for different kinds of experiences.”

The longer I spoke, the more I wanted to throw up. I sounded like a robot. If I wanted this so badly, couldn’t I talk about it organically? Could she tell how much I had to rehearse for this?

“Tell me about the Wanderer,” she said, once again interrupting an inward spiral. I spun the claddagh around on my finger, a gesture I’d been doing absentmindedly all summer, only now it transported me back to Galway so fiercely I had to remind myself I was actually in Boston. I had to convince myself this was still what I wanted, despite my composure slipping away at an alarming rate. Thankfully, if Bridgette knew Iwas struggling, she wasn’t showing it. “Your portfolio is quite impressive,” she continued.

“The Wanderer was— I’m sorry, my portfolio?” Surely there had been a mistake. I didn’t submit a portfolio. Had she confused me with someone else?

She shuffled through her stack once more, presenting me with a stack of papers bound together with a gold clip. “This one,” she said. “I received it late last night. The email address didn’t match that on your résumé, but I assumed you knew it was sent over on your behalf. Has there been a mistake?”

I flipped through the papers, only half listening. Sure enough, it was a packet of events I’d planned at the Wanderer. Photos, descriptions, testimonies. The movie night, the cooking classes, the high tea in period dress. A group of guests headed to a ceilidh.

“No, no mistake,” I said, still flipping the pages and trying to make sense of what I was seeing. “This is definitely my work. I just... I’m sorry, who did you say sent this over?”

“I have the email correspondence right here,” she said, thumbing through her stack and producing a sheet of paper. “Have a look.”

I took the paper, scanning frantically for the email address. When I found it, I had to stop an audible gasp from escaping my lips: [email protected]. I willed the room to stop spinning so I could read the rest of the email.

To whom it may concern,

We hope this finds you well, and we hope you’ll excuse the late submission. Attached please find the portfolio of applicant Chelsea Gold. She has made an invaluableimpact on not only The Wanderer as an institution, but also on the staff and guests she worked with during her short time here. Our events calendar is fuller and more vibrant than it’s been in years, and we have only Chelsea to thank. Since she has done so much for us, it is our hope we can do the same for her in her future endeavors. Please consider this our heartfelt recommendation.

Sláinte,

Lori O’Shea (Owner), Collin Finegan (Tours), and Florence Rossi (House Chef)

“You had no idea they sent this, did you?” Bridgette asked as she watched me read and reread the email.

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