The Interview - A Fortune Cookie Story

The Interview

A young reporter meets her idol.

Written by Sylvia Wells

Checking myself one last time in the mirror, I decided that there was nothing more I could do, I hated fussing over my appearance and it was finally time to go. Wondering, as I walked out of my hotel room, if I had gone overboard by wearing the band's signature colors in my small attempt to prove something to them - even if I wasn't even sure what I was trying to prove.
Jack had mentioned once in an interview with a British reporter that he liked the idea of his band and any direct associates having a uniform of sorts in the colors they wore when they were on tour, on stage, doing a photo shoot, or rehearsing. Before starting his first band, The Upholsters, he was considering becoming a school minister; he liked the idea that everyone dressed the same but had their own unique personalities, he had said. How intriguing that the man who was voted number seventeen in the Rolling Stones list of the top 100 rock guitarists of all time, had once considered becoming a minister.

Although I was wearing black, red, and white from head to toe, I didn't want to look like a groupie; I wanted them to see me a serious journalist who happened to be a fan. But more than that I wanted their respect and I wanted to be a part of what they were. Choosing to wear a pair of wide legged black dress pants, a crisp white colored shirt, red heels and a red wool jacket was not enough. I added black earrings, a black and white bracelet and a chunky red necklace to complete the ensemble. Would he even notice my intricately selected wardrobe I mused?

I fully expected Jack to be the one doing all the talking in our meeting, as was the case in all the interviews of him and Meg, the sole members of the band. I flagged down a cab when I reached the street outside the Soho, where I was staying in New York for a few days on my mission to fulfill a dream.

Pulling up to the front of the rehearsal studio my palms began to sweat and panic swept over me in a flash of heat. Full of doubt, fear, and nerves, I passed a few bills over the seat to the driver and slowly climbed out of the cab. The cool Fall wind gave me the slap in the face I needed to pull myself together. "You are a professional. They are wildly successful musicians, but they are human just like you." It was a mantra I had been repeating to myself in the weeks leading up to this day. Raising my chin an inch I walked confidently toward the glass double doors of the building which looked like the outside an old theater. Inside looked like a normal office reception area except it had gold records and pictures of famous artists hanging on the walls.

"May I help you?" asked the young woman behind the reception desk.

Trying not to let my voice jump all over the place I said, "I have an appointment with Mr. White."

The young blonde's face lit up at the sound of his name, she must have been about twenty. "You can go right in, they are in Studio B."
I thanked her and followed her arm gesture down the hallway to her right where I found a door marked 'Studio B'. I could feel the receptionist's eyes on me as I stood with my hand on the door knob inhaling and exhaling slowly, preparing myself for the initial shock of meeting him in person. Praying that I wouldn't turn into a school girl and start blushing and giggling, but keep my cool; I didn't have a crush on him after all. The mission here was to gain consent to write his biography and the biography of what was possibly the most intriguing band to emerge in the last twenty years. Gushing over him would not win me that honor, but keeping my composure and staying relaxed, treating him like a regular person, and treating the interview like a business venture would be the best way to go about it. We both had something to gain. He would have a person who respected him to write his story and I would have no trouble selling the story; so in the end it was a win-win situation.

On my last calming breath I turned the knob quickly to enter the room, my chin again fixed in an upward position. However, somebody from inside turned the knob too, pulling the door inward while taking a step forward out into the hall. The motion of the door pulled me crashing face first into a hard, fantastic smelling male chest. Surprisingly the man I crashed into didn't waiver but caught me by the shoulders with both hands and gently stood me back on my feet an awkward few inches away from him. With embarrassment scribbled all over my face I looked up into the face of Jack White.

"Hello." His voice was deep and sweet, a slight look of concern in his dark brown eyes.

"Hello." I said trying to regain my balance by widening my stance. "I'm Samantha; I'm here for our meeting." Noticing that we were still very close to each other, I smiled and took a step back to hold out my hand.

Taking my hand in a firm shake as he guided me into Studio B, Jack smiled down at me and said, "I like your jacket".

Fortune Cookies: (where ideas come from)
You and a friend will follow your dreams.
You will meet a very important artist one evening.
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