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Chapter ThirteenLoganMy assistant, Rosie, has been talking to me for the better part of thirty minutes. I’m amazed at how little air she seems to need compared to the rest of us; in fact, I’m more convinced now than ever that she’s part cyborg. I’m studying her, trying to see if there’s a battery pack or charging port hidden somewhere on her body, but even if there were, I’d never find it. She wears a lot of layers: black shirt, black blazer, poofy wrap thing that’s looped twice around her neck. She has an earpiece on, a phone attached to her hip, a clipboard, and a tablet.
She doesn’t look up at me as she continues speaking.
“They have the list of topics that are off the table, and it should be an easy interview. Jimmy will throw you a few softballs. Just ease up and don’t fidget too much in the chair.”
“Right.”
“Tomorrow, you have training in the morning, and then Brett wants to meet with you in the early afternoon to go over the new contract from Nike.”
“No can do,” I reply, just to see if she’ll flinch.
She doesn’t even skip a beat.
“Then at 3:00, you have to be across town to shoot that Gatorade campaign. They’re putting you on all the bottles of the Cool Blue flavor.”
I screw up my face just thinking about how cheesy it’ll look. “Sounds horrible. Who would want to buy a drink with my face on it?”
She levels me with a bored glare. “According to their market research, every male in America, aged 5 to 65.”
“Right.”
“Then you have a Tom Ford fitting for the gala.”
“Can’t they just use my past measurements and go from there?”
“Don’t test me. Their offices have been hounding me for weeks. I’ve had to swear to get you there in person because they want a custom fit.”
I sigh. “Fuck me.”
“Yes, well, this is your life. Get used to it.”
No kidding.
When I was a kid, I dreamed about becoming a professional athlete. I had visions of playing in packed stadiums, throwing touchdowns to the roar of surging crowds, winning Super Bowls, having a cool house and as many golden retrievers as I wanted. I never thought about everything else that’s involved with the job. I’m essentially a one-man small business, and the better I play on the field, the busier I am off of it.
“You’re scheduled on the carpet at the gala at 8:32, by the way.”
“Can’t promise I’ll be exactly on time. You know how it is, traffic and all.”
“Are you arriving with Darius and Liz?”
“Yeah, and I’ve been thinking about having Candace come with me.”
She frowns; her internal hard drive must be short-circuiting. “Have you told me about Candace?”
“Yes. The girl I just started seeing? The teacher?”
She nods then whips out her tablet, fingers firing away. “That’s right. You gave me her info earlier. I have her ticket for the gala and I can email it to her along with the other information: when to arrive, dress code, all that. She’ll have to get there early, around 7:00 probably.”
“Why can’t she just come with me?”
Rosie sighs as if she doesn’t have the energy to go over this with me. “You know why.”
“She could walk ahead of me on the carpet.”
“Right. Okay. And then you and I will have a media storm on our hands trying to contain the resulting attention if you show up to an event with a woman. No. I’m sorry. She needs to arrive early and be far away from you when those cameras start flashing.”
I don’t reply, and she’s forced to continue, “Unless you’re ready to bring her into the spotlight, go public, and expose her like that. It’s up to you.”
I think of the paparazzi at my apartment yesterday morning and shake my head. “No, this is fine. For now.”
“Good. I think that’s for the best. Now, sit tight. I’ll have hair and makeup come in. You have about forty minutes until you’re on air. Review those questions I gave you and try to come up with answers that will make good sound bites.”
“Or I could just speak from the heart?”
She doesn’t even bother replying to that, already flying out the door.
I’m sitting in my dressing room at The Tonight Show. It’s an honor to be here for the fourth time and I should be happy that I’m relevant enough to get invitations to shows like this, but I just can’t seem to muster up the energy I need. I know it’s because Candace couldn’t come tonight. I was hoping she’d be here, in the crowd. It’s not like I could really acknowledge her even if she were here, but maybe I could have found a way to shoot her a little wave or a smile.
I think of her working at District, probably flying around like a pixie.
