The pay is awful. It’s actually on the high side for this field, but it will not get me far in Boston, especially not if I’m commuting to the Big Apple. I’d better plan on keeping my job in catering. People think that just because you’re on TV, you must be rich. It’s so not the case. Realistically, I’m not sure I can afford to follow my dream.
But I have to try.
All I need is to do some fantastic reporting—of real sports, not the dog park variety—and send those videos in with my resume. Maybe Xavier will let me do a story on him. Telling his side.
Ophelia did say they owed me.
I can feel my excitement growing. For the first time since I was admitted to the hospital all those years ago, my dream seems like it’s within my reach. I can practically touch it.
Before I stop to think, I’m enthusiastically filling out the application and writing the cover letter. I promise an exclusive story from a current professional athlete if I’m granted an interview.
And then I hit submit.
The minute the green check comes up, I want to vomit. What did I just do? Ophelia and Xavier never agreed to help me. While I’m sure they will, what if they don’t?
“What if” is not responsible journalism. I’m no better than the reporter who almost ruined Xavier’s career.
My stomach churns.
I haven’t even started, and I’ve made an unforgivable mistake.
Maybe they won’t respond. That would probably be for the best. The pay is terrible. I’d have to move.
Maybe I’m just not meant for this.
I go back to the job listing for the weekend job in Binghamton. Oh God, it’s to cover one D1 college sports events, a golf tournament that I’ve never heard of, and then cover high school athletics.
At least I meet all the job requirements. They stress social media too.
I submit my application to them.
It’s bottom of the ladder, weekends and three days a week, but I wouldn’t have to make promises that I can’t keep.
And submitting that application doesn’t make me want to yak, so there’s that.
Okay, I’m still in literally the same place I was six weeks ago when I helped Ophelia and Xavier out, but I feel maybe one step closer to success today.
Ophelia: And guess what? We’re getting married. For real. We booked it at The Tower because, well, you know.
Me: OMG, perfect. Let me know, and I’ll make sure I’m on the schedule.
Ophelia: That would be great, but no climbing out the window this time.
I bury my face in my hands. I cannot believe that was my reaction to seeing Callaghan Entay again. Though it makes sense. I learned one time that the body’s sympathetic nervous system takes over in moments of survival. Most people are familiar with the fight-or-flight response. There are actually four Fs associated with the response. Fight, flight, freeze, or the other F-word.
Callaghan triggers every single one of them in me.
I’d better hope that I never have to spontaneously interview him. Lord only knows what will come out, but I’d bet a year’s salary that it would be fodder for the blooper reel.
Me: If I know ahead of time that he’s going to be there, I can mentally prepare myself.
With some Xanax maybe.
Ophelia: Chances are good he’ll be there. The ceremony’s going to be small. Family and a few close friends, but I’m sure Xavier’ll invite him. If only for the help with the agent stuff.
I have to admit, both Callaghan and I did play a role in Xavier getting signed to the Buzzards. I wonder what the public would think of that. Cal doesn’t have the best public image, no thanks to his interview prowess, so it might make people like him a little more.
Especially since he was just named to the National Team.
