Chapter 18: Hannah
It all happened sofast. I guess that’s how it usually goes down. I’d sent out resumes and filled out applications. I attached my ClikClak handle so they could see me in action.
I didn’t expect to hear anything. Let alone within a week. And certainly not for anything that’d have me sitting on a bus in South Station, heading to New York City to cover an event.
They’re calling it an “opportunity.”
The “they” isThe Looking Glass. You know, Britain’s largest entertainment news. They’ve covered sports in England—football especially—and now want to expand their American market. They like my portfolio, and I’m onto the next round for consideration.
All I have to do is make more ClikClaks for a specific assignment. I’m to go in, blend in, and find the news plus human-interest stories. I will be there for two days, and I have to make at least ten videos. I’ll post drafts toThe Looking Glassaccount, and if the videos pass muster (their words, not mine), they will get officially published toThe Looking Glass’s account. Without showing my face or other identifying information, I’m to report on behind-the-scenes happenings.
Basically the gossip.
But sports gossip.
It doesn’t matter. I’m practically as good as in.
All I have to do is be amazing.
Which is easier said than done, because Gunther, with whom I corresponded, didn’t actually give me details about the event. That’s test number one.
Like any good journalist, I immediately started researching based on the information provided, which is practically nothing besides the location. Also, while I can navigate Boston with my eyes closed, I’m pretty lost when it comes to New York City. Sure, the city’s on a grid, so that should make it much easier than Beantown, but when have I ever preferred the easy way out?
It appears to be a product launch for the premier sports footwear manufacturing company. It’s their annual showcase to talk about their products, campaigns, charitable causes, and to announce which athletes will be the face of the brand for the year. Basically, it’s three days of patting themselves on the back and creating publicity by inviting all sorts of high-profile people to walk around in their merch.
Any pro-athlete’s wet dream.
Hell, most kids dream of this sort of thing from the first time their parents drop them off at the ball field.
I know I dreamt about being the face of this brand and having my name on a sneaker.
Uncovering the details of the event was a small first victory, immediately met with my first obstacle. I don’t have a pass for this. I have to find all this information without actually being on the inside. But in reality, that’s the second obstacle. The first: what the hell am I supposed to wear for something like this?
Also, I’m supposed to blend in. No one can know that I’m there forThe Looking Glass. It’s all very cloak and dagger. I feel like I’m a spy or undercover agent.
All that time recuperating in bed watching the entirety ofAliasnow doesn’t seem to be a waste of my time. I wonder if Bradley Cooper will be there ...
But I didn’t have time to get lost in a daydream because I had to pack. What I was packing was the problem. Carlos hadn’t been available to consult, so I had to put my big girl panties on and figure this one out for myself. Tonight is a cocktail hour. I have one dress—a red body-con dress with an almost dangerous slit—that makes me feel like a million dollars. I roll that up and put it in my suitcase, along with a full-body slimming undergarment that is guaranteed to cut off all my oxygen. I don’t have too many other options, so I throw in the outfit I wore to the Buzzards’ Headquarters with Ophelia, and then a selection of athleisure, all bearing the name brand of the conference host.
