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“Yeah, yeah… That’s funny,” I protest her bad joke, but I join her laugh all the same. It’s been months since I’ve woken up in such a good mood.
“You want to know what’s funny?” she asks me, a mischievous grin on her face.
“What?” I ask as she gets up and walks to the counter, grabbing the folded newspaper she was reading when I got here.
“This is funny,” she laughs, throwing the New York Daily Journal right in front of me. In bold black letters there are only two words, FAIR CATCH, and down below there’s a blurred photograph of Danny and I leaving the Nailers’ stadium in his Aston Martin. “Oh my God.”
“That’s right, babe. You’re a star now.”
Still barely believing it that I’m the NY Daily Journal’s cover, I turn the pages until I find the article. I read it in one sitting, and then I reread it for good measure.
“They’re treating you like a princess,” Becca states with a chuckle, and it’s the truth. They refer to me as the woman behind Manning’s recent success and as the mysterious (and charmingly beautiful) woman that snagged the city’s most eligible bachelor.
“Oh, God. Is this really happening? Please tell me that this isn’t a dream.”
“It isn’t a dream,” she says flatly, placing a plate full of toast right in front of me. “Eat up, princess. Or else you’ll be the mysterious woman that lost her internship at Price Coopers.”
“Right,” I nod, stuffing a piece of toast inside my mouth as I reread the article for the third time in a row. I finish breakfast as fast as I can, and then I take a quick shower before putting on a black professional dress and discrete make-up.
“See you later, babe,” I wave at Becca, getting out of the door in a hurry. I’m not late—yet—but I always like getting to the office a few minutes early to set up everything for the day. I’m the newest intern at Price Cooper, but I think I’m dazzling the upper management; there have even been a few hints that they might hire me as soon as I have my Law diploma. Yup, life has never been this good.
As I make my way to the subway, I can’t help but stop in front of a newsstand. That headline, FAIR CATCH, jumps at me from everywhere, and it seems like every single person in New York is carrying a copy of that paper.
“Look, isn’t she…?” I hear someone say to my left, a woman pointing at me and whispering at her boyfriend. I show her an easy smile, and she seems taken back, her smile showing on her lips with a delay. It’s almost as if she’s star struck.
“Make sure he keeps playing like that!” Her boyfriend, a guy with an overturned Nailers’ cap on his head, tells me excitedly.
“Will do,” I tell them, still smiling, and then I keep on my way. I’ve never really been the kind of person that pays any attention to her surroundings, but now I feel like a sonar, pinging everything around me. Men turn their heads to watch me pass by, narrowing their eyes as if they recognize me from somewhere, and women whisper between themselves as I walk past them.
Everyone who recognizes me throws me a smile and a nod, and it doesn’t take long for me to feel like I’m living inside a musical. Soon enough birds will be perched on my shoulders, and people will stop working to bust some moves. And I’ll sing, I’ll sing like the happiest girl in the world because that’s exactly how I feel right now.
Ah, life’s good!
63
Danny
“Oh, God, this is so good,” Fiona cries out, cleaning out another dish. For a girl as small as she is, she sure likes food. Which is fine, since we’re eating at the Blue Hill, and our dinner consists of a procession of a dozen different dishes. I’m more of a beer and burger kind of guy, but I don’t mind all this fancy stuff, especially if it makes her happy. I know she’d be just as happy sitting at home eating something home cooked by yours truly (I know my way around a kitchen, don’t judge a book by its cover), but I wanted to treat her.
Of course, it didn’t take long for me to regret getting out of the house. The moment word got out that we were dining at the Blue Hill, a host of paparazzi, journalists, and TV stations quickly amassed in front of the restaurant’s entrance. I’m paying for extra security out of my own pocket, mind you, just to stop them from storming the place and taking Fiona and I as their hostages.
“Don’t they ever get tired?” I sigh, looking at the entrance. The moment I turn my head there are a dozen bright flashes as the photographers try to take a picture of me. This is madness.
“Just ignore them,” Fiona says happily, taking another piece of venison into her mouth. I don’t know how she does it, but she took to her role as New York’s darling like a true natural. Forget about Audrey Hepburn, soon enough young girls will be sharing photos of Fiona in their Instagram accounts, motivational citations and all.
“How can I ignore them when they hound us like this?” I protest, but she just waves her hand casually.
“People want to read about us.”
“Yeah… But just remember that these people out there don’t care about you or me. They care about selling newspapers, nothing more.”
“If the worst happens, they’ll leave us alone,” she just shrugs.
“Oh, you have no idea what they’re capable of. They’ll squeeze every last penny out of you, even if that means dragging you through the mud wearing a rucksack.”
“They can try,” she smiles, and that worries me. She really has no idea about how the media treats people.
“Fiona --” I start, but she cuts me short by placing the tip of her heel right behind my legs. The tablecloth is long enough for what happens under the table to remain out of sight, though, thank God for that.
