#oc6

I stared into the rising sun in the distance, it looks as if an enormous golden eye was spying on us. It’s rays somehow starting to paint the sky of soothing lavender and brilliant amber colors that reflected on every building tall enough to escape the shadows; fortunately, The Globe building qualified among them.

It’s not like I owned the building or anything but just being able to work here has always -since last year- made me feel a sort of pride, and looking out at the city at dawn while the strong smell of coffee flooded the entire office, has become a special habit of mine to reinforce that feeling.

While traffic sounds managed to filter from outside through the thick, fancy glass of the building I’ve always found it hard to fight the childish impulse to try to spot any delivery truck among all the vehicles that look so small from up here. Our bulldog edition was printed and sold to the distributors the previous night to be out first thing in the morning and by now the Daily should be already in the stands, stores, and even at the front doors of our subscribers for them to know what’s going on in this and other countries. Like a window to the world. It makes the long process worthwhile.

That’s right, physic solid newspapers. I sighed. What I wouldn’t do to see my name printed on a broadsheet, under the tailpiece of a “hard news” story and announced on the first-page headline. That’s the dream, The goal.

But surprisingly, in that particular moment, all those thoughts were replaced by something else.

Herson Grant, editor in chief of The Globe - or like I call him, dad -summoned us to give us “off the record” information. We got the news we all, in some way, knew they were coming. Illèa’s prince had reached the age required to have a selection and since his scandalous engagement brake off last year, the country was expectant. There hadn’t been an official announcement yet, but as press, we had our sources.

We were told to be prepared for the changes this big event would signify for the newspaper. Of course, as soon as the selection starts, or even before, the complete broadsheets will be covered by it. From “Business” to “Society” and of course “Politics”.

The Selection was important for every Illéa citizen in one way or another, that was made clear years ago by the general shock caused by the news of Queen Anjali canceling hers. I remembered reading about it on some old newspaper editions. The country was divided; some, supported her demonstration of independence and capacity to make decisions even against what's expected, and others organized strikes to show their discontent.

I thought Her Majesty’s decision might have some selfishness in it, considering a lot of people were affected by it, but when it comes to putting duty and love on the same scale…  

Is choosing love selfish?

I wasn’t the most capable person to answer that question, considering that every guy I’d dated in college had ended up in horrible disappointments.

“You definitely have a thing for jerks, Lea” Liv said to me once before suggesting I should date the guys I would never even consider dating, as a solution, but honestly I preferred to focus on my career and all the things I wanted to achieve professionally.

That way the only one who could disappoint me is myself. And I wasn’t going to let that happen.

The news of the upcoming event was circling my head, causing uncertainty and anticipation feelings inside. As an entertainment reporter and writer on the digital platform of The Globe, this whole thing was going to give me a lot of work to do. The public would want to know everything. And I would have to know about dresses, sponsors, twos applying, twos not applying and

If I listen carefully I will be able to hear the crashing sound of all those famous relationships breaking. I laughed for myself.

I might have been joking about it, but my brain was already listing the prospects and the interviews I would have to schedule in the next few weeks. But, my mind went even further this time, I caught it considering an application. I wouldn’t have to write about gossips and chatter but most of all, the idea of taking part in one of the most important events of our time suddenly sounded incredibly appealing.  

All the lives, all the stories. The real stories.

My curiosity was taking control.

“Leana.” I recognized the annoyed voice behind me, interrupting my thoughts.

“Yes, Rita.” I turned, her exasperated face didn’t surprise me.

Rita was my editor, one of the several ones around here, she was in charge of the digital side of The Global, more specifically the “socials” department. She was a non-natural blond, middle-aged woman, and not very fond of me.

“Just came from the upper floor, the boss wants to see you.”

I smiled on the inside. Her common ways with me used to be unsettling a year ago but with time they had become somehow amusing for me. “Can I just mention, that new tone of yellow on your hair... compliments your skin tone?” I said, keeping the overdue polite tone, but always careful of not giving any hint of sarcasm.

She had a slight moment of content on her face but then she switched for a glare. “Didn’t you hear me?”

I snickered, I had an appointment for an interview and no time to get on further with the teasing.  “I do, but…” I frowned and stopped to check my watch, my eyes widened at the hour. My father was always aware of my exact work schedule, so it didn’t make sense he was sending for me when he knew I wasn’t even supposed to be here anymore.

I started, more to myself than to her. “That’s strange, my dad knew-”

“No, girl, I’m talking about the real boss.” She interrupted me with an amused expression. Of course, she had intentionally hidden that little detail to mock me.

I wonder how she knew I wasn’t going to tell my father about her using the words “real boss” in that sentence. He would definitely take it as a disrespect to the position he had earned with years of work. Though some might think it wasn’t that hard for him.

During his time as a reporter, he had given Maxwell Loyd, - the head chief, and owner of the editorial-, a lot of profits with his excellent nose for scandals and exclusives.

Unlike me, my father used to have his vocation among the showbiz world. He’d got a certain charm, the eloquence to talk and enchant people, so the celebrities used to spill the whole tea about their personal lives and relationships to him, just like that. Probably that same irresistible charm was what made my mom fall for him.

I know, more than a charm sounds like a superpower.  

 Anyhow, I didn’t think the later discredited his achievements. I liked to think I have inherited some of it, but the society and entertainment world were not the kind of journalism I’d dreamt to do and I wasn’t planning to keep doing it.

“Coffee?” Mr. Loyd offered with serious countenance. I had been sitting in front of his desk for almost 5 minutes and he hadn’t said anything. He was just walking around his office moving papers from one place to another, then plugging his laptop and doing what seemed to be his daily routine in his incredibly fancy office. Meanwhile I was following him with my eyes, as if by staring, I could somehow make the words burst out. I cleaned my throat before, “I appreciate your offer, Sir… I wonder if you had considered my request?” I asked, daring to guess this whole thing was about the proposal I had sent days ago attached to several reports of stories I had been investigating. They were not finished, but I knew that with the support of the editorial office, more specifically,  its resources I could find the missing pieces and they would be ready to publish. On paper. Because they were worthy of it. He leaned forward supporting both of his arms on his desk and I could swear I saw a little smirk on his face. “I have read it, Miss Grant, but you are here because the selection is almost here and as a writer of entertainment on the digital platform I wanted to know about your plans to cover everything related to it. Of course he did.

My shoulders slumped and I bet my face showed all my disappointment. “Well, I already have a list of the twos that I think would be participating …” He reclined on his comfortable chair, pensative. “I was thinking about more original content.” Before I could answer anything he added, “have you considered applying?” “Excuse me?” Was he suggesting what I think he was suggesting?

“I mean, as a young Illéan citizen it’s only natural that you want to give it a shot.” He shrugged innocently. “I just wanted to know how many people I can count on, during that time.” The suggestive tone hadn’t left his voice. “Even to know when to schedule a meeting to talk about your interesting proposal.” So that’s where his smirk came from. I swallowed my surprise and played along. “The idea crossed my mind when we were informed this morning, but I have projects here that I’m not sure I would want to put on hold. So, nothing is decided.” I gave him what I hoped was a short relaxed smile. “Miss Grant, you are quite a smart girl.” He sighed. “I rely on your discretion about this.” It wasn’t even a question. He left from his seat and I followed him to the door. “One thing, I had an appointment to interview Gerald Ross, I was supposed to be there now.” I checked my clock again. “Don’t worry about it, I sent someone to replace you.” With a short nod he closed the door behind me.

I stayed there for some seconds, taking everything in. This floor had a stronger smell of coffee, surely it was from a better quality.

I didn’t know what to feel. Should I’ve been feeling angry? Insulted? Then why was I considering it?

No! I was already doing that before this conversation happened. I thought, trying to reassure myself and to bury my ambition.

I looked around coming to my senses, everyone was focused on work, the sound of their fingers typing on the keyboards resounded on this floor level as they did on all the others, luckily no one had seen me there, standing like an idiot. Except for...

My eyes spotted my dad walking towards me, with a smile in his eyes.

“Miss Grant, I was informed you were in a meeting. Is there a problem?”

My father and I had a strange strategy to keep the professional talk during our work hours and the father and daughter moments at home, but honestly we almost never succeeded.

“I rely on your discretion about this” I remembered the boss’ words.

“Uh, yeah-no… It was about a proposal I sent Mr. Loyd” I chose to answer, doing too many hand gestures. I always have always hated that horrible habit of mine. I looked up at my dad and I noticed the unmistakable guilt all over his face. I frowned, as my brain connected the dots. “You have been talking with him about my proposal, didn’t you?” “Miss Grant...” He said with a warning glare. He didn’t want to do this now, not in front of his subordinates. I didn’t want to make a scene either, I had a professional reputation to maintain too, and almost everyone in the building already thought I had gotten my job only because of my father’s position.

I’ve had to live my life proving myself to them, to my exes, to my boss and even to my dad.

I clenched my jaw. “I should have known it.” My words were full of anger but I kept the steady tone. My father and I had a beautiful relationship, we understood each other, we supported each other, except that he had never wanted me to change the entertainment journalism for the hard news. And I just had found out that he not only didn’t support my dream but he probably had prevented it from happening. And maybe this wasn’t the first time, I had sent letters and requests to the boss more than once. He remained silent, but his expression was almost apologetic.  

“I have work to do.” I said after calling the lift.

Back in my workplace, the sky at the other side of the glass had lost its colorful tones to show a light tone of blue. I could sense a headache coming, but the dress wrapped in plastic and delivered to my desk was a reminder that I didn’t have the time to be miserable. My mother had helped me to choose it the previous day and we asked the store to send it here today. The thought of my mother made me want to call her and vent about all the thoughts that were  bothering me, Virginia Grant was the only mediator that had always been able to fix any argument between me and my dad.

“How could you marry him?... I mean, you were a two!” I asked her one day.

She smiled. She knew I didn’t mean it. It was one of those exasperating times when you can only remember the negative things about a person, and even make a long list of them. Of course my mother had a list on her own, but hers was completely opposite from mine. She loved my dad but based on my experiences, that kind of love was something I was far to understand.

The call would have been a delay as well, so I picked the dress, my backpack and headed to the bathroom to get ready.

The dress was black and long, without my high heels its border would sweep the floor. Elegant enough to make me feel pretty but somehow simple and comfortable with hidden pockets at its sides for my pen and journal. Ideal to go around covering an event from the red carpet until the last two would leave the party.

For a moment I wished I was the kind of girl that brightens with a nice outfit, but I had a lot to think about and a headache, with nothing but my professionalism to hold on to.

I checked my reflection on the mirror a couple of times before a couple of ’dings' on my cell phone announcing a message.

“YEAH YEAH YOU LOOK DECENT, LET’S GOOO!”

I walked outside to the busy city, the honking of cars and the strolling people; just an ordinary day. The sun rays and clear sky forced me to squint and narrow my eyes, but even then I could easily spot Harris' wild long curls tied on a small ponytail back at his neck. He was facing the street, but looking down at his camera screen, probably getting it ready for the upcoming red carpet.

Photographers gadgets is probably the only topic I avoided asking about since that one time I dared to inquire about camera settings. He gave me a complete lecture about all the tools that could be used to fix the light before taking a picture, and I ended up more clueless than before. 

“Wow!... no one can ruin a nice dress like you do, boss”  He said when he turned around. 

 I rolled my eyes “Says the boy with the twisted bowtie” We had to speak up so our voices didn’t get lost among the noise surrounding us, but beside that, my tone sounded more harsh than intended. 

Harris and I had been working together since we both entered The Globe editorial office. He was assigned to be my assistant photographer, and he was a great one. We made a good team at the beginning and after a year I would say we had become good friends. He’s always mocking about how everyone hates me for my last name and I mock him for ...being him. 

He let his camera hang from his neck and fidgeted with his bowtie trying to fix it. “Hmm… I guess the meeting didn’t go well”

I turned my head almost too quickly at his remark. “Which meeting?” “You all reporters had a meeting this morning, right? You texted me about it.” He frowned, I wasn’t sure if it was because he had noticed something was going on or because he was giving up on making his bowtie look presentable. 

“Oh, yes that one. It was to-” I massaged my forehead slightly “to confirm Prince Arin is sending application letters before long, so the selection will happen” 

He shrugged. “I already see all the extra work complaints coming” he said sarcastically. 

He knew I was always working on not assigned notes and sometimes I dared to drag him into helping me, even when that was not included on his paycheck. 

But right now he had no idea what he was talking about and I couldn’t tell him; even if I could, he would have started to ask questions I wouldn’t have been able to answer. Besides, I hadn't made my decision yet. I scoffed a laugh. “Come on, let’s find the Vespa before we both lose our jobs for being late to the PET gala.” “Well, my charm would have to do.” He shrugged looking down at his still twisted bowtie. “It won’t.”

When we arrived at the old Festerman mansion the place was already bursting with energy. The large carpet was placed across the garden and part of the street. The celebrities hadn’t arrived yet and the fanatics were being held somewhere waiting for the time they could access their special place closer to their idols, even when it was too early we could listen to their cheering screams from time to time which I guess were more for them to bear the waiting than to anyone else.

Cast, crew and the carpet runners were coming and going from one place to another taking care of last details and keeping the order among the press people; always being careful not to step on the soft fabric on the floor, otherwise it’s bright striking red tone would turn into crimson before the guests’ arrival.

The media pen was already open so after parking my yellow Vespa we quicken our step towards our designed slot. Along my first year as a reporter I had to make important acquaintances and no matter what other people could say the most important ones are not the celebrities but the backstage people, the ones that could be invisible for the majority and essential at the same time. 

“Tom!” I shouted and waved when I spotted the red carpet runner. He was in charge of supervising the press on several red carpet events. 

We’d met once at the Angeles movie awards, he blocked my way when I wanted to get close to Serena Davis but I took an expensive pin off my hair and convinced him she had dropped it and she would want it back. It was one of those times I felt even more thankful for my grandmother’s fancy presents. Of course he got mad when he saw me doing an interview almost in the middle of the carpet but his attitude changed as soon as I started to interview him to do a behind the scenes article.

Actually, it turned out to be a success.

“The new guys!” He greeted us. “Who do you want me to send your way this time?” hHe asked. Our colleagues at our sides, stopped arranging their things for a moment and gave us a glance, we pretended we didn’t notice. “Umm, Angelina Brown, Meryl Miller, Brady Tylor… I think Lin Yang has some drama going on right now and the Lane-Cadwell couple would be great, if you can He let out a long whistle. “The couple would be hard but I will see what I can do.” He fixed his eyes on Harris' neck and pointed. “Your bowtie is all … wrong.”

“Harder than Estelle Dawson?” Harris asked with a smirk, leaning on the structure that was keeping us at the edge of the carpet ignoring completely Tom’s observation. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I scolded. It was not that my grandmother was hard to reach as the celebrity that she was but she would never, under any circumstances, get close to me while I’m on duty. 

She still hated my father for stealing her daughter and resented my mother for marrying a three, but she seemed to be fond of me and my baby brother. At least that’s what I felt when she made us visit her at her home. She used to send the limo just for the two of us. Tom looked confused at our talk so he just excused himself and left to continue with his chores. 

“Light test!” Harris let out suddenly. He always used to say that when he needed me to turn to the camera to take me a picture, it helped him to prove if it was set correctly according to the lights in the place. I tried to smile a little for it. 

“So, I need an update... and the plan,” he continued casually, while he took a look at my recently taken picture. 

Harris and I were sent to cover the PET event, interviewing the celebrities and updating the people live on the newspaper's new blog. I asked him to capture a moment or person with his camera and sent it to my cell phone then I posted it with a caption and the people enjoyed the content from the comfort of their houses. It wasn’t so bad, but I had other motives. 

The host of the massive PET event, Lanna Winster was a splendid, exotic retired actress; lovely to the public eyes; generous. She had the enough power, connections and money to organize this traditional gala to raise money for the animal shelter Paw-Prints animal shelter. Of course, her friends and celebrities adore, and support her. When you googled her name you could find an infinite amount of pictures of her posing with all kinds of lovely animals. 

We had the honor to meet her for a short interview a few months ago at one of her luxurious mansions for the newspaper’s blog. Not even at the most prestigious hotel we were treated that well. Harris was desperate to come back for a second interview someday. For me, she was only a wealthy woman doing some good with her loose change. 

My real job started when rumors started circulating around the office. An  anonymous source had seen talking with the main organizer of some sort of hunting convention. Everyone was shocked with the news but in absence of evidence we couldn’t make anything public. I spend a lot of time searching documents, watching her old interviews, and reading information on antique papers. I even swallowed my disgust and tried to apply for the hunting convention myself, but applications were closed until next year. 

Who would think that murderers were that organized?

I didn’t have anything, until a few weeks ago The Globe received a press invitation for the PET gala, we were informed it had been moved to the old Festerman mansion, which seemed very unusual. 

National events with that level of importance always took place in Angeles; and the old mansion was… very old and until she decided to make small repairs “just for the event”, it had been pretty much forgotten. 

As soon as I knew this, I made some visits to the Festerman mansion, the first time I wanted to get inside, but someone had posted a guard on the entrance, I also spotted security cameras around the property. 

The rest of the time was just there to have some nice chats during my lunch breaks. The guard was just a few years older than me, basic humor and didn’t seem amused with his job. And I was supposed to be some neighbor on my way home stopping to say hi three days in a row. By Friday I already had what I was looking for. A name. 

“... just… I think you should send a complaint note or something” I said lifting a shoulder. “Hard workers have some rights and you should be allowed to get out for a drink or something during the day, I mean besides the lunch break that you have to take in here.” I made a grimace for emphasis. He laughed a little and after some seconds he said, “I don’t think Miss Jean would mind if I-” I recognized the name as soon as I heard it, I had it written on my journal. She was Lanna’s maid. I checked my watch before he could even finish his sentence, “I’m so sorry, I’m running late, but I really think a complaint note could work.” Harris didn’t know the last part of the story so when I finished he was amused. “I can’t believe he fell for that one!” “Yeah, that’s not the important part of the story, Harris” I said. My mood was a bit better after telling him the whole story so I didn’t mind his teasing. He never seemed interested in my clandestine work, but for some reason he was always willing to help. 

This was the closest I’d ever been to have a complete story worthy of the front page of a newspaper. Loyd would have another option but publish it and I wouldn’t have to apply for the selection.

At least not under his terms.

As the light and warmth of the day ebbed, the bright light of the big reflectors filled the place, the red carpet went on as usual. 

The celebrities paraded along the garden matching their fashionable expensive dresses with their pets. We saw dogs, cats, rabbits, even horses -which had to remain parked outside- The carpet had to be cleaned more than once during the night, but the staff seemed to be well aware of that since the beginning. The afternoon passed between flashes, short interviews and fans alternating between shouting names and expressing “awwe’s” at the sight of their favorite people and their cute companions. 

I got almost all the interviews I wanted and Harris captured all the relevant moments, but the event was far from the end.

The night had arrived by the time we got inside the mansion. Lenna Winster had made several repairs on the property but I suspected she had kept an ancient look for aesthetic purposes. The interior looked old but solid. They had placed several tables around a big room, decorations on the walls and bar for drinks at the end. The press had their own place to eat, but it wasn’t forbidden to wander around or get a drink as soon as  we didn’t follow or bother the celebrities with any more questions. Although we were permitted to take pictures  and record videos to keep the public updated.

“This is good, but not as good as I expected.” Harris complained as he took a break from the camera to finish his blueberry trifle. “We haven’t tasted better deserts than the ones that gave us at that restaurant inauguration, remember? I said with a small smile as I looked around the room, noticing every movement.

My eyes were mostly on Lanna and her people, but I couldn’t make it obvious, so I just took some time to make annotations on my journal. Who was chatting with who, which celebrities were friends now, which were friends and now they were not. No that I cared about gossip, but those kinds of details could be very useful sometimes. My eyes crossed with my grandma’s a couple of times, but the most I got from her was an acknowledging nod and she got a smile in return. What would she think about me applying for the selection?  I laughed inside. Of course she would love it!

“Are you kidding? I will never forget how sick I felt the next day for eating that much...”  

Harris continued talking, but I couldn’t hear the rest of his story, because right at that moment a tall, black haired young man, who I recognized at the guard of the mansion, entered the room and whispered something to one Lanna’s bodyguard. He leaned towards the table where his employer was sitting, interrupting her chatting and laughing with the people at her table. They exchanged some words in what seemed to be a low tone and then both of her custodians started to walk away, leaving her unprotected. I raised from our table trying to conceal my rush. I kept my journal back in my pocket and took my purse from the table. “I will be right back.” I said to my friend, I couldn’t quite catch his reaction because my eyes were set on our host’s guards. I quickened my steps among tables and people, turning back slightly. I guessed since neither I was any celebrity nor I was bothering any, no one paid attention to me. 

I followed them out of the room and across a long corridor, just a few waiters passed by but they kept focused on their duties. The music and laughter was fading behind us, the house outside the main room looked genuinely old, but fortunately, this floor had been fully carpeted, otherwise my high heels would have been a problem. 

They finally stopped after rounding a corner by what it seemed like a back door. I stayed hidden behind the wall but ventured to peek my head to see what they were doing. Both guards were opening a big wooden box that based on what they said it had been delivered to the wrong house. One of them reached down and picked out something that at first it looked like some ...kind of... soft material, but when it was out completely I was sure it was fur. Real fur.

I stared at it for some seconds, not quite sure what to do.

I need a picture. My hands were shaking while I opened my small purse while I kept eye contact with the fur of a dead tigger. I managed to get my cell phone out but as soon as I lifted it to shoot, it slid and dropped on the floor making a “thunk” sound against the carpet.

Damn! I didn’t stay to know if they had heard me. I picked up my phone and walked as fast as I could without looking back heading for the main door. 

Outside the night was dark and starless, it was late but there was still some traffic on the street. I texted Harris to meet me outside with my clumsy fingers. I was still shaking but this time it was out of anger and frustration. How could I be so stupid?!! I was so close?!! 

On our way home, Harris sensed my mood and didn’t ask me anything, he knew I would talk about it tomorrow before or after we get scolded for not staying till the end of the event to cover it completely.  But I wasn’t worrying about that, all I could do was to drive while I questioned myself. A day that had looked so nice in the morning had gone so wrong. What was I thinking, risking myself for nothing! I shouldn’t be doing any of this. Maybe my father was right, maybe everyone was right and I wasn’t made for this work.

In the middle of my messy angry thoughts the selection came to my mind again, or maybe it had never left. I decided I was going to fill that application letter as soon as it arrived home. But why was I doing this? To accept my boss’ proposal? To satisfy my own curiosity about Illèas biggest tradition? Or maybe, like Queen Anjali I needed that... something to even my life scale, which so far was fully inclined to the “duty” side.