this early hour. Men wore tailored suits and checked their Blackberries and iPhones for e-mails from their clients as they walked to work. Women were dressed in smart dresses and sneakers, so they could pull double-duty as they power-walked to the office. Nannies herdedTheir charges down the street to daycares, playdates and pre-school before hurrying home to start the mountainous list of to-dos that had been left for them.
“Okay, so maybe more than a dozen people will watch the show,” I said, gulping nervously. I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes, the nerves building back up in my stomach.
“Deep breaths, Arielle. Deep breaths,” my mom said gently. “Try and think about something else. Keep telling yourself, ‘This too shall pass.’”
Yeah, it’ll pass…but will I survive the aftermath?
Still, I did what she suggested and concentrated on my breathing. After a few minutes, my pulse went back to normal and I felt myself calm a bit. I’d never had a panic attack before, but I was pretty sure I’d just narrowly missed having my first.
“Okay, I think we’re here,” my mom said as she pulled the car into a parking garage.
As we found an empty spot and parked, I grabbed my bag that held my outfit and makeup for the show. I’d figured it would be pointless to get ready before we left, considering the hours we had to be in the car. My clothes would’ve ended up wrinkled and my makeup would’ve disappeared to the place where makeup so often goes. On my hands and shirt. So, I’d neatly packed everything away and figured that I’d just get ready at the studio.
“Got everything?” my mom asked as we clambered out of the car and made our way to the street.
“I guess,” I mumbled.
“This is so exciting!” McCartney practically shouted. “Are you excited? I can’t believe you’re going to be on TV.
My friend
on TV!”
I could think of a word that described how I felt, but excited wasn’t it. In fact, I couldn’t help but feel sort of like I was headed to my own execution.
Dead girl walking.
Wasn’t that how the saying went? It felt incredibly appropriate at the moment.
We crossed the street during a lull in traffic and found ourselves smack-dab in front of a large television studio. The outside of the building was made up entirely of glass and I squinted as the morning sunlight bounced off the windows and hit my eyes. The whole thing was blinding. And impressive. With a tentative look up, I realized with awe that the structure was the tallest in the area. I triedTo count the stories, but gave up at floor 17 and turned my focus back to the spacious lobby we were about to enter.
Following my mom and McCartney through the revolving doors, I clutched my bag closer to my body and joined the throngs of people who’d just started showing up for work. Strangers pushed past me, grasping their jumbo cups of coffee and giant purses, flashing their passes to the security guard off to the left of the check-in desk. My mom talked to the woman sitting behind the counter for a few minutes, before we were handed day passes and told to follow the crowd to the elevator banks.
It was so busy that we had to wait as four elevators came and went before all three of us were able to fit inside together. When we finally saw an opening, we shuffled into the metal box and pushed the button for the thirty-third floor. In the corner, there was a small tV screen, posting news bytes. Nobody looked at each other as they studied the screen, hoping for a glimpse of what had happened in the world since they’d left for work.
A TV in a TV station. How original.
When we arrived at our floor, we quickly made our exit, and found ourselves in yet another lobby. As mom checked us in at the counter, I wandered over to the nearest wall and studied the photos hanging in my eyesight. Every frame held a picture of one of their anchors interviewing a different celeb, each one more famous than the last.
Scarlett Johansson. Ashton
“Okay, so maybe more than a dozen people will watch the show,” I said, gulping nervously. I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes, the nerves building back up in my stomach.
“Deep breaths, Arielle. Deep breaths,” my mom said gently. “Try and think about something else. Keep telling yourself, ‘This too shall pass.’”
Yeah, it’ll pass…but will I survive the aftermath?
Still, I did what she suggested and concentrated on my breathing. After a few minutes, my pulse went back to normal and I felt myself calm a bit. I’d never had a panic attack before, but I was pretty sure I’d just narrowly missed having my first.
“Okay, I think we’re here,” my mom said as she pulled the car into a parking garage.
As we found an empty spot and parked, I grabbed my bag that held my outfit and makeup for the show. I’d figured it would be pointless to get ready before we left, considering the hours we had to be in the car. My clothes would’ve ended up wrinkled and my makeup would’ve disappeared to the place where makeup so often goes. On my hands and shirt. So, I’d neatly packed everything away and figured that I’d just get ready at the studio.
“Got everything?” my mom asked as we clambered out of the car and made our way to the street.
“I guess,” I mumbled.
“This is so exciting!” McCartney practically shouted. “Are you excited? I can’t believe you’re going to be on TV.
My friend
on TV!”
I could think of a word that described how I felt, but excited wasn’t it. In fact, I couldn’t help but feel sort of like I was headed to my own execution.
Dead girl walking.
Wasn’t that how the saying went? It felt incredibly appropriate at the moment.
We crossed the street during a lull in traffic and found ourselves smack-dab in front of a large television studio. The outside of the building was made up entirely of glass and I squinted as the morning sunlight bounced off the windows and hit my eyes. The whole thing was blinding. And impressive. With a tentative look up, I realized with awe that the structure was the tallest in the area. I triedTo count the stories, but gave up at floor 17 and turned my focus back to the spacious lobby we were about to enter.
Following my mom and McCartney through the revolving doors, I clutched my bag closer to my body and joined the throngs of people who’d just started showing up for work. Strangers pushed past me, grasping their jumbo cups of coffee and giant purses, flashing their passes to the security guard off to the left of the check-in desk. My mom talked to the woman sitting behind the counter for a few minutes, before we were handed day passes and told to follow the crowd to the elevator banks.
It was so busy that we had to wait as four elevators came and went before all three of us were able to fit inside together. When we finally saw an opening, we shuffled into the metal box and pushed the button for the thirty-third floor. In the corner, there was a small tV screen, posting news bytes. Nobody looked at each other as they studied the screen, hoping for a glimpse of what had happened in the world since they’d left for work.
A TV in a TV station. How original.
When we arrived at our floor, we quickly made our exit, and found ourselves in yet another lobby. As mom checked us in at the counter, I wandered over to the nearest wall and studied the photos hanging in my eyesight. Every frame held a picture of one of their anchors interviewing a different celeb, each one more famous than the last.
Scarlett Johansson. Ashton
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