This is the ninth part in a series, so if you have not already done so, you might want to read Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, and Part VIII before continuing.
I had just gotten to work when my phone dinged with a text message. I half hoped half dreaded it was Randy trying to “talk sense into me,” but it wasn’t.
It was from Jessica, just checking in to make sure I was OK.
My heart lifted at the sight of that message. In the face of all this treachery and abandonment, it was easy to feel like no one cared about me. Like no one had ever really cared about me.
But here was Jessica, caring about me.
I never would have gotten through all this without her.
I sent her a quick message to let her know that, yes, I was feeling better, and to thank her for her support. Then I headed in to work.
Work did an even better job of taking my mind off my personal drama than I had thought it would.
Ana was a nervous wreck, despite the fact that she was more than qualified to take a seat at the anchor desk. Not to mention the fact that we had spent all weekend preparing. It was why I had been late getting home to Randy so he could dump me.
“What if I totally fuck up? What if I say ‘fuck’ on air?”
“That’s what the five-second delay is for. If you swear, they’ll just bleep it and keep moving. Remember what we said the key is.”
“Keep moving.”
“That’s right.” There’s nothing worse than an anchorperson staring silently into the camera, eyes wide and unblinking as their mind desperately tries to find something to say.
“You have the teleprompter. You’ll have me in your ear the whole time. I’ll correct you if you misspeak, but that won’t happen, because you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” she said, looking at herself in the mirror while Megan put the final touches on her hair.
“Breathe,” I said.
She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath through her nose, and let it out slowly through her mouth.
“Again.”
She repeated the process, and after the third time, she looked up at me with a smile and said, “I’m ready.”
Boy was she ever.
My girl was perfect.
Not one swear.
Not one mispronounced word.
She was flawless. When the show ended and the cameras turned off, I cheered. I couldn’t help myself. I hadn’t realized how tense I had been throughout the entire show.
But now it was over and we could celebrate.
I brought a bottle of champagne to her dressing room, not waiting for permission to pop it open as I walked in the door.
“We did it, Ashley,” she said as she turned to me, beaming that 1,000-watt smile that had helped get her on the air.
“You did it.”
“No.” She shook her head and her black curls, sprayed to within an inch of their lives, moved back and forth over her face in a half-second delay. “I know how hard you fought to get me up there. This is your victory.”
“I only fought for you because I knew you would be amazing.” I nudged her with my elbow. “Thanks for proving me right.”
Her whole face lit up as she said, “Any time,” and took the bottle of champagne from me and took a swig straight from the bottle.
My jaw dropped in surprise before I started laughing. “I brought glasses!” Ana lowered the bottle and looked sheepish for a moment as she swallowed the champagne, but only for a moment. Then she raised the bottle above her head and said, “I’m an anchorwoman!”
To be continued…