Katie's View, Susan Evelyn [good books for 7th graders txt] 📗

The Interview

by Susan Evelyn

"Excuse me." A little voice timidly peeped around the corner of his conscious thoughts. It sounded like trouble. He pretended not to hear it.

"Excuse me." It was a little louder this time; more insistent. Now there was a face to go with the voice, a perky pinched face with too much makeup, bright red lips and blue powder covering the dark shadows of her eyes.

"Aren't you.. Yes, you are!" She nearly squeaked completing her mouse-like image.

"Say what?" he muttered frowning while trying to make sense of this scrap of humanity that bounced before him.

"You're him. You're Tom." She continued unabated.

"Uh, yeah, I guess." He admitted tentatively. Usually he was mistaken for someone else in the industry, but this was part of being an actor.

"Oh! Thank goodness," she sighed. "A celebrity, at last."

"Huh?" was all Tom could articulate. He still had his mind on his reason for being here, and the concept of "celebrity" was not how he thought of his work.

"Could I ... please ... would you ... you know ... give me an interview? Please?"

Tom dared to remove his eyes from the pleading little imp and looked at his watch. He then checked the board that constantly updated the flight times of the arriving planes. Typical. She was going to be late. Again. He had at least half an hour longer to wait and would not be able to avoid this avid reporter for that entire time. He sighed resignedly. His shoulders drooped a little in defeat. The air was squeezed from his lungs. After a deep breath he looked her in the eye and as calmly as possible said, "Very well, sure. Why not? I have half an hour. Can you
get done in that time?"


"Oh! Thank you, thank you. That would be brilliant," she beamed at him and started scrabbling in her purse.

"Listen," he suggested. "Why don't we have a chat over coffee?"

"Of course. Why didn't I think of that? Yes, yes, that would be lovely."

He gently coaxed her in the direction of a small cafe that was not overly patronised. He found a small table in the corner where he could keep an eye on the flight indicator board and ushered her to sit down. She bustled around the table and managed to seat herself in a flurry of items. The cardigan that had draped her arm now hung from the back of the chair, a small camera clattered on the table top and from the ample capacity of her purse, she fetched out papers and a pen that skittered across the floor to be trapped by his booted foot.

Tom smiled to himself as he retrieved the pen. This slip of a girl reminded him very much of another.

"Been doing this long?" he asked lightly as he handed the errant object back to her.

"Uh! Thanks," she accepted it gingerly as if too scared to accidentally touch him. "What? Oh! No. Not really. It’s my first month and the editor sent me down here to get a story. Thank you so much for this. I have only a few more days left and if I don't have anything I'll get fired for sure."

She looked so downcast and desperate that he took pity on her, remembering his own dark days when work was fleeting and hard to find.

He signalled a waitress and after a bit of confusion over the range of possible beverages, they decided on strong coffee with a dash of cream and sugar.

"Now what is it you wanted to ask?" he prompted as she rearranged the papers on the table yet again and fidgeted with the pen.

"Oh!" her eyes widened in surprise. You mean you're ready now?"

"It's all part of the half hour, lady."

"Oh! okay, sure." Her hand smoothed her hair, she blinked a few times, wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. With a deep breath she started with what seemed to be a much practiced introduction.

"Erm, Mr Tom Jackson, thank you for this moment of your time." She faltered for a moment, spun the pen in her fingers and dared to look up at him through her eyelashes.

"Go on," he urged. "That's a good start."

She smiled sheepishly, sat up straighter and squared her shoulders with a tiny shake. She tried again. "What brings you here?"

"I live here."

"No, no, I mean, the airport. Are you going somewhere, a new movie perhaps?"

"No, nothing so glamorous. I'm meeting someone."

"Who would that be?' she blurted out. "Oh dear, was that too forward?"

"Just a little," he admitted. "Look. Relax. Just talk, natural like. I'm not going to bite."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get personal. I was sort of leading up to asking if it was a director or producer about a new movie perhaps. Oh! I suck at this! I'm never going to be any good."

"Now, is that any way to start?" he asked seeing the misery of defeat in her eyes and the slump of her body. "Everyone has to start somewhere. You can't be a genius overnight. For instance, my wife. You remind me a lot of her."

"Oh! You mean Katie? She's my hero. She's so lovely. Is that who you are here to meet? Oh! That is so sweet. She's just finished another movie, hasn't she?"

He leaned back a little as the flood of words washed over him. He smiled, both at the young would-be reporter before him, and the thought of his own dear love.

"Umm, yes, to all of that," he grinned.

"This is the first movie of hers that you haven't been in. Is that right?"

"Yes. That's right. Very observant."

"Oh! Not me, it was the gossip of the newsroom the other week. So how did that happen, really? Like, you aren't splitting up or anything are you? Because that would be just terrible."

"Whoa, steady on. Give a chap a chance to answer."

"I'm sorry," she sank into herself again, in contrition.

"No, everything is alright between us. Better than alright," Doms eyes glazed over as he brought the sparkling image of his wife to mind. "But what I meant was that she was once very much like you are now."

"I don't believe you. She's so poised and beautiful."

"Movie magic. But yes, she's beautiful. To me, anyway."


"You come from very different backgrounds too. How did you meet?"

"It was here, actually. LA International. She ran into me."

"Ran into you? But weren't you both in the same movie?"

"Uh huh! But I'd only ever seen her in makeup and costume, you know? And we didn't have many scenes together and there had always been hoards of other people there at the same time."

"Ooo! So you didn't meet on set like the story goes?" the reporter's eyes were sparkling with renewed interest.

"No, that's the sanitised version. Easier to explain."

"So. Come on. What really happened?"

"Well. Like I said. She ran into me. I had just got back from a location shoot. And like long shoots, I had collected a whole heap of things that were in a carry-on bag, you know?"

The young reporter was nodding, eager to hear more.

"I was just off the plane after the long flight, all scruffy and needing a shower and a shave. I'd grabbed a coffee in one of those styrofoam cups with a cap. Then my bag came round the carousel early for a change. So I grabbed it and was trying to juggle the bag and the coffee and the shoulder bag. I managed to drag it all outside to the curb and was trying to adjust the long handle thingy so that I could get it in a cab."

"And? ..."

"And then I was bumped. And the coffee spilled even though the cap was on. I squeezed it harder trying to hold on which only crushed the cup spilling some of the coffee. And it burned, you know? Those cups keep it really hot. I ended up dropping it anyway."

"So I'm standing there, hot coffee dripping all over me, my arm burning and hurting like hell, so I turn to see who bumped me. And blow me if she isn't still coming at me. She must have stumbled and then tripped 'coz she was about to fall against me. Then I noticed that my bag was still in the way and she would hurt herself, or me. So I did the only thing a gentleman could and threw myself down in front of her. Well, actually, I rolled with her to steer her away from the bag."

"What was she doing that she didn't see you before?"

"I don't know. She was behind me. I didn't see her. Anyway. We lay there shocked for a few moments before people started rushing over. Somehow we managed to scramble up and tell everyone we were okay.

"Then she saw that the coffee had spilled over me and she started apologising and insisted that she buy me another one. Right here, as it happens.

“So I look like nothing on earth, and she looks so beautiful and I still didn't recognise her but of course she knew who I was.


"We manage to pick everything up from where both our bags had spilled their contents all over the place and then we staggered over here. We tried to sort out whose things were whose and repack our stuff while we waited.

"Then when our drinks arrived, it wasn't what we'd ordered. I said it was okay and I just wanted something hot and wet, but she insisted. She just picked them up and sashayed over to the counter. And that's when I recognised her. Those lovely long legs, tight little back side, the way she swung her hips. I'd admired that walk before.

"She came back with the proper order and sat down. When we finally had time to relax a little, she saw that the coffee had soaked into my clothes. She apologised again and told me to bring the stuff back to her place and she'd get it cleaned for me. I said not to bother, really, that none of the stuff was new and it was mostly dirty from the trip anyway.

"We chatted a bit about the movie and stuff and then went our own ways. Days later I was kicking myself that I didn't get her number when she rang.

"I couldn't understand how she got my phone number. It's unlisted, see? But then she said she'd found my address book and I must have hers. So we made an arrangement to exchange hostages. At least this time I made sure I got her phone number. Plus, I talked her into staying for dinner.

"We got on really well, and from there we started dating and, well, the rest is history."

"That's so lovely," the girl sighed. "Do you mind if I write some of that up? Maybe use it as the start of my story? I think you've given me a great idea. What other beginnings have happened at this airport? There must be hundreds of connections being made out