Page 101 of Fake It For Glory

As the minutes ticked away, I mentally prepared for the hard questions. The public’s perception of me was at stake, as was the success of my impending product launch.

I sat in the chair while an overzealous makeup woman attacked me with a powder puff. “Okay, I think I’m good,” I said after sitting still for a good fifteen seconds.

“You don’t want to look washed out,” she said.

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

She shot me a dirty look and ripped the tissue from my collar. “Suit yourself.”

Hattie stepped in front of me. “It’s not like anyone would see the makeup,” she whispered. “We don’t want you to look like a ghost.”

“I’ll take my chances,” I said.

“You need to get your head straight,” she warned. “You can’t be cranky. The host will pick up on that and give you shit. He’s going to needle you just to get a reaction. Don’t give him any reason to be a dick.”

I took a deep breath and tried to calm my nerves. Hattie was right. I needed to keep my cool no matter what. This interview was important, and I couldn’t afford to mess it up. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror, making sure my hair was neatly combed and my suit was straight. I looked presentable enough, but my nerves were still getting the best of me. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to steady myself.

“You look good,” Hattie assured me. “I like that blue tie on you.”

I looked down and had an alarming thought. “I need a different tie!”

“What? It’s perfect. Blue makes you look trustworthy. That’s what Carl said.”

“Not this one. Get me a new tie.”

“Jensen, you’re going on any minute,” she scolded. “I can’t just run out and buy you a new tie.”

I spotted a man with his hands in his pockets talking to someone else. “His.” I pointed. “Offer him a grand for his tie.”

She looked over my shoulder. “That’s the band leader.”

“Hattie, Merida bought this tie for me while we were in Dubai. Get me that fucking tie.”

She pinched her lips and reached for her purse. “I’ve only got five hundred.”

I pulled out my wallet and gave her all the cash I had.

“Give me a minute,” she said and walked away with determination.

She came back just as I was yanking off the old tie. She quickly helped me with the silver and blue one. I was glad she didn’t make a fuss about my need to change ties. No way was I going on TV while wearing something she was connected to. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

Finally, the moment arrived. A producer approached us and signaled that it was time for me to take the stage. I squared my shoulders and followed him, Hattie close behind.

As I stepped onto the brightly lit set, the live audience’s applause and the host’s welcoming smile greeted me. It was showtime. I took a deep breath, reminding myself that this was my chance to reclaim the narrative, to tell my side of the story, and to hopefully begin the process of rebuilding my life and reputation.