by Monroe, Max
Hell, maybe it played outside of my head too. You’d have to ask the other people in the room, though, and I doubt Toby is going to be amped up to answer any of you after listening to this.
“Lucky?” Vanessa said my name again, and before I knew it, I blurted out my pitch idea.
“Cheese!”
[deep sigh]
Yeah, I know, of all the things to choose, I picked cheese.
Literal face palm.
Trust me, my boss wasn’t amused either.
“Cheese?” Vanessa asked and quirked her eyebrow all the way to her hairline. “Are you hungry, or are you seriously trying to tell me your idea is about cheese?”
I stumbled. I fumbled. I just about swallowed my tongue. “Uh…Well…I—”
“She’s just kidding!” Allie chimed in beside me, and I looked toward her with what had to be the entire world’s panic written across my face.
I mean, clearly, I needed the help, but if her grand plan included me coming up with something better than aged dairy, we were both royally screwed.
Luckily, as it turns out, my vivacious blond sidekick is markedly better under pressure than I am.
“We actually have something we came up with together.”
Vanessa nodded for her to continue, and I crossed out the first line of the letter I’d started to pen Allie’s friends and family in anticipation of explaining her sudden disappearance. I’m not saying I was plotting her murder…but yeah. Make of it what you will.
“The Professional Surfing League is currently in the middle of this year’s men’s championship circuit, and we already have one sponsor interested in filling the pages of Scoop with ads to promote surfing to the public. Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a human interest piece running beside all of it. They want more eyes on their bread and butter, and I honestly think we’re more than prepared to help them achieve that goal.”
[laughs]
Are you wondering what surfing had to do with me?
Yeah, we’re on the same page, guys. Fuck if I knew.
“Keep going,” Vanessa said, and Allie obliged.
“Lucky would go on location to the rest of the events in the competition and give our readers a day-to-day insight into the life of a surfer and the overall competitive surfing league.”
I would do what?
“Lucky would go on location?” Vanessa asked. “Do tell how this would help achieve the end goal.”
What in the hell was Allie doing? I wondered.
I didn’t know jack shit about surfing. Hell, I didn’t even know how to swim…
[pauses and awkwardly laughs]
Yes, I’m aware of how ridiculous that sounds when it comes out of a twenty-seven-year-old woman’s mouth, but sadly, it was the truth.
I didn’t know how to swim. At all. If you’d pushed me into the deep end of the pool that day, I’d have sunk like a fucking rock.
Of course, no one in the conference room, including Allie, was aware of that fact.
Tsk me all you want, mighty saint listeners, but if you can honestly tell me you don’t have some silly little secret you haven’t told anyone…well, just go ahead and keep it to yourself because you’re a liar.
“Yes,” Allie responded confidently. “I think that’s what this series of articles needs. Most people don’t know anything about surfing. And, obviously, when it comes to this, Lucky is most people. But she’s also extremely clever and funny. And I know her creative twists on her experiences would only put a bigger spotlight on the sport itself.”
Silence descended over the room, and let me tell you, I made them all seem like heavy conversationalists.
Between Vanessa’s potential wrath and the idea of spending months on location near big ole giant bodies of water, my heart was two seconds away from crawling out of my throat and plopping itself onto my notebook of crappy ideas. I couldn’t speak. Not even if I’d wanted to.
Then the inconceivable happened, and Vanessa agreed to it.
She and Allie went back and forth, rapid fire, hashing out the details. My head bounced between them like a pinball.
“I think you might be onto something. When would she leave?”
“The sooner, the better since they’re nearly halfway through the competition.”
“And who is the sponsor that’s interested in increased coverage?”
“My brother Ollie’s company, Surf Arsen. They create some of the best surfboards and equipment in the world.”
“Big budget?”
“Very big budget. More than enough to jet Lucky across the world to exotic locales and bolster Scoop’s ad account generously.”
“Approval granted.”
Boom. Just like that, they’d planned the next few months of my life with the finesse of a bomb.
The conference room didn’t go up in flames, but my fate was sealed.
“Are you sure?” I asked in the hope that maybe someone inside the meeting would realize somewhere along the way we’d all gone insane. “I mean, this idea isn’t completely fleshed out and—”
“I’m certain,” Vanessa affirmed. I knew not to ask any more questions.
“Okay, moving right along,” she announced to the room.
Final answer. End of story. I was headed to Australia.
The meeting moved on around me, and I hardly noticed when Sandra left the room crying.
Obviously, my subconscious had absolutely no mercy. Boo-hoo, Sandra. I have my own shit to worry about.
I like to think I’m more compassionate than that when I’m actually aware, but who the hell knows. When I get done telling this story, you all will have to let me know.
Anyway, by the time Vanessa had called it a day and left the conference room, I was ready to choke Allie.
“What the hell?” I whisper-yelled. “I know nothing about surfing!”
“First of all, I think you should be giving me a little less attitude and a lot more devotion. We both know if you had continued with your dating cheese pitch, Vanessa would’ve shoved her heel up your ass.”
I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t dating cheese. It was comparing dating to different types of cheese.”
She quirked a brow, and I gave in.
I think we all know my cheese wheel had no legs to stand on.
“Look, I know it was awful, and I appreciate that you were trying to help me out, but a surfing competition? Are you out of your mind?”
“Girl, after all of that bullshit with Tiago, you need a vacation. Six months at the beach is going to be perfect for you. Plus, if I’m being honest, it helps me out a little…”
[laughs]
Just in case you’re not familiar…when a friend starts a statement with if I’m being honest, that’s the time to start paying attention. Everything else they’ve said prior has been complete horseshit, conveniently utilized to help their case.
Even in this case, when the reason for her pawn job wasn’t exactly apparent.
I mean, I was headed to several exotic locations, one of which she knew as home, and would be spending time covering something she loved, with people she knew.
If she didn’t want to go, there had to be a con in there somewhere.
Hell, for all I knew, her brother was, like, a devil-worshiper or something. It wasn’t like she’d ever talked about him in detail.
“Helps you out?” I asked. “Just to recap, this is a trip to the beach…with your brother…to cover a sport…right?”
She laughed. Ha-ha-ha, isn’t it so cute that I know something you don’t?
“What am I missing here?” I pushed, getting impatient. “Does your brother breathe fire or something?”
“Ollie? No way. He’s the black sheep of the family, but, like, successful. He just surfs instead of playing rugby. He used to be on the pro circuit himself, but he’s retired now. He’s a nice guy, and he’ll look out for you.”
If I narrowed my eyes any more at that point, I wouldn’t have been able to see out of them.
Finally, the little smoke-blower sighed. “Sam is tired of me always going on work trips.” Allie shrugged. “Especially now.”
Especially now. I had no idea what she meant by that, but I had an extensive background in Law & Order. If anyone could solve this mystery, it would be me.
Deep in the back of my mind, I ticked off the facts as I knew them.
She didn’t drink the night before.
She fucking loved the beach and loved work trips even more.
The trip would include her getting to see her mysterious brother, and she’d be covering one of the most vacation-like sports of all time…
All that was missing was a bloody knife and an unexplained bullet hole, but I had faith if I just kept looking long enough, while playing ominously toned music in the background, I would find the answer.
Still, it didn’t make sense.
Until it did.
“Holy shit,” I muttered, and her eyes widened as they met mine. “Are you…?” I paused and glanced down at her stomach, and instinctively, her hand reached up to cover her still-flat belly. “Are you pregnant?”
“Uh…”
“Oh my God! You’re pregnant?” I low-grade shrieked. I mean, we were in an office setting, but my best friend, my gal pal, my main bitch was pregnant.
Still is, by the way. How the hell long does it take to cook one of those, again? I really thought I’d have a baby to distract me by now.
[mumble from producer]
No. Obviously, I know how long pregnancy lasts, but this outrage is metaphoric. Just go with it.
[sighs]
Anyway, we did our friendship dance, jumping and circling and swirling with joy. I was the one really doing all of the moving, but she smiled pretty big.
It was only after we hugged and cried a little that she swore me to secrecy. At the time, she was only seven weeks along, and sharing with the gossips who worked in our building wasn’t really high on her to-do list.
But food was. Shocking, right?
After I got my shit under control, we headed out to the deli down the street to do the friendship thing.
Squealing. Gabbing. Mooning at each other over the table.
But mostly, she attempted to fill me in on the basics of surfing, Australia, and her brother Ollie.
According to her, it was all exactly what I needed, but I wasn’t so sure.
Still, there was no going back.
When Vanessa made a decision, she fucking made a decision.
I would be on assignment, following a goddamn surf competition around the world, and I’d be doing it under the watchful eye of Allie’s enigmatic brother.
And that’s the real headline, isn’t it? No offense, Allie, your pregnancy is worthy of great news and attention, obviously.
But come on. What’s the whole reason I’m here with all of you, recording this podcast right now?
Exactly. The jerk to top all jerks—Ollie.
* * *
Episode 3: “You wore that on the plane?”
Have you ever had to pack for a yearlong journey through the Amazon Rainforest in a minute and a half?
[soft, sarcastic laugh]
Well, neither have I. But I have had to organize an entire wardrobe full of fashion legends—clothes Anna Wintour has to give you permission to wear—and fit them into less than ten suitcases in a day.
Maybe it sounds completely doable to some of you, but on a scale of tasks ranked by me, with the hardest objective residing at the top, it’d be just below lifting a 100-foot yacht above my head, and just above performing an actual appendectomy without training.
I’ve heard it’s a fairly easy surgery, but I’ve never touched a scalpel. That should give you an idea of what I was dealing with.
Still, it was either get busy packing or get busy converting to the nudist lifestyle. In the interest of protecting the privacy of Hilda and Nancy—my nonsensically named nipples, if you’re wondering—I made fashion happen and tucked my threaded babies away in my bags.
Next stop: Other side of the world.
“Welcome to Sydney, Australia!” the pilot announced through the intercom speakers with what I could swear had turned from the grumble of an overworked American into a boisterous Australian accent overnight.
I just barely heard him over the music in my ears, Amy Winehouse serenading me with Back to Black, but the context clues abounded as I peeked out the window and saw the scenery slide by as the wheels of the plane glided across the tarmac.
I’d officially landed in a country where poisonous spiders and snakes were a daily risk, and in lieu of the chicken, everyone asked why the kangaroo crossed the fucking road.
[laughs]
Okay, so I made that last part up, but whatever. It’d been a whirlwind, and I hadn’t had time to research anything real about my first destination.
I’d literally be on the road for nearly half a year, and the next opportunity to stop home was almost three months away.
This wasn’t the first time I’d traveled for a Scoop assignment. I’d done Paris and Milan and even Rio de Janeiro for fashion-related research, but those hadn’t lasted longer than a few weeks, maybe a month, tops.
This was officially the lengthiest on-location assignment I’d ever had, and as of today, I’m only a little over halfway through it.
[sighs]
But even without the romantic details, the trip itself was ridiculous.
Me, the fashion guru, had no clue what she was going to do with articles about a frigging surfing competition, and the pressure was stressful.
I didn’t think comparing cheese to surfboards, rather than romance, was the kind of twist Vanessa was looking for, so I had to get my shit figured out—and quick.
Not to mention, flying from New York to Australia was no joke.
Even in the somewhat comfortable constraints of business class, the flight had been long. Twenty-five hours, to be exact. It had included a short-layover in Dubai, and by the time we landed, all I could think about was the moment I stepped out of the godforsaken metal tube and put my feet to actual earth.
I sighed in relief when we came to a stop at our gate and the seat belt sign dinged off.
But the relief quickly turned to anxiety when realization set in.
Day one of my assignment, and just about the only things I knew were my name, the designer of my fabulous skirt and blouse, and that the forty-eight hours I’d had to prep weren’t nearly enough time to overcompensate for a lifetime worth of inexperience.
But Allie and, for some unknown reason, Vanessa were convinced I could do it.
Looking back on it now, I have to wonder if the air vents in our conference room had some sort of malfunction that day and accidentally filled the room with carbon monoxide or something.
Lord knows, I’d been close to passing out, and everyone else had acted high.
Premeditated sabotage or some kind or coincidence? I’m still skeptical.
[laughs]
Anyway, a gentle hint of nausea set in as the door opened, and everyone around me stood up to gather their stuff.
Normally, I’m the type of person who gets up and into the aisle as soon as possible, ready to meet the freedom of the open airport on the other side of the jetway.
Of course, for all the reasons listed previously, that day, I wasn’t such an eager beaver.
Instead, I sat drolly, gathering my belongings at a snail’s pace and letting the rows behind me power past like those people who go to the mall to walk.
By the time the passengers had dwindled to the elderly and those needing actual physical assistance, I coached myself into exiting the plane.
The sights and sounds of Sydney’s bustling airport at eight in the morning assaulted my senses in one resounding blow, and I had to hold up a hand against the light for fear I’d vaporize like my ancestors.
[pause]
Vampires, guys. You know? I have really pale skin…
[laughs]
; Oh man. Not being able to hear people laugh on the other end of this podcast is a real kick to the—yeah. I think you know where I’m going with this.
[clears throat]
Anyhoo, moving on.
The silver lining to being a fish out of my normal waters was that somehow the gods had seen fit to put me in a small tank first, rather than throwing me right into the ocean. The first stop in Sydney wasn’t for the actual competition itself, but for a big celebration gala that was held at the halfway mark of the men’s championship league.
A gala, guys. Surely there’d be designer wear and overpriced heels, and my foray into the world of surfing would be about the surfers first and the minutiae later.
At least then, I’d have another few days to do some more research before I had to cover actual waves and shit in Bali.
It was a big frigging pipe dream, but a girl could hope nonetheless.
Customs, a near strip search by a woman with flat bangs, and a whole lot of nervous breathing later, there was no turning back.
“Welcome to the unknown,” I muttered to myself. “Hopefully, you won’t screw this up.”
As you can tell, I’m truly gifted at giving personal pep talks.
The journey to baggage claim was long, but with the amount of attention I was paying to my surroundings—i.e., not much—it went quickly.
Allie had sent me an email while I was somewhere over the Atlantic…or the Indian Ocean…or the Pacific.
Hell, I’m not even sure. But I was over water, and there was a lot of it.
My brother knows your flight details, and he will personally be there to pick you up from the airport and bring you to the hotel. You’re staying at the W, and that’s the hotel where the gala will be held, she’d penned like a Girl Scout mom, looking out for her troop.
Clearly going through a bout of premature nesting, she’d gone so far as to leave me a list of numbers.