It Girl. Nic Tatano
Читать онлайн книгу.
look fine. Get any sleep at all?"
"Four hours, but it seemed like four minutes."
"You just have to adjust your body clock." He led me down a hallway toward the network's newsroom.
"I'm not even in my body yet," I said, as we headed into the newsroom which was already a beehive of activity.
Gavin looked up from a desk and headed in my direction. "Well, you made it," he said, extending his hand.
"My body's here. My brain will arrive at five."
"As long as it's in the chair by seven, you'll be fine." He turned to Scott. "Get her down to makeup."
Oooh. A chair. I can sleep.
***
I discovered you can't catch a few zzzzzzs when your hair is being styled and your face painted. I was still in my roll-out-of-bed spring collection as this was being done, so as not to mess up the turquoise suit that's been chosen for my first day. Personally, I think it's a jacket with a matching belt. The skirt is that short.
The clock struck three-thirty, the makeup and hair were done and all of a sudden I heard a rumble from the pit of my stomach. The hollow feeling reminiscent of a hangover washed over me, and I knew I had to eat something or I'd pass out.
I walked briskly to the newsroom and grabbed Scott's forearm. "Where are the vending machines?"
He looked up at me, studied my face and nodded. "Ah, you're right on schedule. Time for your first breakfast."
"First breakfast?"
"If you think your body clock is screwed up, wait till you deal with your stomach. It's living in a parallel universe. I need to explain morning show weight gain syndrome later."
"I'm gonna get fat?"
"If you're not careful. Here's how it works. You usually eat breakfast, right?"
"Sometimes. Why?"
"Well, your body thinks it's time for breakfast because you've been up awhile. Of course, you'll burn so much energy during the show you'll need to eat breakfast again at nine. And we're not counting any snacks during the show. Then you get home and you eat lunch and dinner, except you're eating dinner at your normal time but it's time to go to bed, which is the worst thing to do. So you can pack on the pounds real easy. I gained ten my first month."
"Again, I'm gonna get fat?"
"Like I said, if you're not careful. Anyway, it's time for our dinner break."
"I thought we were eating breakfast?"
"Figure of speech. Follow me." He turned to the staff. "We'll be back after dinner."
Everyone nodded as he led me out of the newsroom and down a brightly lit hallway that made me shade my eyes as we headed to the front door. "Where are we going?"
"Across the street. The little bakery opens up early for us."
"Great. Just give me a bear claw or something."
"Not what you need. You'll slide right into morning show sugar crash syndrome. The guy who runs the place has a special breakfast that I've eaten every day for the past two years and haven't gained an ounce."
"I thought you gained ten pounds?"
"That was before I started eating here."
We left the building, crossed the street and headed for a place that looked closed. The sign above the door read The Little Bakery. Sort of appropriate for people who worked on a morning show called The Morning Show.
Scott reached the glass door and tapped on it. I could see a light on in the back and shadows moving around. A man emerged from the back, backlit so I couldn't see his face, and made his way to the door. He turned a key and opened it. "Morning, Scott."
Scott moved through the door. "Hi, Angelo. This is our new co-anchor, Veronica."
He stuck out his hand, though I still couldn't make out his face. All I could tell was that his shadow was tall and well-built. "My pleasure," he said.
I shook his hand, which was dry (no doubt from working with flour) and smiled. "Hi, Angelo."
"C'mon back," he said, then turned and led us past the display cases which were half-filled with cookies, breads and pastries. The smells filled my lungs, a combination of sugary sweetness mixed with the aroma of freshly baked bread.
We emerged in the kitchen, already full of activity as bakers in white aprons shoved dough into stone ovens. I could finally see Angelo, who looked as Italian as his name. Maybe thirty, thick black hair and deep brown eyes, a rugged complexion on a lean face. About six feet without an ounce of fat. How he did that working in a bakery was a secret I wanted.
Scott led me to a small table for two that was set off in the corner. There were already two large glasses of orange juice on the table as we took our seats. "So what are we having?" I asked.
Angelo smiled at me. "The only thing that can get you through your show. A real Italian breakfast." He headed for a stove, put something onto two dishes, returned, and slid the plates in front of us. "Sausage bread and eggs," he said. "Protein, carbs, and my special blend of spices designed to give you energy and keep your metabolism up."
"It looks wonderful," I said. And it did. Next to a couple of sunny side up eggs were two slices of hot bread that had veins of crumbled Italian sausage running through it. It was a lot more than I usually ate for breakfast, but I was starving.
"Get a piece of bread and dip it in the yolk," said Scott, who demonstrated.
I followed his lead and tasted something wonderful. The sausage, hot bread, egg and spices blended beautifully and seemed to instantly satisfy my hunger and wake me up at the same time. A sip of what was obviously freshly squeezed orange juice washed it down perfectly. "This is fantastic," I said.
"Glad you like it," said Angelo. He turned to Scott. "She seems nicer than the dragon lady."
I couldn't help but raise one eyebrow. "Dragon lady?"
"Let's just say Katrina is not on Angelo's Christmas card list," said Scott. "I only brought her here once."
"She's a gavonne," said Angelo.
"A what?" I asked.
"Italian slang for a person with no class."
"I'll have to remember that," I said. "So Scott, you do this every day?"
He nodded. "When I first started Angelo noticed I was buying nothing but pastries after the show. He told me I was approaching the vampire shift the wrong way."
"I've been getting up at two in the morning for years," said Angelo. "Sugar is not your friend on this shift."
"Anyway," said Scott, "he invited me to stop by for breakfast. And I've been coming here every day at three-thirty sharp ever since."
"Well, save a chair for me, Angelo," I said.
***
At one minute till seven my heart slammed against my chest for the first time in my television career. I'd never, ever been nervous, but this was more pressure than I'd ever felt.
And even though I was putting up a brave perky face, Scott noticed. He knows me too well.
He reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. "Hey. You're with me. Nothing can go wrong."
He looked into me with those incredible eyes of his, and seemed to suck whatever anxiety I had out of my body. I felt myself melt into the leather chair as the tension evaporated. Then I felt a burst of energy and took care of the most important thing: I yanked down my skirt as far as it would go, which, for some reason, wasn’t very far in the leg chair. Gavin must have designed the thing. I tried shifting into different positions, but no matter what I did America would get a great shot of my thighs.
"Thirty out!" yelled the floor director.