THE ELEVENTH SECOND
(A fiction)
To: Broad Julie, Broad Lisa
From: Cella
Date: March 5, 2004; 4:37PM EST
OMGOMGOMG!!! I WON THE CONTEST!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
Channel 12 just called and told me I won!! I'M GOING TO INTERVIEW CLAYTON IN PERSON!!!!!!
Someone get me a paper bag because I swear I'm going to hyperventilate...
I need to post on the Purple Pages!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Days of posts later, she had her interview notes ready, which only made her feel slightly less nervous. She met with the producer at the station on March 9 to go over the questions she had compiled. Between her list and his list, they finalized the interview script.
Very early on March 10, the interview was rehearsed with a stand-in, just to make sure things went as smooth as possible when the cameras were on.
At 12:30, Clay was in the building. She took a deep breath and prayed a little prayer just before he finally walked into the studio. The cameras were set; the lighting and sound were checked. How surreal it was – she was strangely calm, helped along by her script and Clay's occasional giggles.
Before she knew it, the interview was over. They gave each other final thank yous and smiles.
The director's voice came from beyond the lights. “That's a wrap – thank you very much Clay. Good job, Cella.” The lights were turned off and Clay's manager, Vanessa, appeared from the darkness.
“The limo will be here in about five minutes to take us to the radio station.”
“Ok, thanks,” he says as he starts getting up from the chair.
She realizes she has one final opportunity.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Clay, wait – could I talk to you for a couple more minutes?”
“Well...I don't have much time and I'm really hungry. A few of those donuts I saw in the green room have my name on them.”
“Please Clay, I know I'll never get this chance again to talk to you.”
“Oh, I'm sure sometime in your career you'll get to interview me again.”
“Oh my God – didn't they tell you? I'm not a real reporter. I won a contest to interview you. As a matter of fact, I happen to be a...oh goodness, you may run screaming from the room if I say it...I'm a...Lecherous Broad.”
“You're NOT a reporter? You're a Broad?” Clay pauses a moment, then a little smile comes over his face.
“Well, don't just sit there, let's go get some donuts!”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Before Clay even sits down on the green room's couch, he's downed half a glazed Krispy Kreme and has a jelly donut waiting to be devoured in his other hand. Cella pours two glasses of orange juice and sets them both on the coffee table.
“Clay, there's a thousand cutesy things I could talk to you about, and I'll regret not talking about every one of them, but I've had this recurring daydream about us talking...about something that's pretty personal.”
While he was chewing his jelly donut, Clay's eyes filled with hesitation. She handed him a wet-nap for his sticky fingers.
“No! Nothing lecherous, I swear!” His eyes softened, but she can see there was still some discomfort there.
“Ok, you keep eating and I'll talk. When I'm done, you don't have to respond.”
“Alright, that's fair enough,” he said after swallowing the last bite of his jelly donut. He picks up the glass of orange juice.
“You see... my mom passed away in April.”
Clay stops drinking and listens.
“And I've imagined us talking about my mom and your dad.”
“How did she...if you don't mind me asking.”
“Well, it was the Tuesday after Easter. Just another ordinary day for her – she got up, let the dog out, made her coffee, listened to Rush Limbaugh, watched her Korean soap operas...”
Clay had an inquisitive look on his face.
“Yes, Korean soap operas,” she snickered. “I haven't mentioned yet that I grew up in L.A., have I? They're subtitled. She watched them for YEARS.”
“Oh, ok.” Clay smiled and listened.
“Anyway, that evening around eight o'clock, my sister came over to put the trash out and talked with her for a while. Jeanne brought over some cold medicine she had asked for. After she left, Mom called my aunt and uncle to chat. Sometime after that, she went into the living room, got in her favorite chair and watched tv. They said she probably had a sudden massive heart attack. Our neighbor who found her said she looked like she was asleep. I guess it was about the best way one could go, you could say. God just took her.”
He sits there, thinking about how different it would've been if something so sudden had happened to his dad, rather than the prolonged illness. On one hand, there would've been no suffering. On the other hand, it gave him the time to grieve before the end came. You just deal with what God gives you and you get through it, he thought.
“So anyway, what I wanted to know was...and like I said, you don't have to answer. I'd certainly understand why you wouldn't. You're kind of a special case.”
She looks into his eyes and hesitates.
“Go on, it's ok.”
“Well, I was wondering...”
She can see in his eyes what she already knew in her gut she would see. He understood. He was one of them. A couple tears came to her eyes.
“I'm sorry...it's just...well, you think about them for ten seconds and you're ok, but that eleventh second...that's when it hits you.”
He sets his cup down and touches her shoulder as she wipes a tear and takes a deep breath.
“I was wondering...I've noticed...since it happened...that there's two kinds of people. Those who haven't lost someone special and those who have. And they both treat you very different. It's not that the people who haven't lost someone treat you poorly, it's just that the people who have...there's this immediate bond when you talk with them...they know exactly how you feel and they're not afraid of talking about your situation or theirs. Have you ever noticed that? It's just something I've found kind of interesting.”
The green room door opens – it's Vanessa.
“The car is here.”
They both stand up and he looks at her.
“It's not something that I had really thought about, considering I've hardly had a chance to breathe for the last year, but come to think of it, yeah, you're right.”
They smile and shake each other's hand. Clay lightly touches her arm.
She reaches out and lightly touches two fingertips to his cheek in return. “Thanks for letting me have breakfast with you. You take care, Clay. We love you.”
“You take care, too, Cella. Tell the Broads I said hi.”
“I sure will.”
Clay leaves with Vanessa, out of the studio into the waiting limousine. As the car pulls away and motors down the street, he settles back and stares at the passing landscape. His mind begins to drift to memories of his dad, and a smile comes over his face. Vanessa begins to brief him on his next stop, but he doesn't seem to be paying attention.
“Clay? Hey Clay?”
He looks over to her with a smile and tears welling in his eyes.
“You ok?”
“Yeah, I'm alright,” he says as he wipes a tear. “I just got to the eleventh second.”
He pulls out his cellphone and punches a few numbers.
“Brett? Hey, it's me. How's my little bro today?”
--------------------------
~Posted 2.15.2004~
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