Everybody Knows Your Name Read Online Free PDF Page B

I was supposed to be here. It’s definitely not the Motel 6. The lobby reminds me of the inside of one of those science labs where they solve crimes on TV, except there are a bunch of cute girls hanging around instead of nerdy scientists. I mean, there are more good-looking girls in this one hotel lobby than in all of Calumet put together.
    The desk clerk looks me up and down before he types my name into the computer. “Mr. Buckley, you’re with Spotlight ?”
    Nobody’s ever called me Mr. Buckley before, outside of school when I was in trouble. “Yes, sir,” I say. “That’s me.”
    He picks up a phone, dials, and has a quick conversation. “. . . no, he’s here now. Yes, he’s standing right in front of me. Okay.” He hangs up. “The producer will be right down, Mr. Buckley, if you want to have a seat on one of the lounge chairs.”
    The last part of the drive out I’d been filled with weird confidence. Felt like the whole city was waiting out here just for me. But now, looking around at this crime lab with the attractive girls and the DJ playing his bleep-bleeps and boops, I start feeling pretty nervous.
    They aren’t gonna let me in this thing . I didn’t even call to tell them that I was making the drive. I didn’t even call them after I missed the plane. What if I’m disqualified already? I probably am. Stupid. What was I thinking anyway? I don’t even have enough money to make it back home. They’re probably sending a security guard down to throw me out of here.
    â€œFord?” A woman’s standing in front of me in a silk robe, like I woke her from sleeping. She doesn’t look as old as I thought a producer would, but she does look pretty annoyed.
    â€œSorry I’m late.”
    She puts two fingers to her eyebrows like I’ve given her a headache. “Where the hell have you been? You made me feel like some soccer mom who lost her overgrown kid at the mall, you know what I’m saying? I had a PA talk to the guy at your work—”
    â€œLeander?”
    â€œI guess? He said you were ‘going to be here, he guaranteed it.’ But there was no way to reach you. There are these things called cell phones.”
    â€œYeah, I don’t have one right now.” I shrug, then ask, “What’s your name?”
    â€œWhat?” She seems to awaken, and looks at me in surprise.
    â€œYour name.”
    I swear she’s acting like I asked her what she wants for Christmas. Finally she gets over the surprise and says, “Catherine.”
    â€œHi, Catherine, nice to meet you. Like I said, sorry I’m late. I got held up on account of some family stuff.”
    â€œWe’ve been trying to decide on a replacement for you all day. You know, I was one of the ones who really fought for you because I thought the show could use a little hayseed—no offense,” she tells me. “You made me look bad.”
    I look her in the eyes. “I’m real sorry, and that’s the best I’ve got. If you let me compete, it won’t happen again. I’ll be punctual.”
    She studies me, and I can sense she’s starting not to be annoyed anymore. “Did you buy your own ticket?”
    â€œNo, I drove.”
    â€œYou drove out here?”
    â€œOn my motorcycle.”
    She jumps up and down one time like a little girl. “We should get some footage of you on the motorcycle! It will kill in your video package, set up that whole personal narrative of an outsider rolling into town on a cloud of dust. I’m picturing dirt. Torn denim. Maybe we get a tumbleweed.” She seems so suddenly excited that I get excited too, thinking I’m back in.
    But then her expression goes flat as fast as it lit up and she says, “I’ve got to talk to my executive producer. Hold on.”
    She steps away to make a call on her cell phone. It’s in a sparkling case.