I was no longer feeling the cold.
Ben and I kissed our way back to the Village in every secluded patch of real estate, until we were forced to pretend to be business acquaintances just outside the main gates.
“You have your credentials, right?” I asked him as we approached the checkpoint. “Because getting in and out is intense, even for me.”
He reached into his parka and pulled out the laminated badge. “Yup. And my two forms of ID, and clean hands for the fingerprints.”
“Do you have an easily accessible vein for the blood draw? Because that’s part of the protocol after five.”
“At the ready.” Ben cracked a smile as he held up his arm.
Olympic Village security was nothing to joke about, and every time I ran the gauntlet I was reminded that I had Ben to thank for the shiny new driver’s license I handed over. It didn’t matter how recognizable an athlete was, we all had to subject ourselves to rigorous scrutiny to get back into the Village. Not just the ID, credentials, metal detector, and bag check, but also a surprisingly thorough Q&A, with everything logged on an iPad.
It didn’t matter that I had every right to be there, the stress of the inquisition still left me feeling likemaybeI’d accidentally packed a machine gun in my evening bag and forgotten about it.
We approached the two unsmiling guards who both looked like they took their jobs very seriously. I went through the drill first, offering all my paperwork and chatting about the event we’d just left. Security felt like a different planet from the rest of the Village, where the smiles and kindness were nonstop. But I understood the seriousness of security’s job given the state of the world. The uniformed pair acted like a switch had flipped once they’d confirmed that I was who I said I was, then they turned to Ben.
“Good evening, sir,” the taller one said in accented English.
“Buonasera,” Ben replied, hitting the accent hard. “Come sta?”
He didn’t even get an eyebrow twitch in response as they looked at his paperwork.
“You’re media, yes?” the taller one asked.
“Sì, sono con Vox,” Ben answered.
I guessed that he’d referencedThe Score’s parent company since their signs were all over the Village. All he got in response was a tight-lipped nod.
“I spent today at Livigno, covering freestyle skiing practice,” he explained, abandoning the Italian since it didn’t seem to be having an impact on the stony-faced men. “But I was here the day before, for hours.”
One guard pointed out something on the iPad to the other one.
“I’m sorry, sir, your credentials don’t allow you to visit the Village after five. No entry until tomorrow morning at eight.”
Ben frowned at them. “Well, that’s not true. I’ve been allowed to stay much later than that.”
The taller guard nodded at him. “Capito. But it looks like something has shifted with your allowances. You’re tier three now, so I cannot let you in.”
He handed the stack of credentials back to Ben triumphantly, like they’d just prevented a felon from entering the safe zone. An ember of worry ignited inside me.
“No,” Ben stared at the documents in his hands. “That’s not correct. I’m tier one. I have been since I got here. And I’m a former Olympic athlete in addition to being a correspondent. Bennett Martino?” He tapped his chest and gave the man a hopeful look.
“I’m sorry, sir. There’s nothing more we can do.”
“È assurdo!” Ben exclaimed, smacking the back of his hand on the documents. “Something’s broken with your check-in process, because I know for a fact that I have full-access credentials.”
“Non mi riguarda,” the mustachioed guard said with a shrug.
Ben started to say something then stopped himself.
I put my hand on his forearm. “It’s probably just a glitch. It’s okay, let’s figure something else out for now.”
I could see the worry creasing his face, which I totally understood. Too many signs were pointing toward a shake-up at the show. Ben was cemented in place in front of the guard box, like he couldn’t believe that anyone would refuse Magic Martino.
“Come on.” I gave him a gentle tug. “We can figure it out tomorrow.”
“Youcan enter, signorina,” the guard smiled at me. “Just not him.”
