“But I mean... withme,specifically?”
CeeCee tilts her head like Scooby Doo sniffing out a snack.
“I mean, does he know I’m a newbie?” I add quickly. “Does he know I’m straight out of journalism school, with no experience?”
CeeCee nods. “Yes, Reed and I talked about that very thing, and he smartly recognized, as do I, that you’ll bring a fresh, exciting energy and voice to the project.” She smiles kindly. “Don’t be nervous, Georgina. I’m sure, after seeing Reed on that panel, you’re a bit intimidated. And I don’t blame you. He’s incredibly successful and confident. And his communication style is blunt and unapologetic, to say the least. But he’s a very good friend of mine, and I can honestly say he’s a sweetheart underneath all that swagger. Plus, he trusts my judgment. And I’ve told him I’ve got a lot of faith in you.”
A shudder of nerves sweeps through me. “I hope I’m able to prove you right.”
“You will. It was when you talked about bartending during ourcoffee date that I knew you’d be a fantastic interviewer. Like I told you then, bartending is just another form of what a journalist does. As a bartender, you’ve honed the art of talking to people. Listening to them. Making connections in a short amount of time and getting them to open up. Now, you’ll be taking those skills and simply putting the experience down on paper—which your writing samples, and Gilda’s high praise of you, lead me to believe you’ll be able to do with ease.”
“Thank you so much. I didn’t really think of bartending being related to journalism in that way. But I think you’re right.”
“Of course, I am.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “I’m most excited to see how you’re going to handle Reed’s interview. I have a strong feeling he’ll be uncharacteristically chatty with you.”
I press my lips together, suddenly feeling sick. Shit. Is this my cue to come clean? To confess to CeeCee that Reed likely won’t be uncharacteristically chatty with me, because, surprise, the last time I saw the man, I kissed the hell out of him, rubbed my aching clit against his huge dick like a cat in heat... and then left him standing at his front gate with not only blue balls, but, almost certainly, a firm desire to never lay eyes on me again?
“I feel like I should tell you something,” CeeCee says, taking the words right out of my mouth. She leans back into her chair again. “For the past two years, ever since I first conceived of launchingDig a Little Deeper,I’ve been begging Reed to give me a full-length, in-depth interview for that magazine.But he’s always said no.” She steeples her manicured fingers. “You might not know this, but Reed’s father was a notorious white collar criminal who killed himself in prison when Reed was nineteen or twenty. His father’s case was extremely high profile. All over the news. And yet, Reed never, ever talks about it. Certainly not publicly, anyway. And not with me, despite the fact that I’ve known him ten years. And yet, I think that’s the one thing the world would bemostfascinated to hear him talk about.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah, I think I read something about that on Reed’s Wikipedia page.”
Shit.I clamp my mouth shut, instantly regretting I let it slip I’ve already read up on Reed. But, thankfully, CeeCee doesn’t seem to notice my blunder.
Without missing a beat, CeeCee says, “Of course, the friend in mewould never push Reed to talk about his father, if he doesn’t wish to do so. But the journalist in me wants you to be aware of the existence of this dynamic, just in case it happens to come up. If, by some chance, Reed slowly opens up with you throughout the summer, and you get the chance to expand the scope of your initial interview—to ‘dig a little deeper,’ shall we say, beyond what we’d normally expect to write about inRock ‘n’ Roll—then I want you to run with it, without hesitation.”
I process CeeCee’s words for a moment. “Are you saying if I’m successful in getting a really in-depth interview of Reed, you’ll publish it inDig a Little Deeper,instead ofRock ‘n’ Roll?”
CeeCee shrugs. “I’m saying I’m open to the idea. Of course, I’ve got no interest in tricking Reed. That should go without saying. He’s my friend and I love him. What I’m saying, however, is that, if it turns out Reed is responding well to you, and you see an opportunity to go more in-depth with him than originally thought—with his consent, of course—then I want you to seize that chance.”
I bite my lip, my mind whirring and clacking. “If I do get something amazing out of Reed, something that knocks your socks off, and you wind up publishing it inDig a Little Deeper...would you hire me for that magazine?”
CeeCee shrugs nonchalantly, but I can tell by the twinkle in her eye, I’ve asked the exact right question. “I can’t answer that without reading the piece first.” She weaves her fingers together. “But, yes, of course, I’m open to thepossibilityof hiring you atDig a Little Deeperafter your summer internship,ifyou prove to me you’ve got the chops for it.”
I’m lightheaded. Dizzy. Overwhelmed with ambition and excitement. “I’m going to knock this out of the park, CeeCee. You’ll see.”
She chuckles. “Darling, I truly believe you will.”
We talk about the logistics of my job for a bit. The fact that some guy named Owen, and not Reed, will be my contact at the label—which, admittedly, calms my nerves about the whole thing.
Finally, CeeCee says, “Okay, let’s talk turkey about the animals in the zoo for a bit, shall we?”
“The animals... ?”
“The musicians you’re going to be interacting with on a daily basis, and partying with, and making friends with, all summer long. Because that’s what always happens with musicians. They invite the writers toparty with them, and peek into their lives, even if it’s just for one crazy day. And, of course, you’ll always say yes to any invitation, because the best interviews happen off-the-cuff, in the moment, when you’re a part oftheirlives.”
I nod.
“The downside of all that, of course, is that, sometimes, they forget you’re there to do a job, rather than be their groupie.”
“Ah.”
“I’m sure this won’t come as a shock to you, Georgie, but musicians, especially ones of the male variety, aren’t known for being particularly restrained around women, especially exceptionally attractive women, like you.”
I blush. “Thank you.”
She leans forward in her chair. “Don’t take any shit from them, Georgina. You’re not a sex object. You’re a professional journalist for an esteemed magazine. Party with them. Have a blast. Be their friend. But never forget they need you as much as you need them. That’s how this machine works. It’s symbiotic. The musicians make the music, yes, but they’d be nothing without their fans. And they needpublicityto get and keep their fans. They needmystiqueand validation, which my magazine provides to them better than anyone else. You’re every bit as powerful as they are, Georgie, I promise you that. You got that?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I flex my arm muscle, and she chuckles.
