I decide to say hello, because even though he is four years younger than me, he is kind of my hero. “Hi, Raj, I’m Charlie. I’m Oliver’s assistant. If you or your team need anything, let me know.”
Raj was once a rail-thin teenager with glasses and a smattering of acne on his face. He has evolved as much as his business has and now he has muscles and clear brown skin.
“I don’t want to be a fangirl, but I love your lo w-inflammation-diet-friendly snacks,” I tell him, because, in truth, his videos and his recipes saved me from the dark spiral I was in a few years ago.
Raj shakes my hand. “That’s awesome. You a sickie too?” he asks, referring to the loving nickname he has given himself and other autoimmune sufferers.
“Yep,” I say, pretending my condition is a badge of honor. Raj is outspoken about his experience with lupus and his recent second autoimmune diagnosis of psoriatic arthritis. How he manages to run multiple YouTube channels, a snack company, and global philanthropy without going into a flare is so impressive.
“Oh yeah, what you got?” he asks, as one of his friends who is a regular on his channel runs by in a chicken costume. Of course the hook for Raj’s relay video is that he is making his friends run it in ridiculous outfits. One a chicken, another has $10,000 taped to his chest, a third is wearing beer-bottle-opener flip-flops. Not recommended footwear, but Celine was willing to let it slide for the sake of the exposure we’ll get on his channel.
“Eosinophilic fasciitis,” I tell him, expecting his eyes to glaze over.
Instead, he smiles and gives me a nod of approval. “Ooh, a rarity, aren’t we?” His sarcastic praise encourages me to do a twirl and bow. In the few times I’ve interacted with other autoimmune suffers my age, we tend to commiserate by sharing diagnoses, medicines, and food restrictions like trading cards.
“Hey, I’ve got to go help with the kids’ race. Want to come watch? I know so many of them are going to freak when they see you!” It’s true. Raj is a hero to so many kids who started watching him play and review video games and fantasy chapter books. Now he gives away money to schools and they view him as a real-life Batman or Superman.
Raj is excited and waves for one of his cameramen to follow him. The kids’ race start is about a quarter-mile from where we are standing, so I take my chance to keep chatting with Raj.I mean, how cool is this?!
“How was the trip out here?” I ask, assuming Raj took a private jet with his friends and equipment.
“Well, our bags got lost and my medicine was stolen off my front porch two days before we had to leave, so I had to have an emergency prescription called in.” I’m shocked by all of this. That Raj flies commercial even with his vast wealth. And, also, the audacity of someone stealing medicine. I’ve avoided going back on a prescription for three years now. The damage my last medicine did to my liver was enough to convince me that diet and lifestyle management was my route to health. I can’t imagine the stress of replacing (and re-paying for) medicine.
“That’s so horrible. I’m glad you found your bags and got your meds. And still, you’re here filming and tomorrow you’ll help others. It’s admirable that you’re doing it all.”
“I like helping people.” He shrugs. “I also hate that more people aren’t doing something. The heads of these big tech companies or other billionaires, they don’t help. If the richest one percent, or point one percent, are hoarding their wealth and doing the bare minimum or keeping things as is, then it’s time to shake it up. To show what real wealthcanandshoulddo.” Once again I’m inspired by him. I remind myself that in a small way I’m helping too. By putting on events that bring out the best in people.
We get to the start line of the kids’ race. Celine is at the finish line with Oliver and the local press. The emcee for our race has a microphone in hand and is ready to count the kids down. He spots Raj and gives him a big welcome. The kids jump up and down and cheer for his camera. Raj walks over to our emcee and asks to borrow the microphone.
“This is a fun and friendly competition. No pushing or shoving. Help each other out,” Raj says before adding an impromptu incentive. “Also, first to the finish line gets fifty thousand dollars for their college fund.”
The parents’ eyes go wide. The kids squeal with delight. And then our emcee counts down: “Three, two, one! Have fun!”
The cutest two hundred meters in sports goes off as expected. With smiles, stumbles, and at least two kids who stand at the start line unsure of what to do.
9
DECLAN
“Hola, señor. Are you dining alone?” the waiter asks, transitioning from his native Spanish to flawless English without an accent. It’s Saturday night in Mexico City and the streets are alive with tourists and locals heading out for the evening. The music from the band on the second floor is lively and energetic, like a Saturday evening should be.
“No, I’m expecting someone. Is the terrace available?” I enquire, passing up the chance to sit in front of the social-media-worthy wall of potted plants or study the various neon signs positioned through the first and second floors.
“Yes, sir.” He nods. “A romantic table for two, this way.” And I follow him. Let him assume it is a date, that’s the cover I’m trying to project. Fitted jeans and a black T-shirt. My hair is slicked back.
Thispulqueriais popular and busy. It is filled with American expats and tourists. All of Roma Norte is. If I were here for fun, for a vacation, I’d stay elsewhere in Mexico City. Explore the real parts of the city, not just what has been gentrified for American visitors. But tonight I need to blend in. No place better than here.
“Can I get you something to drink while you wait?” the waiter asks as he hands me a menu.
“Water is fine,” I say and check my watch. I’m early. As planned.
From the terrace, I can see the sidewalk. When Monique walks up, I’ll be able to wave her over right away. Outside, the noise of the restaurant and bar carries, masking our conversation without overpowering our voices. She’ll be able to slip back into the night without anyone noticing our handoff.
My phone rings. “Ian?” I say as I answer it.
“Have you made contact with Monique yet?” Impatient as always.
While I’m here in person, Ian is following me with a GPS tracking dot on my shoulder. It’s more reliable than tracking my phone location, although he has that too. Phones can get stolen or tossed. My body is always with me.
