The Problem with the Player

Chapter 1

‘Hello, Sir’, I say, my voice sounding hoarse. As a writer for the magazine ‘Society Central’, my job this week was to come up with an article related to psychology. Come Sunday and I’ve only thought of one idea. Interview someone. Who? I don’t know. About what? No idea. 

‘Hello Lydia’. 

I tangle my brown hair between my fingers nervously. ‘What can I do for you?’ On my day off, I want to add.

‘I’m excited to hear about your article. Have you written up a draft for your idea yet?’

I bite my lip. ‘I, um, have my idea, I just need approval is all.’

‘Well now is a good time to receive approval.’ 

I wait, then realise he wants me to shower him with the marvelous plans I have. Shit. I look at my surroundings. Narrow hall, a photograph of my mother and father, medicine at Dylan’s door, Eminem giving me a death stare. 

‘Oh, excellent,’ I clear my throat, ‘Well, I think it would be, um, relevant to today’s culture if we got a celebrity and questioned them on the modern society. Topics that effect many people such as.. um, bullying, depression, financial issues.’ Now I’m stuck. What else? ‘And their general views on the world we live in.’ My heart is beating so fast. What a terrible request. At least it’s better than the idea I got when I glanced at the medicine - to conduct a survey to see how many people actually like the taste of fruit flavoured medicine. 

There is a long pause over the phone. I can hear noise in the background, so he must be at the office. ‘Alright Lydia, sounds good. Jessica will arrange the interview with the celebrity and will email you once she has the details.’ Did he really just say that? About the idea I came up with on the spot? I can’t help but smile like an idiot. 

‘Thanks Bill’. I hang up, feeling jubilant. Jessica Howard is a lady that works in the office for Bill. Sort of like his assistant, but she does important things. Apparently she chooses the celebrities people are going to work with. 

I put my phone back in my pocket and knock on Dylan’s door. ‘Come on Dylan, I’ve got medicine for you.’ 

‘I can take it myself!’ he calls. ‘I don’t need you to mother me!’.

‘Fine, I’ll leave it out here.’

I go downstairs and ensconce myself onto the lounge for an action packed afternoon full of mindless television watching. I flick through channels and get the Kardashians, a history show, My Strange Addiction, and an interview with some soccer player. I leave it on the soccer player, although I don’t know why. I don’t have a clue about sport. I think it’s him that captivates my attention.

‘Ethan Wallace, great to meet you, so tell us, how does it feel to have scored the winning points for the season!’ The interviewer says excitedly.

The soccer player, who I gather is named Ethan, flashes a smug smile. ‘Well knowing that I saved the team from losing is a great feeling!’ Ok, so he’s a bit cocky. They’re standing outside with hundreds of screaming fans. He has to practically scream. ‘I still can’t believe that I won the game!‘ Ok, very cocky. But he’s good looking. His brown hair  drapes just above his ears and his green eyes sparkle in the sun. For a moment I am transfixed, but there is something about him that irritates me as well. He’s got this bored look plastered on his face while the interviewer talks about the other team, as if he’d rather be somewhere else or at least bringing the conversation back to him. And when he turns to look at cheering crowd, he does a short wave but doesn’t smile. This just confirms why I hate celebrities. They think they deserve everything. And I didn’t realise sports players had become so famous. In the background I can see Ethan’s teammates shaking hands with adoring fans. There are a lot of teenage girls in the crowd too. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were crying. Growing even more agitated at Ethan Wallace’s answers, I change the channel and watch the history of Rome. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I have another minor panic. ‘Hello?’