My agent gave me a ring and offered me a chance to be on the Tonight Show. Jimmy is one of my closest friends so of course, I agreed. I mean, my publicist told me that I needed to promote my book so this seemed like as good an opportunity as any. I will admit that I’m getting a little bored at this point, so this is a welcomed distraction. After all, I can only do so many sessions with my personal trainer and spiritual guide, Maurice.
Plus, with all this time out of the spotlight, it was a perfect chance to get some light work done by Dr. Dodds. I’m feeling like a shiny new penny. My assistant, Yasmine, came over to fuss over my ring light and camera.
“Where would you like to set up? The tea room? The yoga studio? The great hall? The library? Are you going for flashy or down to earth?”
Good question. I mean, I consider myself pretty down to earth. I still cut my own fingernails on occasion. My wine cellar barely holds 200 bottles from the Alsace region of France. Barely. I’m even wearing jeans from the Gap today. (They sent them to me in the hopes I’d be photographed in them, but still!) It may be a bit tone-deaf of me to flaunt my possessions like that. Perhaps we keep the luxury infinity pool and water slide out of the shot?
I could see page 6 now, ripping into me for looking “out of touch” while the bulk of the country is struggling. That’s all I need. I just got out of the limelight after an online tiff with some hacky TikToker. Those blogger types have all of the arrogance of fame and none of the class.
Distracted, I answer Yasmine, “Uhhh..surprise me.”
Yasmine calls me into the library for a test shot. “Say cheese!” She hands me the camera to approve the shot, but I can’t help but notice that behind me you can see my Italian marble fountains shooting water. I ask Yasmine if it’s too much. She tries to look reassuring. But, the last time she gave me that look, I’d asked her if I can pull off a catsuit. We both know she’s fibbing.
If only I could just borrow a tiny little apartment. They’d have to see how normal I am. Suddenly it hits me. What if I filmed in a real live middle-class living room? What’s more relatable than an actual everyday person’s living room? After all, my agent asked me to be a bit more “middle class” so I can seem more relatable. Grittier even. Someone who doesn’t need 3,000 thread count sheets to get my 12 hours of beauty rest in.
“Yasmine, is your living room tidy? I’m going to need a bit of favor…”
