Someone better be critically injured or dead. Guilt instantly boils in my gut at the thought. I call my sister and it doesn’t even get to a full ring before she answers.
“Lauren! Have you heard from Mack?” She sounds breathless.
“Chelsea are you seriously calling me every two seconds for this? I’m hanging up.” What was moments ago guilt is now anger lapping it’s flames up from my belly.
“No, wait! I don’t mean about you two, I mean, have you seen that he’s doing an interview? I sent you a link. He’s talking to Cooper Sanders tomorrow and they’re doing a live special. They never do the interviews live on CNB.” She rambles.
I walk over to my computer and open the e-mail she sent me. Sure enough, there’s a link to the CNB’S homepage. I click it and Mack’s military photograph is staring into me. The same picture they’ve been using on the news all week. Just below is a YouTube video with an oversized play button in the middle of it. I don’t need to click it; I’ve seen the footage of Mack’s meltdown about a hundred times in the past few days. Hell, I’ve seen it so much that the grainy cellphone footage is almost replacing my actual memory of the event.
Chelsea is still blah-blahing about something or other, but I can’t pay attention. My eyes scan the article below the video, she’s right. Mack is doing an exclusive, live interview with Cooper Sanders tomorrow night.
“Do you think they’re going to talk about us?” I can’t tell if Chelsea sounds horrified by the idea or flattered. “Do you think he’s going to explain what happened?” She continues.
“I couldn’t tell you,” I answer her glumly. One thing is certain though: I’ll be tuning in to find out.
38
Mack
2014
“I’m just gonna dust a little powder on your nose, that’s all. You don’t want to look shiny on camera,” The chick I banged in the back of a vehicle in Afghanistan leans over me and runs a fluffy makeup brush over my face. Her tits are popping out of the low V-neck of her shirt. “There, all done,” she steps back and admires her work, blinking her long eyelashes.
She’s pretty, that much is undeniable. Too bad looking into her eyes is like taking a glance down into the Grand Canyon. A barren, empty, seemingly bottomless void. What was it Cameron said the other night about these chicks? All flash and no substance.
Not like Lauren. My gut churns as I remember for the tenth time in the past hour the perfect woman I lost. Again.
“Thanks, uh…” there’s no way this woman’s name is coming back to me. Lauren would call her a card carrying member of my bimbo fan club, but I doubt she would appreciate the nickname. Although from the vapid stare she’s returning, it might not bother her as much as you’d think.
“Tiffany,” she fills in the blank cheerfully. From the way her face doesn’t move at all, she’s either full of Botox or she doesn’t care that I forgot.
Probably both.
“Ok, let’s get this stuff cleared out of here,” Cooper walks over to the chair poised across from me to get ready for the interview. “Thanks Tiffany, you can go too,” he directs her. She practically skips off the set, flipping her hair like she’s in a shampoo commercial the whole way.
I can’t believe I ever found girls like her sexy. Once you’ve been with a woman like Lauren, all you can see is how every other girl comes up short. Once you’ve had an exquisite work of art, paint by numbers just don’t cut it anymore.
Cooper sits on the very edge of the chair across from me, holding a small stack of papers in his hands. His crew are buzzing all around us, checking wires and aiming cameras. I never realized how much went into these interviews. When he joined us in the desert, it was bare bones compared to this circus.
“Ok, so I just wanted to go over some of these questions with you so you know what to expect,” he’s hunched over with his elbows on his knees and barely speaking above a whisper. I get the feeling that he doesn’t usually give his interview subjects a preview of the hard hitting questions he’s known for serving up.
The cameras have been following me around all day, recording me being “natural”. They’ve gotten footage of me cooking food, running with my blade, and of strangers recognizing me and thanking me for my service. I’m starting to feel like I’m in an infomercial selling portions of Captain “America” Mack Forrester.
But wait, if you act now they’ll even throw in scenes of me petting puppies and kissing babies.
“Obviously, we’re going to show the footage of the incident, ok? Then, I’m going to have to ask you if you think this is appropriate behaviour for a highly decorated war veteran. I know that sounds rough, but don’t worry, I’m gonna follow up with a bit saying how you’ve had a hard go and that this is being blown out of proportion. Ok?” He looks up at me with his steely blue eyes and I can see that he’s concerned for me.