Dino pauses and then moves more slowly toward me, like I’m a snake. Good. I don’t particularly enjoy being a prick, but it’s the job. I watch from the corner of my eye as he slinks back to where Frankie and Vito are waiting. Frankie pops him on the back of his head and I hear him murmur in a low voice. “Vince is a fuckin’ Capo, numbnuts. He’s God as far as you’re concerned, so shape the fuck up.” Dino nods his head and takes a deep breath. I remember being his age, trying to work my way up in the familia and always worrying that the smallest mistake was going to get me waxed.
I run my hands through my hair and check my watch. It’s a Jaeger-LeCoultre and cost more than most cars. I don’t really give a shit about how many gears or parts the thing has, but it’s part of the package. I make a metric fuck ton of money and the more obvious I can make that, the quicker people realize they shouldn’t cross me. “Hey,” I shout, whirling my hand above my head. “Wrap it up, boys. We’ve still got one more visit to take care of before the game starts.”
I shove my hands in my pockets as we walk. I’m supposed to meet Maria tonight for drinks, but fuck she’s boring. She looks good enough with those tits and the fuck-me lips. It’s just that she has no fuckin’ backbone. Ma says I need to find a girl to settle down with, but that’s not happening.
I look up as a deep rumble hums through the stadium above me. The game must be starting soon. Shit. I need to hurry.
2
Aubriella
I run my fingers through my hair, trying in vain to make it look more manageable before Eric turns the camera on. No big deal, Aubriella. It’s just a hundred thousand sports fans that are going to be staring at you in a few seconds. I take a deep, shuddering breath and blow it out. You would think I’d be used to this by now, but the truth is, I never wanted to be in front of the camera.
I’m more than a little self-conscious of my outfit. Rachel and Denise never wear an outfit on-air more than once. I don’t know what’s more embarrassing: the fact that I’ve worn this same bargain basket Target dress three times now, or the way the two of them keep trying to give me their hand-me-downs. My money troubles are that obvious, apparently.
There’s no time to think about that, though. Eric holds up his meaty fingers behind the camera and gives me a silent count until we’re live.
Three fingers.
MetLife stadium is full to capacity. The roar of the crowd washes over me like a physical thing, the sounds are so loud that they vibrate through my chest.
Two fingers.
The football players from the Jets are leaving the tunnel now, running out in their full pads, arms wide as they scissor the sky, begging the crowd to get louder.
One finger.
I block as much out as I can, until the only sound I hear is my own breath and my hammering heart.
Action.
I smile toward the camera, gripping the microphone in front of my mouth like it’s a lifeline. “Expectations are high in this season opener for the New York Jets. Jets fans have never been known for their patience, and Coach Todd Bowles will certainly be in the hotseat if they have yet another disappointing season.”
A voice buzzes in my earpiece. “It looks like a full house there, Aubriella.” It’s Jerry Washington on the other end. Viewers will be seeing a split screen of my face and his right now. He’s the face of the station, and his voice drips with condescension, as if having to even talk to a sports reporter is degrading for him. “Are your feet hurting from those heels yet?” he asks. I just picture his wrinkled face crinkling as he asks. I can practically see him grinning at the camera like he and the audience are in on some joke together.
Fucking Jerry. I want to spit something venomous back at him, but I’m live. And I need the money way too much to risk losing this job. I throw on my best fake smile, dipping my chin slightly to the side. It’s a habit I have when I’m pissed, like I have to suck in a big breath and swallow it to keep from losing it. “My feet are good so far, Jerry. And yes, it’s absolutely packed here. According to my contact in the ticketing department, seats haven’t sold this quickly since the 1998 season.”
I try not to look smug. Yes, I did some of my own research, fuck you very much. Female field reporters are expected to just look good and say what we’re told, but I’m not interested in being a doormat. I always do a little of my own research so I can add to the conversation instead of just nodding and smiling. Maybe part of it is my small attempt to scratch the investigative journalism itch that never really goes away. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, but I’ve got my bills and dad’s bills to pay. At the end of the day, this job pays better than investigative journalism, even if it’s not what I wanted to do with my life.