sent my email request to the correct address and I have made sure it isn’t stuck in my drafts. I don’t understand why I wouldn’t get a response. Not even a “Buzz off stalker, he was kidding.” or something equally humiliating. The whole thing depresses me, which is ridiculous. I did everything I came here for. That moment, where Hunter offered me an interview, was just an additional memory no one else in the world has. That’s what I need to focus on, not the disappointment of no follow-through.
I sigh again and push my phone back down into my crossbody purse and glance down at my laptop. There are still forty-five minutes until we start the boarding process so I could work on my screenplay. If only the words would come. I still can’t figure out why the story is so vivid in my brain but when I start writing, it turns into unorganized, unreadable crap.
Maybe now isn’t the time to try and be creative. My mind is still reeling with images of this weekend so I might as well begin uploading pictures for the blog post I’ll be doing about the convention. While the focus of the weekend was primarily the television show, Carrie’s forte, the tie-in to the upcoming movie makes it easy enough for me to report on. Besides, it’s an event people would love to see on our page regardless of which one of us attended.
I tap my fingers against the keys, but don’t actually depress them as the creative juices in my head begin to flow. The hum of the airport with its squawky overhead announcements and people racing back and forth make an oddly calming background noise. Chaos is my calm. Strange as that sounds.
Just as my thoughts begin to settle and the words put themselves in the right order, unexpected movement in my peripheral vision distracts me. Looking over, it appears a child has darted out into foot traffic causing some sort of collision. The women who I assume is the mother is frozen in front of a man who looks an awful lot like the one I’ve been trying to track down, although he’s clearly incognito.
“You’re… ohmygosh…” she says before darting after her screeching child who is still running.
Holy crap. Now is my chance.
“Hunter!” I yell, feeling bad to call him out in public like this, but not wanting to miss him again either.
He doesn’t stop, in fact his pace seems to pick up. Closing my laptop and shoving it into my bag, I move as quickly as I can, which is about as quick as a salmon swimming upstream. Fortunately, I only have my electronics bag and my purse, but unfortunately, the zippers on both seem to have stopped working at this exact moment. I race after him, trying to juggle everything without dropping my water bottle and phone.
“Hunter!” I call again just as the elevator door he disappeared into closes.
I come to my own screeching halt when I notice it’s one of the airline’s VIP lounges. I’m not sure how to proceed. I don’t fly often, but when I do, I take the cheapest route, my only goal to get from Point A to Point B safely. I don’t need the extra frills. But that also means I’ve never been inside a VIP lounge before. Well, except for the one this past weekend at the hotel. I wonder if they’re the same.
One thing is for sure—I need to get in there, even if it is only to have Hunter tell me he changed his mind and doesn’t want to be interviewed anymore. That I can deal with. What I can’t deal with is this “in limbo” feeling.
Balancing as my bag slides off my shoulder and down my arm, I do a quick search on my phone about who can use a VIP lounge in an airport and how. And wouldn’t you know it, my freaking Wi-Fi isn’t connecting.
Making a spontaneous decision, I decide to go for it, so I push the up button and wait. And wait. Wow, for luxury this thing isn’t in much of a hurry. When the chrome doors open, I exhale in relief that it is empty and not manned by a stern security guard. The whoosh of the elevator causes me to stumble where I stand, clutching my bag and electronics to my chest. As quickly as it took off, it stops and the doors open.
With a deep breath, I exit and step into a