Exclusive Interview

All the lights are out in Brittany's eyes. Almost at once—after an incalculable, indeterminate span of time—a second injection restores her to consciousness. She wakes with her heart racing so painfully that her chest feels ready to burst. It seems that only a second has passed between one injection and the next, though in truth much longer has elapsed. Her eyes snap wide open. She looks to one side and finds herself inside a brightly lit dressing room. The nurse who administered the injection disappears through a door after tucking the syringe into her cleavage. Gabriel stands before the young artist and offers her a kindly smile.

"Brittany! How is my Brittany?" exclaims Gabriel.

"Where am I, Gabriel?" she manages, still dazed. "I feel awful. I have just had the worst fucking endless nightmare you could ever imagine."

"Nightmare, huh? What is the last thing you remember before falling asleep?" asks Gabriel, still smiling.

"I don't know, I'm not sure. I was in an ambulance. No?"

"Very good! Yes, they took us out of there, now we came to the UHR Channel studios. We have a live interview, remember? It is part of your contract itinerary."

"Shit. I don't remember anything, Gabriel, I feel very bad, my whole body hurts."

"It must be because of the shaking of the ambulance."

"Why were we going in an ambulance? What happened next?"

"I’ll tell you later. You need to get ready to go out onto the set. You have an interview, Brittany, and you need to be in shape. Swallow these so you’ll perk up." Gabriel hands her two fuchsia pills and a glass of water. "See? They’re your favorite color." She nods reluctantly.

She swallows the pills without water, an action that Tichi, Nichi and Bichi record from various angles. Floating to Gabriel's sides and above him, they broadcast the scene live and in real time to millions of reconnected viewers.

"Why do I have the feeling that something terrible happened to me, Gabriel? I feel like it wasn't a dream. Because?" Brittany wants to know with great concern, exhaustion and discomfort.

"The interview, Brittany, now please focus on the interview, we'll talk about it later. Yeah?"

Minutes later, Brittany is already in a narrow, dimly lit hallway. She walks with elegant, hurried steps, surrounded by people with different functions and interests. Spherical floating cameras follow it all the way around it. Nichi floats in front of her, showing a close-up of the young woman; Tichi focuses a shot from behind; Bichi records it from above. Brittany feels terrible, she's a little dizzy, her head hurts, her legs feel like they're barely holding her up despite her light weight. This is not noticed by those who see her image through the clarity of the cameras that follow her, people are unaware of her deep discomfort. Her striking figure camouflages the invisible evil that destroys her from within.

She follows the corridor toward the television studio. When she finally emerges, powerful lights engulf her at once. She stops at the signal of a young production assistant. Nichi, Tichi and Bichi halt their floating advance beside her. From behind purple curtains, Brittany hears Showbiz Buzz's deafening, high-pitched jingle. On a small monitor that looks conspicuously cheap, she watches what is happening beyond the curtain. The dancers strive to display their talents. Before them, Ricky prances with deliberate clumsiness and stupidity—perhaps even amusingly to some. When the jingle ends, Brittany hears an excited stream of words.

"Good evening, night owls! Welcome to another broadcast of…" the young man greets them brazenly. "Show-biz Buuuzz!" he cries with gusto.

His white suit gleams beneath the studio lights. The dancers move apart, dividing into two groups and leaving the frame. Only Ricky and his bright white smile remain.

"You already know, my friends—we announced it in the morning and midday Showbiz Buzz flashes. Tonight, on the main edition of Showbiz Buzz, we have an exclusive interview with the woman at the center of today’s events. This morning, we showed our early birds how she emerged barely alive from an ambulance. She then escaped as best she could from a quarantine zone hastily established by security forces with the support of health authorities. She escaped it all. She received care at a private clinic and, fortunately, is doing very well. And now, dear night owls, just as we promised, she will join us live for an exclusive interview and firsthand account!"

Behind the curtain at the host's back, Brittany adjusts her hair and prepares to go onstage. The production assistant signals for her to be ready. She already is—more than ready.

"We already have here the most beautiful, most talented, the survivor of everything. With you the greatest artist of all time! She is a singer, actress, film director, screenwriter, producer, businesswoman, life fighter, the most complete artist in history! With you... the great, great, great: Brittany Condon!!"

The purple curtain opens and the applauding host turns around. The audience in the studio stands erupts in jubilation and rises to its feet. Brittany's music thunders from every direction to welcome her, transforming the set into an impromptu party. Smiling, she enters beneath a dense curtain of applause and cries. Lighting effects follow her from the instant she appears before the cameras, simulating an endless shower of confetti falling over her. Her smile seems too large for her face. Her short, low-cut dress is dark red, as are her shoes with their thick high heels.

Her light-brown hair has been freshly styled. The makeup artists have done an excellent job of concealing the dark circles beneath her eyes; they are no longer visible at all. The makeup likewise accentuates her full lips and the luminous green eyes for which she is known, making them appear larger than they truly are. The young woman advances several elegant steps into the studio. She approaches the host, who greets her with a sincere, dimpled smile. They take hold of one another's arms and exchange three kisses on the cheeks, a custom deeply ingrained in him.

"Brittany! What a joy to have you here with us!"

"Thank you for inviting me. Thanks to the people present here for coming to see me and to those at home" the people in the stands, in the face of such recognition, celebrate her words in a scandalous way.

"Come in. Welcome to my living room," the host tells her.

Hand in hand, he leads her toward two black armchairs positioned in the middle of the studio. The spherical cameras that pursue her throughout the day no longer follow; they will not do so while she is on this program. Nevertheless, the three floating spheres take up strategic positions to record the occasion from their own angles. Nichi frames the young woman from the front; Tichi focuses on the host; Bichi keeps them both in shot. Brittany sits down. The host releases her hand, approaches the other chair and does the same. The studio audience falls abruptly silent, eager to hear and watch the fascinating exclusive interview about to begin.

"Brittany, what a pleasure to have you on Showbiz Buzz. I can’t believe it. Thank you for accepting our invitation," he exclaims, smiling into her eyes.

"Thank you for the invitation, Ricky. The pleasure is mine."

"How are you? How do you feel?"

"I'm fine, now very well," she lies while feeling countless discomforts, which she hides well.

"I'm glad to know it. Well, now you know what the format of these exclusive interviews is like. There are twenty questions that people send us from their homes in previous days. We choose the most interesting ones. I want to tell you that there were almost a million questions in total that have been sent to us."

"Wow! I thank you all very much, really."

"So are we." He gives a fleeting laugh. "Some questions are harder than others, but I will not save those for the end. I’ll mix them in."

"Don't you have them written down?"

"I remember them very well by heart, don't worry."

"Very good, how professional. Well let's see, shoot."

"Let's begin. You are a very easy girl to get along with, you are nice, you have a good humor. All of us who know you know this. You, how do you think you are? This question was asked by many people. Apparently there are followers who want to know who Brittany Condon is."

"I see. Me too." She gives a delicate giggle. "Sometimes even I don’t know who Brittany Condon is." She laughs again, infecting Ricky and the studio audience. "Well, I don’t know. I don’t usually define myself."

"Perhaps, they just want to know if you are always the way you show yourself, happy, or if you are actually sad, melancholic, boring. If you eat chips in front of the movie screen or spend your time exercising. I don't know, things like that."

"I like French fries." She smiles.

"And who doesn't? Let them sue us, right?" both laugh a little.

"Yes. I am everything a normal person can be, I am what you said before."

"The first or the last?"

"Both."

"Ah, I understand."

"I am also… I don't know. I have my good and bad days. Sometimes I feel good, other times bad, I have no mood or I am very bad. But whenever I have a concert, people deserve me to give my best and I do that no matter what happens, however I am or feel however I feel."

"Sure. Cameras following you all day long, how often do you mind being followed?"

"It was uncomfortable at first. I named them Nichi, Tichi and Bichi. They’re like my little pets." They both laugh, and laughter also rises from the stands. "It took me a while to get used to them following me even into the bathroom, but I suppose you get used to anything."

"I could never get used to that," Ricky says, laughing loudly as the audience cheers and applauds.

"Yes, imagine, it's difficult, but they are already part of my life, they must be out there recording all this for the fans."

"Without a doubt. A girl named Loren wants to know whether you helped the members of your audience when chaos erupted in Baybeach." Brittany grows serious, though not entirely so.

"Wow, Loren, how direct. I should have helped, I wanted to; It was a very difficult moment. Everything happened quickly, I couldn't do almost anything. They extracted me in a hurry."

"I will change the type of question better, I see that you have made me a little tense. Who were or are your idols? Who do you admire or have you admired? Has anyone inspired you to become the great artist and superstar that you are?"

"What I say will seem like a lie to you, but I don't admire any artist in particular. In my childhood I followed artists who became fashionable, like all girls, but no one left a mark on me that I intended to imitate."

"It can happen, I believe you. Another question: Have you ever returned to Lawrence Island since you moved here?"

"Never. I don't deny the place where I was born, where I grew up, where I made so many friends, but I don't think that at this stage of my life I have anything to do there."

"But your family still lives there, right?"

"Is it one of the questions on your list?"

"No, no." He chuckles. "The question just occurred to me."

"That’s what I thought—you cheater." They both smile.

"You are a very smart girl."

"Well yes, my family still lives there."

"Do you talk to them? Do you keep in touch with your parents or your sister?"

"I think you’re straying from that script you memorized." Brittany’s remark makes him laugh.

"How nice. Perhaps the answer is no, and that’s fine if you would rather not answer…" He raises his eyebrows. "All right, back to the audience’s questions. How much truth is there to what some people say about your interest in women? Have you been with women?"

"I have met many beautiful girls. I don't regret anything I've experienced with them. To the girl who asked that, I tell her that if she feels like it, she should let herself go and enjoy it. You won't regret anything."

"But, I haven't told you if the question was sent by a girl."

"No need. I know."

"Hey, you know that the answer you just gave will appear on the front page tomorrow on every existing network, right?"

"And surely taken out of context, yes, as always, I know it very well."

"Hey! That's on you, I didn't say it."

"Coward." She laughs; he smiles.

"All right, all right." The host readjusts himself in his chair. "Brittany, I’m going to become more serious now for the next question."

"Tell me."

"A nurse claims she treated you at a public hospital when you were first becoming famous. She says—although she has no evidence—that she watched you die of an acute lung infection. What do you say to that?"

"Well, Ricky, do you think you are interviewing a spirit or zombie?" the burst of laughter in the audience in the stands overshadows the seriousness that Ricky tries to give to the matter.

"That's the funny Brittany we always like to see. And what do you tell me? Do you deny it then?"

"Is this a joke?"

"You could have died when she saw you. Maybe you were later treated by a doctor who performed an emergency lifesaving procedure and saved you. Don't know. You tell me."

"Well, if something like that happened, I honestly don't remember it."

"Okay, you deny it. No problem. Let's move on to the next one: How do you write the lyrics for your songs? Do you wake up one morning inspired and write them down?"

"In the shower, like everyone else" laughs with people.

"Really? How is that?"

"Simple, I go in to take a bath, I wash my hair, I close my eyes and sing. I usually sing some of my songs or change bits of lyrics. Other times I sing a new song with rhythms that come to my head. I try to keep the song, the lyrics, the rhythm in my mind until I get out of the shower and write it in the nonsense database" laughter is also heard from the audience present.

"You're great, Brittany, really. Let's move on to another very simple one. Do you have a boyfriend, girlfriend, let's say a partner?"

"I don't have anyone I'm interested in right now."

"Wow! Ladies and gentlemen, Brittany Condon is single! Have you been alone for a long time?"

"It is not something that interests me at this stage of my life."

"Interesting. Well, you know, whoever dares and wants to conquer Brittany Condon, their heart is free."

"They can try, but it won't be easy for them."

"Wow, what a challenge! I ask you another simple question, which from my role I am also interested in knowing, beyond the fact that the question is asked by a viewer. It's a question from a girl from Lawrence Island, where you're from, the place where you grew up."

"I'm ready. What does the girl want to know?"

"Are you pregnant?" Brittany bursts out laughing.

"I don’t know why either that girl or you would suspect it. Of course not. I live in a fortunate society; I don’t need a partner in order to become pregnant. I cannot imagine that now. Later on, I don’t know—but not yet. And of course, once again, the answer is no: I am not pregnant." She smiles.

"I'll tell you something, Brittany. A doctor, in a private conversation, not documented nor have I attempted to verify it, firmly insisted to me that he took care of your pregnancy a few months ago. How do you think that is possible?" There is a pause, but Brittany's smile never disappears. People are expectant.

"Apparently everyone knows something about me that I don't even know myself. I don't know what to tell you, the doctor is confused, he probably confused me with someone else. That still doesn't justify it. Each patient's medical record is unique, as you well know."

"I know, it's true, maybe he confused you with someone else."

"Without a doubt it was, I accept the answer, let's continue. One thing that has generated controversy for you, but not everyone knows it, is that you tried to commit suicide three times. It's true?"

"That’s true." Murmurs spread among the studio audience. "I don’t want to encourage adolescent melancholy; we have all been teenagers. It can lead to tragic decisions. I bear the consequences here."

The young woman shows her wrists, where thick, transverse scars are clearly visible. Others, longitudinal, can also be clearly seen from the wrists to the joint, the latter camouflaged among fun tattoos. When she lowers her arms she looks at Ricky, her smile does not seem to reflect any of the suffering that led her to try on each of those painful occasions.

"With surgery you could remove them. Why don't you do it?"

"I don't want to remove them, nor do I want to forget that I have them as a consequence of bad moments and decisions. It is better to remember the bad so as not to repeat it in the future."

"That is true. Very clear, Brittany. Can you give me a minute, please?" he stands up, she stays seated.

"All yours, Mr. Driver." Ricky stands up and positions himself to speak in the foreground towards the main camera.

"My dearest night owls, I hope you’re having a wonderful time, because I’m having a magnificent time here with Brittany. Look at the bottom of your screen: those are the questions I will ask after the commercial break. Brittany cannot see them, so prepare yourselves—some very tough ones are coming." The dancers reappear behind him and perform their choreography as the jingle begins again. "Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back!" The music stops.

The most powerful spotlights dim, the dancers stop dancing, they disorganize the formation, they radically change the expression on their faces, they leave, they walk to different places. Some of them argue among themselves in a very bad mood. The host approaches Brittany again.

"It won’t be much longer, Brittany." She sits up.

"I can't stay, Ricky, I'm sorry" now the young woman's face lacks all joy.

"How do you say?"

"I can't, I feel bad, really very bad."

"Gabriel, your girl here says she wants to leave in the middle of the program! Fix it!" Gabriel runs behind the curtains, approaches Brittany, reaches her, hugs her and holds her face.

"Hey, my Brittany, you were great, I saw you. Will you last a little longer? It won't be more than ten or fifteen minutes."

"I can't, Gabriel, I can't stand even one more minute. I feel terribly bad."

"If she leaves, there is no payment, Gabriel. I think you know that. It is in the contract, and you both signed it," Ricky points out from about five paces away.

"I know, give me a moment please, some space" asks Gabriel.

"We'll be back from commercials in three minutes, that's how much time they have," the host says angrily.

"Brittany, help me with this, please. That's a million eCoins for this exclusive interview, think about that. You just have to hold on for ten more minutes. Just that, nothing more."

"I can't, I said, I can't. You do it! Damn!"

"Calm down," Gabriel says, but she angrily knocks his hands away from her face.

She does what she can, feeling too weak to pull away from them. She retreats from Gabriel and regards the program's host with disgust, along with the producers and production assistants visible in the shadows behind the cameras. Brittany grows dizzy and swerves; her world shuts down. She can no longer hear, see or breathe. Everything turns black and she collapses to the floor. The people in the stands immediately rise, recording everything on their mobile devices.

"What I was missing. What did you do, Romeo?" Ricky asks Gabriel with a mocking tone.

"Unconscious, son of a bitch, you don't care about anything or anyone, you just want money; trash." Gabriel blurts out.

"Funny that it is a greedy and greedy person like you who tells me that" says Ricky. The spherical cameras Nichi, Tichi and Bichi zoom in, recording everything up close, gliding through the air, floating around Brittany and those around her. They capture various planes.

The counter for the number of online subscribers who view this live broadcast amounts to the sum of three million eight hundred thousand Internet users.