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"Anderson Cooper?" Tess is practically bouncing up and down.
"He confirmed. Tommy's going to be interviewed live tonight." I say.
We are seated in the back of a little ma and pop Italian restaurant. Tess and Brendan are on one side of the table, Paddy and I are on the other. The two girls are sandwiched, one on each side, between the adults, coloring happily and ignoring us.
"Is he coming here?" Tess questions again. She is smiling brightly. Her husband regards her curiously.
"No. It's going to be via satellite. But he's invited Paddy and Brendan to appear on his talk show later this week." The men react with indifference, but Tess nearly upends the table.
"You guys are going to meet the Silver Fox!" she is practically squealing.
Brendan shakes her head. He turns to his oldest daughter. "Honey, remind me not to let mommy watch the news anymore." He taps the top of her brunette head.
"Ok, daddy," She does not even bother to look up at him, but focuses on coloring in her drawing of a red flower.
"Can we see him before the interview?" Paddy asks. Before I can answer, his youngest granddaughter nudges him.
"Can you draw a house?" she asks, shoving her brown crayon into his hand. Paddy looks bemused for a moment. Brendan smiles.
"Better draw a house, Pop. The little lady doesn't like to be kept waiting."
The table is held captive for a moment as Paddy shakily traces the outlines of a square with a triangle on top onto the paper tablecloth. His granddaughter swoops in, adding a green line for grass. I realize that I am intruding on an intimate family moment of sorts. I feel out of place.
The moment is broken by the waitress asking for our order. It takes Paddy a moment to recover. He stutters as he moves to his menu. Brendan kindly suggests the lasagna and Paddy agrees, relief clear on his face.
What is this family that is so shaken up by the simplest moments of closeness? Brandon's words about Paddy in the past echo in my mind. I choose not to focus on them and replace the image with one of Paddy coloring with his granddaughter.
Ten minutes of strained talking later and our food is brought out. The smell of marinara, alfredo and garlic set my mouth to watering. Conversation lulls as we eat, and for once, I am glad that the Conlons are not a talkative bunch. A few minutes in though, Tess goes back to berating me on what questions Cooper will ask and whether or not they are all traveling to New York for his talk show.
"Babe," Brendan reminds her gently, "It's not a vacation. This is for Tommy."
Tess looks shell-shocked. "Sorry," the mood changes as she studies her food. I feel a moment of companionship with her. Though she has been part of this whole saga for more than a decade, we are both outsiders trying to deal with the shambles that are the Conlon family life. Brendan rubs her arm soothingly and pulls her to him. I look away, allowing them a private moment.
My phone conveniently chooses this moment to ring. I answer it without looking at the screen, happy for an excuse to step outside.
"Where are you?" it takes a moment to place the voice, but then it hits me.
"With your family having lunch." I lean against the brick wall of the restaurant, attempting to stand in the shade. The heat is sweltering and the humidity is unforgiving. My hair is beginning to rebel out of its straight style and revert back to its natural curls.
"How's that going?" his tone makes it clear that he does not suspect it is going well.
"Fine." I say honestly. "You're sister-in-law is really excited about your upcoming interview."
Tommy grunts. "Good for her."
"She's just trying to help," I feel a need to defend Tess.
"Yeah. Sorry," he sounds genuine. "Old habits, you know?" I do not know. I am not sure I want to.
"They want to all see you before you interview." The silence runs so long that I begin to suspect that my phone has dropped the call. Just as I pull it away from my ear to check, Tommy speaks.
"All at once?" he sounds worried. It occurs to me that the Conlons have probably never been in a room together in a very long time.
"I'm guessing so," I say.
"And you're coming?" he asks.
"If you want me there. I think you're well enough prepared," There is no point in over- prepping him; Tommy is going to say whatever he feels like, my opinions be damned.
"Yeah. I mean, it would be nice if you came." It is hard to tell over the phone, but he sounds nervous. He blurts the whole sentence in one breath, like it is one very long word.
I weigh my options for a moment. I was looking forward to an actual night off tonight, an opportunity to relax in my room without people in it berating me. I also have a bikini in my bag screaming for a chance to get out. It occurs to me though, that I will still spend every second before 7:15 worrying about the interview and every moment after it ends dissecting it.
"I'll be there," I say.
True to my word, I am stationed in the hallway outside of a conference room at a quarter until 7. Tommy has been in the room with his family for the past 45 minutes. I declined to come in, allowing them whatever small measure of privacy I can give them.
My heels are already pinching my toes and my suit is too tight to be really comfortable. I tug the pencil skirt down and shift my weight. I have to focus on something to alleviate my nervousness. My distraction comes around the corner in the form of Jeremy.
"Hi Miss Ryan," he greets me like a student would greet their kindergarten teacher. I have a feeling he has developed a little crush. I also have a feeling that Jeremy's influence has made things easier as far as me having access to Tommy.
"It's a madhouse in there," he tells me conversationally, "I don't see how you do that every day."
"It's easier than boot camp," I say. He laughs.
"For you maybe. Tommy looks like a fish out of water." He shakes his head. "The guy who tried to clip the microphone to his shirt nearly pissed himself when Tommy swatted him away."
My mind readily supplies a mental image to accompany that story. I join Jeremy in shaking my head.
"His family is still in there?" I ask.
"Yes." Jeremy looks uncomfortable. "It's a littleā¦tense."
I would imagine so. I try to smooth the situation over though. "Well, they have a lot of hopes riding on this." He nods knowledgeably.
"This could change a lot, you know?" Jeremy says. I prompt him for clarification. "Depending on how this goes, it can change what being over there is like." Jeremy gets that same thousand yard stare that both Paddy and Tommy get when talking about war.
"How many tours have you been on?" I ask him.
"Two."
"And you're how old?"
"22," He answers.
This hangs there in the air between us. Tommy has more than just his family's hopes pinned on him. Our conversation ends as the door between us opens.
"Nicole," Tess leads her daughters out of the room by the hand. "I think Tommy wants to see you."
"Brendan and Paddy are still with him?" I ask. She shakes her head.
"They're watching from the control room. I'm going to take the girls back to the hotel. Hopefully I'll make it in time to see it." I check my watch. It's 6:55. I have five, maybe ten, minutes before a producer is going to shove everyone out of the room.
"I'll see you when I get back," I tell her. She just smiles.
"You better go," Jeremy says as the three ladies head home.
I want to say something more to him, but the moment is lost. I offer a weak smile and head through the door.
Studio lights are plugged into every outlet, bathing the room in a harsh white light. Some intern is still fiddling with reflectors, trying to get the perfect shadowing on Tommy's face. He is seated in a simple wooden chair, looking completely uninvolved with what goes on around him. He is wearing an olive shirt that looks like if he so much as breathes too deeply it might simply just explode off of him. A young woman is dancing nervously around him, brandishing a wireless microphone.
"Mr. Conlon, I just need to clip this onto the front of your shirt," she is trying to keep her voice steady as she attempts to maneuver around his injured shoulder. I notice that he is not wearing his sling.
Tommy spots me. He is not making any attempt to make this poor girl's job any easier. She looks to be on the verge of tears.
"I'll do it." I tell her. She looks relieved. I coax the device out of her hand and turn to Tommy with my no-nonsense stare. He does not resist as I clip the mic to the collar of his shirt. I have performed this lackluster task countless time, but I am struck by the awkwardness of it now. His skin feels impossibly hot as I wind the cord down the front of his shirt. I am aware that Tommy is staring hard at me.
I try to be gentle near his shoulder, but I am forced to pull the cord, disrupting his arm. He does not so much as wince, but continues following my actions with his eyes. After what seems like an eternity, I get the microphone to the bottom of his shirt. I release the breath I did not realize I was holding. I feel flushed, an irrational reaction. I glance around, fearful that someone has noticed. Everyone is still busy with their own tasks.
"You have to stick it in your back pocket," I tell him. My voice cracks a bit.
"You don't want to do that for me too?" I can't tell if he's joking or not.
"I think you can handle it," I fidget with my clothing as he follows my instructions. I am somehow too nervous to look him in the eye.
"3 minutes till start!" the cameraman yells to no one in particular. The madness around us continues.
"Are you ready?" the question is almost pointless now; he is going on in 15 minutes whether he wants to or not.
"As I'm ever going to be." He wipes his face. I have realized that this motion is his only outward sign of nervousness.
"You'll be great," The words come out rushed. I try again. "They already like you."
"You said I'm not that likeable," He tries to sound light, as if it does not bother him. I feel bad for ever telling him that.
"I've changed my position," I tell him confidently. "You just take a while to get to know."
"So you think they're going to know me in a five minute interview?" he is talking quietly, making his voice sound like a rumble. I have to kneel down in front of him just to hear what he is saying.
"Be yourself," I tell him. "Don't stress over it. Answer the questions honestly. It'll be over before you know it."
He jerks his head in a nod. "All right."
"And hey," I lightly touch his wrist to bring his attention back to me. "If all else fails, do that strong, silent, broody thing. You're good at that."
He graces me with another genuine smile. He flips his arm over and brushes his fingers along the palm of my hand.
"All right people, clear the set!" the cameraman is yelling again. He is clearly addressing me.
"Give her a second, all right?" Tommy responds. The authority with which he says this daunts the man into a temporary silence.
"You're going to be fine," I say. I begin to push myself back to standing. "I'll be watching with your brother and dad."
He nods again and takes a deep breath, sucking his teeth. As I begin to move my hand, he catches it in his broad grip. For a moment, he traces the skin on my hand with his thumb, running the callused surface over palm. The motion is not consistent with what I know of him at all; it is gentle, almost tentative. I am struck by the thought that I am holding the hand that beat some of the world's toughest men into unconsciousness, a hand that has likely killed. All at once he lets go. The moment is over as suddenly as it begins.
I retreat to the control room, ignoring the glare of Mr. Uptight-Cameraman, and seat myself next to Paddy. The two men barely glance my way. Their eyes are fixed firmly on the opening of Anderson Cooper: 360.
In his perfect diction, I hear Anderson Cooper announce the guests on the show. At the name "Tommy Conlon", everyone in the room seems to hold their breath.
"Please," I pray silently, "please God, let this go well."
I realize that I have involuntarily raised the hand Tommy was holding to my cheek. I press it against my face, drawing some comfort in the motion. I focus on the lingering sensations his fingers caused, willing myself to calm down.
"Here we go," Paddy rumbles out from my right side.
I do not respond. I am too busy focusing on why my heart is beating so quickly.
