AFTER THE DRY SPELL- Day 2

A production assistant entered. “She’s ready for you, Ms. Flannery. Follow me.”
Katherine addressed the young woman. “Thank you for your help… I’m sorry. I forgot to ask you name.”
“Lydia.”
“You’re absolutely lovely, Lydia.”
“That’s a real compliment coming from you, Ms. Flannery. Cheers.”
As Katherine followed the PA, she felt her manager fall in line behind her.
“What happened back there?”
The depth and resonance of his voice, the charm of his accent made her feel inappropriate things. “What do you mean?”
“You were nearly in tears. What did she say to you?”
Katherine couldn’t hide anything from him. He’d been tuned in from the day they met. It was his job, he said, to watch her with the same vigilance that she watched everyone else. “She didn’t say anything. It was her perfume. That’s what Ali used to wear.”
He stopped Katherine; made her look at him. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Let’s just get through this. I’m already nervous enough knowing how personal he gets in his interviews. I don’t want to be a wreck going in.”
He got that look in his eye. “Milkshakes, puppies, balloons, long walks on the beach.”
She smiled. “Are you actually listing a few of my favorite things?”
He put out a hand. “Movie reference, lead character, actress that played her. Right now.”
“Sound of Music, Fraulein Maria, Julie Andrews.” Katherine smacked his palm.
The PA turned back. “You have exactly 23 seconds to have your arse in the chair. I suggest you…”
Katherine and her manager locked eyes.
He said, “I reckon he doesn’t know how fast you can run.”
She raised an eyebrow. “It’s on, Mister.” She pushed her manager back and sprinted past the PA onto the stage.
Her playfulness screeched to a halt as soon as she saw the interviewer. For weeks she’d been waiting for this to sink in. It wasn’t until now that she believed it. Michael “Parky” Parkinson. The legendary British talk show host— who’d interviewed the likes of John Lennon, Nelson Mandela and Mohammad Ali— wanted her as a guest? In Katherine’s view, she was nothing more than a middle-aged, American writer with a “complex” mind and unique set of circumstances.
She stared at Parky, nearly gap-mouthed.
He looked up from the papers on his lap, removed reading glasses and smiled. “Ms. Flannery. Such a pleasure.” He stood to greet her.
“I uh…” Just seconds ago she was running, but now her legs betrayed her. She thought of a song from “Santa Claus is Coming to Town:” put one foot in front of the other…
Parky cocked his head. “You alright?”
A stage hand called out “We’re rolling in 3,2,1…”