Wednesday, January 13, 2038
Nine Days Until Papal Conclave
Greenbelt, Maryland
6:54 AM
Rain in January was just wrong.
January was supposed to be for snowmen and ice and clear winter mornings – but apparently in D.C. it was for ugly freezing downpours.
The sky had been making fitful attempts at precipitation since Nina arrived in D.C., but of course it hadn’t cut loose until the day she needed to fly out of the country. Now it was coming down in buckets, freezing solid when it hit the steel frame of her Uncle Spiro’s porch awning.
Nina pulled her white trench coat tighter around herself and muscled through another sip of the powdered hot chocolate her aunt had given her, doing her best not to daydream about proper cocoa and steaming whole milk. It would have been so much easier just to drive to the airport herself, but she’d been assured by Sinéad – repeatedly – that such things were simply not done at WWN. They’d send a driver.
So, Nina was standing out in the rain at with a suitcase at six thirty in the morning - after three hours of sleep.
A long blue van appeared at the end of the street, straining to make the tight turn. As it came closer, Nina saw the WWN logo emblazoned on the passenger side door. Then it stopped, idling right over a giant puddle in front of the house.
Nina started lugging her suitcase through the front yard, the frigid water penetrating her shoes almost instantly. A driver sprung out of the van, apparently oblivious to rain, and met her half-way.
“I’ve got that for you.” He said with a smile, practically snatching the rolling bag from her and sprinting to the back of the vehicle. Nina made it the rest of the way to the van door just in time for him to get back and notice the puddle.
“Oh,” he said, “I –“
“Don’t worry,” Nina trudged straight through the water, “I’m a reporter.”
“Thanks, Ms. Corsantios,” he replied – he’d clearly been rehearsing the mispronunciation all morning, “Have a pleasant ride.”
“It’s just Nina,” she said as the door closed. She threw her dampened self into one of the two captain’s chairs in the middle of the van and immediately removed her shoes in the vain hope that they would dry during the half hour ride to the airport.
Only then, as the driver started the car, did Nina become aware of the sound emanating from behind her.
“I know, right! I mean, like, seriously – I told Rishma not to go with the brilled-up pink saris, but nobody listens to me. And what happened to Hiral? Like, I hadn’t seen her since Samvatsari but is she on something? Like, the chick is totally pinked out - for real.”
Nina turned to see a woman sprawled across the back bench-seat, stiletto heels propped up on a suitcase that she’d clearly not allowed to be loaded in the back. She was talking into a set of red and black smartglasses and dressed in a vintage Katy Perry t-shirt, dangly silver earrings, and tight black jeans with beads of light travelling up down the seams. Her black hair faded to spiky tips of bioluminescent blue below her shoulders, casting a faint glow on the walls.
How did such a person end up in a news van?
The woman seemed to notice Nina and gave a one-handed wave before going back to her conversation.
“None of my business, I know. Oh, and let me know if Josh gets any more of those Jimmy Chus he gave you… like, otherwise I’m going to kill you and take them right off your feet! …Yeah, well all’s fair in love and fashion.”
Nina tried to keep her jaw from falling open and turned forward. She checked that she could read the billboards out the window, thinking this might be one of those weird dreams where you only think you’ve woken up.
“No,” She heard behind her, “No permanent housing yet. Still slumming it on Arusha’s couch. Yeah, yeah, I got work too, talk at you later!...Glass, disconnect.”
Then there was finally silence, and with the noise gone, Nina felt sleep rushing over her.
Not for long, unfortunately.
“Hey!” came the voice from the back seat.
Nina’s eyes bolted open and she straightened in her seat. The woman had put away her glasses and planted her feet back on the floor where they belonged.
All Nina could manage in response was a groggy “Hello.”
“You on the Pope plane too?” the woman asked.
Nina nodded and tried to stifle a yawn.
“Awesomeness,” the woman said, not missing a beat and sticking out a hand, “Vinya Jain.”
Nina gave the hand a firm but tentative shake. “Nina Constantinos. I just started last week.” She racked her mind to think whether she’d seen the woman on air before. No. She couldn’t be on-air talent. Hair and makeup, maybe?
“So, Vinya, how do you fit in to WWN?”
Vinya sat up and cracked her knuckles. “Pop Music Correspondent – started three weeks ago. Music industry insider stuff, although they said they want to try some red-carpet gigs – which, like, I’d do just for the dresses.”
That woke Nina up. “Pop Music? Then why are you with the Papal Conclave team?”
The corners of Vinya’s mouth turned up in a sly grin. “Hitchiking. I’ve been gnawing my editor’s ear off to let me cover the Brilltones’ European Tour, but we don’t have a travel budget. Then the news division decided to throw cash at a Rome trip right as the ‘Tones are swinging through Italy. So, I talked my way onto the plane.”
Nina wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or appalled that someone had stowed away to cover a rock concert. “Well,” she said, “I’ll give you points for creativity. Couldn’t you just wait for the U.S. tour?”
That seemed to stop Vinya’s thoughts mid-stream, her smile twitched downward before bouncing back. “I don’t even like the Brill scene, but my sources are saying this is the tour to cover. Plus, I’m twisting arms to get interviews with at least one ‘Tone and some of the people in the entourage.” She grabbed a bottle of pink Mountain Dew out of a cup-holder and took a swig before continuing, “So where are you in the whole Pope thing?”
Nina shrugged. “Junior News Correspondent. They want me to interview pilgrims in St. Peter’s Square during the election.”
“Dude,” Vinya replaced the cap on her soda, “random crowd interviews are fun. One time for my old YouTube channel I spent twenty hours straight doing stand-up interviews at Coachella - this was before BrilLSD was a thing, so, like, all of these cyberpunks were just stoned off their butts on MJ and saying random crap to the camera. Like, this one dude...”
The story went on for most of the next thirty minutes until the car pulled into Terminal A of Obama-Reagan National Airport, and Nina was forced to put her still-soaked shoes back on. When the door finally opened, Vinya grabbed her suitcase and practically flew past Nina onto the curb. “See you inside!”
Nina closed her eyes, taking in a blessed moment of quiet. She barely noticed that the driver had retrieved her bag and pulled it around to the car.
“Ma’am?” he said gently.
“Oh!” Nina sprung to her feet and out of the van. “Sorry. Thanks so much.”
“No problem, Ma’am.”
As the van drove off, Nina headed for the front door. Then she noticed a figure puffing a pencil-thin vape-stick in the smoking area, silhouetted against the line of package-delivery drones streaming out of the next terminal.
Anyone in the news business would recognize that face. Heck, anyone in America would recognize that face – especially paired with a white peacoat ruffed in purple faux fur. It had defined every major court case for over a decade. Even Nina’s own “signature” look – a white detective-style trench coat – had been a bit of an homage.
The milky skin, the bobbed blonde locks coming to sharp points below the ears. It was almost too much to see in person.
Nina immediately turned on her heels, hearing the wheels of her suitcase clack loudly on the sidewalk as she bee-lined to the smoking area.
“Excuse me,” She said, hearing her own voice shake, “Are you Madison Rylander?”
Madison turned to Nina, rolled her eyes and looked at her smartwatch. “Not for another twenty minutes, I’m not.”
“Sorry,” Nina said, “I just - I’m Nina Constantinos, the new junior correspondent.”
Madison looked her up and down, “You look it. Don’t you have a plane to catch?”
“Of course.” Nina continued, “I just wanted to say that you’ve been a big influence on my career and I’ve really admired your work for a long time, and-”
“That makes one of us,” Madison cut her off, taking a long drag and then stepping out of the circle and toward the door. She passed Nina without another word, leaving her slack-jawed in a cloud of tobacco-scented vapor.
She gave chase, “I’m sorry Ms. Rylander. I–”
Madison stopped cold and glared back at her. “No autographs, okay? You wanna be a reporter? Act like one and leave me alone.” Then she stormed into the airport.
Nina waited a few seconds in shock. Of all the possible reactions, she hadn’t planned for that one.
SUGGESTED MOOD MUSIC: "Team" by Lorde (Universal Music New Zealand/Lava/Republic Records, 2013)
Comments (9)
See all