Fiction by Ryan McFadden (originally published in Green Hills Literary Lantern)
“Hi. Don, is it? Nice to meet you. Congrats on your big win!”
Tracy, It’s okay. I know this is work for you.
“Don’t be nervous. I always like to meet a fan. Especially one as successful as you. Oh, here, let’s do our photo. Smile! There. They’ll bring a glossy I can sign. So you can remember the day.”
I don’t crush on celebrities. But I have something for you to remember, if—
“Don’t think of me as a celebrity. Just a friend you haven’t met yet.”
Tracy, seriously, you can skip it. You sell, I sell. It’s an elaborate game we play. I’m just some schmo, and you don’t know me from Adam.
“I thought it was Dan?”
Cute. Listen: I know how this meet-and-greet goes. Sign my forehead while I secretly fantasize about you. You grin and bear it. But I’ve got something different to say, something real. I hope you’re ready. I hope you hear it.
“Hey, it’s your hour. So, tell me, what’s your secret? How’d you—”
* * *
Wait. Look at this thing. Is it a tanning bed, or time machine? You can’t even tell anymore. But the more advanced it looks the more you think: The science is better. It won’t give me cancer. News flash: It still gives you cancer.
Whew. Okay, Donny. Just like you rehearsed…
* * *
Tracy, we are all two people. We’ve all got a public face and a private one, and they fight, and the whole world’s out of control. Except me. I have control. It’s how I sell more cardio machines and racks and free weights than any rep, at any company in the world. Period. It’s how I won cars, a trip to Fiji… It’s how I won this hour with you.