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Lights, camera, don’t sweat. Keeping cool was my mantra as I waited for the Access 21 studio to open. I was going to be a guest on “The Paul Brown Show,” my first TV interview (check it out here, parts one and two). I had prepared for this moment since, well, birth. I channeled the grace of my idol Diane Sawyer even as my face started to run into my pumps. Host Paul Brown agreed it was hot for March, dabbing his face. I loved sunny days, but today I would have killed for a breeze.
Plus, there was the matter of a one Blow-Dried Hair. My sister Eva, the Roy Helland to my Meryl Streep, styled my ‘do to perfection the night before. I had covered my hair with a silk wrap held with bobby pins. I slept awkwardly on my side to prevent my hair from tenting into a horrifying triangle. Now I felt like Cinderella and, without air-conditioning, midnight was about to strike and my head was going to turn into a pumpkin.
At 1:30, the studio mercifully opened. The show’s director Sonya, who had been with Access 21 for five years, was a fantastic whirligig. She paced the studio from end-to-end while giving orders into a headset. Then she turned her attention to me. “Keep talking,” she said as she duct taped the microphone cord to the back of my dress. I had a sophisticated conversation with myself: “I’m talking, you hear me talking, and I’m talking to you.”
Now cool and sufficiently amplified, I focused on final touches. Without a mirror, I had only one way to look at myself: The judgmental studio monitor, like my own “Toddlers and Tiaras” mom plying me with pixie sticks and correcting my posture. I kept a strategic hand on my lap, going for Kate Middleton modesty and avoiding Britney Spears danger.
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Cue the energetic opening graphics and the lump in my throat. Think of Diane, I said to myself. Diane would speak slowly and say what she means. She doesn’t rush through ABC News like she has to catch the late bus home! Then a camera lit up red. Showtime. Paul introduced me and asked questions. I took two beats to think about my answer to be sure I didn’t fill the silence with a spastic joke. After fifteen minutes, I started to live in the moment. It’s like Paul and I were brunching on a Sunday afternoon, minus the two Darth Vader cameras and (regretfully) Mimosas.
When we wrapped, Sonya shook my hand and said, “You are a good person.” Her validation meant a lot to me, since I could tell she had seen many a guest on that sofa.
I toiled over my answers on the way home. Paul had asked what my ultimate life goal was. I could have said “to be famous” or “to live in a mansion where Diane and I are awesome next door neighbor friends.” Instead, I said to be happy and keep working. And maybe, most importantly, to not let them see you sweat.
