really talk much. As the cameraman directed Winter and Missy, telling them where to sit, how to sit and the expressions to cast, the man with the notes began asking questions.
“Hope you don’t mind. We’re filming this. Now, Winter, this is your home, and your parents are notorious for their luxurious parties they throw!” The man said, every word seemed overly emphasised. “Do you enjoy being at the centre of such parties?”
Winter would have liked to say no. She would have liked to explain she hated it, that her parents were so absorbed in this lifestyle that they never took into account what she wanted, or realised what they were doing to their relationship with their daughter. Instead, she told lies as if she had rehearsed them.
“It’s brilliant to see such talent, both established and rising in my home,” Winter said, aware that Missy was smiling and pretending to be part of the conversation as the camera man snapped away with another camera intended for photographs only. “It’s always a pleasure to see my parents develop their bonds with hard working people all over the world.”
The man with the notes nodded. Winter noticed that the woman with the lights was now recording this on an MP3 recorder.
“And Missy, do you benefit from such parties?”
Missy nodded.
“Oh, yes, these parties not only help Winter’s parents network, but they help me and my family network, too,” Missy explained. “They help me bond with people, meet people and find new jobs that I just love to do.”
The interviewer nodded thoughtfully, as if Missy had just said something extremely important.
“Now, Winter, it’s common knowledge you are notorious for your bad party ways. People think you need help. Will you be laying off the booze tonight?”
Missy laughed and the camera snapped a photo. Winter noticed the camera filming them zoom in slowly towards her.
“I’m just here to have a good time and see what is next for me, career wise.” Winter nodded.
“And will you be refraining from breaking Missy’s nose again?”
The air was temporarily frosty as the memory of that night came back to them. Winter had had enough of Missy embarrassing her. She had snapped, in front of strategically placed photographers, and punched Missy straight in the nose. It had broken on impact, but as soon as the bandages were off Missy had had it fixed.
Missy flicked her hair, washing off the memory with a shrug of her shoulders.
“We’ve gotten past that terrible time,” Missy said sincerely. “I’ve been helping Winter get off the booze…” She leant forward, and the three reporters did the same. Missy whispered. “And the drugs.” Flash of camera. Gasp. Scribbling of pen on paper. “That night was a bad night for Winter, but now she is on the mend.”
Missy turned a fake smile to Winter. The look told Winter that if she was going to be embarrassed, she would bring Winter down, too.
“Now, you both look lovely, who are you wearing?”
Winter let Missy discuss her French inspired dress, while she turned to the mirror to fix her hair. The cameraman snapped away, taking enough photos to fill a thousand magazines. Winter hoped this was over soon.
“And you, Winter? Who are you wearing?”
Winter cast around for what to say.
“Well, I can’t reveal that just yet, although by the time this report goes up you can find out yourself. However, tonight I will be
Learning to Kill: Stories