Chapter 17 Brynn
actually. Long before it became a requirement of the job. Long before I’d taken to spending an hour in hair and makeup so
that a bunch of people home in their pajamas, working on their first cup of coffee, would welcome me as one of them.
I’d started running sophomore year. Well, that’s when I started the literal running. The figurative running had been going
on a lot longer than that. But in tenth grade I discovered the beauty of getting out of the house before my mother woke up.
Sometimes before she got home. I don’t know that I was ever more relaxed than when my feet were pounding against the packed
gravel. I don’t know how many times I thought about what it would be like to just keep running.
In LA I learned to run like someone who belonged in Hollywood.
Griffith Park. Runyon Canyon. I’d race the sun and win every time.
I’d also race a bunch of those professional fitness trainer types in their sports bras and tight little spandex shorts, their long blond ponytails reaching all the way down their backs, swaying back and forth at a bouncy, consistent tempo.
I may not have looked as good as they did when I ran, but my lungs had been trained nine thousand feet higher.
I could outrun them and not spill my Jamba Juice.
When I first got to New York I loved the novelty of running in Central Park, but that hadn’t lasted long. Soon I was recognizable.
And as much as I loved the validation that came with that, I did start to miss the freedom of running. And then, at some point,
I guess I didn’t seek the freedom anymore. I sought staying in shape. I sought the perfect amount of muscle definition. And
that was what those trainers with the sleek, perfect ponytails were for.
My trainer’s name was Rasmus. He didn’t have a ponytail, but the shorts were pretty accurate.
I pulled my pillow from under my head and used it to shield my eyes from the sun streaming through the window. It was a strange
sensation, having nowhere to be. After Sebastian stormed out of the Bean Franklin the morning before, we hadn’t had a lot
of luck finding a new “babysitter.” Doc had patients to see, and Mrs. Stoddard managed to get away before we could inquire
as to her availability. Old Man Kimball made the generous offer to drive us around for a bit, but after getting me to run
into the pharmacy to pick up his blood pressure medication for him, he insisted he had to head home so he didn’t get stuck
driving after dark.
That was at about 11:00 a.m.
Orly managed to get some beautiful exterior footage on our walk back—we had been dropped off at the end of the county road—and he filmed me talking through some mildly entertaining memories from my childhood.
And then we were at the inn, all alone and effectively stranded.
Apart from sneaking down to the kitchen for food as needed, I hadn’t left my room for the rest of the day.
Orly had texted me at about 9:00 p.m. to inform me Mrs. Stoddard had offered to drive us around the next morning and that
he thought the goal should be to conduct as many B-roll interviews with the citizens of Adelaide Springs as possible. Even
I could see the writing on the wall about how well that might go if I was standing there staring at people as they were asked
to share honest reflections and recollections about me. I told him to have fun without me and then jokingly encouraged him
to just get people to talk about anything so that we could piece something together later. Like the critic quotes in a movie
trailer. “‘Mind-blowing!’ says so-and-so of the Chicago Tribune ,” and you can’t help but wonder if the actual quote was something like, “It’s mind-blowing that anyone would pay twelve dollars
to see this junk!” With any luck, we could at least salvage “Brynn Cornell might not... actually be... the devil” out
of the week.
I’d spent the rest of my evening attempting to research Sebastian Sudworth. And since the internet in Adelaide Springs was
only about two infrastructure advancement steps ahead of the old AOL floppy disks we used to get in the mail, it had taken
a while to dive deep. Not that he was difficult to find on the World Wide Web, of course. It was just like Orly and Colton
had said. Emmys, Peabodys, Pulitzers, war zones, anchor desks, presidents, kings, dictators, and then... nothing.
It was the six years of nothing that fascinated me most, but sometime around 3:00 a.m. I gave up.
Truthfully, I’d been hoping to pull up some of his crap that I could call him on.
Colton and Orly had referenced NDAs and buyouts, but those could be the results of so many different things.
I wondered if he’d had some sort of breakdown, but even then I had more questions than answers.
Had he suffered a complete mental breakdown?
A breakdown from sheer exhaustion? And who among us hadn’t broken down in tears of joy and relief whenever Jennifer Aniston found love, and even more so when Jen reminded us all that she is her own true love and soulmate?
No matter what Colton and Orly thought of me, I would never judge anyone for any of those types of breakdowns. We were all
just human, after all.
My phone buzzed—again—on the bed beside me, and I groaned as I turned over to grab it. It had been buzzing all morning, and
each time I had ignored it and fallen back asleep. But now I was awake, and I couldn’t live in denial any longer. I had to
face reality. A reality that had already been active for five hours or so on the East Coast.
Colton Passik, 4:54 a.m. MDT
Update?
Robyn Morgenstern, 5:09 a.m. MDT
Are you watching? What time is it there? Elena’s with Mark today. Please tell me things are going well. She and Mark aren’t
awful together.
Robyn Morgenstern, 5:11 a.m. MDT
I take that back. But it’s not Elena’s fault. She’s reaching for the brass ring.
Colton Passik, 5:31 a.m. MDT
Bob wants you in live segments Friday, all 3 hours. Footage of you making nice with the city council people was good stuff.
Running promos starting tomorrow. Tell Orly to send me whatever he can today.
Colton Passik, 5:36 a.m. MDT
Seriously, Brynn, I need an update.
Orly Hill, 6:29 a.m. MDT
Good morning, Brynn. This is Orly. Jo made homemade scores. I managed to leave you one at great personal sacrifice. LOL
Orly Hill, 6:30 a.m. MDT
Scones. Not scores.
Hayley Oswell, 6:41 a.m. MDT
We sure miss you around here! Cheering you on! Xoxo -H
Unknown Number, 8:07 a.m. MDT
Hey, it’s Sebastian. Sorry about (some of) what I said yesterday. This is my number, in case you need a ride or something.
I smiled at the last four messages and chose to continue ignoring the first five for as long as I could. And the best way
to do that wasn’t by taking a ride but by taking a run. Well, first a shower, then a run.
No, scratch that. First: one of those homemade scores.