Faking it || Lando Norris LN

30

Olivia Reyes

Before I knew it, I was being led to a room with the writer that would interview me. I took a deep breath and followed her to her office, a gorgeous space carefully designed to look like anything but an office. It looked like a huge living room, all of it stunning neutral colors but with the necessary pops of color and extravagance to tell whoever entered it that yes, this was still a Vogue space after all.

It didn't take a genius to notice the room's designer's intentions —at least I don't think it did. This was a space carefully crafted to drench whoever entered it with comfort and the feeling of intimacy. Even as I took a seat on the painfully comfortable couch, I was still noticing details that I could bet were placed with that very same purpose. I could only wonder how many secrets had been unintentionally spilled out entirely because of that very same careful planning.

The lights were dim, painting the entire room with an intimate light that lured me in like a moth to a flame. I was the perfect example of standing between a rock and a hard place: my knowledge of the room's intentions and the awareness of the magnifying glass just being placed over me, against the dizzying feeling of the couch under me and the dimmed lights that made me feel like part of a slumber party's gossip session.

"Well, well, Olivia," the interviewer smiled as she tapped 'record' on her phone and made herself comfortable at the other end of the couch. I felt my stomach's contents mix while she adjusted the frame of her glasses over the bridge of her nose before scribbling something on the notepad over her lap. "Would you fancy a cup of tea?"

If Gianna could stretch her arm through her phone and strangle me to death, she probably would've when I told her I didn't remember much about the interview.

"It went well! I think," I'd said over the phone.

"Did she shoot any trick questions at you?"

"Mmm... Not really, I think."

"Well, what did she say after the interview was over?!" She inquired again, the exasperation in her voice growing more and more evident.

"She wished me luck in this week's race, I think."

"You think?!" she snapped for once and for all.

To be honest, I would've lost my patience with a lot less, but it was true. I didn't remember much about the interview. It seemed as if my nerves had driven my mind out of my body during that hour and returned as we shook hands and led me to the set for me to take a couple of more pictures with Lando and me wearing our last outfit change.

I told Gianna what I remembered: the interviewer's name was Jessica, she wore bright yellow framed glasses and rocked a nose ring better than anyone ever could —all of them details that accidentally made Gi lose her patience even more—and that she'd been smiling throughout the entire interview.

Gianna went on to interrogate me about the kind of smiling the interviewer had been doing.

"But was it an actual, actual smile? Or was it a 'Ha-ha, I'm gonna ruin this motherfucker' smile?"

"Just a... regular smile, I think."

If Gianna starts balding sooner than expected, she'll probably blame that phone call. Still, there wasn't much more I remembered. I recalled thinking during several moments of the interview that I should talk about racing like Lando and I had agreed to, but I obviously didn't tell her that.

The truth was my mind had gone blank from one moment to the other and didn't bother to return until the end of the interview. I remembered walking back to the set to take the last round of pictures. Lando had been interviewed first while the photographer snapped individual pictures of me, and then took pictures of Lando while the writer interviewed me.