Page 4 of Tipping Point

I fall back on the bed and heave a sigh. I’ve never minded travelling. I do so as frequently as I can and I’ve been to some far out places, some of them downright dangerous, while chasing down stories.

I never splurge on accommodation. Nothing like this. Being a freelancer is tough, and when you don’t earn money consistently, you learn how to pinch the pennies.

I guess I have to thank Dixon for nominating me for this. Not an enormous sacrifice to make at all. Marcus, the guy I had been seeing before I came to film, had been incredulous.

“What about us?” he had asked me. We’d been seeing each other casually for only a couple of months.

I snort out loud. Why do guys always think you’ll plan your career around them? Honestly, the audacity.

If I could pull this off, who knows what projects I could pitch WebFlix Max… I could actually make a difference…

* * *

CAMILLE

I wake hours later. The sunlight that had bathed the room had toned down to a buttery gold.

I slept the whole day.

I sit up, patting the curls. I fell asleep with wet hair, and I’m paying the price for it. It’s a tangled mess. I snag a few locks and try to unsnarl them with my fingers.

I do an okay job and settle for another messy bun.

This is the part I hate most about traveling. Jet lag. I will be up all night and spend the whole day tired again tomorrow.

I check my phone for the time. It is about half-past five in the afternoon.

My roommate has called several times and left a message.

Amy: (17:08) Are you still alive?

I smile. Did some quick math.

CAMILLE: (17:32) Why are you up at six in the morning?

Her reply comes seconds later.

Amy: (17:33) I thought you were dead. Already raided your closet.

She follows it up with a selfie, and she’s wearing my cashmere sweater. She’s sticking out her tongue.

CAMILLE: (17:34) No such luck. Take it off immediately.

She sends me a new selfie. Her bottom lip is pouted in an exaggerated, sad face. She has taken off the sweater and is wearing…

CAMILLE: (17:35) Why are you naked!

She gives me a big smiley face emoji.

Amy: (17; 35) Go have fun! Paint the town red!

Amy worries about me sometimes. I can be a very serious person. I give her a thumbs up emoji and throw my phone down on the bed as I get up to dress.

I won’t be painting the town red, but I could do with some more food.

I grab my laptop and phone and head down towards the lobby where the concierge kindly directs me to a sitting room where I will be served food.

Friday night at the Empyrean is a swanky affair. Around me, women in cocktail dresses drink fruity drinks while talking to well-dressed men who lean in close to keep their conversations as intimate as possible. There are a lot of arms touching and polite laughs accompanied by the telltale flick of hair over the shoulder.