Chapter Three

Hmm, I wonder if should put this all in a seperate blog, to keep my fangirliness seperated from my crazy rants. Comment to let me know what you think.


Warning: None of this has any basis of fact. I have never met Anderson Cooper, and have never been to New York. This is all written in fun. It's fiction. Whii ^^



We talked for a while there in the café. I told him I was from Canada, studying journalism and political science. Other than CNN and The Daily Show, I couldn’t give a definitive answer as to what it was that had drawn me here. I didn’t know why.
He glanced at his watch. Quarter past ten, we’d been talking for over an hour. The sun has finished setting and the café had emptied. He asked me how far away I was staying. Honestly, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know how far I’d walked that afternoon. I told him instead the address of the hotel.
“That’s a long way to walk and an expensive cab ride. Why don’t you come up with me while I tape the show and then I’ll take you back.”
I answered, my eyes I was sure were nearly glowing, that I would be delighted and honoured to be invited to watch him tape the show. I asked though, for only one thing. Well, technically, two things I suppose. I wanted a pen and a notebook. Mine were at the hotel. He gave me a strange look, but didn’t bother to ask why. I suppose that he wanted to save it for later.
When we got to the studio, he had an assistant find a notebook for me while he went to change. I had to keep out of the way, but I didn’t mind I was watching everything that was being done, writing things down while they readied themselves for the broadcast. Anderson emerged from somewhere behind the set and smiled at me in the background. My breath caught in my throat a little bit as I could feel his gaze move across me.
The broadcast ended and Anderson came over to tell me to stay put until he came back. We would leave as soon as he’d changed. I saw him eyeing the notebook I held in my hands and had written in during the show. Curiosity was written all across his face. When he came back out, the same boots and jeans on as before, he asked me what I’d wanted a notebook for.
“Mine is at the hotel. I keep notes during the show and the news to keep track of ideas and statistics to blog about the next day.”
“You… blog about the show?” He sounded perturbed.
“Not the show, really. The show gives me a topic. I write things down or else I forget. I started it as a sort of assignment to refine my writing skills.”
He titled his head to the side and made one of the ‘hmms’ that I enjoyed so much.
“Has it helped?”
“I’d like to think so.”
He approached a small, sleek black BMW. Appropriate, I thought. With his eyes, he motioned that this was his car and for me to get in the passenger side. Only the click of the automatic lock broke the mutual silence. I slid into the car, the beige leather cool against my warm skin. When the car’s engine started, I took a deep breath and pinched myself to make sure I hadn’t imagined everything. I flicked my eyes to the side and he was still there. Relieved, I began to relax again when he asked to see my notes.
“I’ve never know someone who took notes during anything. I want to see what I make you think.”
I knew what he had made me think and I knew what I had written down. I was reluctant to hand them over, but couldn’t deny such a request. I shifted uneasily, not able to predict his reaction as I handed the notebook to the long, slender fingers being held out.