“What are we going to do?” I ask, panicking when I see it’s already 2 PM.

Mason shrugs. A bomb could be dropping next to us and he would still be unfazed.

“I don’t know, but you should think of something and fast. If we go back without an interview, we’ll both lose our jobs.”

“No, we won’t,” I say. “That’s ridiculous. It’s not our fault.”

“I’m not even surprised by this. The guy is impossible. I heard he hung up on Janice.”

Alisa was right. “You think she knew what we were in for?” I asked.

“For sure. Why do you think Janice gave you this assignment? Out of the goodness of her heart? That’s why she didn’t come. She doesn’t like dealing with difficult people.”

“If Janice knows how he is, she won’t hold it against us.”

“Dream on!” he says, continuing to play on his phone.

Another thirty minutes.

At one point, a black limousine pulls past us as the iron gates open. I jump out of the car and run toward it, with Mason behind me, but it continues up the driveway and the gates close.

A man gets out and I immediately recognize him from the photo I have.

“Mr. Nakamura. Mr. Nakamura,” I say, the second time louder.

He doesn’t even turn around to look at me.

“We’re from Brooklyn Times. We had an interview scheduled for today.”

He finally turns. “No comment.”

“No comment?” I repeat quietly. What does that even mean? “We drove all the way from New York. Please, we won’t take long,” I say, my voice barely audible.

“No comment,” he says again as he walks inside the house.

I wish I could be more combative. I turn to Mason. “Say something.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m just the camera guy; you’re the reporter.”

Nakamura disappears inside just as my phone rings. It’s his publicist and I tell her what just happened. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience. Let me talk to him,” she says kindly. She sounds like a nice woman. I wonder what her life is like, having to deal with this man regularly. Being a brilliant author doesn’t give him the right to treat people this way.

She calls back an hour later, by which point I’m hungry, cold, and I’m getting desperate.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just found out he took an interview with another publication.”

My jaw drops.

“What other publication? When?”

“This morning, apparently. New York Lifestyle.”

Mason gives me an ‘I told you so’ look. “I’d say revamp that résumé.”

“I’m sure Janice will understand,” I say, trying to be hopeful.

She doesn’t. When we call, Janice’s reaction is one of the most violent, profanity-filled monologues I’ve ever had the displeasure of hearing. She calls us incapable, lazy, and as far away from journalists as she’s ever seen. She tells us we’re fired, and we owe her for the gas, accommodation and meals for this ‘useless’ trip.