Page 22 of Ripped & Shipped
Drake said we start filming at five thirty. Maybe he’s just going to show up with a few minutes to spare. It’s fine. We’re just eating a meal, filming, and posting. Life will go on either way.
Shawna comes by again, filling my water and looking at me with that waitress look that says, “Are you sure he’s showing?” It’s not busy enough for her to be worried about me occupying her station without ordering, but a few more patrons have filtered in since I arrived.
I snap some photos of myself sitting in the booth—alone. I can add them to posts later. I resist the urge to message Drake or Genesis. I don’t want to seem overeager.
Five fifteen comes and goes. Drake still isn’t here.
Okay. I’ll message Genesis. Just to check in. Nothing crazy. Just touching base.
@Fab-U-lous_EllaMae
Hey, Genesis. Just checking that we’re good for tonight. Anything else you need from me? I’m here at the Big Boy. I can do any pre-filming needed. Looking forward to meeting Drake in person.
The minutes drag by until it’s finally five thirty.
Still. No. Drake.
The restaurant fills a bit more now that it’s actually nearing a usual supper hour. It’s a Wednesday, so it’s not like a weekend crowd is rushing to eat here, but a significant number of tables are filled now and the noise level has gone up a bit.
I’m starting to literally sweat. And I don’t sweat. On the other side of my phone, my peeps are waiting for me to go live.
I don’t know what to do.
Over the past quarter hour, I have responded to comments and I’ve checked the message thread with Drake once a minute. That’s fifteen times since five fifteen. Genesis hasn’t answered me. Drake still hasn’t shown or messaged. It’s time to think on my feet.
Shawna comes by. “Just checking to make sure you still want to wait to order.”
“Yes. Sorry,” I tell her. “I need to wait. But I will order something eventually, whether my friend shows or not, and you’ll get a tip worthy of the amount of time I’ve filled your booth. Don’t worry.”
“Oh, I’m not worried, Sugar. I just want to make sure I check in on you.”
Sugar. She’s probably only two or three years older than me. The term feels out of place, but also somehow comforting.
“Thank you so much, Shawna.”
“I love your dress, by the way,” she adds.
I smile as I thank her. I needed that compliment more than she knows.
My messages ping as Shawna walks away to take an order from customers at a nearby table. It’s Genesis.
@GenesisAssistsStars
Ella Mae! I just got off the phone with Drake. He totally spaced out. He went to the new action movie with his sister and her kids. Says he needs to reschedule. Sorry for the inconvenience. If you end up eating at the Big Boy, send me the receipt and we’ll cover your meal—of course.
I’ll be in touch to get a new date planned when I hear from Drake. Soon. It will have to be soon since he’s on his way back to Cali in a week.
Damage control. That’s what I need to do — and stat. I have thousands and thousands of people waiting for this live with Drake.
I take one of the deepest breaths I’ve ever taken and blow it out slowly.
What would Khloé Kardashian do?
She would not have to do a thing. She can literally mess up royally and still be in the spotlight, start a cosmetic line, a clothing brand, or whatever she wants. She’s a flipping Kardashian. I’m just Ella Mae from Bordeaux. Miss Corn Husk once a year, a passing trend the rest of the time.
But people are counting on me. So, here goes nothing.
I press my camera button on to record, and smile wide. Feigning a level of cool and excitement I don’t remotely feel, I start talking to the camera.
