solo / carlos sainz

twelve

I've had to deal with a lot of crazy shit over the years. Clients going on off-script rants on live, brands I've put blood sweat and tears into falling apart because of a bad brand deal prior to my taking them on, poorly crafted and unauthorised apology videos...you name it, I've dealt with it.

What I've never had to deal with is a PR emergency that I've caused.

As soon as I saw the articles, the Instagram posts, the TikToks, I called every member of my team and essentially summoned them to Madrid. And I told Carlos to clear whatever plans he had for tomorrow and to meet me at my door the next morning at eight.

The thing about working in public relations and in the public eye is...well, you go into a different headspace when you're in crisis mode. As soon as I saw they'd posted images of my baby, it was game over.

Within an hour, I'd called my lawyers and had them draft a legal notice to be sent to any and all publications currently distributing images of Elsie's face. An hour after that, I'd started drafting my own plan of action, knowing I'd need to come prepared to the meeting I'd called in the morning.

And through it all, Carlos was there. He sat with me and called his own people, handing the phone off to me and letting me dice it out with media strategists until the sun came up and Elsie came shuffling out of her room with messy morning hair and a Bluey stuffie in hand.

She'd seen me working, still in my pyjamas with a cup of coffee left untouched by my laptop and had simply settled in on the couch, playing with her toys until Carlos had the idea to turn on the television to keep her occupied.

That's what Amira walked into the apartment this morning. Me, frantic and staring at my computer. Carlos and Elsie sitting together on the sofa watching one of her favourite episodes of Bluey in Spanish.

"Mara!" She shouts into my ear, jostling me from my focus. "Babe, you need to shower and get ready, it's nearly seven in the morning and you can't have them seeing you like this."

I nod, pushing my laptop away and reluctantly following my friend into the bathroom. She starts the shower for me, testing the heat of the water before pushing me to undress and step in.

While I wash off, she goes back into the dining room to get my coffee and phone, fielding calls from everyone that's landed and giving them directions to Oceá's office in the centre of the city. Once I'm out, I'm wrapped in a robe and the coffee is forced into my hands and Amira's guiding me into my closet to get dressed.

It takes a few tries to get my head right enough to pick out something that isn't awful.

Image is everything. It's my entire life.

"I'm only going to ask this once, because you know I have to," Amira whispers, handing me a pair of shoes that'll go with the dress I'd finally surrendered to. "Is there any chance, even a minute one, that the articles are telling the truth?"

"About?"

"Is Carlos her father?"

I drop the shoes, sitting on the carpeted ground beside them with a teary sigh, "He's Spanish, her father is Spanish...I mean," Tears begin to well in my eyes, "I don't know. No? I'd like to think I'd remember going home with someone like him."

"Mara."

A sob escapes before I can stop it, though I do manage to muffle it with my hand. "I don't know."

"Right. Well, I think you know what I'm going to suggest." I nod, angrily swiping at my tears as she nods back, leaving the room without another word.

Everything's fucking falling apart and it's all my fault. My fault. My stupid, idiotic, too-young-to-care-for-consequences fault. My fault. My-

Socked feet step into my line of sight from where I've tucked my head in between my knees, the feet disappearing to replace knees as Carlos kneels in front of me. He gently brushes away my still wet hair as I lift my head to look at him.

"¿Dónde le conociste?"

I shake my head, unable to look Carlos in the eye. "En Madrid."

"¿Cuándo?"

"Seventeenth of March, 2017."

Carlos's touch leaves my hair. He leans back on his hands, almost collapsing himself as he stares at me with wide eyes. "You're certain?"

"It's the only time I ever...yes."

A phone is pushed across the carpet to me, open on a blurry photo of Carlos in a club. The date's shining back at me, clear as day. The seventeenth of March, 2017. And in the photo, drunk and smiling and hanging off Carlos without a care in the world...is me.

My hair's brown in the photo, I hadn't yet started bleaching it at twenty-two, and I look so young. We both do. Laughing or maybe just drunk, smiling and happy and glued to each other's sides.

"Meeting you in Portugal wasn't a coincidence, Mara." I look up from the photo, shocked to see that Carlos is near tears. "After that night, you gave me your name and your phone number. And I'd wanted to call you, see if I could take you out, but by the time I'd thought to try, you were already gone."

I'd moved back to the UK right after graduation, just a few weeks later.

"So I kept tabs on you. I thought, if I could ever see you again, then I'd do it. I'd take you out and show you that I was interested in more than some one-night-stand..."

The way I'd described Elsie's father to him comes back to me then, the way I'd referred to him as that, the way I've referred to him as that for as long as I can remember.

"Then I saw this."

It's a screenshot of an old post I'd made when Elsie was born. One I'd archived within a week of putting up after my parents found out, the start of the end of my relationship with them. They'd called it shameful, to make my motherhood known to strangers on the internet. They'd been worried about the reaction of their friends, their social circle, everyone.

liked by MALIK_CARMICHAEL and 590 others

MARA  13.12.17
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