She's back ~ L. Hamilton

116.| Jimmy Kimmel

We don't take the front entrance.

Tasha insists on that.

"Absolutely not," she says, speaking to the driver who drives us around the side of the building.

"You are not walking through a crowd of people with phones when you have to go on live television"

"I've played Grand Slam finals," I say. "I think I can handle a doorway"

"That's different," she says. "Those people are there to watch you win. These people are here to watch you talk."

Lewis huffs out a laugh beside us.

"That's worse," he says.

"Exactly," Tasha replies.

I glance over my shoulder at him. "You think I can't talk on tv?"

"I think," he says, his arm resting on the back of my seat around the arm rest, completely relaxed, "you don't usually have to."

"That's fair."

Lewis gets out of the car first, pulling his cap further down his face and darting inside before the crowd can turn their phones towards him, following tashas orders. Tasha then gets out, holding her hand out towards me. I take it, landing with a click as my louboutin's hit the pavement.

We reach the green room and Tasha pushes the door open like she's expecting something to jump out at her.

Nothing does.

It's just a room. Couch. Mirror. Table with snacks no one touches.

Tasha walks in first anyway, scanning it like she's doing a security sweep.

I drop into the chair in front of the mirror.

"I don't get the big deal," I say.

"You don't get the big deal," she repeats, turning to face me. "You've never done this before."

"I've done interviews."

"You've done press conferences," she corrects. "Where you answer the same type of questions over and over again, for the last thirty years, by people who already don't like you."

"Comfortable environment."

"This," she gestures around, "is entertainment."

I meet her eyes in the mirror. "That sounds worse."

Lewis leans against the wall, arms folded.

"It is worse," he says.

"Great."

Tasha exhales. "Okay. Rules."

I groan quietly. "There it is."

"No swearing."

I turn in the chair to look at her properly.

"Be serious."

"I am serious."

"I'm Australian"

"And you're on American television."

"Tragic."

Lewis looks away, smiling.

Tasha points at me. "I mean it. No swearing, no starting fights, no—no dismantling the host with your intelligence"

"I don't dismantle people. And I dropped out of school at 15, so I'm not sure what intelligence you're referring to"

"You do," she says. "You do it calmly, which is worse."