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Walter knew that if you stuck with something like this long enough, eventually it would all come back around to you. He knew that in the things he was dealing with, eventually you would find yourself bumping up against history. Real, honest, literal history. The kind of things he saw playing out behind his eyes while he was in school. The kind of things that always feel so distant until you are in them. He always had a hard time getting his head around that, but it was true. These things were real, and he was just about close enough to touch them.
He held in his hands the script for an interview. He had just gotten out of a phone call with Molokov, and things were going to be getting interesting. In a few minutes he would have to walk through that door, and tell Freddie about the change of plans, tell him to be as aggressive as he wanted, tell him to destroy his former opponent on live television. Just like he always wanted to. But right now, he was holding ten fateful sheets of paper in his hands, stapled together, paper that he hoped would be his chance to write history. Right now, he felt a giddiness rising up in his chest. He knew better than to let that get the best of him, but every now and then, he had to let things like this happen. A little was ok. He just needed to be careful to not get carried away.
Growing up, he had watched a lot of television. His parents had always worried that it was bad for him, but he turned out fine. Something about it had had him entranced. Those little flickering shapes, living out their lives oblivious to him just drew him in. He didn’t do a lot of the things children were normally expected to do. He didn’t really understand how to be a person, so he latched onto it, took up their mannerisms, their wants and fears. He didn’t feel like he ever really had a personality of his own. He was ok with this. He had quickly learned the best ways to get people to like him.
Unlike Freddie, he had known what he was getting himself into. He knew just what the politics of celebrity meant, and he moved through that world more fluidly than anywhere else. It was the world he belonged to, the one he was ever-conscious of. It was a beautiful thing. Fame was slippery. It was a constantly moving window. He knew intimately just how hard it was to hold on to. Walter knew he was going to never let go. He was determined. He was going to be writing a little bit of history tonight.
It always gave him a little thrill, to be standing right on the edge, to know that he was on the right track. Molokov’s demands seemed small, and easy. Who cared about a little board game? Though he knew that it must be more than it seemed at first glance, and he knew just how far people would go for something like this, how sports attracted personality and personality attracted attention. But from this deal, he was going to be getting what he wanted. A boost in public opinion, an advantage in the larger game. He took a deep breath and walked through the door. It was time.