The Christmas Pic

5. Ava

CHAPTER 5

AVA

I step into the studio at the radio station and am overwhelmed by the saccharine coziness of the space. The locally-made vanilla candles. The fluffy faux-fur blankets. The overzealous embrace from none other than the biggest multimedia host in the world, Aspen Rune. These things are meant to put guests at ease, but they put me on edge. I’m not necessarily nervous for the interview, but I never feel more out of my element than in the cloying comfort of this team. You’d think the gay Joe Rogan would be a little too busy to be kind or caring, but down to the production assistant tasked with getting my coconut water, everyone is so… eerily nice .

“Lovely to see you again, my ice queen!” Aspen trills, not a hint of insincerity in his voice. “Have you met my new producer, Andy?”

I turn to see a tall man with floppy hair. He’s cute, but, like, the kind of cute you once associated with being a “nice guy,” before you realized that average-looking men are not actually obligated to be nice.

He offers his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Called it. In four words, I can read this guy. His eyes run me up and down and his monkey brain has already decided he’d have sex with me. I’d bet money he’s tried to sleep with the last three female celebrity guests.

“Pleasure,” I say, only slightly unpleasant.

“We’re about to come back from commercial,” Aspen chimes. “Make yourself at home.”

I sit in the stiffest chair I can find–a literal bean bag–and practice the Board’s directions in my head. Apologize, say we care about our users, blah-de-blah-de-blah.

Andy counts us in from outside the booth and I put my cushy headphones on. Max gives me a thumbs-up, the very minimal reassurance I don’t actually need but can appreciate in times like these.

“Welcome back to Getting Real with Aspen Rune! My next guest is the uber-successful CEO of Gramsta, Ava Garcia-Greene.”

“Thank you for having me,” I say, convincingly enough, into my mic.

“Are we gonna get another million dollars for charity from you this time?!” He’s referencing my last visit where I wanted to vacate the premises so desperately that I signed a check for a millie to support his capybara charity.

Yes: capybara charity . Allegedly, he saw a ‘cute’ video of one of the little gremlins on Gramsta and immediately went all Save the Rodents? on us. They’re not even going extinct, he just wants an excuse to cozy up with some vermin outside of Hollywood. Mogul sees mogul, and he recognized exactly how to get what he wanted out of me. Not again, though.

“Let’s cut the crap, Rune, I’m here to apologize.” The words spill out of my mouth. I see Max wince outside the booth so I let out a belated chuckle. Kidding, see? All sunshine and rainbows here.

Aspen is surprised by my candor. “And that is why we wanted to get you in the studio! For those who haven’t heard, Gramsta’s new Christmas Card Generator launched this week and is causing quite the stir.”

“It is, indeed. And I’m here to say I’m–” Ugh , this part is always the hardest. Time and again, I’ve faced criticism for the tone of my apologies, feeding into a growing paranoia about my demeanor in moments like this, which then quickly spirals into an ouroboros of anxiety. Suck it up, get it out.

“I’m… sorry. Gramsta loves the holidays as much as our users, from individuals to small businesses and beyond.”

“Are you sure Gramsta loves Christmas?” he prods. “Or is this a cash grab capitalizing on customers’ sentimentality?”

“Well, now that you mention it,” I straighten up in this contemptible excuse for a chair. “On the way here, I got to thinking… doesn’t every corporation act in the same way? Don’t they all degrade the apparent sanctity of Christmas with their hyper-consumerism? We’re simply using tech to make things easier for people, which has always been Gramsta’s mission.”

“That’s an… interesting perspective. Which is why we’ve asked listeners to weigh in,” he beams.

I can’t say I didn’t expect this, but including laypeople in the conversation about something the majority of them have no experience with is never helpful for the cause.

“First up, we have Rita from Topeka!”

“Hi!!!! This is Rita!” An incredibly typical listener of Aspen, Rita is giddy to the nth degree and not afraid to let you hear it. “Ava, my family used your Christmas Card Generator since we can’t get together this year due to my husband’s shingles flareup.” TMI, Rita. “It worked like a charm! Bless you, darlin’!”

I take it back. I like Rita.

“Thank you,” I reply. “I’m so glad we could help your family this year. Aspen, this is exactly why we made the generator. To help people like Rita.”

“Touching,” he says. “Thanks, Rita. Up next, we have Jo from Harmony Springs. ”

“Thanks, Aspen.” The low, honeyed voice on the line catches my attention. There’s something to it–a mystery that has me holding on for more. “I think Ava has a point about everyone monetizing Christmas. We can’t deny that.”

“Thank you, Jo,” I say, relaxing into the chair beans. This whole thing is going a lot smoother than I thought.

“But what Ava fails to realize is that her artificial stupidity app completely lacks heart, which is the entire purpose of a Christmas card,” Jo spews. The honey in her voice becomes venom–a trick I frequently pull out of my own toolbox. Yes, I may be intense, but at least I’m self discerning. I understand exactly what it looks/sounds/smells/even tastes like to feel as strongly as I assume Jo is feeling in this moment (for the record, the taste is metal from biting my own tongue, but don’t rule out that it’s the blood of my sworn enemies). Luckily, all of this gives me the edge, something I love to have in any old-fashioned debate.

I goad her. “First-name basis, I see.” Aspen lives for this kind of drama.

“Sounds like you have some skin in the game, Jo. What is it that you do?” Aspen soothes, playing mediator.

“I own a mobile photography studio,” she says. Ding ding ding, we have a hater. “We had another customer cancel because they used Ms. Garcia-Greene’s ridiculous app. She’s not only ruining Christmas, but she’s also taking down small businesses with this garbage. We might not even be open by Christmas because of her.”

“That’s a big accusation.” Aspen turns to me.

“It is,” I try not to smile, ready for battle. “Jo... I’d love to hear more about your business.”

“Well, it’s called The Photo Truck and we’re based in Harmony Springs–”

“Got that part,” I retort, clicking the imaginary pen in the imaginary boardroom of my brain. “Can you tell me about your business plan?”

“Sure, yeah, I mean, the truck has been around for a while now so we’re a local staple. You can check us out on Gramsta.” I can tell she impulse-called into the show, nary a game plan in her mind. “We take photos and drive around town, in Harmony Springs, all day–”

I feign a mutter. “And people accuse me of irresponsibly burning fossil fuels.” She has no idea who she’s dealing with, which is shocking because–ask literally anyone on Earth–I’m an infamous figure these days.

I continue. “What are some of your KPIs this quarter, Jo?” A pause. “Sorry, that stands for key performance indicators.” Zing.

“I know what it means,” she snaps. “We don’t really–we’re a small business so we don’t operate like–”

“Like… what? Gramsta?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Just because a business is small doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be run like a business. You wanna talk about small–Gramsta started in my middle school computer lab.”

“That’s great, but The Photo Truck is–”

“–Different, right. Since you’re so unique, your company must be growing like crazy. What’s your year-over-year?” This is almost too easy.

“I don’t have that number right now–”

“Ad spend?”

“We don’t do ads–”

“Of course you don’t,” I sigh. “Yet it’s Gramsta’s fault that your business is failing.”

I turn to Aspen who’s eating this up. Ratings are ratings, and I’m giving ra-tings dah-ling . “I’m starting to think her business has no growth potential at all. Perhaps even going in the opposite direction… ”

He tries to keep his composure from my sick burn. My words are so scorching that I am almost literally killing it.

Jo grows even more defensive. “I’m in a small town, growing a business here is different.”

“Small town girl, born and raised,” I admit… if you consider a population of 100,000 a small town, which I do. “Most business owners dream of being in your scenario, having less competition and a one-of-a-kind idea.”

“Thanks, I guess?” She’s beyond flustered.

“I suppose you could take that as a compliment,” I snort.

Aspen steps in. “Wow! This has been… fiery.” As if he didn’t intend for this to happen. “It sounds like The Photo Truck could use help.”

“I’d be inclined to agree, Aspen,” I purse my lips. I wasn’t planning on totally wrecking someone in a debate today, but I’m always down for a cherry on top of a contention sundae.

“And wouldn’t it be in line with Gramsta’s mission to help Jo out?”

Annnnnd, there it is. Damn Aspen and his scheming ways.

“Well, I don’t know about that–” I look to Max. Now would be the perfect time for them to step in and get me the hell out of here before I lose another million.

“I remember you saying something about your users at the top of the show,” Aspen says, “how small businesses mean so much to you at Gramsta. We can find the sound bite…”

“That won’t be necessary–” My eyes scream at Max. MAYDAY, MAYDAY.

“Yeah, that won’t be necessary,” Jo chimes in. Thank God–I didn’t think we’d be playing for the same team here. “I don’t expect a bigwig CEO to actually care about a small business like mine. If I know anything, it’s that they all talk the talk, but they can’t even begin to walk the–”

Trigger: hit. I hate to admit it, but she must’ve done at least some research to know that this is exactly how I was persuaded, nay conned , into donating last time. Aspen accused me of not walking the walk, something he heard from his ‘source’ on my Board (definitely Jason). They love to pull it out when they need something from me. It’s my singular weakness; it gets my goose every damn time . And, unfortunately, my goose is a bitch and a half.

“With all disrespect,” I spit, suddenly totally out of control, like a California wildfire. “I have been walking the walk since apps were invented. I have innovated some of the most groundbreaking tools of the twenty-first century and I will walk my walk all the way to Harmony Springs to prove to you that you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh-ho-ho!” Aspen chimes. “Is that an offer I hear?!”

I see Max and Andy, jaws dropped.

This is worse than losing a million dollars to the capybaras.