Unleashing My Inner Unicorn

When I was little, I would run through the park, my hair streaming in a silky mane, pretending to be a unicorn with a shimmering coat and glittering horn. You should never let a unicorn wander too far into the woodlands alone. Otherwise, you might find yourself lost in the forest, chasing after a creature that's decided to follow its whimsical desires.

Ahhh, sunsets over Manhattan are always the perfect backdrop for broadcasting from Studio Two. The red light flickered on the camera, panning on me at my reporter's desk. My director counted down using his hand signals: three, two, and one ... 

"Good evening, fellow New Yorkers! Peyton Patel here, your host for Empire State of Mind, and I'm bringing you the latest scoop from the heart of our fair city. From the street fashionistas of SoHo to the tech geniuses of Silicon Alley, we will be exploring the best of the best! And brace yourself because tomorrow, I'll be walking on the red carpet at the most anticipated fashion event of the year - The MET Gala. We will rub shoulders with the biggest names in the fashion, entertainment, and art industry. This year's theme is 'Mythical Creatures,' trust me, it will be glamorous! Imagine outfits inspired by fairies, mermaids, dragons, and unicorns. I can't wait to show you my couture ensemble, and you won't believe who the designer is! Be sure to watch and prepare to be blown away! Stay tuned, and stay fabulous!"

"CUT!" my director, Tom Shriver, shouted as the clapboard closed with a resounding whack. Excellent work on that promo, Peyton. Are you ready to step into the limelight, covering the Gala?"

"Oh yes. I've been planning for this moment for years," I said, unclipping my microphone. "I have one more fitting with Jaques St.Claude, so I have to go."

"Wait," Tom said, grinning. "You're telling me you still need another fitting? What, did you grow an extra arm or something?"

I laughed. "No, Jaques is a perfectionist he insisted. And who knows, maybe he will add an extra arm to my gown. That could come in handy."

Tom chuckled. "Alright, well, don't be late tomorrow. We'll need you on your A-game."

"Don't worry. I'll be there with my crown on—and maybe an extra arm." 

***********

I've been channeling my innermost diva unicorn forever, and now I'm completely transformed. I shimmer, prancing gracefully along the red carpet in my Manolo stilettos, interviewing the most glamorous icons of fashion, film, and television. To make my gown, the designer dyed white silk in a soft, iridescent pinkish-purple hue. My skirt floats like a cloud with layers of ballerina tulle, creating an ethereal effect. The bodice was encrusted with shimmering crystals and pearls in a pattern resembling the mystical creature's mane. The final touch was a long, flowing train, conjuring the illusion of a unicorn's tail. 

"Oh noooo, I'm not wearing underwear," I whispered into my microphone as I heard the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing.

"What? What happened?" asked my co-host, trying to keep her composure.

"My dress... it's ripped!" I exclaimed, mortified.

"Is everything okay?" came a concerned voice from off-camera. I turned to see the sexy Scottish actor from the "Hot Detective" TV series standing there, looking sheepish. "I'm so sorry, love," he said with a panty-melting brogue. "I didn't mean to step on your tail. We need to get something to cover you."

"It's fine," I said, trying to cover myself as best I could. It's not your fault." 

The crowd gasped, pointing at me as I felt the cool air on my bare skin. "I guess you could say I'm going commando," I added nervously. 

The designer Jacques St. Claude appeared at my side, horrified at his ruined creation. Rolling his eyes, he exclaimed, "Merde Mon Dieu, I told you not to wear underwear. But this is too much; my gown is destroyed, as is your reputation. "Unicorns don't wear underwear, but maybe you should, c'est vrai!" he stormed off as more cameras and videos captured the action.

I took a step back, my eyes widening in disbelief. My heart sank as I looked down at the back of my dress, which was now shredded. Panic set in as I realized my tattoo of a fantastical unicorn on my left butt cheek was exposed. My dirty little secret. It was an impulsive design of a dancing horse wearing a spiked rainbow crown with a spiral horn. I was praying that a third arm would sprout and cover my ass! 

Ohhhhh, Manhattan! Where everyone is a photographer looking for a big break. Under a barrage of clicking cameras and flashing lights, I was a deer caught in headlights. I was desperately looking for a hiding spot, but alas, no blade of grass or tree was in sight to conceal me. Tom's cursing blasted into my earbud, sending my cast and crew scrambling. Nobody seemed to have anything to cover me. And to make matters worse, my decision to get a tattoo was coming back to bite me on the ass. I can laugh about it one day, but not today. In hindsight, I should have opted for a less conspicuous tattoo, like a tiny butterfly. 

A handsome man suddenly stepped onto the red carpet and said, "Here, take my jacket. It'll cover you up."

"Wait, what? Who are you?" I asked, surprised someone was willing to help.

 "Just a guy who doesn't want to see a beautiful woman embarrassed," he said with a soft expression.

"Well, thank you. By the way, I'm Peyton Patel, a naked lifestyle reporter."

"Nice to meet you, Peyton. I'm David Walsh of Wall Street and the Upper West Side," he said with a bit of sarcasm.

I slid on the Gucci jacket, staring into his bright blue eyes. He's tall and dreamy, with thick, clean-cut blonde hair. "So, David, what brings you to the Gala? Are you slumming tonight?" I asked, attempting to make light of my situation.

David said, "I was just passing by when the actor tore off your skirt. I saw what happened and had to help you."

"Well, I appreciate it. It's New York, and you never know what will happen. My pride is getting a beating, but I'll recover eventually."

He laughed, "Glad to hear it. Hey, do you want to grab a drink or something? You could use one after all this." 

I was surprised. "Um, sure. That sounds great. I certainly can't stay here half-naked. The closest place is Bemelmans Bar. Have you been there before?" 

"Sure, Bemelmans Bar is quite famous! It has beautiful murals by Ludwig Bemelmans, the creator of the classic Madeline children's books. David said, smiling, "Lead the way, Peyton."

As I walked, a persistent buzzing emanated from my purse. With a heavy sigh, I reached for my phone. I had received thousands of notifications from social media posts that had tagged my account. My stomach churned as I read through the comments, realizing this could ruin my career. 

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked, concerned, looking at my expression.

"No, I'm not okay! Look at these pictures and videos of me; it's all over the internet, and it's going viral!"

He said, "Well, let me see it. Oh, don't worry; it's not that bad."

 "Not that bad? I'm practically naked in this photo!"

David grinned, "Well, you're not naked. And besides, you look great in that half of the dress."

"The TMZ gossip website's headline reads—The Unicorn in the Room: A MET Gala Exposé. My producer and the network won't find this funny. Oh my god, they have hashtags: #unicorncheeks, #horncorn, #unihorn, #uniporn, and #unitorn." I said, lowering my head into my hands to hide my face and shame.

"Come on, don't be so dramatic. People will forget about it soon enough," he said, lifting my chin back up.

I scoffed, "Easy for you to say. You're not the one going viral showing your ass to the world."

"Let me guess, you got a tattoo during college after a drunken sorority party?"

"Well, yes, that's very clever of you," I said, embarrassed.

David pointed to the unicorn tiara, "Are you going to take that off?"

I shrugged, "The hairdresser wrapped my hair around it, so no, I'm keeping it on. Besides, it's all I have left of my dignity."

"No problem, it looks beautiful against your black hair in the moonlight. Now, let's get a drink and forget about this whole thing."

 I sighed and said, "I don't know if I can forget about it that easily."

He winked and said, "A few drinks will do wonders."

David dropped me off at my brownstone, and we exchanged numbers. I had never been in a Rolls Royce before, but it was an unusual day. And as for exposing my body in public - well, I don't think the world is ready for that kind of "art." My parents would be mortified if they saw me, but luckily, they're still trying to figure out how to use their flip phones, so there's no way they'll stumble upon any incriminating social media posts.

Before I could open my front door, I was distracted when my phone started ringing. It was my producer, Owen Bishop. I answered the call, expecting the worst. "Hey, Owen," I said, sounding as calm as possible.

"Hey, listen, I have some great news," Owen said excitedly.

"Good news? What is it?" I asked, confused.

"The Empire State of Mind has gone viral from all the attention over your unicorn incident. We have never had so much national publicity, so we are doing a feature episode of the entire story. Jacques St. Claude will make you a new unicorn gown to wear as part of the show," Owen said.

"Are you serious? I'm not fired?" I asked, still in shock.

"Nope, you're not fired. In fact, you're a unicorn superstar now. Move over, Kim Kardashian; we got a new Instagram influencer in town!" Owen said, chuckling.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Well, I guess this is my 15 minutes of fame then," I said, relieved and amused.

"More like 15 million views on YouTube, but who's counting?" He said jokingly.

I grinned. "Thank you so much, Owen. I promise I won't disappoint you again," I said, grateful.

"Get some rest, and we'll talk more tomorrow," he said before disconnecting.

I hung up, the reporter in me knowing that even though my unicorn incident was embarrassing, it had somehow turned into a hilarious and successful story. Everything was going to be okay. Stepping into the warmth of my cozy brownstone, I pondered over the enigma of David Walsh. What mysteries were concealed behind those piercing blue eyes and that self-assured smile? The fact that he had carved his own path on Wall Street, a realm known for its ruthless competition, deepened my fascination.

 As I settled into bed, I pulled out my laptop and began deep-diving. I scrolled through his photos, read his posts, and began to see who David Walsh was. He was an avid traveler, and his Instagram was filled with pictures of him hiking in exotic locations and exploring. He's a philanthropist, donating generously to various charities and causes. My curiosity was piqued, and I researched well into the night, learning more about this intriguing man. I drifted to sleep, dreaming of unicorns running fast and free in the woods.

*******

David Walsh is the Wall Street wizard and a hero in my book. It was time to return that jacket. Funny, I wasn't wearing underwear again. I looked up, squinting at the towering office building with Walsh, Finch, and Wright emblazoned in golden letters across the top, feeling nervous. It had been a week since my embarrassing incident, and I owe him gratitude. 

I took a deep breath and pushed open the doors, noticing the energy of the people and the place. It was a universe of its own, where money flowed like water. Moments later, I was standing in the lobby outside David's office. I hesitated, wondering if I should call or walk in. I decided to text him instead.

Me: Hey, are you free to meet?

David: Hey there! Yeah, I can meet. What's up?

Me: Can we meet in your office?

David: Of course! When do you want to come in?

Me: How about now? I'm outside your door, not stalking you. LOL

David: Sounds good. I'll see you in a few.

He greeted me warmly, and I felt relieved to see him again. His navy suit and green paisley tie looked sharp, and I could feel my face flushing. "Hey, Peyton, great to see you!" David said, patting me on the arm.

"Thanks for meeting me, David. I wanted to return the jacket you gave me."

He chuckled, "No need, consider it a gift. You earned it."

I protested, "No, I insist. I can't thank you enough for your generosity in lending it."

David raised his hand, "Okay, let's grab some lunch and talk."

As we sat down, he asked, "So, how's the Empire State of Mind going?"

"It's been a bit of a mess, to be honest. I just shot a special episode today about the entire fiasco. I'm the butt of a lot of unicorn jokes," I replied.

David nodded, "It's tough out there. But I have faith in you, Peyton. You'll conquer this viral thing."

I smiled, appreciating his encouragement. "That means a lot."

We talked about life, work, and everything under the sun as we ate. And then, out of nowhere, David asked, "So, are you not wearing underwear again?"

I nearly choked on my food, "What? How did you know?"

David chuckled, "I have my ways. But seriously, you need to invest in some high-end undergarments. It's a game-changer."

I couldn't help but laugh. "You're full of surprises. Maybe you should start a fashion line."

He winked, "Maybe I will. And I'll make sure you're the first to model it."

I felt my cheeks heat up. "Oh? Does that mean I'll get another jacket?"

David whispered, "Maybe something even better than a jacket."

I could feel my heart racing. "Well, now you've got me curious. What could be better than a jacket?"

He smiled mischievously, "I guess you'll just have to wait and see."

As we said our goodbyes, David leaned in close and kissed me. "Keep in touch. And remember to wear that special underwear the next time I see you. I'd like to know if that's a unicorn or a dancing horse with a spiral crown.

I had to giggle. "I won't forget about the panties, but the tattoo requires your inspection."