Page 3 of Stars and Scars

My team came together more or less organically. It all started with Leslie, the lady who lived across the hall from me in my old apartment, offering to do my hair.

She did such a good job, and we got along so well, we continued to collaborate. Then she mentioned that her nephew Stephen was looking for work, and one thing led to another.

We’ve been together for almost four and a half years now. Having people I can rely on is important to me, enough that I give them all a percentage of my earnings. After all, Charlottesville isn’t just me, it’s an entire brand and they have been such a big part of it.

Steve looks up from his phone. “It’s looking good today, no chance of rain.”

Greg, his partner and my stylist, rolls his eyes. “You can’t trust the internet weather report. My knee tells me it’s going to rain.”

“Well, hopefully it won’t happen until we’re done for the day,” Steve counters.

Greg peers at me and purses his lips. “I’m thinking that you should be in denim today, girl. Something that goes with the, shall we say rustic nature of flea marketing.”

Steve snorts. “As long as she looks cute, and not like she hails from a place where people go to the family reunion to hook up.”

I slap him on the arm. “Be nice, Steve. We all have to be at our best to snag Etsy.”

We’ve been after the e-commerce giant for months, and they finally agreed to a kind of tryout. If I get enough views at the flea market today, they’ll consider sponsoring me. With Etsy backing my channel, I would be able to give my parents the long overdue gift of retirement.

I try on a couple different outfits before settling on a pair of cutoff shorts and a sleeveless Tee with the Pasadena City College logo emblazoned on the front. The idea is to look approachable and flea market apropos while still being fashion forward. When I see myself on the monitor, I start losing confidence.

“This is a lot more leg than I’m used to showing. Do my undies show when I bend over?”

I do a test bend while Leslie peers intently.

“Nah, you’re good. The shorts are short, but they don’t ride up.”

I look around to get the consensus from the rest of my team. Everyone seems to think I look good enough to film. I let my team doll me up to look camera-ready and then prepare to start streaming. Steve counts down.

“Ok we’re live in 5-4-”

I tug on my shorts and bite my lip. Even after all this time I still get nervous going live, especially when I’m out in the world. At home, I’m in complete control. Out in public, anything can happen. I take a deep breath and picture my parents smiling faces.

Steve switches to fingers to show we’re live in 3-2-1.

“Hey, Charlottesville peeps, I’m at the World Famous PCC Flea Market. I’m here trying to nail down some great deals. Remember my old side table? Well, out with the old, in with the new.”

I pick up the side table and give it a toss off camera. Steve times the whistling noise just right, as well as the yowl implying I struck a cat. Steve wasn’t lying about getting some great sounds from Whiskers.

I lead the way down the flea market’s main walkway. The sight of a camera induces one of two reactions in the vendors. Either they light up and get cheery about the free advertising…or they roll their eyes and prepare to endure another ‘influencer.’ I try to keep myself as unoffensive as possible, and avoid the vendors who look like they would rather not deal with me.

Live Streaming is not for the faint of heart. You have to keep up a steady flow of narration while looking for the next thing to talk about. Plus, you have to make sure you don’t develop a snot bubble or fall on your face. The first time I went live was a complete disaster. But now I actually enjoy it, once I get over the initial nerves.

I stop in a little stall that has some mid-century modern furnishings. The proprietor is a sixtyish man with a long gray beard. When he turns out to be one of my followers, I’m downright ecstatic.

I pose with a few different end tables he has, and my followers reply with hearts or thumbs down emojis. I wind up picking the table with medium popularity.

He tries to give me a discount, but I wind up overpaying out of guilt. It’s bad optics to be one of those people who is always trying to work the discount or freebie angle.

I walk around the flea market for half an hour, livestreaming the whole time. The numbers aren’t as good as I’m used to, but it’s a lovely Saturday morning and I know a lot of my followers will play the video on their own time.

“All right, everyone. Now I’m going to–”

My screen goes dark. Frowning, I tap on the screen and see that my phone is still on. It’s the feed that’s been interrupted.

“Hey, Leslie, can I see your phone? My stream has gone dark.”

A bleeding eye symbol flashes over the screen, and then a sinister, electronically distorted voice speaks.

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