The orderly line of yellow taxis waiting outside the airport reminded Hugo of the streets of New York. It didn't take long for him and Joseph to hop into a cab, heading toward the Four Seasons Hotel on Michigan Avenue.
Once inside the city, Hugo noticed the electronic display boards along the roadside. They showed both the time and the temperature, but to his surprise, the numbers kept changing as they passed different blocks. The time difference was only a few minutes, yet the temperature readings shifted dramatically. Hugo blinked in astonishment.
"Are we still in Chicago? Back at the airport it was around forty degrees Fahrenheit—about five Celsius. But just now I saw one of those boards flashing sixty degrees, that's fifteen Celsius! Are we moving through different climate zones or something?"
Before his words had even finished, the next sign flashed fifty degrees Fahrenheit. Hugo was dumbfounded. It was as if they'd crossed into some otherworldly dimension, bouncing back and forth between winter, spring, and autumn in a matter of minutes.
"You're not mistaken. Welcome to Chicago," the taxi driver said with a broad smile. "First time in the Windy City? Our weather changes faster than you can blink. Sometimes it's spring in the morning and winter by afternoon. Even within the same hour the temperature can drop or rise drastically. Just now, when I was heading to the airport, the city center was at sixty-five degrees."
"That's incredible," Hugo replied, shaking his head. "You mean it's because of the winds off Lake Michigan?"
"I'm no meteorologist," the driver chuckled, "but that's probably it. Look—another gust is coming in now. You'll see the numbers drop again."
Hugo quickly turned to the window. A block away, the Illinois state flag was snapping furiously in the wind, flapping so hard it seemed to shake the pole. Even with the car windows closed, he could feel the force of the gusts. Pedestrians on the sidewalk instinctively ducked their heads, pulling their collars high around their faces as they hurried along. Their coats billowed dramatically behind them, almost like sails.
Sure enough, the roadside board soon dropped again—to forty-eight degrees Fahrenheit. Hugo could only marvel.
Just then, a shrill ringing filled the cab. All three men looked around in confusion, wondering if the car had developed a fault. But Hugo reacted first.
"A phone!" he exclaimed, nudging Joseph. "Your cell phone!"
It had been almost a year since Hugo last used a mobile phone, so the sound still felt strange to him. Joseph, a complete novice, fumbled nervously through his bag before realizing the ringing really was coming from his phone. The driver looked relieved when Hugo explained, "It's okay—it's just the cell phone. We forgot about it." The driver chuckled knowingly.
Joseph finally pulled out the bulky handset. The insistent ringing kept urging him on. He flipped open the cover and stared helplessly at it, unsure what to do. "The green button," Hugo prompted. Joseph quickly pressed it and held the phone to his ear.
"Good morning, this is Joseph Gibbs," he said nervously. Silence. He frowned. "Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me?"
Hugo immediately understood: it was a signal issue. Mobile technology wasn't fully reliable yet, and with so few transmission towers, calls often broke up. Since he hadn't used one in ages, Hugo hadn't realized how poor the quality was—but Joseph's frustrated expression told the whole story.
Finally, a faint voice crackled through the static. "At last… may I ask who's calling?" Joseph relaxed, his brow smoothing out.
From Hugo's seat, he could only make out fragments of words between the bursts of static. Joseph strained as well, leaning in as though it would help.
"Oh, I see… What? No, I wasn't aware of that. I must have missed the message… Yes, sorry, could you repeat that? Right. Right. We've already left the airport, we're in a cab now. A cab—yes, that's right. No problem. Okay. Thank you. See you soon… Yes, I said, see you soon!"
By the time the call ended, Hugo felt exhausted just from watching. Joseph slumped back against the seat, wiping sweat from his forehead. He eyed the phone with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "You can barely hear a thing," he sighed. "But… it's convenient. Even with the trouble, it's convenient." A small smile spread across his face.
"What was it about?" Hugo asked, more interested in the message than the technology.
"Oh, it was the show's assistant," Joseph explained. "They actually sent someone to the airport to meet us, but since I hadn't checked my messages and left the phone packed away, I missed their calls. We ended up leaving on our own, and they were stuck waiting for ages. This was just to confirm where we are."
"Ah, I see," Hugo nodded. He hadn't expected such treatment—being met at the airport by the production team. It was the kind of privilege success brought, a perk that was still new to him.
"Same here," Joseph admitted, still a little surprised. He could sense how much The Oprah Winfrey Show valued Hugo, and that thought left him faintly exhilarated. It was recognition.
"Maybe we'll get used to this kind of thing," Hugo joked with a grin. Then, almost absentmindedly, he added, "It's not quite convenient yet, though. Someday, I bet you'll be able to check messages directly on the phone—or maybe even communicate through electronic mail. That would be far easier."
"What are you talking about?" Joseph asked, utterly lost.
"Nothing," Hugo said quickly, shaking his head. He turned back to the window to change the subject. "Wow, look—the temperature's shifting again. Feels like sitting in a sauna, watching that thermometer swing up and down."
The driver picked up the thread. "On the worst days, it can change every single minute," he said matter-of-factly. "You know, the record high here is a hundred degrees Fahrenheit—about forty Celsius. The record low? Minus ninety Fahrenheit, thirty-two below zero."
"Unbelievable," Hugo breathed. The sheer range reminded him of Xinjiang in western China, where people joked, 'In the morning you wear a fur coat, at noon a thin shirt, and by evening you're huddled by the fire eating watermelon.'
Joseph, sitting beside him, had also turned his attention to the scenery outside. He sighed in wonder, though Hugo's over-the-top reaction made him chuckle. "Maybe worry about your own health first," he teased. For outsiders like them, adapting to Chicago's unpredictable climate wasn't easy—choosing the right clothes would be essential.
Back in Los Angeles, the weather had hovered around sixty degrees Fahrenheit for the past few days. While there was a modest difference between morning and evening, it was never drastic; daytime highs rarely went beyond seventy. But Chicago's sudden swings—warm one minute, freezing the next—were truly frustrating.
They had flown in solely for this recording, and the shorter the trip, the harsher the adjustment. The body barely had time to catch up. What's more, this whole journey had come about at short notice. Hugo and Joseph had only received the invitation yesterday and were already in Chicago today—something that didn't happen often.
Ordinarily, The Oprah Winfrey Show sent invitations at least a month in advance. Because it was a taped program, the producers planned the following month's broadcast schedule early: arranging guests, setting discussion topics, and locking down recording dates in an orderly fashion. But sometimes special circumstances arose—like back in April, after the Rodney King verdict sparked riots in Los Angeles. Oprah, as a prominent Black woman and cultural voice, had immediately put together a special episode outside the regular schedule.
Hugo's case was also unusual. The show's team had already considered inviting him back in early December, but the timing wasn't right. His schedule was packed, and the momentum wasn't there yet. Once the Golden Globe nominations were announced, though, the producers knew the opportunity had arrived. They quickly reached out to Joseph, hoping to record the episode as soon as possible and air it before the Golden Globes on January 24. It was the perfect way to ride the buzz and boost ratings.
And so Hugo and Joseph found themselves in Chicago just before the New Year, ready to take part in the taping.
When they finally arrived at the hotel, Hugo stayed behind to rest in his room, while Joseph went straight to work. He didn't even bother unpacking—he headed directly to meet with the production staff.
For a long-form, in-depth show like The Oprah Winfrey Show, the taping sessions were significantly longer than those of a typical talk show. The scope and depth of the conversations also went beyond the usual light banter. Joseph needed at least a basic understanding of the flow, the planned topics, and the show's structure to help Hugo prepare.
This was also a safeguard—to make sure no sensitive topics caught them off guard during the conversation. Whether or not such preparation ultimately helped, it was an essential step before the cameras rolled.