Austin, TX (March 5, 2019) –  The William Beaumont Agency’s talent, Claire Scott, will launch her own talk show, “Claire” on NBC on March 5th, 2018 at South by Southwest in Austin, Texas.

“Claire” makes its television debut six months after Scott signed a breakthrough contract with the National Broadcast Company.

“While ‘Claire’ will be based in New York City, I’m still a Texas girl. Launching my talk show in my home state feels like the perfect way for new viewers to see just who I am off camera,” says Claire Scott, the new host.

After its debut week in Austin, Texas, “Claire” will move to New York City for live shows five days a week. The show will focus on the day’s breaking news stories, trending topics and stories from people across the country.

“Claire” will debut across fifty NBC affiliate stations across the country on March 25th, 2019. Additional stations will pick the show up in the fall.

About William Beaumont Agency: Established in 2000, the William Beaumont Agency focuses on bringing top talent from Texas to the national level. Founded by William Beaumont, the agency has placed more than a dozen journalists and reporters into top shows with the four major networks.

About Claire Scott, host of ‘Claire’: After graduating from the University of North Texas in 2013, Claire Scott has worked across the country as a journalist in multiple markets. Starting at the ABC affiliate in Fargo, North Dakota, Scott is familiar to viewers in markets such as Corpus Christi, Texas and most recently in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.




Music throbs at the bar and I can feel the drink in my hand almost bouncing up and down as it dances along. After three other margaritas, I’m finding myself having to focus a little too much on making sure the drink doesn’t spill over onto the bar top.

My best friend, Rosa, sits next to me, deciding the best way to handle the alcohol is to just drink it. “So instead of proposing to you, he told you he was in love with another man?” she asks.

I nod my head. “So far, I haven’t found enough alcohol to help wrap my head around it. I feel like an idiot,” I say. Reaching for my drink, I take a gulp, somewhere between chugging it and sipping, and slam the glass back on the bar.

It falls over when I let go and I wince, aware my reflexes are trash right now. 

“Woah, it might be time for you ladies to switch to water,” the bartender says, running over to wipe down the counter where the melting drink has landed.

Rosa waves him away, not interested in hearing the sobering truth. “Em, how are you holding up?” she asks. 

“There are moments. Sometimes I’m mad, like when I kicked him out of the apartment, and sometimes I’m miserable because I can’t believe I didn’t see that coming.” I can’t even admit that it fell apart that quickly because now I feel like I should have seen the signs long ago. 

After my dad left my mom for his mistress when I was twenty, I swore I would never let someone carry on like that behind my back. Yet here, I am, just like my mother. 

“Well you know what we need to do? Find you a hot rebound,” Rosa says. “Tonight would be perfect for that.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, a little unsure what she’s suggesting between the music and alcohol. While I’m pretty sure I know what she’s saying, I don’t want to admit she might be right. 

“Emily, you just ended a relationship with a man after six years because he fell in love with a man. So we need to find you the exact opposite. A straight man looking for a quick fling,” she says. “Someone who will appreciate you for being cute and blonde and perky,” she says with a quick wink.

“That’s a horrible idea,” I say. She might be able to turn a flirt from one man to the next, but I spent the last six years tied down to one. Shifting my head back to being single won’t just happen overnight.

“Why?” She pushes back, not quite ready to accept my shutdown. She’s like that. Rosa might have a nice job as a teacher, but outside of school, she’s tough as balls and doesn’t back down. “Oh, there’s a group of good-lookers over there. Hands down, we can find you someone.”

“I’m not ready for that,” I say again.

“He really messed with you, didn’t he?” she asks.

I nod. “Imagine you’re in a relationship with someone long enough that you’re just waiting for the ring before it’s set for life,” I say, knowing in my mind, I more or less considered us married, it was just waiting for the details. Just waiting for him to be a junior partner at his law firm so he wouldn’t feel the pressure of having to prove himself.

“Then he drops the news that I should have seen coming, for how long I was with him. How the hell am I supposed to feel? I’m happy for him that he’s comfortable enough to come out, but also, why the fuck should I be happy when he strung me along for six years like that? But maybe ’stringing along’ is too strong of a term? I don’t know anymore.”

“Oh, there it is,” Rosa says. “I knew you were waiting to snap. I knew the alcohol would do it.”

I shake my head, not wanting to deal with this. “It feels like the rug got pulled out from underneath me.”

“Hey, think about it this way, you’re still doing better than most people our age. How many of our peers can say they’re a journalist for one of the biggest, independent television stations in the country? So, you’re single, you have everything else going for you. As soon as you’re ready, Em, you’ll find someone.”

“We’re a local market, we aren’t big,” I say, electing to ignore the comment about finding someone. 

“Isn’t Austin in the top fifty markets?” she asks, referring to the designated market areas for local broadcasts.

“Thirty-nine out of two hundred ten,” I say.

“I’d say that’s big!”

“Look, Rosa, while I appreciate the enthusiasm, I don’t need the pep talk yet. I’m still in the shock stage,” I say. Maybe part of me wants to stay in the shock stage. 

“Okay, if you aren’t going to find someone at the bar, I will.” While I love my best friend, we take very different approaches to how to handle relationships.

Mine lasted six years, her’s typically last six hours. Maybe we can meet in the middle and try six months each. I snort at the idea and then turn around when Rosa’s eyes lock onto the corner behind my head. 

There’s a TV hoisted up to the corner of the bar with a commercial playing. All it takes is the split second for my face to flash by, covered in grime and dirt, hiding under a baseball cap.

“I still remember filming that report,” I say, turning back to my drink and my friend. 

“What one was that?” she asks.

“Fire caused by lightning and a high winds, which is why I look all gross. I took an hour long shower that night before I felt remotely clean.”

“Reporting in the field sounds like it must be a blast,” Rosa says. “What’s your favorite part?”

“The late nights or the men who think catcalling in the middle of a live report is acceptable. I can’t just choose one.”

“You know, I love tipsy you. Sober Emily is too nice to be snarky. Tipsy Emily lets it all out,” she says, smiling. 

I roll my eyes but I know she’s right. As a journalist often on camera, I have to be nice. I wouldn’t say I’m mean by nature, but alcohol makes us all do some odd things.

“What story are you working on this week?” she asks.

“Nope, nope. We aren’t talking about my job.” I shake my head. 

“All I have to report is that there’s a cold going around my classroom. Thank goodness it hit right before spring break and those kids are all at home getting their own families sick.”

“The newsroom had a horrible battle with the flu earlier this year. Nancy was complaining that she had the shot and still got the flu,” I say. “Excuse me, another one please?” I ask, throwing my hand up to catch the bartender.

He stares at me for a moment, then finally nods, before turning back to get to work.

“Girl, that guy over there is checking you out,” Rosa says, wiggling her eyebrows, trying to annoy me.

“Well I hope he likes faceless blonde girls cause that’s all he’s going to see.”

“So sassy. I love it.” She giggles between sips of her drink. “Oh, can I get another one, too?”

“Before we do that, I really need to go to the bathroom. Watch my stuff,” I say, hoping off the barstool to run to the bathroom. 

I turn around a couple times, trying to decide where the bathroom is.

“To your left!” the bartender yells. I wonder if he’s regretting giving us this additional round of drinks.

I wave to say thank you and head over to the bathroom.

Clocking in at five-foot-one, I’m tiny and the five inch heels I have on are designed for work in the studio, not the bar – where the seduction of margaritas makes me just a little less coordinated. 

Turning down the length of the bar, my shirt must catch on something and I go falling forward when my shirt tears from the weight.

Two hands reach out to grab me before I land flat on my face and pull me back up.

“Be careful,” the man says. He turns me around and another man walks past me, bumping me into the first one.

I look up to see a guy standing in front of me, one who probably still has half a foot over me in the heels. His face is dark from the shadows of the bar but he looks significantly more sober than I am.  

“Wouldn’t want to break your pretty little face,” the second man says, leaning over my shoulder so he’s whispering in my ear. 

“Mark, leave her alone,” the first man says. Realizing he still has his hands on me, he abruptly lets go to give his friend a shove and I almost stumble forward into him.

“Thanks,” I say, trying to catch myself this time before my nose goes into this guy’s shoulder.

In my time as a journalist and reporter, I’ve learned the importance of eye contact. It makes people uncomfortable if you hold it too long. So, as after I look back to side-step Mark, I lock eyes with the first man, the one who grabbed me before I fell on my face.

Except the whole time I lock eyes with him, he never turns away.

After a few steps, I have to cave in so I turn around and head back to the bathroom. As I walk in, I try to think, because I feel like I’ve seen him before.

Lost in my own thoughts, I hit the bathroom stall wall with my head as I turn around and wince. 

While I take care of my business, I try to flip through my mental files. Is he someone Russ knows? He must be, I can’t imagine how else I would him, unless maybe I’ve just spotted him while I was working on a report?

No, if I had only seen him one time, I wouldn’t remember. When I’m out in the field reporting, there is a lot of activity going on. But now, in the bathroom, full of alcohol, I’m feeling a little obsessive about the subject. 

Once I finish in the bathroom, I stumble out of the stall and wash my hands. While I was sitting down, I definitely didn’t realize how much tequila was in that margarita. I know I’ve had a few and I’m inching further from tipsy and closer to drunk, but the idea of another one makes me a little nauseous.  

Heading back out to the bar, I try my best to act like I’ve got my shit together when I walk past the man and his friends. I see him looking at me out of the corner of my eye, but I carry on, smiling as I meet Rosa.

“Here’s another round!” she says, throwing her hands up in the air. She has the drinks in her hands and I’m afraid she’s going to spill.

“Okay, hold on,” I say, standing on my tip toes to grab one of the drinks.

It’s filled up to the brim, so I lean over and take a chug, even if I don’t want another one, I also don’t want to spill it. We’re definitely going to need an Uber home.

Placing the drink back on the bar, I climb up to my bar stool and try not to let my body fall back. 

“Who was that man who caught you earlier?” Rosa asks. She’s leaned over like she’s trying to whisper, but the alcohol has kicked in enough that she’s really just yelling. With her black hair covering her face, she just might need to yell to hear herself out of the echo.

“Sssh,” I say, fighting through her hair to put my finger up to her lips. It’s so loud in here, I doubt the man can hear her, but I don’t want to risk it. 

She leans a little too far and I have to grab her shoulders to catch her. “Are you okay?” I ask.

Rosa just lets out a little giggle. “I’m peachy,” she says, smiling. “But I think we should go. We should call the last round a loss.”

I have to agree. Before we can change our minds to stay, I raise my hand to catch the bartender so we can pay our bills. 

He nods, giving me the acknowledgement. A moment later, he pops our bills in front of us. “Your ride is waiting outside, too,” he says.

“My ride?” I ask. While I’m sure both of us are planning to get an Uber to take home, we haven’t gotten our act together to actually order one.

“I’ve got an Uber booked for y’all,” he says. “Man over there said y’all might need it.”

I follow the finger to see the man from earlier, the one I tripped in front of, leaning against the bar with his friends.

Oh lord. If he’s thinking enough about me to get me an Uber, that means he’s going to be thinking about me long enough to probably see me on a commercial for work. The last thing I want to be is the story of the drunk journalist. “Oh, okay. Tell him thanks,” I say. 

Rosa is still leaning against me for support, so I take a moment to give her a quick push so she falls back against her stool.

“Thanks, babe,” she says, giving me a lopsided smile. She’s gone, there’s no denying it. 

“Of course.” Digging in my purse, I try to find my wallet. After I find it, I place the card back on the bill slot and do the same for Rosa.

“You’re the best,” she says. 

“Don’t you dare forget it,” I warn her, knowing she won’t remember it tomorrow.

Once we’ve closed the tabs, I have to get Rosa out of her seat.

“How much did you drink while I was in the bathroom?” I ask, pulling her out of her chair.

“More than I thought.” 

It takes at least ten minutes to get her to the car, where we confirm the driver is waiting for us. 

I dump her into the car and before I get inside, I turn back one time to see if anyone is watching us. The man from earlier isn’t anywhere to be seen, so I let myself climb into the car and drive away. 

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