One of the perks of being in the business is that you don’t have to wake up those ungodly slave hours and chain yourself to a machine after punching in, spending the rest of the day wanting to punch out – your boss, your time card, yourself – just to deal with the monotony of the daily grind. Which I guess is the apt term if you’re just wasting away at the grindstone. But not me. I like what I do, which is rare these days, especially in the media. And what I should be doing right now is sleeping, except the shrieks of wild children are preventing me.
In the front of the building live Cody and Apuri, and they’re responsible for the mewing anklebiters outside the door. They’re a couple of dirty hippies who somehow eek out a living making candles, which they must sell whenever the chamber of commerce feels like jacking off the locals with the rich pageantry of a homemade goods and crafts fair. Sure, I once had a copy of a Grateful Dead record (I think it was American Beauty, if that’s the one that has “Truckin’” on it), but liking the music and liking the dipshits who listen to it are about as far apart as Farmer John and those PETA folks. They’re nice enough and friendly, but there’s something about being an earth-first peace-and-love do-gooder that rubs me wrong. Wash your hair, shave, and put on something better than overalls. And the same goes for your husband.
I stumbled to the door and opened it to find the little one crying. I say little one because I don’t know for sure if it’s a boy or a girl. True to hippie form, if the kids aren’t mostly naked, they’re dressed in indistinguishable unisex outsfits, and both have long hair. I think this one is called Chan. I leaned down to see what was wrong.
“What’s the matter, little person?”
It stopped carrying on and looked up at me bewildered. The other, older one, was just a few steps away, playing with a stick. That one was Koi. They were both dirty, and for some reason, generally damp looking. I tried again.
“Where’s your mommy and daddy,” I asked.
It didn’t respond, but picked itself up, and then held up a sandal. I was about to help put it on, when I saw the kid was barefoot, and so was Koi, who came over at the sight of Chan holding up the shoe. They both looked at it for a moment, as foreign to them as soap. Chan dropped the sandal, and they stood confused by its purpose. Koi started hitting it with the stick, and Chan giggled. They both started laughing as Koi beat the evil footwear, punishing it for the foot-freedom stealing ways of it’s design. What next, rage against the moccasin?
In the distance I saw Apuri, attending to saving the planet rather than minding her brood. She was fidgeting with organic birdseed that she no doubt made herself, putting it into a holder made of recycled plastics and cans. Even from across the courtyard, she must have felt me looking at her, and turned around. She came over herd her offspring and show the concern of a mother who realized her children were not where she’d thought they were. And in front of a man wearing inappropriately dressed in a tee shirt and underwear.
“Hi Sheldon,” Apuri said in a strangely accented English. Maybe it was New Zealander. Or one of the places the English colonized and then were summarily expelled from years later. “Were they making too much noise?”
“I was just wondering why they weren’t off at the salt mines,” I said. “Shouldn’t they be getting ready for school or day care or something?”
“Oh, they’re still too young for that. Koi’s barely three, and Chan is just about 18 months. Besides, we’re going to home school them. It’s so much better for them to learn more than what the elitist school system is going to teach them.” Of course.
It would have been funny to me, except I knew she actually meant what she’d said. Yes, you idiot…math, language, all that elite knowledge and socialization that harms all those delicate children’s psyches. And Apuri was almost looking attractive until that utopian rhetoric came out.
“Yeah, it would be a real shame if they were corrupted by society and our educational system.”
“Oh, I know,” she nodded, looking quite serious. Fuck, you hippies don’t even get sarcasm.
She picked up the sandal and tucked it under her arm, and scooped up Chan. Apuri took Koi by the hand, ignoring the stick, which Koi used to smack against every door, fence, and window along the way back to their apartment. Way to parent there. I’m coming to the realization that while children may still be a possibility to have, seeing how those ones are turning out makes me think now may not be the best time. Plus I’m single and standing in my doorway half-dressed.
In the front of the building live Cody and Apuri, and they’re responsible for the mewing anklebiters outside the door. They’re a couple of dirty hippies who somehow eek out a living making candles, which they must sell whenever the chamber of commerce feels like jacking off the locals with the rich pageantry of a homemade goods and crafts fair. Sure, I once had a copy of a Grateful Dead record (I think it was American Beauty, if that’s the one that has “Truckin’” on it), but liking the music and liking the dipshits who listen to it are about as far apart as Farmer John and those PETA folks. They’re nice enough and friendly, but there’s something about being an earth-first peace-and-love do-gooder that rubs me wrong. Wash your hair, shave, and put on something better than overalls. And the same goes for your husband.
I stumbled to the door and opened it to find the little one crying. I say little one because I don’t know for sure if it’s a boy or a girl. True to hippie form, if the kids aren’t mostly naked, they’re dressed in indistinguishable unisex outsfits, and both have long hair. I think this one is called Chan. I leaned down to see what was wrong.
“What’s the matter, little person?”
It stopped carrying on and looked up at me bewildered. The other, older one, was just a few steps away, playing with a stick. That one was Koi. They were both dirty, and for some reason, generally damp looking. I tried again.
“Where’s your mommy and daddy,” I asked.
It didn’t respond, but picked itself up, and then held up a sandal. I was about to help put it on, when I saw the kid was barefoot, and so was Koi, who came over at the sight of Chan holding up the shoe. They both looked at it for a moment, as foreign to them as soap. Chan dropped the sandal, and they stood confused by its purpose. Koi started hitting it with the stick, and Chan giggled. They both started laughing as Koi beat the evil footwear, punishing it for the foot-freedom stealing ways of it’s design. What next, rage against the moccasin?
In the distance I saw Apuri, attending to saving the planet rather than minding her brood. She was fidgeting with organic birdseed that she no doubt made herself, putting it into a holder made of recycled plastics and cans. Even from across the courtyard, she must have felt me looking at her, and turned around. She came over herd her offspring and show the concern of a mother who realized her children were not where she’d thought they were. And in front of a man wearing inappropriately dressed in a tee shirt and underwear.
“Hi Sheldon,” Apuri said in a strangely accented English. Maybe it was New Zealander. Or one of the places the English colonized and then were summarily expelled from years later. “Were they making too much noise?”
“I was just wondering why they weren’t off at the salt mines,” I said. “Shouldn’t they be getting ready for school or day care or something?”
“Oh, they’re still too young for that. Koi’s barely three, and Chan is just about 18 months. Besides, we’re going to home school them. It’s so much better for them to learn more than what the elitist school system is going to teach them.” Of course.
It would have been funny to me, except I knew she actually meant what she’d said. Yes, you idiot…math, language, all that elite knowledge and socialization that harms all those delicate children’s psyches. And Apuri was almost looking attractive until that utopian rhetoric came out.
“Yeah, it would be a real shame if they were corrupted by society and our educational system.”
“Oh, I know,” she nodded, looking quite serious. Fuck, you hippies don’t even get sarcasm.
She picked up the sandal and tucked it under her arm, and scooped up Chan. Apuri took Koi by the hand, ignoring the stick, which Koi used to smack against every door, fence, and window along the way back to their apartment. Way to parent there. I’m coming to the realization that while children may still be a possibility to have, seeing how those ones are turning out makes me think now may not be the best time. Plus I’m single and standing in my doorway half-dressed.
---
It wasn’t the abrupt awakening that made me sour in the morning, but I’m sure that extra hour or two I would have had made me more receptive to Sadie when she sought me out.
“I got a surprise for you Shelly,” she cooed.
I was looking at my notes for next week’s trip, which put me and Fran on a red eye to La Guardia for our Poughkeepsie visit with The Prophylactic Mr. Kitney, and then back home after a stop in Greencastle, PA for a segment with the former youngest Civil War re-enactor who now makes Civil War themed birthday cards.
“You want to skip dinner and go straight to crossing off items on the company’s sexual harassment policy?”
“If you’re lucky,” she said smiling. Sadie was impervious to my lecherous ways, which happens to many women when they live in a beachfront duplex with their personal trailer boyfriend who drives a Porsche. “But then you wouldn’t get to meet Mason.”
“And Mason is…?”
“Mason Burnett, Senior VP of sales and marketing for Ephimria. He’s wants to be very involved with the programs they’re backing. I just found out he’s in town tonight, which is perfect!”
“Couldn’t they have just sent a fruit basket and worked with the traffic department to figure out the pods to place their ads? And what do you mean programs?”
“They’re starting with Another Fifteen Minutes, but they want to add more shows. And the rumor is that they’re thinking about buying a part of the channel.” Sadie got excited just by the thought of it.
“So are we getting stock options then?”
“No, better…discounts on Ephimria products!”
I was not looking forward to this dinner.
---
I pulled up to Faka Fafina in my Subaru, which always turned heads. Away. Faka Fafini was a swank Polynesian-Fusion restaurant which I’d never been to, but was in a row along the strip with other alarmingly expensive and chichi places like Wolf, Datette, The Peg House, or Fuzoku. Sadie was standing over at the bar, and she’d changed out of the baby blue blouse and khaki pants into a slinky black cocktail dress. Very L.A. Very much the corporate cougar at night. For me, I happened to tuck in a clean, pressed dress shirt into my slacks. Very I don’t give a shit. Very acceptable since I wasn’t some collegiate Beverly Hills Persian trying to pile on the most Armani. But Sadie looked great, and I let her know it. She was good at getting advertisers and clients to spend spend spend.
Before there was time to get a drink, Mason showed up, but we did not get properly introduced until we were sat at a table by the window, since he was talking on his Blackberry to some subordinate who didn’t properly get the cranberry stains out of the sheets from the dry cleaners.
“Good to meet you Sheldon,” Mason said with a firm handshake and an unnaturally white smile. “I’m sorry that call went longer than expected.”
“Not a problem, Mason. At least you’re not one of those cyborgs with a stupid earpiece on all the time.”
He turned his head further to the left, past me to reveal the Bluetooth earpiece on his right ear. Shit, I should have seen that. But was sat first and Sadie sat to my left, across from Mason, so she could spill her cleavage out and bat her eyelashes without him needing to turn at all. It would have been more uncomfortable but our waiter fortunately saved us with a list of specials and round of drinks. Still, I had to say something.
“No offense by that, y’know. I just –“
“Don’t worry about it,” Mason offered. “Sometimes I forget the damn thing’s on. My kids make fun of me for wearing it, and I even ruined one taking a shower.”
I was a little surprised at the kid comment, since he had to be about thirty to reach his position, but he looked barely old enough to order a drink. And Sadie launched right in at the mention of kids, like her uterine instruction manual was engaged. I tried to stay out of the small talk they made about his perfect wife and family and Sadie’s sales-y chit chat that was honed from years of dining with clients. Hairdressers and sales people – they are the masters of shallow, light conversation. Our waiter, who all but walked with a lisp, dropped off our entrees and a second round of drinks, which is when the real conversation began.
Mason fired at me point blank. “So how do you feel about having Ephimria being such a large part of the show.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. That’s not entirely true. I could have told him that I had no fucking clue what snake oil he was selling and why they zeroed in on my show to be their springboard to taking over the channel, but this wasn’t going to be a love-in. I could have told him I could care less what they did as long as they signed on and the checks cleared. But really, I didn’t if I could respond how Sadie wanted me to respond, which was what was needed of me. I still managed to slip out a soft, but audible “ecstatic” before I imagined Sadie’s three-inch heals giving me foot stigmata. I made a brief glance at her, arched my brows with a deep breath and tried not smash our new piggy bank.
“We’re ecstatic to have someone who’s looking to partner with the show, and Sadie and I both want to know what we can do to make this…partnership advantageous.” I wanted to take those words in the back alley and kick them in the ribs. But I still understood the importance of being a diplomat.
“Well, that’s very reassuring,” our quarry smiled in response. Sadie looked relieved, and my feet where unharmed. But I had to go a little off script.
“But I’ll be honest with you, Mason. I don’t really know that much about Ephimria…and that website, while very well designed and slick, doesn’t tell you average layperson, like myself, exactly what Ephimria is.”
Mason looked at me with concern. But he didn’t get irritated as I might have expected from my lack of knowledge gleaned from his cryptic website.
“I was afraid of that.”
“Afraid of what,” Sadie piped in, worried as much about the implication as she was about understanding exactly what was being implicated.
“We’re not going to sell much if we’re not transparent,” Mason said. He paused and thought deeply into the wasabi braised tuna medallions with sticky rice. “We should have made it more product and less testimonial,” he said softly, with a slight rap of his fist on the table. When he looked up though, those lines of tension in his voice we gone, and the fluorescent overheads reflected in the water glass, casting him in a small spotlight as he launched into a well-rehearsed description of Ephimria. It was fucking creepy, and I was the one who pulled the string on this talking doll.
“Ephimria was first introduced as epaphimrolnate by Mendel Bronson who was a chemist and amateur canoeist. Due to a freak accident on camping trip, he lost his sense of smell. Distraught from the situation, he left his job and gained almost 400 pounds. He died when his mashed potato to gravy ratio exceeded his throat capacity, but his son Hawthorne found the formula that Mendel was working on at the time. Had he lived, the supplement would have helped shed the excess weight, but there was much, much more.
Hawthorn discovered journal after journal of recipe and chemical notation for a whole series of super nutrients and health supplements, as well as volumes of philosophical musings on lifestyle. The first meal replacement shake powder and enlightenment manual was sold over 25 years ago, out of the trunk of his car, but through the magic of multilevel marketing and direct distribution sales, Ephimria grew into the international health and wellbeing organization that manufactures and distributes over 700 products globally.”
Fuck. Another Fifteen Minutes was about to be turned out like a bitch by a legitimized pyramid scheme with a side cult sauce.
---
The rest of dinner I had very little to add as Mason extolled the virtues of the Level 6 program he was currently taking (running a cool $350 a week between the pills, mixes, and reading material – which was a nearly catalog sized series of articles, exercises, and through provoking texts), and Sadie pressed him to help tailor a program to increase her psychological strength and maintain a high protein, lo-carb diet. Eventually, the show came up, and I was glad that we were at the valet, because I had an excuse to leave.
“Shel, when you come back from shooting your segments, I’d like to go over some of the ideas we’ve been looking at to bolster your audience,” Mason said candidly.
“You’re not going to ask me to turn into a sexy blonde in a red evening gown, are you,” I laughed. “Because I did that once, and it was only for a goof. And the police later cleared me of the charges.”
Mason chuckled, “Oh, that’s rich, but no…however I’m sure there wouldn’t be anything wrong if we added a little sex appeal to the show.”
I know I’m no George Clooney, but Another Fifteen Minutes was not supposed to double as masturbatory material for middle America. “So you want to make the stories a little spicier,” I asked.
“Er, not quite…but maybe a young female co-host would add a demographic we’re not tapping into properly. And that would really open up the lead-in to some of the other programs.”
“I know you guys want to foot the bill and all, but we have been doing this for a while, and we know what works.” Sadie was starting to get antsy at the exchange, and I was getting ready to piss mark my territory.
“It’s great that some kid had a booger shaped like New Jersey that captured the imagination of the public, but we also want to look at some other ideas and options too. That’s all.” Mason started to get into his car, a silver Mercedes convertible. Pretty fancy rental for a guy just in town for a day or two.
“So you want to change the format of the show.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you’re thinking about it, aren’t you.”
“Look, Sheldon, we don’t want to change,” and he emphasized that by drawing it out, “the program. We just want to see if we can make it…better.” He flashed that orthodontic masterpiece and waved to us. “Well talk when you come back.”
He drove off into the bustling night traffic, and I got smacked hard in the arm by Sadie.
“What are you fucking doing?”
“What am I doing? What do you mean,” I protested. “Usually I have to grope a woman to get that response.”
“Don’t be stupid, Shelly. They’re the boss because they’re going to pay to call the shots. If they say they want tits, we’re going to get them tits. If they want you to dress like a chicken and dance, you better listen for the music.”
“Shit, Sadie…I get that they’re making the calls, but this is my baby, too. Just because they show up and start waving their dick around saying it’s the biggest doesn’t mean that’s the best.”
She recoiled at the imagery. “Ugh, that’s disgusting and typical, to turn it into a dick thing.” Sadie looked me in the eye with ardent seriousness. “You’re not listening to me.”
“Okay, what?”
“They’re going to see how the next five or ten shows go, but they’re going to be making changes. Guaranteed. And when they get on the other programs, they’re going to make them too. It’s going to happen. Be smart. Don’t be one of them.”
“Shel, when you come back from shooting your segments, I’d like to go over some of the ideas we’ve been looking at to bolster your audience,” Mason said candidly.
“You’re not going to ask me to turn into a sexy blonde in a red evening gown, are you,” I laughed. “Because I did that once, and it was only for a goof. And the police later cleared me of the charges.”
Mason chuckled, “Oh, that’s rich, but no…however I’m sure there wouldn’t be anything wrong if we added a little sex appeal to the show.”
I know I’m no George Clooney, but Another Fifteen Minutes was not supposed to double as masturbatory material for middle America. “So you want to make the stories a little spicier,” I asked.
“Er, not quite…but maybe a young female co-host would add a demographic we’re not tapping into properly. And that would really open up the lead-in to some of the other programs.”
“I know you guys want to foot the bill and all, but we have been doing this for a while, and we know what works.” Sadie was starting to get antsy at the exchange, and I was getting ready to piss mark my territory.
“It’s great that some kid had a booger shaped like New Jersey that captured the imagination of the public, but we also want to look at some other ideas and options too. That’s all.” Mason started to get into his car, a silver Mercedes convertible. Pretty fancy rental for a guy just in town for a day or two.
“So you want to change the format of the show.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you’re thinking about it, aren’t you.”
“Look, Sheldon, we don’t want to change,” and he emphasized that by drawing it out, “the program. We just want to see if we can make it…better.” He flashed that orthodontic masterpiece and waved to us. “Well talk when you come back.”
He drove off into the bustling night traffic, and I got smacked hard in the arm by Sadie.
“What are you fucking doing?”
“What am I doing? What do you mean,” I protested. “Usually I have to grope a woman to get that response.”
“Don’t be stupid, Shelly. They’re the boss because they’re going to pay to call the shots. If they say they want tits, we’re going to get them tits. If they want you to dress like a chicken and dance, you better listen for the music.”
“Shit, Sadie…I get that they’re making the calls, but this is my baby, too. Just because they show up and start waving their dick around saying it’s the biggest doesn’t mean that’s the best.”
She recoiled at the imagery. “Ugh, that’s disgusting and typical, to turn it into a dick thing.” Sadie looked me in the eye with ardent seriousness. “You’re not listening to me.”
“Okay, what?”
“They’re going to see how the next five or ten shows go, but they’re going to be making changes. Guaranteed. And when they get on the other programs, they’re going to make them too. It’s going to happen. Be smart. Don’t be one of them.”
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