Let me tell you about my last day at CNC as the host and producer of Another Fifteen Minutes.
The first thing I should have picked up on was when I hit the guard stand in the lobby and Carlos, the AM security clerk, asked if I had my passcard ID with me. I usually carried it in my satchel bag, but couldn’t remember the last time I flashed it to enter the building, let alone needed to verify my ID. I rummaged through the mints, pens, folded notes, coins and generally random garbage that were in the front pocket until I could confirm the little plastic laminate with my likeness (and a far younger one at that) was in there. I pulled it out just to show Carlos in case the registration on my face was not substantiation enough I’d located it. He read the bar code off it with his pen wand, and his computer made a happy chime of recognition.
He replied nervously and mildly relieved, “Thanks. Thanks, Mr.--“
“No problem, Carlos,” I interrupted him, raising my hand to stop him, and taking the ID card from his stubby, outstretched fingers. “One should never begrudge another man just doing their job.”
My words didn’t give him much confidence as I walked away, and I didn’t need to look back to know he maintained the flushed, sweaty discomfort of a student being told of a pop quiz.
I settled into my nest and looked over a few papers that were left on my desk while I was gone, waiting for the laptop to boot up. The office was full, but there was a tranquility flowing over from the focused work, yet I had not been lulled by its spell. I watched everybody for a moment. Head down. Hide that smile. I had an ant farm when I was younger, but they never had e-mail addresses or folders.
I started organizing the next segments into possible show groupings, and tried to keep myself from needing to travel for too many long stretches. If I could cut a few shows together with what we had, that would be great. Mom was about to take her annual cruise with her group of drunken retired shut-ins, and there was something extra pleasant about coming home to an empty home, far more than just being out of town and away. There were a few minutes cheerfully spent thinking of those elderly boozers, holding on to their walkers as they retched or babbling even more incoherently than their early onset dementia. My demeanor on the phone was made even a touch brighter because of it.
“Hello, may I speak with Ms. Gladys Crocker,” I asked politely.
“This is she,” responded the boisterous, husky voice. I pictured her as a robust woman, like a steer wearing a wig.
“Ma’am, my name is Sheldon and I’m with the program Another Fifteen Minutes. I believe you’ve already been contacted by some folks in our office regarding your story.”
“Yes, they did. Are we changing the time?”
“I’m sorry, changing the time?”
“Yes, for us to meet. And for my son to come into town so he’s there too. Is that going to change?”
I didn’t know what to say. Who the fuck called here and already made the appointment? “No,” I agreed, “we’ll keep things the same. Our staff must have duplicate lists. That happens sometimes.”
“Can we be on the TV twice then?”
That there is the difference between who is watching television and who just sits in from of it getting a cathode-ray tan. The TV and not TV. “Well, Ms. Crocker, there will be reruns.”
She barely waited for me to finish before she started rambling about her nephew who got struck by lightning in her backyard, or her uncle with six fingers on his right hand. She may have still been listing family members and their oddities when I gently hung up after thanking her several times. I called over to Karen to try and get some info on how this could have happened, but all I got was Ally, who stonewalled me in her usual way.
“I don’t know what to tell you Shel…you know we don’t deal with that stuff out of our office. We’re not setting seating arrangements at a banquet.”
Charming. Can’t even raise the flag to see who salutes it. I tried to forget about it and move on to reviewing our next episode before it aired, making sure there weren’t any last minute changes or edits to give the show a more interesting angle. It was 22 minutes and six seconds of smooth, well done programming, and I was proud. It wasn’t going to change the world or solve people’s problems, but it was entertaining and engrossing, and made me forget about everything else while I watched while I became part of the story, which is what television should do.
My zen was not shattered even with the surprise of Jeff, standing behind me and watching the last few minutes. “That’s good stuff,” he said.
I smiled and turned in my chair. “Damn right it is. You come all the way down here to tell me that?”
“Actually, I came all the way from Baltimore.”
“”You could have just left a message.”
“Actually, that’s what I came to talk to you about…”
I paused for a few moments, drinking in what I could remember about that message I’d left when I was drinking. Nada. But I think I knew what I would have said.
“Hey, sorry about that. You know I love you and Laura…and it’s no secret that she’s, I don’t know, something special. I said something about her tits, right? I mean, you’ve even said how perfect they are. I’m sorry about that.” I smiled apologetically, but Jeff didn’t break from his stoic expression.
“Listen Shel, we go back a long way, and this is not easy for me, but that message was too much. It went too far.”
“Are you serious?” He was.
Jeff studied me for a second and a flicker of worry registered in his eyes. “You know even really know, do you? Damn it, Shel, this is what the trouble is?”
It was getting very intense, all too quickly. “Wait, wait. What are you talking about?”
Jeff closed the door. “When you were in Wisconsin, where do you think you called?”
“I called you.” I was confused. “I called you on your cell phone.”
Jeff grunted a small laugh, but it was in a pathetic register, not of glee or humor. “No you didn’t.” He was suppressing being too emotional, but I could see there was anger simmering inside.
He continued, “Actually, you called my office line. In your…state, you somehow mashed the right keys and accessed the voice mail menu, my voice mail menu. You didn’t leave me a message.”
“So what then?”
“You keyed in the redial function. And it redialed my last call that day, which was a conference call.” If there was somewhere lower in your body for your stomach to sink into, I’d just found it without knowing the anatomical term to describe it. “That message you left, that stupid message, went to a dozen of the wrong people.”
“So they’re not fans of Laura’s tits?” I didn’t know what to say, and that did not help.
“Mason Burnett called me first, and he was able to keep most of the others from calling me.” He produced a CD. Care to remember what that golden, forked tongue of yours was spewing?” So that’s what the apple looked like to Eve.
I popped it into the laptop and listened back to my greatest hits. Yeah, I could see why the network heads, Ephimria boardmembers, and scions of Burnett Media would have been ticked off. I was astounded by my ability to tax the language so far as to not reuse a single adjective or inflammatory curse. I looked at Jeff and admitted honestly, “Alcohol is the best lubricant for the wheels of truth to grind. Did I mention I was sorry?”
“There’s almost a half hour’s worth of that!” Jeff was not shrugging it off and finding my position in this. What was my position?
“You really got going at the end, about how it would be better to castrate the executives and march them down the streets in chains in hopes of warning the public of the real danger of being raped by their marketing schemes, and that you wanted to spare further generations oppression at the hands of a white devil overlord.”
Oh, that position. Gin makes a man mean.
“Fortunately,” Jeff added, “most of them had already hung up before that part.”
“What can I say, Jeff. I’m sorry. Really. That was a one in a million, cruel twist of fate. Listen, I’ll write them all personally apologizing if that’s what it takes. No, I’ll film an apology. That way that can really see that I am sorry. I am.”
Jeff shook his head and exhaled under the immense burden I could see this had put upon him.
“Listen to me, Shelly. You’ve got to leave. And you have to leave quietly. If you don’t, they’re going to fire you, and this whole thing is going to blow up. Big.”
“How big?”
“They’ll make sure you don’t even eat off the same catering trucks that go onto the lot. Even when they’re in your neighborhood. It’s career genocide.”
“I believe it’s suicide.”
“No, you don’t get the scope of it.”
“So I just quit my own show? Are you kidding me?”
“Here’s what I think; they don’t dislike you, and they think the program is terrific, but you fire from the hip when you shouldn’t even be carrying a gun. Everybody knows you’re not a fan of what’s happening with the accountants and stockholders, but that’s not where your focus should be. They may never be convinced you’re a team player, but right now, you’re too caustic to be here while deals are going down and plans are in action. Plans within plans. And for that to be so vocally expressed, they’re just going to bulldoze you. This isn’t David versus Goliath. It’s an army of Goliaths.”
“So no matter what I’m done?”
“They can fire you and ruin everything you’ve done, or you can disappear for a little while they forget about you.”
I shook my head. “Jeff, that’s blackmail.”
“No, it’s business.”
I thought about it, looking for any possible footing. “I’m still under contract…they have to buy me out.”
“Not if you quit. And they want you to quit. They’re not going to let you piss on their leg and then let you sell them an umbrella just because you say it’s raining.”
“So where does that leave me?”
“There’s a non-competition clause in there…go can’t go to other networks as on-air, you can’t develop programming. Basically you have to sit it out until it expires in about a year.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I got the feeling I may have been right about these vultures.
“Did I fly all the way here to make jokes with you?” I could see he’d been backed into a corner, and it wasn’t mine.
“Look,” he said, “if you just take a sabbatical and let things carry on, let me do what I can to try and get you back. We’ll finish out the remaining episodes and I’m sure we can push another season’s start back beyond the contract terms. By then, things will be in place and we can make a move to get you back. You’ve gotta walk away and not cause a ruckus. That’ll help show them you’re serious about working here, under their structure.”
“But I think their structure is bullshit,” I began to protest.
“Stop being so thick-headed! I’m not telling you this as your boss, I’m trying to help you as your friend. This isn’t easy to do, but I’m the only thing standing between them butchering you and you being able to walk away from this in one piece.”
“So I just walk away from everything I put my heart and soul and guts into, and maybe I get a shot at it again?”
“If you don’t, you’ve got no shot at all. Think about it – why something instead of nothing?”
“So what happens? Cami takes over the show?”
“I don’t know. They don’t know. It was never set up to be like that. They’ll probably take what’s shot and mix it with anything she does. They may even borrow a host to fill in a segment, just to cross promote the other shows.”
“Hans is okay. I don’t feel too bad about having him on.”
Jeff nodded, “Yeah, Hans would be good.”
I couldn’t believe what we were talking about. Abandon my child? It was fucked on so many levels, but underneath all my righteous indignation and cantankerousness, Jeff was trying to do what he could for me, even though I’d royally screwed myself. It was better to fall on my sword than be surrounded and stabbed by dozens of them.
“So what, I just go home now?”
“Come over to my office. You’ll sign some paperwork resigning your position. While you’re doing that, one of the tech guys will scrub your laptop and take anything that belongs to the company off. You’ll be done by lunchtime, and then you can gather your stuff without much attention while the rest are off eating.”
“But what am I supposed to do?” Really, I had no idea.
“You’ve got some bucks saved up, right?”
“Sure, that’s why I’m a grown man who lives with his mother…it’s fun and convenient.”
“I thought you moved her in because of her heatlh?”
“Yeah,” I said, “so I can make sure the unhealthy amount she drinks is somewhat regulated.”
“There’ll be a little for the stuff that has to air, but just take a break for a little while and yet your head straight. I am going to get you back here, but you’ve got to trust me.”
“So fuck me.”
“What?”
“It’s a joke,” I explained. “How does a lawyer say ‘fuck you?’ Trust me.”
“If I was a lawyer, all they’d find is the chewed up wetsuit.”
Ah…the lawyer as shark. Touché.
I took my final walk through the bullpens and we ended up in Jeff’s office. It was what I figure sleepwalking is like. The closest I can describe it to was when I graduated from college. Those moments when I walked up the stairs, crossed the stage to shake hands with the university chancellor (shake with the right, cross and grab the diploma with your left), and then shuffled back down with the other side were an out of body experience, and not because it was one of the few times I wasn’t stoned or drunk or taking pills in college. It’s like an invisible hand is pushing you along, moving your limbs and manipulating you like a limp puppet.
That viper Ally wasn’t around thankfully, but Celine was sitting by Jeff’s desk. She was the human resources administrator and probably one of the least useful humans on the planet. Like Dante, I believe there are several levels to Hell, and HR folks end up there somewhere between disc jockeys with their unfunny, idiotic banter and senators, who are mostly just plain scumbags. The last time I had anything to do with her was an amusing exchange (on my side) about assigned parking spaces. She wrote me a memo about not parking in Jeff’s space when he was out of town since the spots were assigned, to which I replied he was not only aware, but he gave me permission to do so. And what fucking difference did it make? Our spots were maybe 20 feet apart and there was no advantage to parking there – in fact, mine was actually closer. Fran and I came up with a list of questions for her, which never got a response. I really did want to know where to park when we carpooled into work? And what if I was borrowing Jeff’s car – where to park then? I don’t feel that rules are meant to be broken, just questioned why they’re rules.
Celine tried to hide her pleasure in seeing me go under her cold, professional veneer, but I know this was going to be the highlight of her month.
“Try not to throw a party until I leave the building,” I said to her.
She looked at me with the dead eyes of an unrepentant tattle-tale, framed by layers of make up that begged you to scratch your initials in it like wet cement. “I just wish you good luck with your future endeavors, on behalf of myself and the company.” God, what an uptight bitch. It was hard to believe she was married, let alone uncrossed her legs long enough to have two children. Her sister used to be a line producer years ago, and to try convincing yourself they were related was a flag-wrapped stunt the size of the Snake River.
I signed all the forms they put in front of me without protest as Jeff stood off the the side, watching the process. I was listening to Celine explain what each paper was that I signed or initialed; this was my formal discharge, this was my confirmation I understood the parameters of my formal discharge, this was non-disclosure agreement, this was reaffirmation of the contract terms to not compete with the network or try to recreate the show - but I wasn’t paying attention. Soon enough it was done, and Jeff escorted me back to the office. An IT guy came in with my laptop and gave it to Jeff.
“Clean and clear, sir.”
Jeff thanked the computer tech, who doubled back from the door of the office. “This was in the drive, sir. It’s marked company property, but we weren’t sure.”
“I’ll take that,” Jeff said as he took the CD.
I scraped together the little bits I had around the desk and on the wall that belonged to me and put them into a file box, which would just look like I was taking some documents home to review, though I was doing anything but. I put the laptop back in my satchel bag, and took one last look around.
“I think that’s everything.”
“Here,” motioned Jeff with the CD. “You get this.”
“I’ll be playing it all the time.”
No,” he said, “it’s yours because that’s the only copy of it. It was wiped from all the voice mail after they made that. That’s the only copy in existence.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” I said, and put the disc on the desk, halfway off the edge. I drove my fist down over the extended crescent, snapping the platter in half. The broken edge dangled over the side, attached by the thin film coating the surface of the disc. It must have looked cool and cinematic. I hope it did, because that fucking hurt more than I thought. “Now it doesn’t exist.”
“Thanks for not fighting this, Shelly. It helps. A lot. That’s how I got them to give up the copy of the recording. I told them you’d cooperate and not cause a problem. This will smooth things over with them. Just be patient and I’ll do what I can to get things back on track.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not unemployed or unemployable.”
I went down to the lobby alone, and Carlos checked out the contents of the box per his instructions, liberating my ID from me before I signed out and left the building.
The first thing I should have picked up on was when I hit the guard stand in the lobby and Carlos, the AM security clerk, asked if I had my passcard ID with me. I usually carried it in my satchel bag, but couldn’t remember the last time I flashed it to enter the building, let alone needed to verify my ID. I rummaged through the mints, pens, folded notes, coins and generally random garbage that were in the front pocket until I could confirm the little plastic laminate with my likeness (and a far younger one at that) was in there. I pulled it out just to show Carlos in case the registration on my face was not substantiation enough I’d located it. He read the bar code off it with his pen wand, and his computer made a happy chime of recognition.
He replied nervously and mildly relieved, “Thanks. Thanks, Mr.--“
“No problem, Carlos,” I interrupted him, raising my hand to stop him, and taking the ID card from his stubby, outstretched fingers. “One should never begrudge another man just doing their job.”
My words didn’t give him much confidence as I walked away, and I didn’t need to look back to know he maintained the flushed, sweaty discomfort of a student being told of a pop quiz.
I settled into my nest and looked over a few papers that were left on my desk while I was gone, waiting for the laptop to boot up. The office was full, but there was a tranquility flowing over from the focused work, yet I had not been lulled by its spell. I watched everybody for a moment. Head down. Hide that smile. I had an ant farm when I was younger, but they never had e-mail addresses or folders.
I started organizing the next segments into possible show groupings, and tried to keep myself from needing to travel for too many long stretches. If I could cut a few shows together with what we had, that would be great. Mom was about to take her annual cruise with her group of drunken retired shut-ins, and there was something extra pleasant about coming home to an empty home, far more than just being out of town and away. There were a few minutes cheerfully spent thinking of those elderly boozers, holding on to their walkers as they retched or babbling even more incoherently than their early onset dementia. My demeanor on the phone was made even a touch brighter because of it.
“Hello, may I speak with Ms. Gladys Crocker,” I asked politely.
“This is she,” responded the boisterous, husky voice. I pictured her as a robust woman, like a steer wearing a wig.
“Ma’am, my name is Sheldon and I’m with the program Another Fifteen Minutes. I believe you’ve already been contacted by some folks in our office regarding your story.”
“Yes, they did. Are we changing the time?”
“I’m sorry, changing the time?”
“Yes, for us to meet. And for my son to come into town so he’s there too. Is that going to change?”
I didn’t know what to say. Who the fuck called here and already made the appointment? “No,” I agreed, “we’ll keep things the same. Our staff must have duplicate lists. That happens sometimes.”
“Can we be on the TV twice then?”
That there is the difference between who is watching television and who just sits in from of it getting a cathode-ray tan. The TV and not TV. “Well, Ms. Crocker, there will be reruns.”
She barely waited for me to finish before she started rambling about her nephew who got struck by lightning in her backyard, or her uncle with six fingers on his right hand. She may have still been listing family members and their oddities when I gently hung up after thanking her several times. I called over to Karen to try and get some info on how this could have happened, but all I got was Ally, who stonewalled me in her usual way.
“I don’t know what to tell you Shel…you know we don’t deal with that stuff out of our office. We’re not setting seating arrangements at a banquet.”
Charming. Can’t even raise the flag to see who salutes it. I tried to forget about it and move on to reviewing our next episode before it aired, making sure there weren’t any last minute changes or edits to give the show a more interesting angle. It was 22 minutes and six seconds of smooth, well done programming, and I was proud. It wasn’t going to change the world or solve people’s problems, but it was entertaining and engrossing, and made me forget about everything else while I watched while I became part of the story, which is what television should do.
My zen was not shattered even with the surprise of Jeff, standing behind me and watching the last few minutes. “That’s good stuff,” he said.
I smiled and turned in my chair. “Damn right it is. You come all the way down here to tell me that?”
“Actually, I came all the way from Baltimore.”
“”You could have just left a message.”
“Actually, that’s what I came to talk to you about…”
I paused for a few moments, drinking in what I could remember about that message I’d left when I was drinking. Nada. But I think I knew what I would have said.
“Hey, sorry about that. You know I love you and Laura…and it’s no secret that she’s, I don’t know, something special. I said something about her tits, right? I mean, you’ve even said how perfect they are. I’m sorry about that.” I smiled apologetically, but Jeff didn’t break from his stoic expression.
“Listen Shel, we go back a long way, and this is not easy for me, but that message was too much. It went too far.”
“Are you serious?” He was.
Jeff studied me for a second and a flicker of worry registered in his eyes. “You know even really know, do you? Damn it, Shel, this is what the trouble is?”
It was getting very intense, all too quickly. “Wait, wait. What are you talking about?”
Jeff closed the door. “When you were in Wisconsin, where do you think you called?”
“I called you.” I was confused. “I called you on your cell phone.”
Jeff grunted a small laugh, but it was in a pathetic register, not of glee or humor. “No you didn’t.” He was suppressing being too emotional, but I could see there was anger simmering inside.
He continued, “Actually, you called my office line. In your…state, you somehow mashed the right keys and accessed the voice mail menu, my voice mail menu. You didn’t leave me a message.”
“So what then?”
“You keyed in the redial function. And it redialed my last call that day, which was a conference call.” If there was somewhere lower in your body for your stomach to sink into, I’d just found it without knowing the anatomical term to describe it. “That message you left, that stupid message, went to a dozen of the wrong people.”
“So they’re not fans of Laura’s tits?” I didn’t know what to say, and that did not help.
“Mason Burnett called me first, and he was able to keep most of the others from calling me.” He produced a CD. Care to remember what that golden, forked tongue of yours was spewing?” So that’s what the apple looked like to Eve.
I popped it into the laptop and listened back to my greatest hits. Yeah, I could see why the network heads, Ephimria boardmembers, and scions of Burnett Media would have been ticked off. I was astounded by my ability to tax the language so far as to not reuse a single adjective or inflammatory curse. I looked at Jeff and admitted honestly, “Alcohol is the best lubricant for the wheels of truth to grind. Did I mention I was sorry?”
“There’s almost a half hour’s worth of that!” Jeff was not shrugging it off and finding my position in this. What was my position?
“You really got going at the end, about how it would be better to castrate the executives and march them down the streets in chains in hopes of warning the public of the real danger of being raped by their marketing schemes, and that you wanted to spare further generations oppression at the hands of a white devil overlord.”
Oh, that position. Gin makes a man mean.
“Fortunately,” Jeff added, “most of them had already hung up before that part.”
“What can I say, Jeff. I’m sorry. Really. That was a one in a million, cruel twist of fate. Listen, I’ll write them all personally apologizing if that’s what it takes. No, I’ll film an apology. That way that can really see that I am sorry. I am.”
Jeff shook his head and exhaled under the immense burden I could see this had put upon him.
“Listen to me, Shelly. You’ve got to leave. And you have to leave quietly. If you don’t, they’re going to fire you, and this whole thing is going to blow up. Big.”
“How big?”
“They’ll make sure you don’t even eat off the same catering trucks that go onto the lot. Even when they’re in your neighborhood. It’s career genocide.”
“I believe it’s suicide.”
“No, you don’t get the scope of it.”
“So I just quit my own show? Are you kidding me?”
“Here’s what I think; they don’t dislike you, and they think the program is terrific, but you fire from the hip when you shouldn’t even be carrying a gun. Everybody knows you’re not a fan of what’s happening with the accountants and stockholders, but that’s not where your focus should be. They may never be convinced you’re a team player, but right now, you’re too caustic to be here while deals are going down and plans are in action. Plans within plans. And for that to be so vocally expressed, they’re just going to bulldoze you. This isn’t David versus Goliath. It’s an army of Goliaths.”
“So no matter what I’m done?”
“They can fire you and ruin everything you’ve done, or you can disappear for a little while they forget about you.”
I shook my head. “Jeff, that’s blackmail.”
“No, it’s business.”
I thought about it, looking for any possible footing. “I’m still under contract…they have to buy me out.”
“Not if you quit. And they want you to quit. They’re not going to let you piss on their leg and then let you sell them an umbrella just because you say it’s raining.”
“So where does that leave me?”
“There’s a non-competition clause in there…go can’t go to other networks as on-air, you can’t develop programming. Basically you have to sit it out until it expires in about a year.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I got the feeling I may have been right about these vultures.
“Did I fly all the way here to make jokes with you?” I could see he’d been backed into a corner, and it wasn’t mine.
“Look,” he said, “if you just take a sabbatical and let things carry on, let me do what I can to try and get you back. We’ll finish out the remaining episodes and I’m sure we can push another season’s start back beyond the contract terms. By then, things will be in place and we can make a move to get you back. You’ve gotta walk away and not cause a ruckus. That’ll help show them you’re serious about working here, under their structure.”
“But I think their structure is bullshit,” I began to protest.
“Stop being so thick-headed! I’m not telling you this as your boss, I’m trying to help you as your friend. This isn’t easy to do, but I’m the only thing standing between them butchering you and you being able to walk away from this in one piece.”
“So I just walk away from everything I put my heart and soul and guts into, and maybe I get a shot at it again?”
“If you don’t, you’ve got no shot at all. Think about it – why something instead of nothing?”
“So what happens? Cami takes over the show?”
“I don’t know. They don’t know. It was never set up to be like that. They’ll probably take what’s shot and mix it with anything she does. They may even borrow a host to fill in a segment, just to cross promote the other shows.”
“Hans is okay. I don’t feel too bad about having him on.”
Jeff nodded, “Yeah, Hans would be good.”
I couldn’t believe what we were talking about. Abandon my child? It was fucked on so many levels, but underneath all my righteous indignation and cantankerousness, Jeff was trying to do what he could for me, even though I’d royally screwed myself. It was better to fall on my sword than be surrounded and stabbed by dozens of them.
“So what, I just go home now?”
“Come over to my office. You’ll sign some paperwork resigning your position. While you’re doing that, one of the tech guys will scrub your laptop and take anything that belongs to the company off. You’ll be done by lunchtime, and then you can gather your stuff without much attention while the rest are off eating.”
“But what am I supposed to do?” Really, I had no idea.
“You’ve got some bucks saved up, right?”
“Sure, that’s why I’m a grown man who lives with his mother…it’s fun and convenient.”
“I thought you moved her in because of her heatlh?”
“Yeah,” I said, “so I can make sure the unhealthy amount she drinks is somewhat regulated.”
“There’ll be a little for the stuff that has to air, but just take a break for a little while and yet your head straight. I am going to get you back here, but you’ve got to trust me.”
“So fuck me.”
“What?”
“It’s a joke,” I explained. “How does a lawyer say ‘fuck you?’ Trust me.”
“If I was a lawyer, all they’d find is the chewed up wetsuit.”
Ah…the lawyer as shark. Touché.
I took my final walk through the bullpens and we ended up in Jeff’s office. It was what I figure sleepwalking is like. The closest I can describe it to was when I graduated from college. Those moments when I walked up the stairs, crossed the stage to shake hands with the university chancellor (shake with the right, cross and grab the diploma with your left), and then shuffled back down with the other side were an out of body experience, and not because it was one of the few times I wasn’t stoned or drunk or taking pills in college. It’s like an invisible hand is pushing you along, moving your limbs and manipulating you like a limp puppet.
That viper Ally wasn’t around thankfully, but Celine was sitting by Jeff’s desk. She was the human resources administrator and probably one of the least useful humans on the planet. Like Dante, I believe there are several levels to Hell, and HR folks end up there somewhere between disc jockeys with their unfunny, idiotic banter and senators, who are mostly just plain scumbags. The last time I had anything to do with her was an amusing exchange (on my side) about assigned parking spaces. She wrote me a memo about not parking in Jeff’s space when he was out of town since the spots were assigned, to which I replied he was not only aware, but he gave me permission to do so. And what fucking difference did it make? Our spots were maybe 20 feet apart and there was no advantage to parking there – in fact, mine was actually closer. Fran and I came up with a list of questions for her, which never got a response. I really did want to know where to park when we carpooled into work? And what if I was borrowing Jeff’s car – where to park then? I don’t feel that rules are meant to be broken, just questioned why they’re rules.
Celine tried to hide her pleasure in seeing me go under her cold, professional veneer, but I know this was going to be the highlight of her month.
“Try not to throw a party until I leave the building,” I said to her.
She looked at me with the dead eyes of an unrepentant tattle-tale, framed by layers of make up that begged you to scratch your initials in it like wet cement. “I just wish you good luck with your future endeavors, on behalf of myself and the company.” God, what an uptight bitch. It was hard to believe she was married, let alone uncrossed her legs long enough to have two children. Her sister used to be a line producer years ago, and to try convincing yourself they were related was a flag-wrapped stunt the size of the Snake River.
I signed all the forms they put in front of me without protest as Jeff stood off the the side, watching the process. I was listening to Celine explain what each paper was that I signed or initialed; this was my formal discharge, this was my confirmation I understood the parameters of my formal discharge, this was non-disclosure agreement, this was reaffirmation of the contract terms to not compete with the network or try to recreate the show - but I wasn’t paying attention. Soon enough it was done, and Jeff escorted me back to the office. An IT guy came in with my laptop and gave it to Jeff.
“Clean and clear, sir.”
Jeff thanked the computer tech, who doubled back from the door of the office. “This was in the drive, sir. It’s marked company property, but we weren’t sure.”
“I’ll take that,” Jeff said as he took the CD.
I scraped together the little bits I had around the desk and on the wall that belonged to me and put them into a file box, which would just look like I was taking some documents home to review, though I was doing anything but. I put the laptop back in my satchel bag, and took one last look around.
“I think that’s everything.”
“Here,” motioned Jeff with the CD. “You get this.”
“I’ll be playing it all the time.”
No,” he said, “it’s yours because that’s the only copy of it. It was wiped from all the voice mail after they made that. That’s the only copy in existence.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” I said, and put the disc on the desk, halfway off the edge. I drove my fist down over the extended crescent, snapping the platter in half. The broken edge dangled over the side, attached by the thin film coating the surface of the disc. It must have looked cool and cinematic. I hope it did, because that fucking hurt more than I thought. “Now it doesn’t exist.”
“Thanks for not fighting this, Shelly. It helps. A lot. That’s how I got them to give up the copy of the recording. I told them you’d cooperate and not cause a problem. This will smooth things over with them. Just be patient and I’ll do what I can to get things back on track.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not unemployed or unemployable.”
I went down to the lobby alone, and Carlos checked out the contents of the box per his instructions, liberating my ID from me before I signed out and left the building.
---
By the time I was near home, the shock dissipated into rage, and I was pissed off. Mostly at myself for being such a complete moron. All the sexual harassment I could have been bounced on if I’d just reached that extra inch to grab ass. The insubordination if I’d just argued my points a little harder. There were a bunch of less chickenshit ways I could have gone out on, but I got pinched for the stupid crap you gossip about in the lunch room. I wanted to be angry at Jeff, but he was trying to protect me as much as he could, and I was basically a giant liability which he was able to defuse before really causing some explosive damage.
At my offramp, there was a one-legged black homeless guy panhandling. As I crept forward in line, I peripherally watched him grow increasingly animated and aggressive. I was almost at the corner when he took a small wooden pike with a sign for the upcoming guitar expo attached and plucked it from the chain-link fence behind him. He waved it above him and then pitched it over the fence behind him, leering at me. Normally, I’d ignore the antics of beggars, but I guess I was just feeling confrontational given the day so far.
I rolled down my window, and very directly asked, “What the fuck?”
Hoppy, who had not expected his attack on the harmless sign to actually generate interest, was slightly taken aback at my comment. “Yo, fuck you, man!”
“Listen you one-legged piece of shit, you get the fuck out of here!” Welcome to my new day job, getting into dust-ups and confronting the homeless.
A CHP officer happened to spy Hoppy at the bottom the offramp, and buzzed his siren. I made my turn and watched in my rear view as Poncherello sized up Hoppy and shooed him away to a different corner, or wherever else he stood around. A few blocks from home, I saw a pair of legs sticking out into the street. As I got closer, I saw it was a Mexican man, lying in the shade of a small shrub on the grassy island between the sidewalk and curb. I thought about saying something, or laying on my horn, but riled up as I was, I wasn’t about to turn into the neighborhood crusader against minorities. So this is what’s going down in my town on a weekday afternoon…
I was happy that I was alone when I got home, because I didn’t feel like dealing with or talking to anybody. I didn’t bother to look on the refrigerator to see what activity mother was up to. Was it lawn bowling on Tuesdays? Or was that Thursday. And when was bingo? Who gave a fuck. It was dark and quiet inside, and I sat at the kitchen table in my cave with a glass of ice and some diet Coke. I looked out the window into the courtyard where Apuri was stirring different kettles of wax, dipping small plugs in, shaping the colorful candles before hanging them on a small wire frame to dry and harden. Is this how things were gonna be?
---
Moms came home around sundown, and sober to boot. We talked briefly but it was really small talk, since she had to make her last packing moves before I dropped her off at the harbor launch in the morning. Other than killing any chance of bringing a girl home, she was a pretty good roommate – she kept to herself, didn’t want to spend too much time with companionship or attention, and other that occasionally passing out here or there, was hardly seen. Before dawn broke we were up, and I was soon one of many family members and friends waving to a limb sticking out a portal window or railing. It wasn’t that bad having to get up early, and even my sleepless night hadn’t left me as tired as I’d expected. I waited until around 10 to call Fran, since I had nothing better to do but complain and plead my case to someone who’d be sympathetic to my plight, but didn’t want to burn any of that goodwill calling too early.
The phone rang five or six times, and I was about to hang up, but Fran answered after dropping the receiver and knocking it around before finally getting up to his face.
“Hello?”
“Fran, it’s Sheldon…what are you doing?”
“Uh, I’m kinda, uh, tied up at the moment,”
“Well get yourself untied. I gotta talk to somebody. Shit has gone down.”
“I can’t really…Mel’s in the other room and she’s coming back in any moment now.”
“So what…”
In the background, I heard Melissa yelling at Fran. “How did you get that phone? Put that down! What do you think you’re doing?” There was the sound of either a bullwhip cracking or a paddle smacking; I couldn’t tell. Fran managed to yelp “I’ll call you back” before I lost the connection.
It was a few hours later when Fran called back. “I shouldn’t have answered, because that just got Mel more worked up.”
“I didn’t realize you have a call curfew.”
“When she’s got her corset on, she’s in charge, and I got punished for breaking the rule.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I had a thought of Melissa spilling out of leathers and cuffs while Fran was chained to a bar wearing a gimp mask. Tens of thousand of my sperm died instantly at the image.
“I told you, I was tied up.”
“That’s what you’re doing with your free time? It’s magical what doors heart problems will open up for you.”
“We’ve always been into having fun,” he admitted. “But now it’s even more important to do so since my little ticker scare.”
“Great, great,” I redressed, trying to move on. “Listen, I’m in a weird spot and I want your opinion, or advice, or…I don’t know. I need somebody to tell me I made the right decision.”
For over an hour I recounted the details for Fran; the barbs between Cami and I, the charity event and subsequent cocktail reception, my descent into the bowels of drunkenness, that foolish phone call, Jeff’s ultimatum, and the general state of shit I’d gotten myself into.
“Wow, you made a pretty nice mess there,” Fran said. “For a guy who holds his liquor well, you picked the wrong time to have a bad episode.”
“Thanks Fran, I know,” I huffed.
“But,” he added, “I think you did the right thing.”
“By leaving?”
“Yes, by leaving. I mean, what you said, that was alright too, but that’s not quite the time and place and way you’re supposed to let that slip out. I thought you were more subtle that that.”
“What, you think I was going to do that anyway?”
“Don’t get mad Shel, but ever since Ephimria showed up, everybody was just waiting for you to do something…well, YOU.”
“What!?!”
“They were even taking bets to see if you were going to Jerry Maguire or Howard Beale over Ephimria. Doesn’t look like it went enough either way for anybody to collect, but you sure blew it.”
“You expected me to make an ass out of myself and trash my career, and you didn’t bother to warn me,” I fumed.
Fran chuckled, “What? The apprentice was going to tell the master, ‘hey, look out – you’re going to cut off your nose to spite your face’? You wouldn’t have listened anyway, and it would have turned out the same. You’re just you, and that’s an easier pill for some to swallow than others. I still think you did what was right, for you.”
“Well, supposing I did,” I pressed him, “now what?”
“If Jeff can get you back there in a year, would you go?”
“I don’t know? Sure. No. Maybe. Who knows what will be going out by then. I may still have hard-on for Ephimria and just end up running my mouth off because that’s how that shit rubs me.”
“And that’s good, because you’re not compromising yourself. But maybe by then it won’t bother you and you’ll go back to doing what you do best. Or you’ll go back and decide you were better off without them looming over. Bottom line is you took responsibility for what you did, and Jeff’s a stand-up guy. You put yourself into that position and left them little choice, but it’s Hollywood and people forget that shit after the money changes hands and the deals get made.”
“Well I have to do something in the meantime…I’m not set up to get by with what little is going to trickle in.”
“Did you talk with Artie yet?” Artie Rosen was my agent.
“No, I had to speak with somebody first who wasn’t going to be thinking about losing a piece of their income.”
“Well, call him and see what he comes up with, and let me know.”
The phone rang five or six times, and I was about to hang up, but Fran answered after dropping the receiver and knocking it around before finally getting up to his face.
“Hello?”
“Fran, it’s Sheldon…what are you doing?”
“Uh, I’m kinda, uh, tied up at the moment,”
“Well get yourself untied. I gotta talk to somebody. Shit has gone down.”
“I can’t really…Mel’s in the other room and she’s coming back in any moment now.”
“So what…”
In the background, I heard Melissa yelling at Fran. “How did you get that phone? Put that down! What do you think you’re doing?” There was the sound of either a bullwhip cracking or a paddle smacking; I couldn’t tell. Fran managed to yelp “I’ll call you back” before I lost the connection.
It was a few hours later when Fran called back. “I shouldn’t have answered, because that just got Mel more worked up.”
“I didn’t realize you have a call curfew.”
“When she’s got her corset on, she’s in charge, and I got punished for breaking the rule.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I had a thought of Melissa spilling out of leathers and cuffs while Fran was chained to a bar wearing a gimp mask. Tens of thousand of my sperm died instantly at the image.
“I told you, I was tied up.”
“That’s what you’re doing with your free time? It’s magical what doors heart problems will open up for you.”
“We’ve always been into having fun,” he admitted. “But now it’s even more important to do so since my little ticker scare.”
“Great, great,” I redressed, trying to move on. “Listen, I’m in a weird spot and I want your opinion, or advice, or…I don’t know. I need somebody to tell me I made the right decision.”
For over an hour I recounted the details for Fran; the barbs between Cami and I, the charity event and subsequent cocktail reception, my descent into the bowels of drunkenness, that foolish phone call, Jeff’s ultimatum, and the general state of shit I’d gotten myself into.
“Wow, you made a pretty nice mess there,” Fran said. “For a guy who holds his liquor well, you picked the wrong time to have a bad episode.”
“Thanks Fran, I know,” I huffed.
“But,” he added, “I think you did the right thing.”
“By leaving?”
“Yes, by leaving. I mean, what you said, that was alright too, but that’s not quite the time and place and way you’re supposed to let that slip out. I thought you were more subtle that that.”
“What, you think I was going to do that anyway?”
“Don’t get mad Shel, but ever since Ephimria showed up, everybody was just waiting for you to do something…well, YOU.”
“What!?!”
“They were even taking bets to see if you were going to Jerry Maguire or Howard Beale over Ephimria. Doesn’t look like it went enough either way for anybody to collect, but you sure blew it.”
“You expected me to make an ass out of myself and trash my career, and you didn’t bother to warn me,” I fumed.
Fran chuckled, “What? The apprentice was going to tell the master, ‘hey, look out – you’re going to cut off your nose to spite your face’? You wouldn’t have listened anyway, and it would have turned out the same. You’re just you, and that’s an easier pill for some to swallow than others. I still think you did what was right, for you.”
“Well, supposing I did,” I pressed him, “now what?”
“If Jeff can get you back there in a year, would you go?”
“I don’t know? Sure. No. Maybe. Who knows what will be going out by then. I may still have hard-on for Ephimria and just end up running my mouth off because that’s how that shit rubs me.”
“And that’s good, because you’re not compromising yourself. But maybe by then it won’t bother you and you’ll go back to doing what you do best. Or you’ll go back and decide you were better off without them looming over. Bottom line is you took responsibility for what you did, and Jeff’s a stand-up guy. You put yourself into that position and left them little choice, but it’s Hollywood and people forget that shit after the money changes hands and the deals get made.”
“Well I have to do something in the meantime…I’m not set up to get by with what little is going to trickle in.”
“Did you talk with Artie yet?” Artie Rosen was my agent.
“No, I had to speak with somebody first who wasn’t going to be thinking about losing a piece of their income.”
“Well, call him and see what he comes up with, and let me know.”
---
I’d known Artie since he was a kid, and he followed in his father’s footsteps, eventually talking over the agency his dad built from the ground up. I’m not saying he inherited the business and didn’t understand the value of building a career and recognition, but he sure had it easier than everybody else who didn’t have a last name helping them get into the game. Of course, he was upset at first when I spoke to him.
“Why didn’t you call me the minute they came to you, you schmuck?”
“Artie, it wasn’t one of those situations we were going to fight,” I said trying to bring some calm into the conversation.
“You know what I got this morning? It was an advance press release that is getting issued next week. You know what it says?”
“No.”
“That was a rhetorical pause, Shel,” he said, though I didn’t see it that way, not knowing what was on that press release. “It says, blah blah blah we welcome the edition of Cami Theroux to Another Fifteen Minutes blah blah blah this company Ephimria sponsoring blah blah blah what the fuck is going on?”
“Well, Artie…”
He cut me off. Must have been another rhetorical question. “I’ll tell you what’s going on. I got copies of signed paperwork saying you’re resigning your position and you’re adhering to all these conditions, and how the hell am I supposed to represent your interests when you’re making decisions without me?” He paused, but I know better than to obstruct another rhetorical.
“According to this, you’re on the shelf for a year. You’re a tchotchke I gotta look at for the next year and can’t do a thing with. And you know that’s my job.”
“Listen Artie, you ever accidentally call your gal the wrong woman’s name in bed? Well this is like that, except I went through the phone book.”
“You’re schtuping somebody at work?” He didn’t get it.
“I said the wrong things that accidentally got back to the wrong people, and I that was my only option. Ephimria and Burnett Media and CNC are getting nice and cozy in bed together, and there’s no room in there for me, not after the things I said.”
“Bubby, why would you be so stupid?”
“Believe me, it was an accident. A huge accident. The kind that’s a message for somebody which ends up making rounds that it shouldn’t. The deal was they were going to ruin me publicly and make me poisonous or I could step away for a little while and let business as usual happen. At least that way I’ve still got a shot at getting back, or doing something else.” I realized I sounded like Jeff, and instead of talking sense into me I was attempting to make Artie understand like I had to.
“Oy…this is not good. We really can’t do anything until this runs out.” He flipped the papers around, and I heard him cup the receiver slightly. “Marcie! Marcie. Order me a corned beef on rye. Extra lean. No pickle.” He came back on, continuing his routine like he was besmirched. “We’re stuck for now, Sheldon. Keep tabs on them and see if they’re thinking about changing their mind sooner. If that happens, boom, gimme a call. Otherwise, ya just gotta wait this thing out. Be well, pal…we’ll talk when you’re on parole from jawflap jail.”
---
“That went pretty much how I expected,” Fran replied.
“Me too.”
“Since you’re not going back anytime soon, I may as well tell you I’m not either.”
“Oh come on Fran, I appreciate your loyalty, but don’t make a stand on my account.”
That got him laughing, even though I wasn’t making a joke. “Hahaha, almost but not quite, pal. I‘m taking the golden parachute they’re offering. I’m done with all that. Take my benefits and retirement and mix in a little disability and that’s it for me.”
“That’s great, Fran. Good for you.”
“Thanks, but I’m not done yet. I figured something out. I want you to call this woman, Nell Tanner. She’s gonna hire you, and get you through this year until things get straightened out at CNC.”
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch…just call her, meet her face to face, and you’re going to get the job.”
“What job?”
“Speaker.”
“Speaker?”
“Yeah.”
“You mean, like a motivational speaker?”
“Yeah.”
“No. Fuck no.”
“C’mon Sheldon, think about it – it doesn’t violate any of the conditions you agreed to and is the only thing that can take advantage of the faint light from your star power.”
“I don’t want to go around talking to high school kids about having hugs and not drugs. No.”
“I already spoke to her,” he pleaded with me. “You’re gonna get this and you’ll see it won’t be so bad. They do corporate gigs and private address and all kinds of different situations.”
“And high schools. Can’t you come up with anything else?”
“Sheldon, you’re not in any position to be choosy. I did a side job once where I shot her niece’s wedding and I remembered her. We’d talked briefly, but she knew of you and the show, so when I called and asked if you may be a person of interest to her, it sounded like it was a good fit.”
I didn’t want to give Fran the satisfaction but he was right. I may as well be a shoe salesman at an amputee convention. Or is it a hot dog vendor at the Lilith Fair? Whatever. My turn on television was good for swap meet appearances and public speaking gigs, and I would never head out to Saugus to fight for coins with stall vendors. It was really the only clear direction to go.
I wrote Nell Tanner’s number down and took a brief look at the website for The Nell Tanner Agency, which was full of glossy headshots and even glossier smiles, and a wide variety of winners and losers, all available to share life lessons and wisdom, “for entertainment or education”. Minor league athletes, business world refugees, struggling actors, and jerks with every gimmick from guitars to marionettes – they were all here, and soon I would join their lackluster ranks.
I dialed their office, and a bright, chirpy girls voice answered. “Hello, may I speak with Ms. Tanner please? She’s expecting my call…tell her it’s Sheldon.”
“Sheldon who...?”
“Just Sheldon. She’s expecting my call back.”
“One moment please.” There were a few trills of a saxophone playing a complicated solo over soft jazz.
“Nell Tanner.”
“Ms. Tanner, this is Sheldon…Fran spoke with you...”
“Yes, he did. I’ll be brief because I want you come down here so I can size you up. I am familiar with what you do, but I need to see how you look and sound in person. We can go on reputation, which I have built this agency on, but there is no substitute for knowing firsthand what you’re getting.”
I pulled up her profile page on her site. I she was going to make me sound like a piece of slave meat that she was buying, I wanted to see who I was dealing with. And there she was, the middle sister between Queen Grimhilde and Maleficent. Her silver hair was pulled back into a tight librarian’s bun and while she wasn’t wearing them, I was sure there were glasses to go with the look. She had a stern look that went with the mirthless tone in her voice.
“You can come down anytime you like tomorrow, and if things go according to plan, we can look at some potential engagements and get you into one of our groups?
“Groups,” I asked.
“Yes, Sheldon. Groups. You don’t just get booked for gigs, show up, and run your mouth. We have many groups where we workshop our orations, and help each other further develop our skills. Speech is like any other skill, and if you don’t practice and train with others, you don’t get any better. Does this present a problem for you?”
“Uh, no…it does not. No problem.”
“Good. This is a team, and you need to be a team player. You can do that, right?”
“Yes,” I said in my most convincing tone.
Alright, Ms Tanner…tomorrow we’re going to get acquainted.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment