Television Romance

Crows

INT. SAM'S OFFICE - DAY

They found Sam. They found him in his office chair, head tilted all the way back so he was staring at the ceiling. Being head writer, he was privileged with a chair of sound construction, though, as Juliet would assure Vian, Jerry's rickety mess was really a result of his personal unwillingness to trade in for a different model.

"You're here," Juliet remarked, somewhat unnecessarily. Sam sat up to respond.

"Always." He was in his mid-thirties and quite handsome. Brunette with a sturdy jaw, though he looked as though he hadn't slept in a while.

"I thought you might be in Greg's office already," Juliet elaborated.

"No, no. Oh, Vian," he noticed suddenly, a man slowly coming to reality. Vian had met Sam, and Greg, for that matter, while interviewing for the job. Sam had seemed more put-together then. Now, instead of a clean white button-up and tie, he wore a dark green hoodie and a five o'clock shadow. On his desk were at least ten piles of paper, many of which were teetering precariously.

"Hi," Vian said.

"You settling in alright?" Sam asked, pushing one of his piles to a different spot on his desk.

"Yes, thank you."

"She needs a room, right?" Juliet said.

"Oh, sure. Just stay after the pitch meeting and we'll find you a place." He stretched his arms overhead and arched, triggering a loud crack.

"Oh my God, is that supposed to happen?" Juliet asked.

"My wife says it's a good sign." Sam lowered his arms and twisted lazily from side to side.

"I don't think she's technically your wife until you marry her."

"Funny, she says the same thing every day. When's the meeting?"

"Soon, Sambini." He raised an eyebrow slightly at the nickname but brushed past.

"I should probably get going," he said.

"Us too."

Sam nodded and grabbed a few pieces of paper from different piles, seemingly at random. Then he led the way to Greg's office. Most of the other writers were already congregating outside the door. Jerry and Bill were both there and Vian shot them a smile which they graciously returned. Sam slipped in immediately, but it was a minute before he opened the door from the inside and the crowd filed in.

There was hardly space for everyone inside. People sat on the floor or leaned against the eggshell-colored walls. (Everything in this building is eggshell except Greg's door, Vian noticed.) Only Greg and the host had chairs.

Greg was a thin man, pushing sixty with long grey hair which was permanently secured in a simple braid that lay like a snake over his shoulder. He was all about efficiency. His hair was braided because haircuts were a waste of precious time. He almost exclusively wore clothes with the letters LTV on them, being far too busy to go shopping. He had a look of constant exasperation as if he always had an important meeting and the world was moving far too slowly for him. He had a nasal voice and spoke in curt, quick phrases, though he would sometimes say a sentence and then repeat it as the beginning of the next phrase, like he had not meant to end the sentence. He introduced the celebrity host in a few words and, without further ado, began calling on writers one at a time.

"Let's start with you. Let's start with you, Eli."

Vian understood immediately what Juliet had meant by fake ideas. No one said anything transparently lame, but with a few people, she could actually see them coming up with their idea as they said it aloud. Impressive, honestly. Every time the host just nodded and they moved right along.