Television Romance

Bullpen Showdown

INT. BACKSTAGE - DAY

Vian bit her lip as she walked with Michael to his dressing room. There was uncomfortable silence between them because they hadn't exchanged more than twenty words before now. And there was the knowledge that neither of them would be there if it wasn't for a sense of duty toward, or perhaps fear of, Juliet.

"Do you have any first aid stuff?" Vian asked when they got to his room.

"Yeah, it's in that bag." The dressing rooms were all made up of a giant mirror that stretched across an entire wall and a counter attached to it. There were a few chairs too, real ones. On the counter, in the corner, was a red bag labeled with a big white cross. Good spatial awareness, idiot, Vian told herself. She took a deep breath in and attempted to breathe out the meekness she felt. The cast wasn't any better than the writers. And Michael wasn't any better than her just cause he was inhumanely attractive.

"Sit down," she commanded. He paused for an instant, the furrow in his brow betraying surprise, but did as he was told. Vian opened the first aid bag and discovered a band-aid and a tube of Neosporin which had expired several years prior.

She turned back to her patient and studied his face.

"You're going to have a black eye." He shrugged.

"Cheryl's not going to like it," she said, lamely showing off her knowledge of the show.

"She'll live." Vian opened the Neosporin and applied it to his cut. He winced.

"Neosporin doesn't sting," she said, hand on her hip.

"I'm just looking for sympathy," he said, though it seemed like his wincing was real. She couldn't help but laugh, just a little.

"So why did you beat up an intern in the middle of the office?" she asked.

"He deserved it."

"Care to elaborate?"

"He called a girl a whore. I had to defend her honor."

"Is this the girl from costuming?"

"No, that was last week," Michael corrected as if he was commenting on the weather, "This was Kaitlin."

"You beat up an intern over another intern?"

"He deserved it," he repeated.

"Have you ever considered dating outside of the office? I've heard it cuts down on workplace violence."

"Is that what you did?" he asked, nodding at her hand. It took a moment for her to realize he was referring to her engagement ring.

"Yeah."

"What does he do?"

"He's a junior lawyer."

"Good for him," Michael said with the slightest air of distaste.

"You don't like lawyers?" She peeled open the band-aid and placed it one his face.

"No, I just don't know any lawyers I like." He looked up into her eyes as she removed her hands.

"Maybe I need to meet this junior lawyer," he said. Vian scoffed but didn't respond. She could hardly think of a person she'd be less likely to introduce to Rich. Rich had been a bit cautious of this job as it was. Fighting macho men was not likely to improve his opinion.

"Try not to get into any more fights, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

~~~~~

INT. WRITING ROOM FOUR - NIGHT

"I'm writing, I'm writing, I'm writing," Juliet recited under her breath. The digital clock on her computer said 11:48 p.m.

"Who are you trying to convince?" Jerry asked.

"No one. I'm manifesting." She traced the edges of the ceiling with her eyes. "God, I hate it when the host is an athlete."

"I like it," Jerry said, "They do well under pressure. Better than the actors who always try to steal the show."

"Yeah, but I never know what to write because I'm not a freaking sports nerd."

"Just get Bill."

"He doesn't understand soccer."

"He's the closest we've got. I have an idea I want to run by him anyway. We can all work on it together."

Bill and Michael's room was identical to Four and Five, except his couch was salmon pink and significantly more worn. No one dared to sit on that one because, one blue moon ago, an intern claimed they saw a rat nest in it. Bill was alone at his computer, his roommate still sulking somewhere else. He was staring at the screen like it was a puzzle.

"Bill," Juliet said.

"Your highness?" he replied, squinting at the screen.

"Do you need glasses or something?"

"No, I'm just trying to understand how these stats are possible."

"Jerry has something for us."

"Thank God, I was about to write a really horrible sketch about vegan sportscasters." She chuckled.

"Have you eaten yet?"

"Yeah, I got Michael some pizza." He stood up.

"Wait, wait, wait. You did something nice for Michael? Are you feeling alright? Should I call an ambulance?"

"Haha, very funny."

"Seriously."

"I like him better with some sense knocked into him. Besides, it sounds like he was actually trying to do the right thing."

"Okay, Spike Lee. I'm going to call the president. Today should be a national holiday." He offered her his arm like a nobleman and she accepted. They made the short journey to Four still in conversation.

"I don't understand that reference. Did you eat?"

"No, but I'm not that hungry. I just want to write something and go home."

"Last time you said that you almost fainted."

"I did not!"

"Whatever you say, Jules." Bill pushed open the door to Four.

"Annoying date where the guy keeps making soccer puns?" Jerry offered to them as they walked in. It was the week of Valentine's Day, after all.

"Why not?" Bill said, peering over Jerry's shoulder.