Television Romance

Superstitions

INT. WRITING ROOM FOUR - DAY

Before Vian could say anything to the two native occupants of Four, Juliet motioned with one hand for her to be quiet and come sit. Juliet was on the couch, so Vian took the chair at her desk. She felt like she had been asked to the principal's office, even though she'd entered of her own accord. Juliet had her phone pressed to her ear and biting her bottom lip as if in concentration.

"Okay... Okay," Juliet spoke into the receiver, "Alright, I'm putting you on speaker." She pressed a button and held the phone out.

"Okay, Bill, where are you?"

"Elevator," said the phone.

"How do you even have reception in an elevator?" Jerry asked.

"What am I, an engineer?" Bill said. His accent seemed thicker than usual. Or maybe that was just the phone.

"And why are you calling?" Juliet prodded.

"I forgot what button to push."

"You mean you forgot what floor we work on?"

"Mmhm." Vian's eyebrows slid together and she looked at Juliet in confusion. Juliet was barely containing laughter.

"Thirteen," Juliet choked out. Bill hung up without another word. Juliet stood up.

"I better go get him," she laughed, "Jerry, offer the appropriate congratulations to Vian for me, please." She walked out, her shoulders shaking in laugher, head shaking in incredulity.

"Wwell deserved," Jerry said to Vian, always the epitome of emotional. She had honestly almost forgotten about her sketch.

"Thanks," Vian said, "Um, what's happening?"

"Our theory is that Bill had a little too much to drink at his baby shower. Either that or this is the most spontaneous case of early-onset dementia ever recorded."

"Oh, cool."

Jerry pressed the heel of his hand to his temple until his neck curved like a bow. Vian fought the impulse to mirror him, suddenly aware of the stiffness of her neck from sleeping on the couch in Five.

"Can I ask you a question?" she said. He removed his hand and, like a bent spring of bamboo, sprung back upright.

"I don't see how I could stop you."

"What's with the chair?"

"Ah. My trusty steed," Jerry nodded, the faintest shadow of a smile on his face.

"Can't you get a new one? I mean, I'm new and they gave me a better chair than that. It looks like it might fold in on itself any minute now."

"I like to live life on the edge." Vian looked at him, the unassuming blue button-up, the standard taper haircut.

"Ah, I see," she said.

"Also, I made a bet that the chair would last five years."

"With who?"

"Bill."

"The stakes?"

"It's bad luck to mention the stakes of a bet before it's been played out," Jerry told her pragmatically.

"Is it? I've never heard that before."

"I don't know"--Jerry spun around in his chair--"Bill has an excess of strange sayings. But in this very important case, I chose not to question his Texan wisdom." He stopped himself with a hand on his desk and then set off spinning in the other direction.

"If your bet rests on that chair surviving, shouldn't you be a little more gentle with it?" Vian asked, observing his antics.

"That's a cop-out, Vian, and I would never stoop to such lows. Besides, this chair will outlive all of us."

"All the time with the chair. Just marry it already, dude," said Bill, being herded into Four by an exceptionally smiley Juliet. He did sound more southern than usual.

"The prodigal son returns," Jerry mused in response. Juliet guided Bill, who was still wearing a suit but no tie, to the lentil-green couch.

"I love drunk Bill," Juliet announced.

"He is one of the best Bills," Jerry agreed. Bill shook his head.

"I'm not drunk," he asserted, his eyes glossy.

"Where's your tie?" Juliet asked. She was clearly enjoying herself at his expense but he didn't seem to mind.

"In my pocket." He fished his hand in said pocket and it came up with an array of objects, none of which were a tie.

"What, what is that?" Juliet asked. Vian, who had been observing from the side of the room, leaned forward and strained to see. She could dinstinguish a pair of keys, a wallet, an unwrapped stick of gum, and a crumpled piece of paper. Juliet picked up a small shiny circle At least, that's what Vian saw at first. As Juliet turned it over in her hands, Vian saw she had been looking at the back of a metal pin roughly the size of a silver dollar, like something from a presidential race. The front was bright baby pink with something written in white script.

"Daddy?" Juliet read aloud with an air of both confusion and disdain.

"One of the moms gave it to me," Bill revealed with a sloppy grin. He plucked it out of her hands and went to work pinning it to his jacket, right above his heart. Beside him, Juliet rolled her eyes.

"You're going to end up hur—"

"Ouch!" Bill inspected the tip of his finger. Vian suppressed a giggle. They were like an old married couple.

"Hey, maybe he'll finally tell you what he wants for his birthday," Vian suggested.

"Vian Li, you're a genius. Bill?"

"Why are you so obsessed with other people's birthdays. I thought you think birthdays are bad luck," Bill frowned. He had succeeded in attaching on his pin and patted it, satisfied.

"Just my birthday."

"Wait," Vian interrupted, "Your birthday is bad luck?"

"Yeah, she's suspicious," Bill provided matter-of-factly. Jerry shook his head like a disappointed father.

"I am not superstitious," Juliet corrected, "It just so happens that bad things happened every year on the week of my birthday."

"She's got a point," Jerry admitted, "Last year someone microwaved a plastic container and almost set the entire building on fire. We had to evacuate." Juliet nodded in remembrance.

"And the thing with the bald eagle," Bill added vaguely. He sounded straight out a Western.

Jerry translated: "Some bald guy came in off the street and let several pigeons loose in the studio."

"One of my better birthdays, actually," Juliet said. She picked up Bill's hand and examined it for the prick of the pin.

"But that's just your birthday, right?" Vian asked.

"Yes ma'am," she said and dropped Bill's hand.

"I was just going to say, my luck's been alright so far this week."

"Hey, yeah!" Bill cheered, loud enough to make everyone in the room cringe, "Congrats on the sketch!" Vian laughed her thanks.

"I'm going to the kitchen," Bill said and stood up very slowly. He managed not to wobble, but the strange slow-motion of his rise made it clear he wasn't in the best shape, balance-wise.

"Guess that means I'm going too," Juliet sighed, "And then I'm going home before the table read. Bye, y'all." She waved to Jerry and Vian who both returned the gesture.