Television Romance

Street Cred

INT. HALLWAY - DAY (CONT.)

"I'm not even that drunk," Bill muttered, but let Juliet hook her right arm around his left. They walked down the hall toward the kitchen.

"You know, if it gets out that you got drunk at a baby shower on a Tuesday afternoon your street cred will be ruined," Juliet teased.

"Street cred?"—Bill made a scornful noise—"My mom has more street cred than I do."

"I love your mom."

"You've never met my mom."

"No, but she sounded very nice over the phone."

"She just called me like ten times-"

"Nice pin," said the orange-hair intern with a smirk as she walked past. Bill could never remember her name. She carried herself with unusual confidence for an intern. Maybe that's why she's been around for so long, Bill thought, Usually interns rotated out faster than that.

"Thanks!" he called after her.

"That intern's got more street cred than both of us combined," he asserted.

"For the record," Juliet said, "my street cred is off the charts."

"See, just the fact that you said 'off the charts' tells me you have no street cred." He turned his focus from ahead and froze. Beside him, Juliet stood with a look of awe.

"Speak of the devil," she whispered.

"Mom?" Bill said, suddenly feeling very sober. Juliet slapped a hand onto his chest, which confused him until he felt metal pressing into his skin through layers of cloth. The pin. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Bill! There you are!" Bill's mother spoke in a thick Texan drawl, the syrupy-sweet kind from commercials for cornbread or pie or other things people would only buy from someone who sounded like Southern belle.

"Mrs. Culver, it's so nice to meet you," Juliet gushed and extended a hand. The wrong hand, but the other was occupied.

Bill's mom took her hand politely but without recognition. Jane Culver was a beautiful woman, even in middle age. She shared Bill's blue eyes and radiant smile, the latter of which she offered freely to everyone she met. She wore a sapphire-toned blouse over white slack and boasted a neck full of chunky necklaces. It was quite the combination. Her appearance screamed non-New Yorker, but she didn't seem to mind. Bill knew she relished the idea of being a tourist from far away in the big city.

"I'm Juliet. We talked on the phone very briefly last year—"

"Oh, Juliet! Oh, it's great to meet you! I've heard all about you, honey. Is this a bad time for y'all?"

"No, no," Juliet interjected, "It's a perfect time. Nothing is happening right now." Bill tried to glare at her out of the side of his eyes but she was busy holding back laughter.

"I better go," she continued, "I have places to be, unfortunately. It was really lovely to meet you, ma'am." She hugged Bill goodbye, which was a little out of the ordinary. But of course, there was a purpose; she slipped the pin off his jacket and into her pocket.

"I thought you were kidding when you threatened to call my mom," he whispered in her ear before she pulled away.

"I was. Good luck," she whispered back and practically skipped away.

"Bye, Jules," he mumbled, already trying to plot his revenge.

"Mom, um, what are you doing here?" Bill asked as nicely as he could.

"Oh, honey, I was just in town to see your Aunt Beth, bless her soul, and I just had to stop by to see my baby boy." Bill glanced over his shoulder. Thankfully, Juliet was too far gone to have heard that, or else she would've echoed it for years.

"Mom, please."

"Are you going to give the tour?" his mother asked. Everyone was always saying that around here. That and "So this is where you spend all your time."

"You know what?" said Bill, "Why don't we get some dinner instead?"

~~~~~

INT. WRITING ROOM FOUR - NIGHT

Time ran away from Juliet, the clock sprinting every time she looked away. The days felt normal enough while she was in them. Well, normal enough for a live comedy show. But as the day ticked from Friday night to Saturday morning, she looked back and couldn't quite remember what had happened in the last few days. If someone had asked her she would have said, "the usual," not having a clue what that actually meant. Vaguely, she remembered Bill and his baby shower antics. Wednesday... Table read. Edits. Something about the censors throwing a fit. Thursday... Who knew? It hardly mattered. The only thing that mattered in a place like this was what was ahead of them: the live show. They had to earn LTV's name somehow.

It was on everyone's mind, naturally. All the cast, writers, and crew were uniquely bonded in that they shared this common goal. Make it a good show. The fact that there was another show in seven days didn't matter to anyone; that show wasn't a do-over, it was another trial looming ahead for the inhabitants of floor thirteen. And they really were inhabitants, Juliet mused. What else do you call people who spend seventy-five hours a week here? Who slept and ate here almost as often as not?

Juliet blinked deeply and methodically as if wiping the streaks from a mirror. Four was empty except for her and she couldn't help but wonder why she was standing there. There must have been some reason. She glanced at the clock, which told her 12:02. It had just become Bill's birthday. Shit, she had to get Bill's birthday present.

"The script," she muttered aloud. That was why she was there, to get the original copy of the sketch and bring it to Sam. Sam, Sam. Sam, I Am.