Television Romance

S1 E04: Late Start

INT. BULLPEN - DAY

"Pitch meeting, pitch meeting, pitch-ity, pitch-ity," Juliet sang under her breath outside Greg's room Monday morning. Her song was one of nervous anticipation. It's subject was one of imminent arrival. All of the not-Sam writers were here already.

"Pitch, pitch, pitch, pitch," she sang softly. Eli stepped past her and she said his name, more out of instinct than any real mental decision.

"Hey Juliet," he smiled. He had round cheeks that formed soft apples every time he smiled, which was all the time. His black hair was perfectly coiffed and he wore a pink shirt.

"Any ideas?" she asked.

"Not one. You?"

"Nothing."

This conversation was practically a tradition among writers at the show. Everyone knew the answer before they asked, but they asked nonetheless. It was kind of like college students asking each other if anyone had started the essay due tomorrow just to hear, "Haven't even looked at it." They were looking for solidarity more than anything else.

"Do you have the time?" Juliet asked. Her phone was in her back pocket but she had nothing else to say.

"Fifteen past. I can't remember the last time we started this late."

"Maybe something's wrong."

"I hope not," Eli said and his smile dropped for the first time in (what Juliet reasoned was) days.

Juliet had just been spitballing when she said something was wrong, but the more she thought about it the more convinced she became that tragedy was the reason they were standing out in the hall like lost middle schoolers. They were always promptly on time. Greg had a thing about tardiness, which she supposed made sense when you produced a live television show. Meredith, whose timekeeping was the stuff of legend, had her eyes trained on her bulky watch.

"Pitch-ity, pitch-ity, pitch meeting."

Bill walked over to them to offer some gossip: "I heard Greg's pissed."

"On a Monday?" Juliet groaned, "We're screwed."

"One hundred percent," Eli smiled.

"Is that the Morton salt logo?" Bill asked, perplexed. He was referring to Juliet's light purple crop top, which did in fact have embossed on it the little girl in a yellow dress and yellow shoes carrying an umbrella. Juliet's pants were baggy and black with at least six pockets.

"Yup," she said.

"Where do you find these things?" he asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Wait, guys," Eli said. The three of them looked up to see Greg, dressed in black as usual. He walked briskly toward his office and writers parted like the Red Sea before him. After Greg, came the host. Juliet recognized him immediately from an article she had just seen online. Chicago Comedian Sells Out Tour After Viral Video. The video in question was him doing stand-up in a dive bar, awkwardly back-lit on a stage maybe six feet across. An audience member, obviously drunk, yelled something rude. The comedian proceeded to verbally eviscerate his heckler without restraint until the entire crowd was nearly crying with laughter and the drunkard was crying with actual tears. Juliet had never understood why people heckled comedians. It was literally their job to have the best comebacks and ninety percent of the time they had the audience on their side. She speculated that the type of people who yelled at live performers had little overlap with the type of people keen on rational thought.

After the host, and rounding up the line, was Sam. His hair was ruffled out of place and the shoelaces of his left running shoe were untied. They dragged forlornly along the floor. Sam wore running shoes not because he liked running, but because he routinely went zooming down hallways and up flights of stairs, yelling for Meredith to clear a rewrite with the censors or asking if anyone had seen a chicken wearing a small top hat.