Television Romance

Into the Breach

INT. WRITING ROOM FOUR - DAY

"Don't be mad." Those were the first words out of Juliet's mouth as she walked into Four. Jerry, Bill, and Vian sat in a line on the baby-puke green couch. The words were directed at Vian.

"What?"

"I got you free dinner."

"Why would I be mad about you getting me a free dinner?" Vian laughed. There was a tinge of apprehension in it, though. This was the last thing she needed right now, not that anyone else knew anything about her troubles.

"Not about that. Something's about to happen. Don't be mad."

"Are you going to tell me what it is?"

"No," Juliet said firmly. She walked over to her own desk and leaned against it, but not in a relaxed way. More in the way that one leans against the wall of a train as it starts moving. As much as Jerry loved sitting in his chair, Juliet loved sitting anywhere but hers.

"Why not?" Vian asked.

"Because you'll run away."

"Well, if you don't tell me I'll just leave now so I don't have to deal with it." In her pocket, Vian's phone vibrated and she resisted the urge to check it. She already knew who it was.

"Okay, okay. The host is coming," Juliet sighed.

"Oh God. Please don't tell me--"

"And you're going to let him give you notes."

"What makes you think I'm going to do that?"

"You'll do it because you love me. And I got you free dinner."

"Why can't Bill and Jerry do it?"

"Seniority. I've done my time," Bill replied. Jerry nodded solemnly, like a veteran recalling traumatic events behind enemy lines.

"Then why can't Hugo do it?" Vian was grasping for straws and she knew it. Her horrific fate was decided. It was worth fighting, though. Annoying comedians were at least eight times worse than regular annoying people.

"That wouldn't work," Juliet explained, "He needs someone to flatter him and Hugo won't do that."

"Is he going to flirt with me?"

"I wish I could say no," said Jerry. This felt like she was about to be dropped out of an airplane.

"What if I push him out of the window?" Vian proposed.

"There's no window in your room," Juliet said.

"I mean this room."

"You have to take him away from here," she insisted, "Far, far away.".

"This is a safe space," Bill declared defensively. It wasn't even his room, but most weeks he probably spent more time in Four than in his own apartment.

"He'll contaminate it with his utter lack of talent and inability to pronounce simple words," Jerry added.

"Oh yeah, did you hear the way he said 'macabre?'" Bill asked him and slipped into an impression of the host's nasal voice, "Muh-cab-rey-uh."

He stroked the arm of the couch with a tenderness generally reserved for pets or small children. Countless underwhelming sketch ideas and even a few good ones had materialized on that couch. It was not a park bench for subpar stand-ups. To expose it to such mediocrity would be a sin.

"Guys, can we focus? It's going to happen any minute," Juliet said, turning her eyes toward the doorway.

They all watched the door in complete silence. In truth, Juliet had no idea when the host would arrive. She figured he would attempt conversation with a few other writers, each of which would extract themself from the situation as soon as possible. Then, after that failed, he would remember her tepid agreement to listen to his feedback and start asking around to find her. At that point, it became a matter of who would give them up. It reminded her of a horror movie, the moment when the characters knew evil would find them and they could only cower in terror, waiting for the inexorable. Tension strung itself from one wall to the opposite until the room was so thick it could be cut with a razor. So thick that when the door handle turned suddenly Juliet actually jumped backward, causing the desk to rattle loudly against the wall. Bill couldn't help but laugh.

"Hello," the host said in the voice Bill had been imitating seconds before. He didn't wait for a response, instead, diving into what sounded almost like a prepared statement:

"I just wanted to offer some advice. You guys are real funny and all, don't get me wrong, but I have a couple notes."

"Oh, Vian," Juliet said, overacting, "Weren't you just saying how much you have to learn from our amazing hosts?" The ruse was so transparent that it would take a true feat of vanity for someone to accept it. But maybe the rush of overnight stardom clouded the host's judgment just enough that he didn't flinch.

"I'd be happy to share my wisdom, if that's what you want to call it," he smiled. Vian smiled back. Then she stood up from the couch and turned to Juliet, angling so the host couldn't see and glaring at her viciously.

"Don't be shy, Vian. Go ahead," said Juliet.

"Yeah, we'll wait here," Bill promised, though he regretted it when Vian spun to glare at him too.

"We can do it here too if you guys want to listen in," the host offered. Jerry, Juliet, and Bill all started speaking at the same time, everyone repeating something to the effect of "I would, but I'm just so busy."

"Alright, maybe later," the host said, as if he were doing them a favor. Now that he was standing in front of them they had full display of his "No Fox Given" t-shirt and his khaki shorts.

"Yeah, maybe," Bill returned. No way in hell am I taking advice from that man, he thought, I'd rather marry Michael. At least Michael, annoying as he was, could read a funny sketch without tanking it.

"We should go across the hall then," Vian said flatly and motioned toward the door. Her phone buzzed again and she slapped it through the front pocket of her black jeans. She was only willing to invite him into Five because she thought Hugo might scare off the host. She looked back just in time to see Juliet mouth "Good luck!"