Television Romance

Jeff

INT. WRITING ROOM FIVE - DAY

Luck was not on Vian's side, however, because as she opened the door to Five she found that Hugo was nowhere to be seen. And so she sat and suffered alone. The hardest part was faking attention, because every time the host felt his audience of one slipping away he compensated by extending his stories disguised as advice. What was originally one anecdote became a collection of several hundred loosely related tangents and soon a whole hour had ticked by.

"...and everyone laughed," the host recollected. Vian nodded.

"So maybe the guy should just say something in Chinese." His thick black eyes wiggled like worms on his face and Vian, exhausted, imagined them inching their way down his face to become a mustache.

"What?" Vian asked, vaguely aware that this was one of those dreaded points in the "conversation" where she was meant to respond.

"Like right here, when Cashier 1 turns to talk to Cashier 2, what if they do it in Chinese."

"Why?"

"It's funny," he said, as if it were obvious. Vian thought his suggestion didn't make any sense and tried to figure the kindest way to break that to him.

"So you can just add some Chinese words there." Vian froze, tentacles of ice creeping up her back. Why? Why do people like this exist? Maybe Richard was right, was a second of her name on TV worth hours of this?

"Any suggestions?" Vian said, sugar-sweetly.

"For what?"

"What words to add there."

"I don't know any Chinese."

"Neither do I," she said, still smiling. That was actually a lie. Her mother spoke Mandarin fluently and Vian had picked up quite a bit in her youth, though it was fading now. She just preferred to subvert racist expectations. She wondered if her contempt was filtering through the dusty air of Five and into his consciousness. Her phone buzzed as she picked it up.

Richard: I'm on my way there

"Oh, sorry, is it Korean?" the host asked, not sounding sorry at all.

"Nope. I don't speak Korean either," Vian said through gritted teeth. She texted back.

Vian: I'm busy.

"Well, don't make me guess," he chuckled and put his hand on her knee. She looked up at him. A peculiar wave of calm washed over her. She suddenly had no trouble believing that the host was late on Monday.

"You're such an idiot," she said slowly, marveling. He sputtered. None of the syllables he produced made a recognizable word, though, so Vian stood up, grabbed her jacket, and left. She'd deal with the consequences later. For now, she needed coffee. And maybe something to eat.

From one mess to another, that's how Vian stumbled out of Five and into her boyfriend. Fianceé, actually. Weird how that label never got comfortable. He was standing at security, suit jacket perfect, but hair in disarray. It was as if his head had been in a twister that didn't extend to the rest of his body.

"That's her," he said to the woman at the security desk. Vian thought her name might be Candice. The woman nodded her approval and Vian let him follow her down the hall while she figured out where they would stage this fight. After all, she was sure that this was going to be. For the past few weeks, it felt as though they had been rehearsing the same fight for a final performance no one would see. Eventually, after evading both Five and Four, she led him into the empty Table.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you. You weren't responding to my texts."

"Rich, I can't do this right now," she began. This was a pretty standard line.

"Then when, Vian?"

"I don't know, alright? But not right now."

"That's the problem. I never see you anymore. I have to hunt you down just to see you for two minutes. This is exactly why I was worried about you taking this job!"

"Richard, I'm serious. We can talk when I get home."

"So, what? Four a.m?"

"You know what?" Her voice was louder than she expected so she tried to reel it in.

"You know what?" she said again, whispering, "I waited up for you to get back from work every night before I got this job."

"That's different."

"Why? I'm sorry I'm not a lawyer, Rich-"

"I never said-"

"I'm sorry that my line of work doesn't do nine-to-five, but this is what it is! And I'm learning so much here." He furrowed his forehead.

"Are you? I wouldn't know because every time you get home you fall asleep ten minutes later. You're always tired and always angry at me."

"It's not about that, it's about the show."

"I watch the show, Vian, and I see your name zip across the screen in the credit crawl. That's all you're doing here. And now you want to do it another year?"

"I've only been here six months. And I don't even know if I'm coming back. They have to ask me first."

"But you'll say yes if they do?" He walked toward her determinedly. Like a pilot toward their plane, ready to complete a mission.  Vian's breath caught in her throat. That was the way he had walked toward her when they first met. When he strode across the world's most boring wedding to ask her if she needed a drink. That was the way he had walked through their front door and got down on one knee. The same confidence that made him a great lawyer. The same conviction that made him visit her at the show to try and work things out.

"I don't know," she breathed, "They probably won't ask me to. Your hair is a mess." She ran a hand through it. She always said things like that, perpetually a pessimist, even when she was trying to reconcile. But maybe she was right this time. After all, she had just berated a host. As a first-year writer. And though she was sure everyone around her had been tempted to do the same, that was no excuse for her outburst. She knew that and it weighed like water on her paper heart. She never would have reproached the host in her right mind, it was just the stress of the show and of fighting with Richard that had had her on edge all week already. And just as nostalgia had softened her a moment ago, anger hardened her again.

"Hey." It was Juliet, one hand on the door handle and the other on the doorframe.

"I was just wondering where you were..." Juliet saw Vian's almond eyes welling.

"I need your help when you get a chance," Juliet said. She split her ponytail in two and tugged at each side.

"Yeah, I'll be right there." Juliet nodded and walked away.

"Vian," Richard started.

"I'll see you at home," Vian told him and followed Juliet out. The latter was waiting outside, inspecting her nails absently. Vian caught her gaze and for a moment thought Juliet was going to say something, for a moment thought she herself was going to say something, but they both swallowed their words. Vian decided not to tell Juliet about what had happened with the host. It would come out soon enough and, naturally, precipitate her firing. Until then, she'd enjoy her time at the show.

"You get dinner yet? The setlist will be out soon," Juliet asked.

"Falafels?"

"You know, I was about to say the same thing. On Michael's dime."

"Is our favorite person still hanging around?" Vian asked.

Juliet laughed before she responded, "No, I told him senior writer Jeff was looking for him. I said he was a huge fan."

"Who's Jeff?"

"Exactly. I figured that would buy us some time."