Television Romance

Broken Jerry

Once on the fourteenth floor, Juliet ran her hand along the concave outer wall backstage until she reached Bill's dressing room. She could hear laughter before she opened the door, and when she did she could immediately speculate as to why. Vian, Bill, and Jerry were all standing around the room, reflected into double vision by the full-length mirror that covered one wall from above the perpendicular counter to the ceiling. Juliet only had to work a little to get a bright smile on her face, then not at all once she saw a white platter cast around Jerry's left arm. It looked like someone had tried to make a toilet paper mummy but ran out three-quarters of the way up the arm.

"Jesus, Rennels, what the fuck did you do?" she asked.

"I'd rather not say."

"He went to Vermont," Bill started, but then burst into laughter.

"With Sadie? What, did her dad break out a shotgun?"

"I always thought the Vermontans were peaceful people," Vian mused.

"Vermontans?" Juliet repeated.

"Vermontonians?"

"Apple picking. He went apple picking," Bill spit out like he was a video that had finally finished buffering.

"You broke your arm apple picking?" Juliet asked as if Bill had just revealed Jerry had married a Scandinavian prince. Jerry didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Besides, the look on his face said everything.

"Oh, you are so never living this down."

"City slickers," Bill sighed, "Can't even pick an apple."

"The ladder was unsteady," Jerry said in a quick and immediately regretted defense.

"Oh, my apologies, your highness," Bill shot back, "Would you have preferred a marble staircase?"

"How far did you fall to break an arm?" Juliet asked.

"I didn't break it. It's fractured."

"Big difference," she scoffed.

"It is if you're a doctor."

"A cast is a cast," Juliet said like a slogan.

Beside her, Vian realized suddenly none of them had said hello to her when she walked into the room. There had been no mild-mannered pleasantries, no "Oh gosh, so good to see you." It was as if when they had stepped off the thirteenth floor last May (or sunk past it, for those who had used the elevator) the world of LTV had simply paused. When they pressed play again, it was still the same movie. No recap needed.

"A cast is a cast," Bill echoed, "Hey, do we get to sign it?"

"Are you asking me if I'm going to let a bunch of comedians write on something I have to wear for another five to seven weeks?" Bill shrugged. He was due for a haircut, dark brown curls hanging into his eyes. Every once in a while he shook his head like a wet dog to free up his sightline.

"Did Sadie break up with you out of embarrassment yet?" Juliet asked.

"Not yet. I figure she's waiting until I get the cast off so I'm less pitiful."

"Solid plan."

"Hey, speaking of embarrassment," Bill interrupted, "Remember when Jules dated that magician?" Juliet groaned and kicked the toe of her turquoise sneaker into his ankle.

"Ow!"

"To be fair, dating a magician isn't that far from a comedian," Vian said.

"Hey!" Jerry and Bill both yelped indignantly.

"What's the difference?" Juliet added.

"I had sex in high school," Bill said.

"Speak for yourself," Jerry muttered.

"And I don't wear a top hat," Bill said.

"Not until I write you into a sketch as Abraham Lincoln," Juliet threatened.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

"Speaking of sketches," Vian said, in a far kinder segue, "Shouldn't we be moving towards Greg's office?" All eyes went to the clock on the wall. Then the four collected themselves and exited Bill's dressing room single file.

"Hey, why weren't you guys in Four?" Juliet asked as they waited for the elevator.

"Nick said he saw a mouse," Bill replied, "Probably the only live animal LTV can afford right now."

"In Four?"

"Yup. And some among us weren't inclined to call his bluff."

"That's me," Vian elucidated. She was no fan of rodents. Not since... No fan of rodents.

"There are mice? I thought it would take longer than two months for this place to start falling apart," Juliet said. Her left shoelace had come untied and dragged along the linoleum floor on both sides of her shoe. She paid no mind.

"Technically, it was already falling apart. Remember the lights?"

"The ones that almost decapitated Reese?"

"The very same."

They made their way back around the bend of backstage and into the elevator. Out of the elevator, past reception, and down the hall of writers' rooms, all the way to Greg's office on the left. Sam was already herding people inside.

"Yo, Samosa, how's it going?" Juliet asked.

"It'll be better when this day is over."

"That's the first-day spirit I was looking for." Juliet grinned.

"Hey, Jerry, what's up with the arm?" Sam asked, "Did that chair finally crap out on you?"

"You wish," Jerry returned.

"Oh shit, it's Betting Week," Juliet said, "I totally forgot. Are Nat and Max-"

"The Man," Vian and Jerry interrupted simultaneously.

"-drawing up the boards?"

"I'm sure," Sam said, "Now get inside."

"Is everyone here? Can everyone hear? Can everyone hear me?" Greg asked. Murmurs of assent could be heard.

"We've got two minutes before the host gets here. Here's the situation: You've got half the interns, no new writers, and we need every sketch to have a budget of twenty dollars or less." Several people exclaimed, Vian was one of them, her surprise strong enough to override her fear of Greg's piercing stare. Twenty dollars?

"Twenty dollars?" Nick asked. Vian was pretty sure LTV had never put on a sketch that had a budget of fewer than fifty bucks.

"How are we going to get a set for less than twenty dollars?" Mia added. Greg looked at them like he was a teacher about to say "I'll wait."

"Shush," Meredith instructed and they all did. If Nat and Max were the wine-drunk adoptive parents of the writers, Meredith was the responsible aunt.

"You'll reuse sets and costumes," Greg said, "There's a catalog of everything we have in storage up in props. If you're nice to the crew they might even help you remodel some of the sets."

"Hey, should I come in?" This week's host was at the door, holding the outside door handle above their hip.

"Please." Greg waved them in and the sea of writers parted to reveal a winding path to the host chair. Juliet leaned to the side so she could whisper into Jerry's ear.

"Mice, no interns, sketch budgets..." she muttered, "This is going to be a trainwreck. The only thing we have left is a cast." He shrugged. Unbothered, his normal state.

"A cast is a cast."