Pregnant Without a Cause

Part II. The Show, Chapter Five: Episode 13

I

"Here we go." Jock nudged the mouse, and the Macbook on the coffee table lit up. He and Donna were back at his room at the Comfort Suites, looking at the second day's tape, the cooking segment filmed at a local school of the culinary arts. On the screen, Michelle looked for something in the drawer of the kitchen island. The group was making an egg white asparagus omelet, and some kind of skillet beef dish. This was the first time Jock had paid much attention to Michelle and Edouard since early in the selection process, months ago. Michelle was a lot more frazzled and feisty than he remembered.

Michelle opens the drawer so hard that the utensils inside slide noisily.

She slams the drawer shut, making more noise, then moves to her left and opens the top drawer there. She peers into the drawer, clearly frustrated. "Sheesh! Where's the..."

Edouard turns toward her, but not expecting the drawer open, he catches it right in the crotch, rattling the drawer.

Jock chuckled. "Uff."

"Oh, my!" Donna chuckled. She was leaning on the back of the couch behind him, stretching or something. They were well into their second hour of running rough footage, after a full day of taping segments. "Again."

Jock replayed the scene.

"He fully engaged it." Donna said. "I never saw that." "Well, neither one of them react. At all."

Gazing at the items in the drawer, Michelle barely gives Edouard a glance. As he backs up and turns away, she slides the drawer closed and pulls open the one below it.

Jock saw something there. But what did he see? They had seemed awkward and unsettled during the day, but so did most of the others. Michelle looked pale on the video, with dark circles under her eyes, but she projected a strange kind of adrenalin energy.

He sipped the cloying remains of his iced rumba latte, which unfortunately contained no rum. "I mean, he's taking one in the cohonies and nothing, not a blink. And she's even more oblivious. What's got those two? The camera?"

"Maybe. I remember him as Mister Fatuous, and she's the cupcake, the straight man.

That was months ago, though. Something's changed."

Jock leaned back and stretched. "You want to keep going?"

"You're the boss." She walked around the couch and grabbed her water bottle from the coffee table. "What've we got left?"

"Oh, everything. We won't get it all done tonight." "It's nearly ten."

"Yeah. That's enough."

"Okay." She slipped her sandals on, leaning on the kitchenette counter. She was an

attractive, ripe, smart woman. Right where the concept of sexy was for him now. And he was single, but she had just remarried, and he didn't want to screw up her life. That's assuming she would even have him. And he needed a hit show more than he needed sex or love. Jock was not a starry-eyed simpleton who believed you could have it all. Life and the world were zero-sum—a gain here meant a drop over there.

But there she stood, firmly and ripely. He shook it off. "Yeah. We need to save our energy."

"It's good to be back on this." She sat on the couch again, and picked up her organizer. She flipped through a few pages, looking at the rest of the week.

Jock felt a sudden flush of despair. "Jezuss, I hope this is going to be worth it." She gave him that big, warm, nursey smile of hers. "It's got to be."

"I mean, last year we had the network creatives on our ass, fuckin' up the show.

Bunch of oxymorons if there ever were such." "They're sure not around now."

"No, thank God for small favors."

Donna closed her leather notebook. "So we can really do whatever we want."

"Yeah." Jock ran his fingers over his hair, which released little fizzes of tension all over his head. "So what do we want to do? How much should we change? How far away from the original concept?"

Donna's confident smile didn't flicker for even an instant. "I'm sure you'll come up with the right mix. You've got the touch."

"Jezuss, I hope so." But there was the more basic problem. "Except we've got no money to do anything. It's the attack of the enraged bean counters. That Fletcher Moeller is reviewing everything. Today he e-mailed me two or three times about the rental on the digital mixer, which wouldn't pay for an Eva Longoria wardrobe change."

Donna rubbed his shoulder lightly, as if brushing off ashes. "I believe in you. That's why I signed up for this cruise." She gave him that healing smile, and set her planner back on the coffee table. "Tell you what." She grabbed the mouse. The screen lit up again. "Let's at least finish Edouard and Michelle."

Jock sighed. "Go."

Michelle is staring intently at the cook, who is braising beef in a pan. "Braising," says the cook. "You can't beat it for coaxing tenderness out of—" "Braising is the best!" Michelle nudges Ed, who nods dully.

Jock laughed. He thought back to previous encounters with Michelle, but nothing about her seemed familiar. "She's practically jamming her face down the lens."

Donna stopped the clip and paged back through the scenes. "I sure don't remember her like that."

"No. Truthfully, I barely remember her at all."

"And, she's gained weight." Donna sat back on the couch. "I guess when we cancelled, she pigged out."

"No motivation." Jock stared at the screen, Michelle frozen there in a spacious cap sleeve tee and tan cargo capris.

"And she looks completely drained." "Boyfriend scared shiftless."

They played the goring of Edouard again, and ran it a little past.

Edouard reacts as he turns away. A sharp breath, a momentary glazing of the eyes.

In the corner of the shot, Michelle, still focused on her mission, buzzes emphatically. "Where's the hmm-hmm hot pads?"

"Is she on drugs?" said Donna. "Or off her meds?"

"I don't know." Jock bumped her knee with his fist. "But whatever it is, I like it."