Pregnant Without a Cause

Chapter Five: Episode 14

Go behind the scenes of a Hollywood production! (Even if the production in this case is the stapled-and-duct-taped reality show Fat Chance). And there's intrigue even in the back office; like who is this alleged employee Terri Major? And if Kennedy is a girl is Terri a guy?

840 words.

Fletcher Moeller glared at the spreadsheet. Fat Chance had only five salaried positions and some temp contracts in its budget. But you had to keep an eye on Joachin Sundlin Productionz. Jock had a reputation for billing for equipment that he never rented, and hours that no one had worked. His numbers always looked right, but you could never be quite sure where the money really went.

The Fat Chance production office was no office at all, but a meeting room with two brown tables and two black chairs in the back corner of the Jeopardy wing at Sony's Culver City Studio. Every day the Jeopardy fans skipped down the little street between sound stages dreaming that they, too, would win thousands by being brilliant. Anytime Moeller had to come here and wend his way through them, his Coupa Cafe macchiato already approaching room temp, he would mutter, "There is no brilliance in television!"

He was just resentful that he had to come here at all. Fat Chance had no office employees, so if Moeller wanted to find something or know something, he drove to Culver City and fought through the Jeopardy crowd to poke around in stacks of mail and boxes of unorganized files.

Or maybe his annoyance came from the show they had assigned him to manage. Some startups had enough energy to blow the roof off the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. Not this one. As a restart, it was the entertainment equivalent of duct tape on a hose—it had to work for a while, and if it lasted a month it would be a miracle.

Still, Moeller much preferred being on the business side, not creative, even if it did require him to trudge around to drab rooms like this and paw through countless pointless manila folders. Essentially he was an orderly at a state hospital, cleaning up after the maniacs and trying to keep them from hurting themselves. But he had a healthy salary that he would receive indefinitely, regardless of ratings, artistic merit, or who was pulled over late at night for driving erratically.

Moeller heard noises in the hall and looked up to see a trio of rude-looking thugs in green shirts gathered in the doorway.

"We're here to move you, buddy." The swarthy leader said. 

"Move me?"

"Yeah, over to the annex."

Moeller ran a finger over the chafed area on his throat. It had been itching all morning. "Oh no you can't. You mean the building on Motor Ave? "

The moving man smiled. "That's the one. Facilities wants this room back for Merv Griffin."

"Well, shit. How big is Merv Griffin?"

The homeboys laughed, apparently enjoying Moeller's discomfort, or hearing some unintended witticism or pun. But Moeller had to make a stand. "You can't touch anything until I find out who Terri Major is."

Now they were uncomfortable. They liked inappropriate wit? They liked throwing curveballs at a production manager? He'd give them some of the same. "Who...what?"

"Yeah, Terri Major. She's listed here as a production assistant. But I don't remember seeing her, hiring her. Nothing.They only have a handful of people—why can't I remember her?"

The one with the glistening scalp said, "Maybe it's a dude, dude. Maybe that's why you can't remember her."

"No, it's Terri with an 'i.' Wouldn't that be a girl's name?"

"Hey!" He laughed. "Don't ask me. I got a sister named Kennedy."

"I'm serious." Moeller whacked the file on the table beside him. "I've got payroll s'posed to go out Friday, for people that were hired a week ago, and all the paperwork is still in HR or some god-damn place. And the whole crew is in Phoenix, and Jock never answers his e-mail."

Suddenly the jovial boys became serious. These were real problems he was talking about. Big Swarthy looked concerned. "You mean like the W-2s and shit?"

"That would be one way."

The man pulled a cell phone out of the cavernous pocket of his huge green pants. "Lemme..." He punched some numbers. "I know this woman in... Charlotte? This is Mario. Hey. There's a guy here needs to find papers on some new hired. No, they're legal. Like W-2s and..." He listened to a buzzing question and replied, "Fat Chance." A smile lit his dark face. "I think she can help. Hang on..."

Moeller heard more buzzing and felt sudden gratitude for the little people of the world, no matter they were twice his size. Maybe they just saved him a trip to Phoenix.