Pregnant Without a Cause

Chapter Seven, Episode 21

A tense meeting between Jock, the producer of FAT CHANCE, and the studio exec in charge of the show.

 676 words

"So how about a drink?" Jock said to Fletcher. He had sent the film crew packing. Sure, Jock wanted a drink, but he also wanted to explore the Shakespearean edict to keep one's friends close, and one's enemies closer.

"Do they have a bar here?" Fletcher flashed his casually arrogant smile, letting Jock know who was responsible for placing him in a cheap motel behind a mall.

"No. But the Yardhouse is right across the parking lot. Nine hundred kinds of beer."

 "I don't drink. On New Year'sI have a glass of wine with my wife. Then I'm donefor the year."

Typical. Tightass budget ranger. Jock tried to remain impassive as his scorn rose, but you never knew how much your eyes gave away, or your body language. Looking at people on tape had sure taught him that. He retrieved his briefcase from behind his chair. "Well, okay. I think I'll..."

"So tomorrow, then, you are going to the rock climbing school." 

"Right." Jock paused. "With Rusty and Tabitha. The X adventurers."

"And you'll have a crew?" Fletcher glanced at some kind of list or roster on his clipboard.

"Yeah," said Jock. "Musgrave, camera, Janie, sound and handheld. We're meeting Leigh there and she's doing makeup and wardrobe."

"There's a wardrobe?"

"Yeah." Jock set his briefcase on his lap. "Shoes and such from, Gear House, I think it's called. Mountain climbing fashions. All comped."

Fletcher nodded. "Yes, now I remember."

"Almost all this comp stuff has been arranged by Donna and me. And we have other people, like Leigh, also working the phones. Leigh is good at it. She came as makeup, she'll leave as an assistant producer." Jock saw the change in Fletcher's expression, and added. "For her next job. Trust me, with our budget, everybody's stretched thin and learning a lot. And nobody gets a promotion."

"And how about Major?" 

"Major?"

"Terri Major, P.A. Where's she working tomorrow?"

"Oh." The little sneak. Trying to ambush him about Terry Major. "If tomorrow's Tuesday, then Terry's at school, I think. Goes to ASU."

"Really? And works for you, too?"

"Well, part-time." Jock tapped his fingers on the flat leather of the briefcase, briefly. He recognized the tell and let the hand lay flat and still.

Fletcher gave him a grim look. "Yet she has filled out full-time timecards. Last week I think she even had overtime."

"You keep saying she. Do you know who Terry Major is?" 

"Just a name to me. So it's a he?"

"Just a name to you." That was it. Jock set his briefcase on the deck, and slid his hands together as if he was dusting off pancake mix. "Maybe that's why you should leave production to me, and you handle business."

Fletcher's eyes widened at this challenge.

Jock leaned into him. "Television shows do not often get made without real people doing real jobs. And I have to tell you, I have never been on a show that asked more of its crew and producer than this one. The local TV news is like Titanic compared to this. I mean Titanic, that movie you may have heard of. It had a big budget."

"I heard of Titanic. Look." Fletcher set his shoulders, ready to fight. "You agreed to make the show. You agreed to the terms and the budget, so don't kill the goddamn messenger. It's in your best interest that I keep as tight a control of the budget as possible, or you're going to wind up some cold night with your hand in your pants, no money, and your show half done."

"Look, pal, I can edit in the camera, and add theme music from an iPod. I know what the shit I'm doing here."

"Well, good." Fletcher stood up, and turned to leave. Over his shoulder, he muttered, "Then we should have no problem."

As the asshole walked away, Jock slumped back in his chair and let out a frustrated sigh. Now, on top of everythingelse, he would have to find a Terry Major.

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