Carried Away

He is on TV

I thought my job would be a lot more reading and a lot less watching. I was wrong. Mrs. Vicars, a pleasant and pleasantly plump older woman, set me to work as soon as I got in, but explained that she is assigning me new areas of my job one by one. Today and tomorrow is a lot of watching various programs and fact-checking. I'm not the only one doing this though. Someone else is checking the same episodes I am, to ensure our reviews match up. I guess this is to be expected since I've never had an office job before. They have to make sure I can hack it.

I don't have much time to think about Jimmy or worry about the fact I gave him my phone number. There are a few Channel 4 regulars who have accents which I can't quite grasp. Rob Beckett, a blonde guy with huge teeth, is one. I have to keep rewinding to catch his quicker lines. Why can't they just give me the post-show scripts?

At about 12.30, a woman about my age is suddenly standing in front of my desk.

"You're new, right? It's about time for lunch break. Wanna go fetch something with me?" I look up as she starts talking. She's tall with blonde hair down to her collarbone and no makeup. I tend to like women who don't wear makeup so I give it a shot. I didn't pack lunch anyways and don't know my way around this area yet.

"Sure. I'm Emma, by the way."

"Oh, an American!" She perks up. "Cool. It didn't cross my mind that we'd get a foreigner here. I'm Sarah." She gives a little wave as I stand up with my bag. She doesn't go for a handshake. Good.

We talk a lot during lunch, or rather she talks and I listen. This is fine with me because Sarah notices quickly that holding conversation isn't my forté. We go to a little curry shop about a block away. I order the blandest one on the menu. I'd rather not have stomach problems on my first day.

After lunch, we head back to the office. Sarah stretches a lot, she says she ate too much even though she didn't even finish her food. I smile because that's something my little sister always does. She actually reminds me a lot of her. I'm thinking about this when Sarah shoots up an eyebrow. As we enter the building, Sarah asks, "What's up? You seem a bit far away."

I don't know how you can be a bit far away, but I don't pursue this. Instead I answer truthfully, "You remind me of my little sister. You two have a lot of the same mannerisms."

"Oh? What's her name, your sister?"

"Ash, uh- Ashley, but we all call her Ash." Sarah seems really pleased at this and keeps asking questions about Ash until we reach our floor.

I leave the office at around 5.30 pm. Sarah lives close by, so she drives home. She offers me a lift to the station, but I'd rather walk. I check my phone: no messages. Not even one from my parents. I don't know what I was expecting. They'll probably call me this weekend. I take the short train ride back home. I'm exhausted and my eyes are killing me. I'm not used to staring at a screen all day. I do crawl into the shower and decide to skip dinner. I'm too tired to cook anything. I know I'll regret it tomorrow morning.

I'm in bed by 8. I don't usually go to sleep this early, but damn. I do switch on Channel 4 to watch it as I fall asleep though. I need to be more familiar with the individual shows. Some game show rerun is on. A blonde bombshell is placing letters on a board. I recognize Rob Beckett on one of the teams, I turn over and groan. I've heard his voice enough for today. I keep my head buried in my pillow and listen to the show.

Jokes are made and the blonde laughs a pretty girl laugh. They call her Rachel. Once they've got enough letters, someone says, "The countdown starts now." A timer starts ticking.

Wait.

I know that voice.

I turn over, but the camera is on a man with short, curly hair and a slight beard. I keep watching, wondering where I've heard that voice before. Then I see him. Neon white smile, perfect grey suit, immaculate black hair: it's Jimmy. He is on tv. He's the host of this show.

Without thinking, I let one sentence slip out and float in my nearly empty bedroom: "What the actual fuck?"