Reality TV Bites by Shane Bolks

won’t mistake my meaning. But she’s not watching me; she’s smiling at one of the cameras, her head held high to keep her neck from looking wrinkled.
    â€œNow is fine, Allison.”
    I look at Josh, and he says, “Can we take a moment to talk about Aguirre and Bailey. I spoke with them this—”
    â€œWhatever you think is fine for them, Josh. Now, tell me about the budget we’re presenting to Wernberg, Dylan.”
    Dylan passes copies to everyone and stands to run through the numbers he’s worked up. Five minutes in, I stop him. This is a mess—Dylan’s forgotten to calculate fees for inspection, he didn’t include the cost for installation of the floor covering, and the consultation fee he’s listed is based on last year’s rates. If Wernberg saw this, they’d fire us before we even had a chance to present our scheme.
    â€œDylan, that’s great.”
    He glances up at my interruption.
    â€œWhy don’t you and I go over a few things in my office, and we’ll finalize everything tomorrow.”
    Lila, a junior designer we hired about three months ago, who is still trying to impress everyone, says, “Where’s the info on the SBCCI codes? Where are the Load Factor Tables?” She flips through the sheaf of papers. “We’d better get on that or we’ll be late and end up having to cut corners like we did at Harpo Studios.”
    I inhale sharply, and the room goes silent. Harpo is owned by Oprah Winfrey, and Interiors by M just redecorated her studio. It was a major coup, a major pain in the ass, and very nearly drove Josh and me into rehab. “Lila,” I say in the tense silence, “we didn’t cut corners at Harpo. We were late getting the paperwork in, but I wouldn’t say we cut corners.”
    Lila looks up at me, then seems to notice the cameras. She pales visibly. “Oh, right. I was just kidding.”
    â€œIf all the kidding is over,” Miranda says with ice in her voice, “let’s get back to work.” She rises and strolls out of the conference room. Thankfully, the cameras follow.
    Dylan looks over at me. “I’m sorry, Allison. I told you I’d never done one of these before.”
    I shake my head. “It’s okay, but I don’t want to go over things with all the cameras around. Can you stay late tonight and we’ll work on it?”
    He nods. “Sure.”
    â€œI’ll stay, too,” Josh volunteers. “Carlos is still being huffy, so I’ve got nothing better to do.”
    We get the budget and the inspection papers worked out, but not until after ten. Tomorrow Josh and I plan to spend most of the day getting everything ready for the taping Wednesday, so I’ve put Dylan and Lila in charge of the Wernberg details.
    I know I should feel excited that the first Kamikaze Make-over! is only two days away, but at this point, I couldn’t care less. I’m exhausted from trying to balance the cameras, the interviews, the prep work for the show, and my other clients.
    Who knew being a reality TV star was so tough?
    Earlier this evening, when I finally admitted I was impossibly behind, I gave in and called Mia, home on maternity leave, and begged her to take two clients, then I asked a junior designer I’ve worked with before to take another. I kept people like Mrs. Bilker-Morgan, but playing musical clients isn’t a good strategy. The more you play, the greater the chance that when the music stops, you’ll be the one left without a chair.
    Miranda says that the attention garnered by the TV show will make up for any slight a client feels, and that I’ll be in even higher demand after the show airs, but I’ve kept more clients than I can really handle as a precautionary measure, and I’m starting to fall behind on my self-imposed deadlines.
    Josh and I are the last ones to leave the office that evening, and we walk out together.