season, or cut their losses and
scrap it.
Vish thought
this meant he’d be called upon to work with the other writers during the
hiatus. Freddie soon disabused him of this notion.
“It’s just
going to be me, and Bob, and Ken,” Freddie said. “I think we’ll be able to work
more efficiently. The network says the recent episodes have seemed
inconsistent. I don’t really think that’s the problem, I think viewers just
weren’t prepared to evolve with the show as it developed. Still…” He shrugged.
“We’ve brought in too many new hires lately, and that’s probably why some
people think we’ve drifted off course. Things will be more cohesive if the
writing is only handled by the core group.”
This was
announced during Friday’s meeting in the writers room. It was Vish’s fifth such
meeting and, as seemed likely, his final one. His career as a television writer
had lasted one business week.
Troy took the
news well when Vish went to check on her in her trailer. “We’ll be back,” she
said. “It’s just a month. I know the ratings have dipped, but we still have a
lot of supporters.” She leaned forward in her chair and squinted at her reflection
in the mirror. She was already out of her wardrobe and in her street clothes;
her face was bare of makeup and shiny with moisturizer. “And if it doesn’t come
back, then it wasn’t meant to be. Something better will come along for us.”
Her eyes met
his in the mirror. “I’m mostly just sorry for you. You barely had a chance to
get started here.”
“It’s okay.” It
was. It totally was. He felt bad for Troy, who had far more emotional
investment in the show than he did, but for his part, it was a bit of a relief.
“Ridpath is
throwing a barbecue at his house tomorrow to… well, I guess ‘celebrate’ isn’t
the right term, is it?” Troy laughed. “I told him I’d check with you if we want
to go.”
“That sounds
like fun. Sure.”
“I’ll let him
know we’ll be there,” Troy said. “You sure you’re okay with everything? You
look a little… off or something.”
“I’m fine.
Maybe a little tired. It’s an odd end to an odd week.”
“I’m sure
you’re disappointed by all this. You’ve got to be.”
“I don’t think
I am. Not yet, at least. Probably I will be once the news sinks in, but I don’t
know if I was a good fit with the other writers anyway.”
“What do you
mean?” Troy asked. “Because you didn’t like their ideas?”
He shrugged.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Ever consider
that it might be your problem, too?” she asked. She turned in her chair to look
at him. “I hear some people get good results from actually, like, going after
things they want instead of waiting for stuff to magically happen to them.”
There was an
edge to it. “Are you mad at me?” he asked.
“No, of course
not. But you’re so damn passive sometimes. It’d be nice to see you get
passionate and really go after something for once.”
It stung,
probably because it was true. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Troy laughed.
“And that’s the perfect passive response.” She waved a hand, dismissing the
topic. “Sorry. I’m a little cranky about Freddie’s announcement, and I’m
picking a fight. Forgive me?”
“Always,” Vish
said.
Troy pulled him
down onto the chair beside her, scooting over to give him room, and slipped her
arm around his waist. He leaned against her and rested his head on her
shoulder. In the mirror, they looked like a cute couple—clean-cut, attractive,
affectionate with each other. For the first time, it felt like they matched.
So now Vish was
unemployed. Easy come, easy go. He was in limbo since the show hadn’t been
formally canceled and he was still drawing a paycheck, but as soon as it was
official, he’d go back and work for Jamie. Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the
world.
Troy moved in
with him in an informal kind of way. She spent all her time at his apartment,
which made a certain
scrap it.
Vish thought
this meant he’d be called upon to work with the other writers during the
hiatus. Freddie soon disabused him of this notion.
“It’s just
going to be me, and Bob, and Ken,” Freddie said. “I think we’ll be able to work
more efficiently. The network says the recent episodes have seemed
inconsistent. I don’t really think that’s the problem, I think viewers just
weren’t prepared to evolve with the show as it developed. Still…” He shrugged.
“We’ve brought in too many new hires lately, and that’s probably why some
people think we’ve drifted off course. Things will be more cohesive if the
writing is only handled by the core group.”
This was
announced during Friday’s meeting in the writers room. It was Vish’s fifth such
meeting and, as seemed likely, his final one. His career as a television writer
had lasted one business week.
Troy took the
news well when Vish went to check on her in her trailer. “We’ll be back,” she
said. “It’s just a month. I know the ratings have dipped, but we still have a
lot of supporters.” She leaned forward in her chair and squinted at her reflection
in the mirror. She was already out of her wardrobe and in her street clothes;
her face was bare of makeup and shiny with moisturizer. “And if it doesn’t come
back, then it wasn’t meant to be. Something better will come along for us.”
Her eyes met
his in the mirror. “I’m mostly just sorry for you. You barely had a chance to
get started here.”
“It’s okay.” It
was. It totally was. He felt bad for Troy, who had far more emotional
investment in the show than he did, but for his part, it was a bit of a relief.
“Ridpath is
throwing a barbecue at his house tomorrow to… well, I guess ‘celebrate’ isn’t
the right term, is it?” Troy laughed. “I told him I’d check with you if we want
to go.”
“That sounds
like fun. Sure.”
“I’ll let him
know we’ll be there,” Troy said. “You sure you’re okay with everything? You
look a little… off or something.”
“I’m fine.
Maybe a little tired. It’s an odd end to an odd week.”
“I’m sure
you’re disappointed by all this. You’ve got to be.”
“I don’t think
I am. Not yet, at least. Probably I will be once the news sinks in, but I don’t
know if I was a good fit with the other writers anyway.”
“What do you
mean?” Troy asked. “Because you didn’t like their ideas?”
He shrugged.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Ever consider
that it might be your problem, too?” she asked. She turned in her chair to look
at him. “I hear some people get good results from actually, like, going after
things they want instead of waiting for stuff to magically happen to them.”
There was an
edge to it. “Are you mad at me?” he asked.
“No, of course
not. But you’re so damn passive sometimes. It’d be nice to see you get
passionate and really go after something for once.”
It stung,
probably because it was true. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Troy laughed.
“And that’s the perfect passive response.” She waved a hand, dismissing the
topic. “Sorry. I’m a little cranky about Freddie’s announcement, and I’m
picking a fight. Forgive me?”
“Always,” Vish
said.
Troy pulled him
down onto the chair beside her, scooting over to give him room, and slipped her
arm around his waist. He leaned against her and rested his head on her
shoulder. In the mirror, they looked like a cute couple—clean-cut, attractive,
affectionate with each other. For the first time, it felt like they matched.
So now Vish was
unemployed. Easy come, easy go. He was in limbo since the show hadn’t been
formally canceled and he was still drawing a paycheck, but as soon as it was
official, he’d go back and work for Jamie. Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the
world.
Troy moved in
with him in an informal kind of way. She spent all her time at his apartment,
which made a certain
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