Book Excerpt
husband slept with her brother), and I
positively adore it. Probably because
they make my family seem normal by
comparison. I also have to go through
the myriad of calls that come at the
end of every show. Have you ever
wondered who actually answers the
questions like: “If you or anyone you
know is an obese transsexual, please
call ‘Tell It Like It Is’”? I’m absolutely
floored by the flood of calls from
desperate people who either really do
need help or crave being on television
once in their pathetic lives.
“Jamie? Could you come to the green
room and get the guy who looks like a
rat to zip up his fly?” Sue whispers
from the intercom on the wall above
my desk right as I’m sitting down.
After three years, I can finally
decipher her hushed, mumbled
sentences because that actually
sounds like, “Hhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
“Hey, Jamie, how was your
weekend?” Lucy, the show’s assistant
director, and my closest friend at
work, yells from her desk across the
room from mine after I come back
from dealing with Rat Man.
Decked out today in a thigh-high
black leather mini, knee-high black
boots, an orange leather vest, and
jet-black bob, Lucy is one of the
reasons I love where I work. She can
beat my potty mouth hands down,
especially after a bit of vodka, which I
think she has hooked up to an IV next
to her bed. As drunk as Lucy gets on
her off hours, at work, she’s a
consummate professional.
“It was okay.”
“How are things with big, manly
Derek?” she asks with a wink.
“I got well acquainted with the
shower head.”
“Babe, you don’t need a shower head.
I’ll give you something good if you’re
hard up,” Carl, the cameraman, pipes
in.
“Mind your own business and stop
listening to my conversation, Carl, you
idiot. And keep your pepper in its
shaker because I don’t want it
anywhere near me.”
“Too bad. You don’t know what
you’re missing,” he responds, hikes his
pants up over his hairy belly that’s
sticking out of his sweat-stained shirt
and goes back to fondling his camera.
I roll my eyes at Lucy, and she makes
the universal drinking gesture (one
hand forming a cup and lifting it
towards her mouth) from across the
room.
“I can’t today. I’m supposed to go to
Hanna’s for dinner,” I tell her.
“Hanna’s cooking?” Lucy’s brow
knots in bewilderment. Hanna, my best
friend, wouldn’t know a blender from
a microwave.
“Pizza.”
“Ah. Okay, another time. Alright
everyone, time to roll. Carl, you
ready? Jamie, are the questions ready
for her Royal Vapidness?” Lucy shoots
the usual barrage of questions before
a show.
I must admit it was a bit difficult
writing some intriguing questions for
this elite group of guests. After the
usual “Did you notice you and the
hairy llama resembled each other
immediately or was it more of a
gradual thing?,” that’s pretty much it.
So, we have a pet and owner parade of
sorts, and the audience will vote for
the best pair.
Besides the dog that used a guest as
a fire hydrant, the show was a success.
Breathe a huge sigh of relief. Thank
God we’re not live. We tape at 10:00
a.m., and the first show airs at 3:00
p.m. and again the next morning at
9:00 a.m. That gives us a few good
hours to brighten the vacant look in
Mitzy’s eyes, bleep the crass and
offensive language, and make sure
we’re not breaking too many FCC
guidelines.
“Hhh, shh, mmm, blah,” Sue calls
from the intercom.
Everyone in the room swivels their
heads to look at me.
“Meeting in an hour,” I translate.
I should so get paid more for
interpretation. I have a few minutes
so in a burst of sudden affection for
Derek, I phone him at work.
“Derek Leeds the Third speaking.”
Is it really necessary to tell everyone
that your family had zero originality
when naming you? And he only started
using “The Third” when he got this
job.
“Hi, hon, it’s me.”
“Jamie, you know I can’t take
personal calls at work.”
Can’t, Mr. Executive? Won’t is more
like it.
“You won’t believe the show we did
at work today,” I say, completely
ignoring his rudeness.
“I’m sure I would. What was it? Teen
mothers knocked up by their
teachers?”
“No, that’s tomorrow.”
“Jamie, we’ll talk when I get home.
Did you pay the credit card bill I left
on the table this morning?”
I slap my hand against my head.
“Shit! I totally forgot. I’ll do it
tomorrow.”
“How could you forget something
like that? I’m not paying the interest
when the bill is overdue.”
“It’s not due for another two weeks.
I know when to pay my own credit
card, and I don’t need you to remind
me.”
“No, but you need my money to pay
it.”
I clench my jaw and breathe through
my nose. “It’s all your stuff! I didn’t
want the damn $400.00 water
purifier, I told you I’m fine with the
tap, but you insisted. I only wanted
the miles so we could go somewhere
hot this winter. Look, I just called to
tell you that I won’t be home for
dinner. You’ll need to make yourself
something. There’re some perogies in
the freezer.”
“Isn’t there anything healthy?
Perogies are really fattening, you
know.”
I drum my fingers on my desk in
impatience. “And delicious. Okay,
there are some green beans, meatless
hamburgers, an oxymoron if I’ve ever
heard one, and portabella mushrooms
in the fridge. Aren’t you going to ask
me where I’m going for dinner?” I ask,
rubbing my neck in the sore spot I
always get when I’m stressed.
“Fine. Where are you going?”
“Hanna’s.”
“Okay, have a nice day. I’ll see you
later.”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
“Don’t get defensive, Jamie. I’ll see
you tonight. Have a good time. I hope
she’s paying for dinner.”
“What does that mean?” +