“I know you didn’t need it; God knows you can handle him on your own. But I didn’t think it was right to stand by.” My heart beats faster as he grins at me. “So. Lead on to the big meeting.”
Mr. Davis is sitting at the head of the conference table, flanked on either side by glasses-wearing yes men. They look at him, then at me, then at him, probably trying to read the acceptable level of douchey behavior they can get away with.
“All right, Ms. Young. Let’s see what you’ve got,” Davis says, leaning back in his chair. I stand up, forcing myself not to smooth my skirt. Flint watches me.
“Reel World does an expert job of catering to the male gaze,” I say, giving them a big smile. If by ‘expert’ we mean sleazy, then we are the most expert around. “But it’s time to expand our demographic. More women watch reality television than men—fact. But to get a show that brings in both women and men, well, that’s the big dream. The ratings juggernaut.”
Davis nods. I’m not sure if it’s encouraging or not, but I proceed.
“Rustic Renovations will follow Flint McKay as he plans and builds an enchanted woodsy retreat high in the Berkshires of Massachusetts. The spectacular vistas bring in the people hungry for beauty. The hands-on, innovative design and construction will attract do it yourselfers and Architectural Digest subscribers alike. And the hunk factor will appeal to all young women looking for something sexy but substantive on television.” I manage to keep myself from blushing as I say it. Flint doesn’t respond. The yes men look from him to me to Davis. Their heads snap back and forth so fast I’m afraid they’ll break off and fall to the floor, still spinning around.
With that introduction, I gesture to the screen behind me, pressing play.
I’m just gonna go ahead and say it: our sizzle reel fucking rocks. Even without the gratuitous views of Flint’s biceps and Berkshire sunsets, it’s compelling, genuinely interesting—no celebrity scandals or outrageous sex necessary. Take that, Tyler. When the video ends, I lift my chin and say, “In short, it has major crossover appeal. And, in a company inundated with celebrity boob shows, it stands out in a big way.”
There. I lobbed the ball, and Davis connects with it. He nods even more; hopefully, it’s a sign of enthusiasm.
But then, right on cue, Tyler comes to rain on my parade. “Like, this is all very nice if we’re watching the best of public access,” he sneers. I suppress a sigh. Tyler and I are the last pitches of the afternoon, and since they’re running us back to back we’re both in the room. What a lucky, lucky jackass I am. Davis doesn’t respond to Tyler’s outburst, and he glances at the yes men for a nice, juicy yes. “But what about the sex factor? Is he gonna be banging hotties in the back of his trailer? Are there even any hot women in western Mass, or is it just moustaches and cankles?” Wow, Tyler has brought the asshole brigade out for some fun. He knows Flint can’t touch him in here. Tyler grins while Flint sits staring at him. No reaction. Just staring.
“There is no ‘hottie banging’ on this show,” I say, keeping my voice level. I will kill Tyler.
“Great. Then it’s all the stuff America doesn’t want to see,” he smarms. The yes men are looking at each other with discomfort now. Davis still says nothing.
“Maybe a little relationship drama would be nice?” one of the yes men says tentatively. He looks like he’s the type who’s permanently dewy. He grins weakly. “We can set something up. A little added tension—”
“We don’t need added tension,” I snap. The room goes silent. Uh oh. Clearing my throat, I add, “Our audience is out there. We just have to make sure to deliver exactly what they want, and not clutter it up. This is quality programming. It’s both entertaining and inspiring, not junk.” I stare down Tyler. He scowls at me as Davis nods.
“Very nice,” he says. “All right. I want to hear from our proposed star. Mr. McKay?”
Flint sits very quietly for a minute. He’s not looking at Tyler, or me. He’s so quiet I think I might have to stick a pin in him to get some movement, but he quickly stands up. I sit down—next to Tyler, unfortunately—and smile at him. A couple of bumps in the road, but nothing we couldn’t handle. All he has to do is talk about his hardware store, show his enthusiasm for the project, and we’re good.
“I’m going to be honest,” Flint says, putting his hands on the table.
Okay, that’s a bad start.
“I didn’t submit to your company because I wanted to be famous. My sister sent in an audition tape without my knowing about it.”