I hand my bottle of Fiji to Destiny, the makeup artist blots around my mouth, the hairdresser pulls a comb from her fanny pack and expertly whisks a stray strand away from my face, and the stage manager counts me down again. “Five, four, three, two . . .”
I stare at the blinking red light and start to read what’s on the TelePrompTer. “Welcome to GossipTV. I’m Casey Lee and . . .” Suddenly the words on the screen are moving faster than I can read them and I stop, looking down at the black piece of tape on the stage beneath my feet, or my mark, as I was reminded by the stage manager when I stepped over it before we started taping.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, trying to ignore the crew’s glares.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dean chides. “I’ve told you people a hundred times that I should read the intro copy.”
I stare at the dozens of video monitors surrounding me, some with the GossipTV logo plastered across them and others filled with video of the celebrities I read about in the script they gave me this morning. In the largest screen in the center is footage of Ryan McKnight performing on stage at one of his concerts. What am I doing here standing on this set, playing TV announcer? I knew I couldn’t pull this off. The hundreds of lights hanging above me are hot and overpowering and a bead of sweat rolls down the side of my face. The makeup artist runs out and blots it with a sponge and the producer pulls me aside.
“You okay?” He seems genuinely concerned. I study his face. He appears to be about my age and he’s cute with blond hair and kind brown eyes. Casey’s never mentioned him.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little out of it today,” I reply, resisting the urge to scratch my nose.
“Do you need to take five?” he asks slowly and I can tell he’s hoping I’ll say no.
I look at Dean staring at me smugly from on top of his box, a different makeup artist applying something to his eyes—is that eyeliner? And think of Casey. I can’t give Dean the satisfaction of watching her screw this up. “No, I’m ready, I’ll get it right this time.”
I close my eyes and visualize myself reading the TelePrompTer flawlessly. The stage manager counts me down again. “Five, four, three, two . . .”
“Welcome to GossipTV. I’m Casey Lee and we’ve got the freshest scoop coming your way. Tonight, we’ll reveal the shocking new details on Ryan McKnight’s steamy night with stripper Ashley Jones. What she says really happened in that hot tub.” The words start to flow and before I know it, I’m finished.
“That’s the Casey we know.” The producer smiles at me.
“Hey, Charlie, should I run these scripts down to the booth for tonight’s show?” a young kid, probably an intern, asks shyly.
So Charlie’s his name. I look at his hand. No wedding ring.
“Nice job. See you later when we tape the show,” Charlie says as he walks out of the studio.
“Hopefully Ryan McKnight will keep his pants on until then,” I call after him. And I can’t help but wonder why Casey has never mentioned the only nice guy who seems to work here.
? ? ?
Several hours later when I’m back in Casey’s office, I’m surprised at how giddy I feel as I prop my sore feet up on Casey’s oak desk. I lean back in her ergonomic chair feeling every muscle in my body finally start to relax as I look around. Her Emmy is sitting high on a shelf. What it must feel like to have an Emmy! I remember her speech—she let the F-word slip out, but quickly made a joke about not winning an award for social etiquette.
Casey’s walls are covered with dozens of framed pictures of her posing with celebrities. Casey and Jennifer Aniston. Casey and Jennifer Lopez. Casey and Donald Trump. I smile when I notice Audrey and Sophie’s school pictures tacked up on a small corkboard next to her computer. I run my finger over Charlotte’s birth announcement pinned below the photos of the girls and wonder what would’ve happened if I’d told John about my visit to the headhunter. If I hadn’t deleted my résumé off the computer as I thought of the pregnancy test in the bathroom trash can. Would I have my own oak desk somewhere by now? I assumed John would’ve told me to forget it, that the cost of day care would be more than I’d make at some entry-level job. But maybe that’s just what I told myself so I didn’t have to put myself out there again.