‘I have a thing . . . later,’ I say, suddenly feeling less confident about my ability to pull off this outfit. Maybe it screams Margaret-Thatcher-in-a-box-of-Quality-Street rather than fashion-forward-professional-with-her-shit-together. ‘So, the pitch went well?’
‘We knocked it out of the park, Luce.’ Michael swings an imaginary baseball bat and makes a ‘glock’ sound in his throat, like a ball hitting a bat. ‘They’re looking to commission more diverse programming, so it’s right on message for them.’ He claps his hands. ‘They’ve even asked for a budget for twenty eps rather than twelve. Do you want to run some numbers now? We can get them an updated projection.’
Budget? I wouldn’t know where to begin doing a budget. As I try to think of a valid excuse for not doing that, the rest of the team have moved from their desks and are now loitering in the doorway behind Michael.
‘We just wanted to say congratulations,’ someone says. ‘You’re on a roll.’
Then they all start clapping. Wow, Future Me is brilliant. I am Queen Badger, TV producer extraordinaire, with a team of people who will give me a round of applause without even being prompted.
‘Well, it was a team effort,’ I say graciously. Even if it wasn’t a team effort, people in teams usually like to think that it was.
‘Lucy, while we’re all here, would now be a good time to update everyone on the Kydz Network situation?’ Michael asks. I look for my translator, Callum, but he’s at the back of the crowd and can’t help me. With all these expectant eyes upon me, the blagging radar on the Lucy submarine starts beeping a frantic alarm. Then I have a flash of inspiration.
‘Or, since it’s Friday, we could clock off early and go for a celebratory drink?’ I say, clapping my hands. If Melanie Durham can buy everyone a croissant, I can go one better and buy everyone a cocktail. Besides, it will be far easier for me to work out the company dynamics over an informal drink. People glance around at each other, then back to me. ‘What’s the point in being the boss if you can’t knock off at’ – I check my watch – ‘three thirty occasionally?’ The team whoops and cheers. I am the best boss ever.
As people disperse to pick up bags and coats from their desks, abuzz with excitement about my drinks plan, Michael stays behind and takes a seat on my desk.
‘I’m glad you’re feeling better, Lucy, but don’t you think we should take some time to talk about Kydz Network? I know you’re confident, with good reason, but it’s not far off.’
My source of intel, Callum, is still loitering by the door, unsure whether he should stay or go. ‘Callum, what are your thoughts on the Kydz Network situation?’ I ask, and Michael looks back and forth between us in confusion.
‘Um, I think it’s bad,’ Callum says, but then sees me frown at how unhelpful he’s being and adds, ‘or good, obviously. It could be good.’
‘A profound insight. Thank you, Callum.’ Callum takes this as his cue to leave, which I did not mean it to be.
‘Look, the sooner you share what you’re thinking with the team, the more time we’ll have to prepare,’ Michael says.
‘I know there’s a lot to do. Maybe I got carried away with your good news. I just think a bit of team bonding might be beneficial for morale.’
Michael stands up, the concerned look receding. ‘You’re right, we should treat the team occasionally. We can deal with Kydz Network on Monday.’
‘Monday, great.’ Ha! I’ll probably be back in my real life by Monday. And if I’m not, I certainly won’t be coming to work, at least not until I’m up to speed on whatever this mysterious Kydz Network situation might be.
Five hours later, we’re in a cocktail bar on Carnaby Street and I’m having the best night of my life. My company card is behind the bar (Yes, I have a company card, I don’t even need to spend my own money) and I am bonding with my brilliant team. I must be great at employing people, because everyone who works at Badger TV is whip-smart and hilarious. Unless the lens of afternoon cocktails is distorting reality.
Leon has been telling me a funny story about some celebrity I’ve never heard of who was dating another celebrity I’ve never heard of. Even though I don’t get any of the references, I laugh along because the way he tells it is hilarious. Michael started off a little uptight, but after a few beers he relaxed into the idea of the team bonding and has been regaling everyone with his thoughts on ‘why baseball is a superior spectator sport to football’. From the looks on the team’s faces, I suspect it’s a topic they’ve heard before.
It’s been happy hour for the last five hours, and I am feeling pretty darn happy. I’m certainly feeling a lot better about this life leap than I was this morning.
‘Lucy, I wanted to ask your advice,’ Trey says, sliding into the booth beside me. Trey is in his late twenties and good-looking in a feline way. His hair is a little too perfectly gelled for my taste, the neck ruff a little too out there, but he has soulful eyes and cheekbones you could cut cheese with.
‘Advice?’ I ask, unable to fathom what kind of advice I might be able to offer anyone.
‘Yes, I was thinking about proposing to Clare.’ His eyes are earnest as he looks to see my reaction.
‘Well, do you think she’s the one?’ I ask.
‘Oh yes, she’s everything to me,’ he says.
‘And remind me how long you’ve been together?’
‘Six years, since college.’
‘Then yes, what are you waiting for?’
‘It’s just with my job being so up in the air, you know? Her parents are old-fashioned about job security, getting a mortgage and stuff. I was worried it might not be the best time to ask.’ Why would his job be up in the air? ‘My sister thinks I should pay off my debts first, wait until I’ve got a staff contract.’
‘Wait schmait,’ I say, tilting my head from side to side in a way that makes me think I might be slightly drunker than I realised. ‘Just buy a smaller ring. Love is all you need.’ I know nothing about Clare, her feelings on jewellery, or her relationship with Trey, but these cocktails are making me feel pro-romance, pro-throwing caution to the wind. Trey looks like he’s trying to tie a knot in his eyebrows as Michael comes to join us in the booth.
‘I’m afraid I’m not going to stick around. Cardinals are playing tonight,’ says Michael.
‘Baseball,’ I say, taking an educated guess.
‘You know me, three things in life I care about: my wife, my work, and my baseball, though not necessarily in that order.’ He grins and leans over to squeeze my shoulder. ‘Well, adieu to all,’ he says, waving an arm to everyone in our little corner of the bar, then he taps his stomach. ‘Jane’s game night fritters wait for no man.’
Those within earshot say goodbye to Michael, while Trey turns to me and whispers, ‘Jane,’ in a dark, conspiratorial tone.