Television Romance

Allergies Aren't Real

INT. 13TH FLOOR - DAY

Excepting that meeting, time swept by in large swaths. If one looked up in the right disinterested way, four hours had passed. Vian barely talked to anyone Wednesday in anything other than a professional capacity. She was so overwhelmed by the steady hum of energy in the building that any time she had a moment to herself she spent it taking deep breaths. Thursday was better; less writing, more rehearsals. Juliet would get called in to watch over the cast as they practiced the lines and mechanics her sketch and Vian tagged along.

By Friday, though, that steady hum had intensified to a shriek as people ran from place to place trying to prepare for the Saturday show. Vian no longer spent her free time in Four or Five but in the dressing rooms of various cast members. Juliet was making a forced effort to introduce her to all of the cast, half-convinced all the cast members forgot her as soon as she left the room. But she was learning something about them. That was the key. It was a lot easier to write sketches when you knew the people you were writing for, what they could and couldn't do. For example, Elizabeth, the blonde from Chicago, couldn't dance. Neither could Bill. Nick, the newest cast member, had a habit of telling people he could do impressions he wasn't actually very good at. Each little fact, Juliet hoped, would make Vian more at home.

Saturday was, of course, the most important day. Show day.

Bill was ramping up for the way he usually did: running his lines obsessively and making anyone around him wonder silently about his sanity. Even halfway through his third year on the show, he got nervous every show, riling himself up in his dressing room. Heart racing, fingers drumming. He'd press the fingernails of one hand into the forearm so hard blood would well in crescents. This week, however, he had the particular pleasure of doing a sketch he knew dismayed Juliet to no end. That was, if it wasn't cut at the last minute. It had survived until now, but there was still time.

Still time, she told herself. Still this for this wretched sketch to disappear to the oblivion into which rejected sketches vanished. Honestly, she was losing hope. She had a secret suspicion that the host had fought for this sketch and thus it was fated to see air. What a shame. Juliet had gotten over her embarrassing episode during the pitch meeting Monday. Now, it was a matter of pride. Or artistic integrity, depending on how pretentiously one looked at it. The only thing worse than not getting a sketch on the air was getting a really terrible sketch on the air. Not a good sketch that bombed. Not a sketch so bad it was good. A really terrible, banal, mediocre sketch. Although, Juliet had to admit that her crows were growing on her. Okay, maybe she just hadn't gotten over her embarrassing episode during the pitch meeting.

~~~~~

INT. WRITING ROOM FIVE - DAY

"Hey, backstabber. You ready?" Juliet asked.

"For the show?" Vian said. It was Saturday. They were on the air in less than an hour.

"Yeah."

"I have no idea," she said. Juliet smiled.

"I promise the week usually isn't this crazy."

"Really?"

"No. Usually, it's worse."

"Good to know." They both chuckled and Vian felt the relief of having made a friend on her first day of school.

"Hey, I guess we didn't really finish your tour. Did you get to see the stage area?"

"No, not yet."

"Damn, I'm a really shitty tour guide. Let's go." Juliet led Vian back down the hallway to the security desk and into the elevator there that Vian had taken to get to the thirteenth floor. Now Juliet pressed the button for fourteen and they felt themselves lifted from the floor up. The two of them stepped off into a hallway not unlike the one that connected the writing rooms, except that this one was lined framed photos. Vian studied them and saw past hosts, cast, and staff.