Downtown Los Angeles, two years ago.
Paige Welphelt is oblivious. She pays no attention to her husband, Riley, seated beside her, nor the pedestrians and buildings they pass on the crowded streets, nor the light rain, which could wreak havoc on her hair and makeup once they arrive at the theater. Paige's phone consumes her. In all fairness, Riley is buried in his as well—they both take advantage of these precious few moments of downtime before the real work commences.
"Fucking children," Paige sighs. Riley doesn't look up from his phone.
"Now what?"
"Cerise is pregnant." That gets Riley's attention. "One more person we'll never see again." Riley sets his phone in his lap places his hand on hers.
"I'm sorry. How far along is she?"
"Eleven weeks."
Riley says nothing but counts with the fingers on his free hand.
It's absolute chaos outside L.A. Live as Paige and Riley's driver pulls into the line of limousines dropping off passengers at the red carpet. The organizers hastily erected a canopy to protect guests and reporters from the unexpected rain. That canopy irritates the show's director—no overhead shots for the broadcast. Coverage on the red carpet will be limited to cameras on the ground. The show's producer is more concerned with negotiating a discount for the now useless Goodyear blimp hired to circle above the Microsoft Theater.
A tuxedo-clad valet opens the limo door for Paige and Riley to climb out of the car and into the circus. Much more polished than their last two appearances, Paige is poured into a strapless designer gown, her third of the season (her third ever, truth be told), hair pulled back like a slingshot, an explosion of diamonds guarding her décolletage. Her newly-hired stylist upped Paige's game overnight. In the form-fitting gown, she stands as an equal of the hardest of Hollywood bodies. The five-hundred-dollar makeup job softens her features into a radiant elegance.
For his part, Riley is approachable and handsome, but in his first tuxedo that didn't come off the rack, he looks like a guy on the arm of a woman way out of his league.
Their arrival sets off a torrent of camera flashes. It's a far cry from the People's Choice Awards, where they had to show their IDs before security would allow them entry. The Golden Globes was not as embarrassing, but still, they had to hold up signs bearing their names for photographers at the start of the red carpet, so photo editors could identify them later. That's all changed since they won the People's Choice 'Favorite TV Show' award and the Golden Globe for best dramatic series, for their show, "The Casey Fields Mysteries."
The real mystery in Hollywood is how the KidTime network's show about a tween detective snatched those awards from the hands of the 'serious' competition from HBO, Netflix, and Amazon, and are tonight poised to do the same at the Emmys. That's the question every reporter vying for Paige and Riley's attention has been ordered to ask.
Figuring they didn't stand a chance, the producers of the two previous awards shows stuck Paige and Riley in the rafters. After their names were called, it took them long enough to get to the stage on those broadcasts, the orchestras had to repeat the walk-on music and later, two award winners' thank you speeches were cut short. Tonight's producers aren't going to chance it. Ushers guide them to their seats within the first ten rows, alongside their boss, executive producer Jerry Simon, and his blonde trophy wife, Laura. Jerry is a fifty-something silver fox. Though Laura's exact age is a closely guarded secret, she falls somewhere between Jerry and Paige and Riley's thirty.
Neil Patrick Harris looks dashing as ever when he says, "These are the nominees for Best Television Series—Drama" and the video 'package' of selected scenes from the competing shows plays on the main feed of the broadcast and on enormous LED screens flanking the proscenium. When the clip from Casey Fields hits the screen, Paige squeezes the living daylights out of Riley's hand.
It was Ellen Degeneres who uttered, "And the People's Choice Award goes to..." Robert Downey, Jr. announced, "The Golden Globe goes to..." When Neil Patrick Harris opens the envelope, the network bleeps his reaction: "Holy shit! The Casey Fields Mysteries!"
The audience roars and, en masse, everyone rises to their feet as the pit orchestra plays the show's theme song.
Paige and Riley don't react. Finally, Jerry slaps Riley's arm and motions to the stage. They're in shock. Jerry and Laura rise to give Paige and Riley bear hugs. Jerry locks his arms around the small of Paige's back for two breaths before releasing her to her moment.
Lindsey Green, the wholesome nineteen-year-old who plays the series' titular character runs up from her seat to hug Paige and Riley.
"Oh, my god!" Lindsey squeals.
"Come with us," Riley orders.
"No, I couldn't." Riley takes Paige's hand and pulls her and Lindsey toward the stage.
From a backstage nook, the announcer leans into her microphone, "This is the first nomination and Emmy for executive producers Riley and Paige Welphelt."
Paige and Riley can hardly breathe as Neil Patrick Harris hands them each a statue. Riley steps up to the microphone, Paige beside him. Lindsey stands respectfully behind, smiling ear-to-ear.
"We can't believe this any more than you," Riley opens with and receives a huge laugh and applause. "Once again, we didn't even bother writing a speech, so just... thank you to the Academy - Paige, my wife, my soul mate and partner, and of course, our phenomenally talented star, Lindsey Green."
Moments later, as the audience applauds, Paige and Riley exit the stage.
"What the fuck?" Paige asks Riley. She's clearly upset.
"Congratulations," a harried publicist greets them. Paige forces on a positive demeanor.
"Thank you."
"I'm sure you know the drill by now," the publicist says and gently but firmly steers Paige and Riley to the backstage step & repeat to answer post-win questions from a handful of reporters.
"How does it feel to sweep the big three awards, now that Casey Fields is wrapping up its final season?" the first one asks.
"We still can't believe it," Riley says. "But it proves that if you make a quality show, no matter the audience, the industry will respond." The publicist has to wrap this up to keep on schedule.
"Thank you, everyone," she says, leading Paige and Riley off toward an usher waiting to escort them back to their seats. "You're free. Go enjoy the rest of your night. And congratulations again."
"Follow me, please," the usher offers. Paige and Riley both let out deep sighs, the first regular breaths they've taken since Neil Patrick Harris called their names.
"We did it," Riley says.
"But, Lindsey," Paige asks, "What was she thinking?"
At the show's conclusion, Paige, Riley, Jerry, and Laura hit the Emmy Governor's Ball on the L.A. Live rooftop. Their triumphant upset win of the three big awards is the big story. Paige and Riley oblige as many reporters as they can, answering the same questions with enthusiasm that starts to peter out by the fifth interview.
Paige and Riley are tired and their blood sugar is dropping, having eaten nothing since nine this morning. But they are grateful for their success and stop for one last on-camera chat with the reporter from E! as Jerry and Laura make their way into the party.
The E! reporter lobs the same softballs as every other reporter has tonight.
"So what's next for you two?" Paige whispers in Riley's ear, making him chuckle.
"Ah," Riley says, "I think we'd like to spread our wings a bit. But right now, we need to get something to eat." He tugs Paige's hand to lead her away. The reporter slips in one last question.
"Paige, who are you wearing tonight?"
"Nancy C. She's here in L.A."
"Did she design it especially with your famous booty in mind?"
"My what?" Before the reporter can elaborate, Riley pulls Paige away.
Jerry and Laura have secured a table. Statues still in hand, Paige and Riley find them and plop into surprisingly comfortable rental chairs.
"I need food and alcohol," Riley says. "And not in that order."
"Anyone got a light?" Paige adds. "I need to burn these heels."
The next hour is spent, in order, toasting their good fortunes with overpriced champagne; nibbling hors d'oeuvres and a bite of salmon; watching the engraver inscribe their names on their Emmys in the Winner's Circle, and accepting with grace the non-stop accolades and congratulations.
When a brief lull arrives, Jerry takes a sip from his second single malt and asks the other three, "So, do we want to get out of here?"
Author's note: What do you think so far? Good start?