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/ Sunday, November 12th, 2006 /
Despite the sun coming over his closed eyes through the slot in the window shade, Aiden remains in bed, sleeping through the morning until the moment a knocking originates from the apartment door. Eyelids forcing themselves open, Aiden looks toward the still-closed bedroom door and waits for another sound, listening for a set of footsteps trailing through the flat, taking themselves to the front door. Following the answer, there is a silence, no words spoken and no audible moves made until his bedroom is entered, jolting him out of his sleep. “Dude” Shane says, Aiden pulling his head back at the sight of the panicked man, only able to muster curiosity in the form of a “what?” Pulled out of his sleep, Aiden groggily steps down the hall and into the kitchen, noticing Shane stood over the countertop with a look of fear in his eyes. “What’s going on?” Aiden asks again, not having received an answer the first time around, a look of worry the only response given by Shane, his eyes latching onto his roommate as if to ask how to solve a problem Aiden is still yet to be made aware of. Shaking his head in frustration, Aiden walks around the kitchen’s island to notice dozens of photographs, all spread out on their marble-finished counter. Suddenly, the shocked look on Shane’s face is duplicated in Aiden’s, the tiredness suddenly having faded in favour of an astonished glance. Quickly realizing this problem to not be one he alone can solve, Aiden marches for the phone and dials the number, pressing the headset to his ear. “Hey, Sam? This is Aiden” the man greets, Shane silently watching as his roommate attempts to figure out their next steps, “we’ve got an issue with Kelsi and Shane.” “Well we all knew this was gonna happen” Grant says, Aiden’s apartment having become crowded with guests all in their Sunday clothing, pajamas and casual attires in every direction. “Still, I don’t see the point of the pictures” Taylor explains, “if she wants to exploit you, why would she hold these pictures over your head?” “So she can show his girlfriend at a later date” Vickers replies, the suggestion immediately brushed off by Taylor, both as too obvious and too faulty. “All we really need to do is tell Olivia the actual story behind the photos, and they immediately mean nothing” Taylor explains, her suggestion giving Grant a more plausible solution. “Perhaps she’s trying to show us that she could if she wanted to” Grant explains, “the only way for her to hold power is to keep us thinking she does.” “Even then, all of this was for nothing” Aiden remarks, “she just wasted all of this to… What? Prove a point? She knows we still wont stop coming after her.” Shrugging, Grant takes a seat on the sofa, staring toward the blank wall in his opposite direction whilst the small community begins running over ways to solve the problem at hand. “Call Olivia over so we can get ahead of this” Taylor begins, “but first, let’s send someone down to look after her.” “That’ll blow our cover!” Shane explains, Grant quickly reminds the man that interacting with her blew their cover a few short days ago. “At this point, the only thing that’s important is to take away any leverage she has” Taylor furthers, “the moment she runs out of things to use against us is when she loses whatever power she has.” “She’s got all the power she needs already” Aiden replies, his eyes trailing away from Taylor, his pupils now fixated on Grant, the rest of the group following along. “She’s already dug well into my head- he’s right” Grant responds without needing to turn his face, already having assumed all eyes to have been placed upon him, “I still know what I did and she knows that’s good enough- this is just a warning to anyone that’s looking to challenge her.” “Even then, the only power she has is power over you” Vickers explains, “so if that’s all she has to bank on- we’ll take it away.” Faces turning toward Vickers, the group awaits an explanation as the man approaches Grant, taking a seat on the coffee table in front of his secondary anchor. “We’re going to take you off TV” Vickers states, Taylor immediately voicing her opinion against such an action. “It’s the only move we have at this point” Vickers replies, “if she wants him to slowly damage his trust with the public, she’ll be hopeless in her attempts without the platform to do it.” “Even then, you’re sacrificing his relevance now for his integrity later” Taylor explains, Aiden quick to add on the factor of ratings. “He’s the hottest anchor on television right now and he’s pulling in nearly eight million people each night” Aiden explains, “people may think he leans left a bit, but he’s still quickly overcoming every other draw in the country!” “Then we suffer the dip in the ratings” Vickers explains, his eyes peering toward Carly, the woman standing silently in the corner of the room. “Starting tomorrow night, Carly is taking over for Grant on ‘Tonight at Nine’ in lieu of a sudden illness” Vickers explains, “this illness will continue until the moment we nip this Kelsi problem in the bud.” “I still fail to see how this isn’t going to hurt us” Aiden replies, Vickers implying the opposite of what he’d like to hear. “It is going to hurt us- but it’s going to help us put Kelsi away in the long run” Vickers explains, “and right now, I’d rather take a loss and bring back my anchor-two than have him slowly wither on national television every night.” “Do you really think Kelsi is just gonna sit back and take that?” Carly questions, appreciating the new role she’s been given, but hesitant to believe someone is fixated on revenge as Kelsi would just let it happen. “She’ll come back and do worse than this… Especially if all this is just meant as a warning shot” Carly argues, a point Taylor fails to see an argument to. “People like Kelsi specialize in one thing before any other- leverage” Taylor confirms, “she’s a reporter. If she has something worth publishing, she puts it out. If someone doesn’t like what she’s publishing about them, she uses it to get something worth publishing about someone else.” “This isn’t even mentioning what she might already have against Grant in preparation for something like this” Shane explains, Aiden tacking onto the man’s point with his own. “Not to mention, Kelsi could just ride this ‘illness’ tagline out for months!” Aiden continues, “even if she doesn’t force him back into the camera’s view, she’ll hold him off until people start questioning why he’s gone for so long, or keep him off for enough time that people forget about him.” “People move on quickly, there’s no reason to suggest the same won't be true for Grant” Carly tacks on, “if you’re not an attractive woman or a cause for controversy, people get over you- it happens.” Considering his options, Vickers scans the room until Grant breaks his silence, voicing his support for the side presented opposite Vickers. “They know how these trends work because it always goes down like this” Grant murmurs, “one way or another, Kelsi will make me suffer.” His eyes now looking back toward Vickers, Grant awaits a decision, knowing the stance by both sides to have been made, the final call coming down to Vickers himself. Weighing the choices, their benefits and consequences, and proceeding further down the rabbit hole, Vickers finds the confidence to voice his conclusion, a polarizing one to suggest the least. “We’re taking him off the air” Vickers replies, “if it comes down to it, we promote the hell out of him when he comes back, and we try to raise Carly’s stock in the meantime.” Tapping his palms against his knees, Vickers stands to his feet and walks for the door, not willing to hear anything else as the rest of the crew just stands there, some eyes on Vickers, others placed upon Grant, who seems to be content with the decision made. = Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 Media from the start of Season 1 onwards = “You’ve got a nice place” Taylor exclaims, following Grant into the man’s outer-city home, “it’s much cozier than I remember it being.” Shrugging his shoulders, Grant recalls the sights of New York City by memory, explaining that he doesn’t need to look at them every night when he comes home the way he does each day when he’s in the office. “There’s a time and a place for the city, and when I’m home, I want to go without the towering skyscrapers every second” Grant explains, “some people like it, but I’m not one to care for it much.” With a nod, Taylor walks around the interior, her eyes appreciating every knick knack that lines the walls, finding them to all be very much similar to what she would have expected Grant to own. “Did you expect all of this?” Grant inquires, pulling two beers from the fridge, rummaging through his cabinets for a bottle opener. “Actually, I sort of did” Taylor replies, surprising Grant, “I’d have expected less decor, but I would have expected something cozy like this.” “Something cozy?” Grant wonders aloud, “like restrictive in a good way or warm in temperature?” With a smirk, Taylor turns away from the wall as Grant offers her one of the bottles, “both” she replies, graciously accepting the drink. “It’s different to what I see at the office” Grant admits, “it’s almost the exact opposite- which is kind of necessary in our line of work.” With a chuckle, Taylor takes another swig of her drink, eyes moving from one side of the room to the other, finding a joy to take away from the setup. “You should see my place- it’s nothing like any of this” Taylor replies, “and I guess that’s why I like it so much.” Puckering his lips, Grant nods to himself, catching the woman by surprise when he suggests he may take her up on the offer. “Y’know, I show you my place, you show me yours kind of thing?” Grant clarifies, “Maybe I’d find as much personality in your place as you seem to find in mine.” “Here’s to hoping” Taylor responds, holding the rim of her glass toward Grant, the man returning the gesture before taking another drink. “I do have a few things that seem less homie and more ‘luxury’, if you’d care for that?” Grant continues, nudging his head toward the hallway at the back of his home, a warm orange tint to the corridor leading through a set of wooden stairs that trailing to the basement. “I have it beneath my house so I have to go out of my way to see it” Grant explains, “but even if it might seem a little ‘big city’, I do like to just walk around a little bit.” With a nod, Taylor watches Grant walk off, following behind the man as he makes for the staircase, a cozy oak door at the bottom maintained beyond the limestone rocks. With a creaking, the door slides open to reveal a massive room encased in concrete, shelves upon shelves lined from one side of the room to another, some covered in glass, others left to room temperature. “This is my wine cellar” Grant reveals, his arms held out at his sides to illustrate how ominously massive it is. “When I finished college, I had a few friends come over and hang out by the firepit” Grant explains, “every new addition to the group had to face an initiation.” “An initiation, college boy?” Taylor jokes, Grant smiling as he nods, accepting defeat in being returned to his early years. “The initiation was that they’d be locked in with a note until they found the exact bottle and brand that was written on the paper” Grant explained, “every single person would be given a nickname, and every nickname went with a symbol- find the right bottle, and you’d see your symbol right over the year printed.” Figuring out where this leads after already having walked into the middle of the cellar, Taylor turns around with a smirk, watching Grant close the door behind them, locking it. “Usually they’re told to do it on their own, but I figured I’d watch over this time” Grant concludes with grace, “also to make sure your beer-loving self didn’t get lost in this overpriced doomsday bunker.” His hands held behind his back, Grant folds his fingers together to lock them behind, head nodding toward the woman, a note left atop the stand beside one of the shelves. “1945 Romanee-Conti?” Taylor reads aloud in a tone similar to that of asking a question, “why that bottle?” With a smile and a shrug, Grant informs her that he can’t say any more until the bottle is found. “The rules of the game are simple, when you find the bottle, you’ll know why it’s your bottle” Grant explains, “the task is yours to complete, Oak.” Turning back toward the man, Taylor looks at him with her eyebrows furrowed, eyes squinted as he vows to clarify the nickname once the game concludes. Nodding to herself, Taylor glances back toward the collection of shelves and figures out where to look first, Grant walking up to her side and promising to follow wherever she chooses. “If you say so” Taylor remarks, walking off as Grant is quick to follow, her eyes surveying the collection, reading each bottle up and down as the massive bunker awaits it’s inspection.” | “I’ve got to go lie down” Shane says, leaving the kitchen and returning for his room, Aiden quietly trying to plead for him to stay to no avail. Now left without his roommate, Aiden stands in the kitchen alone, looking into the living room to notice the only other person still inside his home, Carly left to sit on the couch, looking at him with a wave. “How’ve you been?” Aiden asks, figuring a conversation was bound to spring up eventually, taking his moment to be responsible for starting it. “A lot of being ignored by Juno” Carly replies, “he’s kind of blaming me for the whole ‘tried to attack a co-worker’ thing.” Turning his eyes away, Aiden looks to the corner of the room as Carly takes notice, the woman immediately questioning the man’s visual response. “I was just looking away, that’s all” Aiden replies, an answer that Carly is not satisfied with, immediately challenging what Aiden believes. “Do you think it’s my fault?” Carly inquires, Aiden left to take a seat across the room from the woman, his hands held up, admitting that he wants to have no part in this discussion. “This is a conversation for you to have with your boyfriend, not me” Aiden explains, “if anything, I was just the person Juno got himself in trouble for attacking.” “He didn’t attack you for no reason” Carly replies, “he’s convinced we’ve been hooking up, that’s enough reason for you to be involved in this.” Before answering, Aiden notices something said in the last line that sticks out to him, attacking it repeatedly. “Are you saying you’re not convinced that we did?” Aiden wonders aloud, Carly left to stumble over her words, her inability to give a precise answer prodded at by the apartment’s resident. “You’re trying to convince yourself that we didn’t, aren’t you?” Aiden continues, Carly refusing such a notion, taking a tone, however, that leaves Aiden to take her answer as untrue. “I’m going to ask you this again- do you think we had sex?” Aiden clarifies, the answer already clear, though the woman’s attempt to explain the in detail leaving room for Aiden’s theory to find validation. “This isn’t a question that needs any more explanation than a ‘yes’ or a ‘no” Aiden continues, “so I’ll ask you again- did we have sex? Just give me a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’!” Her hands placed beside her head, Carly gives into the man’s request, offering a simple answer. “Yes” Carly replies, watching Aiden’s face turn into a disrespected smile before inquiring for the reason. “You don’t wanna believe you cheated on your boyfriend” Aiden remarks, “you wanna convince yourself that you did nothing wrong.” “Do I not have a reason to want to think that?” Carly questions, surprised at the ease in which Aiden answers. “You don’t have a reason to want that!” Aiden replies, “you cheated on your boyfriend- you don’t get to convince yourself you didn’t!” Watching Aiden stand up to leave the room, Carly follows after him, tailing him into the foyer and stopping him from walking through the door, pressing her back against the cold metal in an act of defiance. “If I don’t get to think I cheated on my boyfriend, you don’t get to think you have no responsibility in this!” Carly explains, immediately noticing her words to have gotten to the man. A wide smile on his face, Aiden laughs at the suggestion, “is that right?” the man inquires, walking back into the home as Carly assures him of the validity to her claims. “I may have cheated on Juno, but I cheated on Juno with you” Carly furthers, “so if we’re tracing the blame for Juno’s actions, it falls on both you and me!” Nodding to himself, Aiden repeats Carly’s statement in his own words, taking back the seat he had just left seconds prior. “Yes, because I- the victim- am also the perpetrator” Aiden dissects, “that makes all the sense in the world.” “It does to someone that thinks rationally” Carly replies, Aiden immediately making a quip about where to find such a rational thinker. The argument dying off, Aiden stands from his seat and looks toward Carly, both parties silently looking at each other with a mixture of anger and confusion, unsure of where this goes from here. “Is there something I’m missing?” Shane asks, having returned to the room to find both inhabitants staring at each other in a rather strange way. “No, Shane” Carly replies, picking up her bag and throwing a scarf over her neck, “you didn’t miss anything.” Walking away from the man, Carly storms out of the apartment, leaving Aiden stood where he already was, Shane looking at him in disappointment. “Go after her, you fool” Shane orders, watching Aiden look back at him, confused. “You heard me” Shane replies, repeating his words as Aiden remains standing there. With a deep breath, Aiden does as he’s told, marching through the foyer and exiting the apartment, Shane left standing in the middle of the empty room- alone. | “Josh, this is Sam Vickers” the man introduces, phone pressed against his ear, “if you get this, check your email. There will be a car and a note in the glove box waiting for me if something bad happens.” Abruptly ending the call, Vickers returns the phone to his pocket before exiting his vehicle, expensive shoes ruffling the gravel beneath his feet as his car door slams, his stride taking him to the motel patio. Confident, the man approaches the door with his fist in the air, knuckles tapping against the cold metal before him. “It’s about” Kelsi begins saying from the other end, answering the door to find herself confused by the visitor awaiting her response. “I’ll finish that thought for you” Vickers interrupts, “It’s about time we had ourselves a productive conversation.” With a smile, Vickers places his hand against the door and lets himself in, Kelsi gingerly closing the entrance behind the man as he begins to point out her change in attitude. “You seemed a lot more confident when you drugged and framed one of my producers, Ms. Dolin” Vickers begins, turning his head toward the woman at the front of the room, “is it the lack of your partner that’s got you less like a vengeful queen and more of a damsel in distress?” “What’re you doing here?” Kelsi wonders aloud, “more importantly why the fuck are you here?” With a smirk, Vickers takes a half-empty glass of vodka to his lips and downs what remains, assuring the woman that he isn’t here to cause her any harm. “From what it sounds like you pulled with Howard, please indulge me if I don’t believe much of what you say” Kelsi replies, “so what is the purpose of this visit?” Making himself at home, Vickers utilizes everything he has of illustrating confidence by taking a seat in the same chair that Kelsi had the night she confronted the group. “I’m here to trade you a story since that’s what you’re here for” Vickers replies, watching the expression on the woman’s face begin to shift, eyes narrowing and posture altering. “Let’s talk then” Kelsi replies, locking the motel door and returning to the middle of the room, taking a seat opposite the man and pouring him another glass. | “Why do all wine bottles look alike?” Taylor wonders aloud, Grant taking amusement at how far off she’s going. “Because you’re a New York girl” Grant replies, “you care more that your booze is worth the twenty bucks a small glass of it costs.” With a laugh, Taylor admits to the truth in the man’s statement, sympathizing for the pain her wallet has felt over past years. “If I’m going to wake up with a headache, it better have been worth it” Taylor quips. With a shrug, Grant admits that it was easy to notice with the attitude she first gave him. “You understand confidence and standard” Grant explains, “you take control when you have to, which many women don’t do as often as men. In other words, you were destined to prefer beer to wine.” “I wouldn’t say I was destined to do anything of the sort, sir” Taylor remarks, turning every bottle she comes across label-side up. “What were you destined to do then?” Grant questions, watching the woman smirk at every bottle she comes across, “I guess I was destined to do this” the woman jokes halfway through, scanning around the corridor before noticing something that catches her eye. “You don’t come down here all that often to just look around, do you?” Taylor asks, Grant quick to confirm her suspicions, a response that puts a smile on the woman’s face. Disregarding every bottle she walks by after that answer, Taylor stares into the glass cover to one shelf in particular, the dust particles found on the rest of the shelves not found upon this one, a set of fingerprints smoothly left embedded into the dusty coverage. Sliding the glass aside, Taylor reaches in to take the bottle from its home, Grant’s head hanging with a smile the moment he recognizes the game to be over. Turning the label toward her face, Taylor reads the brand and year aloud, finally looking to the neck of the bottle where a sticker waits for her eyes. “A crossed-out dollar sign?” Taylor asks, looking back to her chaperone, reminding him that she’s now owed an explanation. “The crossed-out dollar sign is another way of saying ‘priceless’” Grant explains, “other words for it can be ‘non-purchasable’, ‘invaluable’, or another set of words that I like a lot more.” Squinting toward the man before looking back to the bottle, Taylor awaits Grant’s response, their eyes locking as the tension builds. “One of A Kind” Grant finally reveals, the woman taking a moment to think about the words spoken before a smile fills her face. “O.A.K” Taylor quips, looking back to Grant for confirmation, the man smiling with another nod. “Other than priceless, a ‘45 Romanee-Conti- deemed by many as priceless- and ‘One of a Kind’ to others…” Grant continues, walking up to the woman and meeting her eyes with his own, “...just like you.” Reaching down, Grant takes the bottle from Taylor’s hand, gently placing it on the floor before reaching back up, his hands caressing each side of her face. “You deserve the best” Grant whispers, losing control of his face as Taylor takes his neck in her hands. “I already have it” Taylor responds, their eyes refusing to leave each other, having already fixated on what they believe the other to be. | Throwing himself out of the entry to the apartment, Aiden looks toward each side of the sidewalk before noticing Carly, running after the woman and pulling her back. “What the hell are you doing!?” Carly shouts, having wanted to leave their argument behind, believing Aiden to now be running after her in an effort to continue it. “I’m sorry” Aiden replies, catching the woman by surprise, Carly left looking at him, flustered. “What do you mean?” Carly asks, Aiden clarifying his stance. “We both made this mess, and we both deserve to deal with it together… Not apart” Aiden explains, “I refuse to let either of us believe anything else.” In the moment, Carly loses the worries she sported less than two minutes ago, something deep inside of her taking relief in not being alone in whatever comes next. “Thank you” Carly replies, the pair looking into each other’s eyes until Aiden’s phone begins to buzz, capturing the attention of both parties. “It’s Sam” Aiden exclaims as he pulls the phone from his jacket pocket, flipping the device open and placing it on speaker. “What’s up, Sam?” Aiden wonders aloud, the man on the other end telling him to listen closely. “We’ve got a much bigger issue on our hands than we realized” Vickers explains, staring at the patio intently, a rush of anger coming over him as his hand rests against the doorknob. “I need you to call everyone and let them know that Kelsi isn’t the only one behind all of this” Vickers remarks, his eyes frozen upon Howard, who stands on the patio staring angrily back at Vickers. “Howard Nalty is in on Kelsi’s scheme- and they have a lot more than we know how to counteract” Vickers concludes, “tell them to be here in thirty minutes or less.” The information sending them into overdrive, Aiden and Carly race back into the apartment to let Shane know, Aiden dialing Grant’s phone number as he ascends the conquering staircase. The room dark, only illuminated by the moonlight, Grant’s phone suddenly begins to buzz, the small screen light blasting a quarter of the room with a faint, white glow. Atop his own shirt and Taylor’s bra, the phone remains buzzing atop the man’s dresser, both those in the room unable to answer the call, its light fading without a response, simply left to silently ring as it pleases. == Tonight at 9 ==
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/ Tuesday, November 7th, 2006 /
“While it is unclear as of this moment whether or not the Democrats will gain control of the Senate, they have officially flipped three seats, and an additional three pending” Grant explains, joined at the desk by both Taylor and Carly, who round out the ongoing midterm election coverage. “As of now, it would appear likely that President Bush will be going against a Democratic House and potentially Democratic Senate” Grant concludes, “overall, not a great night for the President.” “Correct, and not a great night for Republicans either” Carly explains, her words rambling on in Grant’s ears, any voice other than his own drowned out on instinct. Her eyes casually drifting away from Carly, Taylor stares toward Grant apologetically, her regular co-anchor fixated on the woman across the desk from him, Taylor in a way exactly the opposite. “It remains to be seen, but it looks like a promising night if you’re a liberal American looking for a turn away from Bush, Grant” Carly finishes, prompting the man to turn back to the camera and take the broadcast into a commercial. “Can we please address what’s going on?” Taylor asks, Grant adamant about not wishing to get into the issues at hand. “I’ve said all I’ve needed to say, there’s nothing left you haven’t already heard” Grant replies, taking himself away from the desk. “I’d say the truth was the exact opposite of that” Taylor retorts as the pair vanish into Grant’s office. “What is there to say? You know the story, you know what I’m doing about it” Grant replies, “there’s nothing else to say, and you should hate me just as much as I hate myself.” Pulling a cigarette from his pack and striking a match, Grant let's Taylor have the floor to express herself, her refusal to acknowledge the truth, that even Grant himself acknowledges, slightly irritating him. “I’m not gonna say I know you more than your own family does, but I’ll say I know you well” Taylor explains, “and the man I see is not a man that would say things like that unprovoked.” A shrug coming from the man as the tip of his dart lights a bright orange, Grant refuses Taylor’s attempts to humanize his actions. “Provoked, unprovoked, it doesn’t matter” Grant responds, “whatever reason I had, I said it and that’s that.” Another drag falling from the stick of tobacco, Grant let's Taylor continue her attempts, outright refusal to acknowledge what he said becoming common amongst them. “I know who you are, and the hateful punk in that recording was not you” Taylor explains, a strike upon the desk from his fist allowing Grant to take the floor. “It isn’t that you believe I wouldn’t, it’s that you can’t admit that I can” Grant explains, “you have an image of me you can’t put aside.” “Why is it so hard for you to believe you could have a justified reason for saying that?” Taylor proceeds, continuing to challenge the man. “Because I covered up a prick’s rape allegation, got paid for it and ran away!” Grant replies, finally bringing a moment of silence upon the room, “if I could bring myself to that, this pales in comparison.” “Why isn’t the ability to accept that not the first thing you recognize about yourself?” Taylor asks, “why is it that you’re this evil guy when you’ve got something plaguing your conscience without realizing that the truly evil people are the ones that can’t recognize that at all?” “I don’t know Taylor, I just know what I know” Grant replies, “and the fact that I’d completely disregard someone as nothing but trash says more about me than I do.” Her eyes falling, Taylor notices the lack of self-respect the man before her sports, the inability to appreciate his own good whenever confronted with his own bad making it impossible to be imperfect. “I’m not going to say you’re the most perfectly kept-together guy there’s ever been” Taylor explains, “but you’ve got a hell of a lot more to you than the small flaws.” His head shaking, Grant reminds the woman that these are not small flaws, a notion which Taylor disagrees with entirely. “With all that you do, not just for yourself, but for everyone around you…” Taylor replies, “...Those just, as you would say it, pail in comparison.” Starting to attempt a response, Grant ceases his efforts, shaking his head and taking another drag from his cigarette, staring into the city as Taylor walks away. Still sat in his seat, Grant looks back toward the newsroom, watching the door close the final few inches from Taylor’s departure, nodding to himself before dying out the tobacco stick, adjusting his tie and returning to the news desk. = Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 Media from the start of Season 1 onwards = Walking through the newsroom, Taylor approaches Shane’s desk, telling him to keep his voice down before she says anything else. “I’ll try my best” Shane replies, Taylor crouching to her knees before pulling Shane closer toward her, keeping their words hidden within a whisper. “I’m going to give you an address and I want you to scout the place out” Taylor explains, “if the woman inside leaves, I need you to follow her at all times… Don’t interact with her, just keep your eye on her.” “May I ask what would happen if I were to be arrested?” Shane proceeds, Taylor telling him to call Aiden and let them know where to pay bail before walking off. Considering this to be his mission for the evening, Shane hands his remaining workload onto the next associate producer and makes his way toward the front doors, exiting the building in a hurry. “You sending Shane on recon?” Aiden inquires, Taylor staring out the window with her hands on her hips, admitting there to have been few options on the table. “Well we can stalk the poor woman or accept Grant's fine bending over for her and leave it at that” Aiden explains, Taylor reminding him of the problems this leaves. “He’s already kicking himself and walking out to the desk stiff as a wooden board” Taylor responds, “is that what the Nielsen ratings want?” “They’re not what Nielsen wants, but it’s what Grant wants” Aiden replies, “who are we to tell him how to and how not to approach this?” “Because it’s borderline self-destructive” Taylor remarks, watching Aiden roll his eyes before questioning what he believes. “Do you think Grant said all of that for no reason or what?” Taylor wonders aloud, surprised by Aiden’s response. “I don’t think Grant said it at all as a matter of fact” Aiden replies, “but regardless of what we can prove, Grant’s not going to believe it was anyone else on the other end of that recording.” “Hold on- what do you mean you don’t think it was Grant at all?” Taylor replies, leaving Aiden to repeat his words before suddenly realizing what the woman is trying to do. “No, I will not give you another source of hope to latch onto” Aiden explains, “you’re trying to fix Grant’s problem when he doesn’t think he has a problem to fix… Stop mitigating.” “Grant will implode if he continues to go on thinking he derailed a woman’s entire career” Taylor replies, taken aback by Aiden’s response once more. “He didn’t have much of a problem staying quiet after he hid everything about Howard and Jessica” Aiden replies, “from the way I see it, if you’re looking for something to hold onto, start hoping he forgets about it and slowly comes to his fucking senses.” “That’s not fair” Taylor replies, a snapping Aiden turning toward her with the reply of a belief that borders on the exact opposite. “It was plenty fair when you first met him and judged him by literally only that” Aiden recalls, “it’s only ‘not fair’ now because you’re enamored with him.” Her mouth slightly ajar, Taylor backs away with her head shaking from one side to another, walking back toward the door before taking herself to the newsdesk. “That was harsh, boss” one of the crew calls out toward Aiden, the man’s eyes watching Taylor walk the rest of the way back to the desk, her face trying to hide that the man’s words had gotten to her. “I know it was” Aiden responds, “but at this point, it needed to be said.” | Phone buzzing in his pocket, Shane answers to an unknown number with a curious greeting. “Shane Weathers, this is Sam Vickers calling to make sure you haven’t fucked everything up yet” Vickers greets, a surprised Shane apologizing for the tone of his introduction. “No worries, you’re out there doing my dirty work” Vickers explains, “when you do the work I’m too much of a priss to do myself, you can call me the son of a cunt-duster if you’d prefer.” “I certainly won’t take you up on that offer, but I’m happy to let you know that all is fine thus far” Shane explains, “the woman hasn’t left her room and she keeps pacing back and forth.” Eyebrows furrowed, Vickers asks the man to explain what he had just said with slightly more detail to latch onto. “She’s got the light on in her room, her shadow keeps walking from one side of the room to the other in the curtains” Shane replies, “she’s holding her jaw or something, she’s got the same pose each time she passes.” “You’re sure she’s in there?” Vickers wonders aloud, Shane clarifying that she’s changed her posture several times. “If she was a partially living mannequin, I’d know by now” Shane continues, “she’s definitely in there, but she just keeps pacing… That’s the only weird thing about it.” “Well have you noticed anything-” Vickers begins, cut off by Shane verbally coming to notice something odd within the shadows. “Wait, now there are two shadows” Shane replies, “hers and something else’s” This information catching him by surprise, Vickers thinks of a new strategy until Shane offers more. “She’s leaving the motel” Shane explains, “the other shadow is walking further into the room, but she’s going for her car.” “Okay, get in your car and follow after her” Vickers replies, “stay a few yards behind her, but don’t let her out of your sight.” Reading the man’s orders loudly and clearly, Shane returns his phone to his pocket, feet marching along the grass before vanishing with the man into his vehicle. Watching Kelsi’s car drive off into the night, Shane waits a moment before taking off after her himself, kicking up a trail of dirt as his wheels sputter along the roadtop. | “You’ve been great tonight” Aiden says to Carly on his way by, hand tapping the woman on the shoulder as they pass. “Thanks” Carly responds, continuing to walk in the opposite direction before coming to a slow stop, her eyes trailing backward before her body responds in much the same way. Avoiding an encounter with a trail of workers heading in the opposite direction, Carly tails Aiden until her arm is taken into the grasp of another man. “Hey, babe” Juno greets, leaning in for a kiss, the woman beside him reciprocating quickly before glancing up, Aiden having turned a corner by this point. “Do you think we can talk real quick?” Juno wonders, Carly glancing around the room before a sudden smile appears upon her face. “Of course, follow me” Carly answers, taking Juno by the hand and leading him down the hallway at the end of the newsroom, one door after another leading him into more cramped corridors. In the distance, Carly can hear a door quietly close, latching into place and offering the woman a selected destination. Hurrying to the end of the hall, Carly pushes in the big, blue door she could swear she heard close, finding a set of familiar faces on the other side. “Of course she’d have someone over, she’s a reporter” Aiden replies, Vickers beginning to suggest otherwise before noticing the door swing open. “Sorry, did you guys need this room?” Carly asks, Vickers suggesting as much. “My apologies” Carly responds, “We'll find another place.” Turning around to leave, Carly feels her wrist be taken into a tighter grip within Juno’s hand, the man turning toward her with a confused look on his face. “You picked this room for a reason” the man proclaims, watching Carly’s eyes roll in disappointment, “there’s literally no other room in this pocket of the hallway, you chose this one for a reason.” “Juno, you’re being paranoid again” Carly responds, attempting to lead the man further out into the hallway to no avail. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but Sam and I have import-” Aiden begins to explain, now shouted at by Juno to stay silent, a gesture which Vickers takes immediate displeasure at. “You’re not going to barge in here and tell anyone to shut their mouths when you invade a conversation, Mr. McIntosh!” Vickers declares, “get your composure in check!” “Why?” Juno asks Carly, his head turning back toward her, “you’ve been unmoving for months at this point, and this sketchy shit just keeps going on!” Playing the only card he knows at the moment, Aiden quietly turns toward Vickers with his hands held out, pretending he has no clue what is going on at the moment. “Don’t play dumb, asshole!” Juno calls Aiden, watching the executive producer look at him in surprise, “I know there’s something going on between you two!” His finger raised in Aiden’s direction, Juno continues to add pressure to the grip on Carly’s wrist, the third person in the love triangle finally breaking his silence to warn Juno that he’s hurting his girlfriend’s arm. “Don’t tell me what to do!” Juno shouts back toward Aiden, silenced when Vickers threatens to fire him on the spot. Enraged beyond the point of return, Juno lets go of Carly’s hand, allowing the woman to fall to the floor before charging into the room, his hand taking Aiden by the throat and pressing him against the wall. “Admit it, you son of a bitch!” Juno demands of the man within the space between his thumb and index finger, adding pressure to the man’s larynx before the threat is swiftly dealt with. In the span of a second, Vickers takes the heel of his foot to the back of Juno’s knee, bringing the much larger man to a kneel. His fingers latching onto Juno’s hair, Vickers pulls the man’s head back, laying a blow to the middle of Juno’s throat with his elbow, taking the air out of his lungs with ease. Removing his phone from his pocket, Vickers dials a number, calling into the recipient on the other end to get security into the newsroom to escort Juno from the premises. “We’ll talk about it all later” Vickers tells Aiden, leaving the man behind with Carly, the pair staring toward each other in different levels of fear as Vickers leaves the room, letting the issues between the two settle without his presence. | His car door slamming shut, Shane steps onto the property of a downtown bar and grill, following the blue dress of the woman he’s been told to tail. Her shaven legs reflecting the lights above her, Kelsi takes a seat at the bar as Shane watches, taking a table a short distance away, pulling a menu into his hand and holding it in front of his face. “What can I get you?” a waitress asks, catching Shane by surprise, the man tilting back slightly. “I’ll take a water for right now, please” Shane replies, flashing the waitress a smile and folding his hands, looking out into the sea of people before turning back toward the counter, Kelsi nowhere to be found. “Aw fuck” Shane mutters to himself, leaving his seat and turning around, a finger pressing against his chest, guiding him back to his seat. “No one comes here and starts an order with water” Kelsi explains, watching the panic come over the man a mere few inches away. “Don’t worry, I expected you” Kelsi explains, “I wouldn’t think to point fingers toward Grant in front of numerous people- all with their own reasons for believing him to be this nice, honest guy- if I didn’t expect some would try to debunk me.” His hands held up, Shane begins to refuse any alliance with any one person or group, only for his efforts to be dashed the moment the woman takes his belt into her hand, staring at the LMC Media clip where his phone would otherwise be. “I’m not an idiot and I’m not new to this” Kelsi continues, lightly grazing Shane’s privates with the nail on her finger before walking over to the other side of the table. “I’m just here for a drink” Shane explains, continuing to keep the appearance intact, “I may work for LMC, I may know who Grant is, but I am only here for the steak.” Eyes narrowing, Kelsi tries to visually poke holes in his story, looking the man up and down, from the top of his head to the final portion of his abdomen not covered by the edge of the table. Her head tilting to one side silently, Kelsi continues to stare before shrugging, admitting that she may have herself mistaken. “At least you noticed that” Shane explains, “but I should warn you ahead of time- just in case you’re making yourself comfortable- I’m already seeing someone.” “Aw, pity me” Kelsi replies without concern, brushing off Shane’s statement as if it both doesn’t matter, and isn’t any loss of hers to take. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression” Shane continues, attempting to step away from the table with a more innocent expression, only for said attempt to be dashed quickly, Kelsi’s hand pressing against his, politely requesting that he stay. “Like I said, I’m already seeing someone, and-” Shane begins, cutting off the moment the waitress brings out his water, a gesture that puts a smile on the woman’s face. “You can’t go anywhere now that you’ve got water to pay for” Kelsi says with enthusiasm, sucking the man into remaining at the table, “enjoy New York’s finest from the tap.” | Her knuckles pressing against the door to the man’s office, Taylor hears the welcome from Grant and steps inside. “Hey” Taylor greets, “you were great tonight.” “Did I sound as much of a Democrat as I did last month?” Grant wonders, Taylor nodding with a smile on her face. “No, you were great” Taylor replies, watching the man undo his tie and throw his casual jacket over his dress shirt, “you’re always great.” Taking a second glance at the woman, Grant flashes her a smile and thanks her for the compliment. With another nod, the woman walks closer to the man, Grant’s eyes marveling at the sights of New York City before him, the woman behind him now making her way beside him. “We got really lucky with this job” Taylor mutters to herself, Grant insisting their luck has taken them even further with the view they’ve been afforded. “It does put a lot of things into perspective” Taylor replies, “a lot like how you approach someone.” Confused, Grant looks to Taylor with intrigue, a hidden joy in his face that hadn’t been present in recent weeks. “What do you mean?” Grant asks, watching Taylor’s eyes remain fixated on the world outside, his own face turned toward the woman while hers remains on what rests ahead. “I judged you harshly when you first came in here” Taylor explains, “it didn’t even take you half a day to prove me completely wrong.” His head hung, Grant puckers his lips, intending to say something self-deprecating once more, only for Taylor to cut him off before he can get the chance.”I don’t wanna hear about what you said before in the recording, it doesn’t matter right now” Taylor explains, “what matters is who I thought you were, and who you showed me you actually were.” “That’s all down to impression” Grant replies, “as I’ve said before, you had your opinion and I was a rare example of someone proving you wrong. That carries a lot of weight for a lot of people.” The woman continues to stare out at the city below, Taylor listens to Grant clear his throat and adjust his words, continuing to deny that he’s worth to the woman what she believes him to be. “You shouldn’t think I'm someone I’m not when-” Grant continues, stopped mid-sentence when Taylor turns around and reaches her hand over his shoulder, taking the back of his head into her hands and pulling him into a kiss. After a few moments, ones that feel like minutes, the kiss breaks, Grant staring at the woman with a surprise that he hadn’t had as far back as he can remember. “I know you think I saw what I wanted to, but I’m taking it as my chance to prove you wrong right now” Taylor explains, “I know evil people, I know bad people, and I know assholes… You are none of those things.” Struggling to find another set of words to use, Grant stands there trying desperately to contain a smile, failing to do so as the woman pulls away. “It wasn’t that you proved me wrong” Taylor remarks, “it’s what you proved me wrong about.” With a sigh, Taylor recalls her first days with the company, speaking about them as if they were darker times than the ones either she or Grant face now. “I was interning and I had just finished school” Taylor recollects, “so now I was looking at trying to get myself up the ladder and in front of the camera’s.” Her eyes directed toward the floor, Taylor stands in the centre of the room, continuing to illustrate the times in their most honest form. “The host at the time hadn’t been someone used to getting less from his staff than his contract from the executives offered” Taylor explains, holding back her emotions of anger and sadness, “so if he got paid millions, he expected his staff to work as if they were worth millions.” Swallowing her pride, Taylor continues to explain what the world was like for her when she first came in as Grant slowly approaches, watching her struggle to overcome the fear of revealing what she is intending to. “And he saw a pretty little blonde college grad as the perfect figure to get what he wanted, whenever it was” Taylor continues, “so when I said no, he didn’t see that as being worth the millions he was paid.” Clearing her throat and wiping the lone tear from her face, Taylor continues to explain, Grant placing his hands to her shoulders and looking her in the eyes as she gets to the final portions of the story. “So he drugged me, took me back to his penthouse- and I’m sure you can guess the rest” Taylor recalls, “I woke up the next day and spent ten minutes looking around the room for where he threw my clothes the night prior.” Her head tilting to one side gradually over time, Taylor’s cheek ends up on the back of Grant’s hand by the conclusion of the story, feeling her emotions give out at the man’s touch. “So I went to HR, and they did nothing” Taylor continues, “and the higher up, the less people did until I finally found the person that was actually willing to just do something about it.” With a slight grin, Grant takes his best-educated guess at the name of the person she praises as having done something. “Sam Vickers” Grant calls out, Taylor’s sad frown turning into a wide smile, a gentle nod to confirm his suspicions. “He fired the guy on the spot and let him walk away with a nice payday to keep the company’s reputation intact” Taylor explains, “and the only reason he let the company tuck it under the rug is because he put me in charge of ‘Tonight at Nine’.” Clearing her throat, Taylor concludes her story before advancing to the reason behind its importance. “He wanted me to be able to start without all of this nonsense attached to me” Taylor explains, “to this day, he’s the only person here that actually knows what happened. And, I guess, now he’s not the only one anymore.” With a deep breath, Taylor explains that Grant would have never walked into the building had it not been for Vickers. “From that day, I reminded him that I ‘owed him one’, and he never took it-” Taylor continues, “-until January 9th, 2006.” His sympathetic grin now deteriorating into a look of confusion, Grant begins to see where all of the puzzle pieces fit, Taylor assuring him of his accuracy in real time. “He calls me into his office and tells me that he found a second anchor for the show” Taylor explains, “he told me he saw something in you and used that to get me to let you into the building- and it wasn’t long before I saw it, too.” With a smile, Taylor continues to look into Grant’s eyes before pulling him in for another kiss, the pair not breaking the interaction apart, embracing it, and welcoming it until the moment Grant no longer does. “I can’t do this” Grant explains, confusing the woman, who looks at him with worry. “It’s not because of you- it would never be because of you” Grant explains, “but this isn’t the man you deserve- or at least not the man I am right now.” Her hands pressing against the sides of the man’s face, Taylor assures Grant that he is everything she believes him to be, finally watching the man embrace that as true. “Even if I am what you think I am… I’m not in the headspace I should be for you” Grant explains, “if this is something I can get over and live with, that’s the person you deserve… Not whatever I am right now.” Swallowing the build up in her mouth, Taylor wipes away the tears and laughs off the pain, her hands waving toward the man as he tries to apologize. “It’s fine” Taylor explains, “seriously, it’s fine… I get it… I completely understand.” Catching her breath, Taylor continues to swipe at the tears on her cheek and pulls away, telling Grant to leave it at that before hurrying through the door. “Taylor, I don’t-” Grant tries to call out to the woman, his words cut off the moment the door closes behind her, leaving him in the office alone, nothing but the dim orange glow of his desk light to illuminate the room. Keeping on a brave face, Taylor marches through the busy floor and stumbles upon the women’s washroom. On instinct, Taylor pushes the door in and shoves a janitor’s broom into the handle, checking each stall for an occupant before knowing she’s completely alone. On the verge of breaking down, Taylor looks into the direction of a specific corner, a potted plant placed in it. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth, Taylor walks into the same corner and pulls the plant away from the wall, leaving the empty space in its place. In a moment, the woman goes from standing with her eyes toward the ground, to seated in the corner with her legs tucked into her arms. Too great to overcome, Taylor’s head drops between her arms, now allowing the emotions to present themselves, stomach turning with deep pain. | “It’s a lot bigger than most motel rooms” Shane explains, a worried look on his face as he eyes the direction of hallways and open doors. “Motel rooms need to evolve to keep people from opting for hotels instead” Kelsi explains, turning toward the man once she reaches the edge of her bed, “it’s their way of accommodation.” With a nod, Shane continues to walk forward, apologizing to the woman for giving her the wrong impression once again, a suggestion she brushes off immediately. “You’ve given me exactly the impression I needed from you” Kelsi explains, falling onto the bed with Shane’s tie in her hand, pulling the man closer until he’s crawled onto the bed with her. Undoing the tie, Kelsi refuses to let Shane politely decline her advances, tossing the fabric across the room and tearing the man’s shirt both open and off. “Seriously, I don’t want this, I’m sorry” Shane continues, his hands reaching out as he continues to plead his case, stopped midway through by a sharp pain. “You were great company but I am not-” Shane stops, a needle pulled from his neck a mere second later as he slowly loses consciousness. With a smile, Kelsi takes a camera from her bedside and hands it to the figure she shares the room with, the flash of the camera catching the sight of Shane’s shirtless body atop Kelsi’s. The poses are sexual in nature, all showing different angles to capture each detail, the results leaving Kelsi pleased. “Well done” Kelsi explains, “it’s all working out perfectly.” Discarding the man, Kelsi lets Shane fall to the ground before wiping herself off, taking the photo from the man’s hands and walking into the depths of the room with it, leaving Shane to the man’s care. “We should draw a bath to celebrate” Kelsi calls aloud, the man left with Shane responding coldly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves” the man explains, “the more leverage we hold, the less room they have to breathe.” == Tonight at 9 == / Wednesday, October 25th, 2006 /
“Another story to touch upon tonight regards a statement made by the Leader of North Korea, Kim Jong-Il” Grant explains, handing the ball off to Taylor to take the rest of the way. “Leader Kim warned of South Korea’s potential participation in United States-led sanctions against the current nuclear testing of North Korean missiles” Taylor continues, “Jong-Il stated to South Korean officials that such participation would be seen as a provocation to incite quote, a crisis of war.” Riding out the final minute before sending the broadcast off to the ten o’clock time slot, Aiden leans against the control setup and gives the signal for the anchors to wrap. His pen tapping twice against the desktop, Grant does as called to. “It’s a small threat coming from a man as small as Kim Jong-Il” Grant explains, offering his controversial conclusion, “but hey, at least we know that even the smallest men have bigger balls than President Bush.” Looking back to the monitor with wide eyes, Aiden throws his hands out as if a cheap shot had just been taken. “What the fuck are you doing!?” Aiden calls aloud, Grant ending the broadcast unconcerned with Aiden’s interruptions. Taking his shot the moment the ‘on-air’ light goes off, Aiden rushes out of the control room and makes a dash for the front desk, an unphased Grant confidently descending the steps from his elevated platform. “Who gave you a call over when to talk off the ‘prompter!?” Aiden exclaims, his arms still held out by his sides, “you think you can just take a jab at a president supported by half the country and get away with it?” With a shrug, Grant loosens his tie and writes the comment off as nothing more than a light-hearted strike. “A light-hearted strike?” Aiden asks, the tone of his voice expressing his confusion, “I don’t support the guy either, but half the people that watch our network do!” “I said what I said, let come whatever may!” Grant replies, the eyes on Aiden somehow widening further as Grant departs, leaving Taylor to step up by Aiden’s side. “When the fuck did he go reverse-Kronkite?” Aiden questions, Taylor watching the man walk off with equal confusion, eventually choosing to follow after him. “What’s going on with you?” Taylor asks as she walks into the man’s office, her knuckles not tapping against the glass once. Silently, Grant tosses his tie across the room and opens his drawer, letting a previously-opened letter drop onto his desk before Taylor’s eyes. “What’s this?” Taylor asks, cautiously approaching as Grant suggests she find out for herself. “I promise, there’s no Anthrax in it” Grant clarifies, the woman’s confidence not rising in the slightest. Slowly, Taylor reaches down toward the man’s desk, Grant lighting a cigarette in his mouth as Taylor pulls the envelope closer to her. Sliding a folded note from within, Taylor stares at the writings, her eyes reading one line after another, eyelids parting further with each line she reads. “This has to be a hoax” Taylor explains, “this is someone that knows nothing and got very close by luck… That’s it.” “It’s real” Grant replies, reaching into his drawer with the cigarette still pressed between his lips, retrieving a recorder with Howard’s confession on it, along with an unedited portion of the events prior. “That’s not our recorder” Taylor says, pointing out the differences in the devices used. The recorder from the confession had a light silver, small touches of grey lining the outer rim, whereas this recorder is a vibrant blue, silver accents on its exterior components. “Someone else must have been recording it” Grant explains, Taylor immediately throwing out the possibility of it having been Howard himself. “Maybe, but I don’t see why he’d leave for so long and just mysteriously pop up all of sudden with this when he could have used it months ago” Grant explains, “this is the work of someone else.” His finger raised, Grant reaches back into the drawer and retrieves another note, tossing into the hands of Taylor, telling her to inspect the handwriting. “Same guy” Grant remarks, the woman getting annoyed with Grant’s earlier statements in light of new information. “He’s doing this because you don’t like Republicans!?” Taylor says in astonishment, the exact reasoning for this display of blackmail being laid out shamelessly. “No, he’s doing this because I don’t like his kind of Republicans” Grant explains, “if I had a nickel for every person I met that couldn’t take in different opinions, Howard’s lawsuit would have never been a threat.” Tossing the notes and envelopes at Grant, Taylor stands before the man with her hands placed against her hips. “You’re being blackmailed by someone with information that could put you in jail, and you antagonize them?” Taylor asks, a stare toward the window coming from Grant. Pondering his moves, Grant nods to himself, reflecting on his actions before turning back to Taylor with confidence. “Yes, yes I am” Grant replies, “because anyone that thinks this kind of thing will keep my mouth shut is wrong.” Lunging forward, Taylor slams her hands against the man’s desk, her nose coming within inches from Grant’s own. “He packages one mic to a reporter and he’ll have your mouth shut with prison cock” Taylor replies, “what are you thinking!?” Leant back into his chair, Grant raises his voice a noticeable amount, prompting silence from the newsroom beyond their glass walls, all eyes directed toward Grant’s office. “I’m not letting people push me around!” Grant shouts, “if this son of a bitch thinks he can dictate what is and what isn’t said by playing god, I’ll play ball until the dirt turns to mud!” “You can’t play ball when you’re not behind a desk, which is exactly what will happen if you take a dive here” Taylor explains, “Vickers and I will go down with you, and with us, the reputation of LMC crumbles with the snap of a finger.” Without a meaningful retort, Grant sinks into his chair, eyes taking themselves away from the woman he insults more with every word. “What else am I going to do?” Grant asks, reminding the woman of his status as one of New York’s most ‘honest news anchors’. “Whatever I say, people trust me on it” Grant mutters, “if I let this guy tell me what to do, that one cockless bastard controls the narrative the entire country takes in and abides by.” Left without much to say on the matter, Taylor collapses into her chair as both she and Grant take in differing feelings of defeat. “Where do we go from here?” Grant asks, looking toward Taylor for guidance knowing he had no feasible answers on his own. “Well we let Vickers know about this first” Taylor explains, “not only does he deserve to know as one of the parties involved, but he might have the solution we’re looking for.” “Why the hell would you say it then!?” Vickers explodes, sitting in his office having been handed a plate with such a mess laid upon it by the two anchors he expects nothing but the best from. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved what you said and almost spit my Vodka over the television” Vickers explains, “but if it comes at this expense, keep your fucking mouth shut!” “I’ve noted that for next time, what do we do now” Grant exclaims, “and how long until we need to owe Josh Lane two favours?” His head shaking, Vickers retreats to his desk, telling the pair that Josh isn’t available for things such as this. “He does, let’s just say, hands-on work” Vickers replies, “when it comes to working in the dark, he has people, and those people aren’t exactly equipped for this.” “You gave me no information just then, spoke vaguely and I’m left here still asking what we’re going to do now” Grant explains, “you’re aware of that, right?” Brushing off the confusion, Vickers inquires about access to the building, suggesting they narrow down who had access to the apartment. “Just Josh, it’s his flat” Grant replies, a lightbulb flickering on his head, immediately dimming when Vickers shoots down the oncoming thought before Grant can even voice it. “No, Josh isn’t blackmailing you- he’s not even a Republican” Vickers explains, “the person we’re looking for keeps themselves quiet and makes themselves invisible… Hence the delivery of his message.” With a shrug, Grant admits that he’s run out of possibilities, Taylor not that far behind either. Defeated, Grant throws himself into a chair, the room filling with tense silence until Vickers explains that he’ll do his part in getting to the bottom of the situation. “Email me everything about how you got this letter so I have it in writing” Vickers explains, “I wanna know the date, the time, the address you got it at, the weather outside on that day… Everything!” Giving into suggestions, Grant promises to deliver what is asked of him, Taylor being told by Vickers to look into every segment they’ve run dating back to a month prior to the confrontation with Howard. “I want no corners left unchecked” Vickers explains, “this is my company, and I’ll defend it with my life, so give me what I need to do that.” With this declaration, Vickers ushers the anchors out of his room, insisting he needs to make a phone call in private. Fingers tapping along the machine, Vickers bites into his lip as the phone rings, patiently waiting for an answer as his anxiety builds, relieved when the greeting finally comes in. “Aiden, I’d like to meet with you in private if you can” Vickers explains, looking toward people he knows he can trust for assistance, “you free any time tomorrow morning before the newsroom fills?” = Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 Media from the start of Season 1 onwards = / Thursday, October 26th, 2006 / “Why the fuck wouldn’t you say something about this sooner?” Bruce asks, enraged as Grant walks alongside him, a larger briefcase in tow in the event of needing to shield himself from gunshots. Hands held upwards, Grant refuses to take in questions from people in search of answers, inquiries about his comments on the president being thrown left and right, making for a combination that can only be described as a political haymaker. Turning the corner, the pair walk into the LMC building, leaving the curious bystanders at the doors, watching the subject of their interest fade further and further out of sight. “You’ve taken everything you’ve built up over the last few months and thrown it into the can” Bruce explains, propping up an edition of the daily newspaper in Grant’s face, the headline reading something rather unflattering for the LMC anchor. “Grant Haste: One Night Spent in Going from America’s Sweetheart to America’s Retard” Bruce reads the headline aloud, “and at this time yesterday, you were the most trustworthy news source in America.” Shrugging off the jab as something that can fade with time, Bruce brings up the more important point. “If you had done this of your own care, fine” the agent explains, “but to do it simply to spite the guy trying to blackmail you is an entirely new level of stupid.” “I get it, I made a bad move and I’m paying for it by being trapped in a corner” Grant explains, “your job isn’t to beat that fact into my head, it’s to help me figure out how to get into open space again.” With an eye roll, Bruce looks back to Grant, stopping in the middle of the hallway and staring the man in the eyes. “You can’t get out of the corner in chess if you’re already blocked in” Bruce explains, “in order to move out, you need to break free… You don’t have that option right now.” “What are you saying?” Grant inquires, watching the expression on Bruce’s face fall as quickly as his bulletproof briefcase. “I’m saying you’re trapped in a spot you can’t get out of until you pull something from your sleeve and leverage that” Bruce explains, “in other words… Check.” | His eyes rolling over one article in the paper after another, Aiden fails to notice Carly join him on his ascent in the lift as the doors close. “Hey” Aiden greets awkwardly, the stranger-like response being reciprocated by the woman, who stands equally uncomfortable by Aiden’s side. “How’s work been?” Carly asks, watching Aiden’s head take itself from the paper, eyes lifting toward her. “I’m being called in to have a meeting with Sam Vickers before the newsroom opens up” Aiden explains, “either something really bad is about to happen, or something really good will instead.” With a nod, Carly wishes the man the best of luck in preparation for either outcome, a gesture the man takes with appreciation. “Good luck with your day as well” Aiden replies, the doors sliding open to their shared floor. In stride, both Carly and Aiden leave the lift and head into differing directions, the conversation they barely manage to let take off, ending with a whimper. His feet carrying him to the end of the hall, Aiden knocks four times against a bland, unimportant looking door before being given the greenlight to enter. Pushing the metal structure in, Aiden finds Vickers sitting at a circular table, waiting for him, a smile on his face and a chair opposite the boss pulled out for his arrival. “I’m not about to be fired, am I?” Aiden jokingly asks, Vickers easing his worries about such concerns. “I wanted to ask for a favour from you, as a matter of fact” Vickers explains, “and since you were great in keeping the secrets I needed you to last time, I can say with confidence that success in this instance will come with a nice reward for you.” Easing into his seat, Aiden prepares for an interesting conversation, the cloudy skies of New York City plaguing the view in the cramped window beside them, perhaps a sign of things to come in Aiden’s eyes. | Hand reaching out as Bruce continues to bark at him, Grant throws his office door open before being stricken with silence upon the sight he finds inside. “We’ve got a problem” Taylor explains, the woman stood in the middle of his office with a revolver in her hand, the eyes of both Grant and Bruce widening greatly upon the image. Slowly approaching the woman, Grant takes the gun from her shaky hand, the woman too caught up in a moment of fear to put it down herself. Clutched in her left hand, a note remains held within her fingers, a folded piece of paper Grant takes from the woman’s palm into his own. Opening the folded sheet of copy paper, Grant reads the contents to himself as Bruce does the same, having already noticed the recipient of this letter to be Taylor herself. Lip quivering, Grant forces himself to stop reading halfway in, discarding the letter by throwing it across the room and paying it no mind. “That’s not just fucked up, that’s evil” Bruce explains, having read almost to the point that Grant had been able to muster himself toward, watching his client pull Taylor into a hug. “What the hell is this guy trying to prove?” Bruce asks aloud, a response not coming from either of the parties in front of him, a moment of silence shared between a worried Grant and a distraught Taylor. “We can take it to the police now, right?” Bruce further inquires, offering himself suggestions where Grant and Taylor lack to do so, his initial thought panned by Grant the moment it leaves his lips. “What are they gonna say?” Grant replies, his head turned to the side so he can stare at Bruce out of the corner of his own eyes, chin still pressed to the top of Taylor’s head. “We can’t tell police anything” Grant explains, Bruce left to question why that happens to be the case. “You didn’t kill the man!” Bruce counters, the biggest reason not to fear legal action being addressed, “and at worst, they look at you for home invasion… With Nalty’s confession on the tape, you can work a deal out with them and take it from there!” “I don’t think you understand the gravity of all this, Bruce” Grant replies, “Nalty’s not the only threat anymore, and regardless of what we would show police, we don’t have the first clue who this is.” “And you’re gonna let that get in your way!?” Bruce asks aloud, the newsroom luckily empty enough for voices to rise without fear of the wrong words being left to flutter aimlessly. “Some sicko is trying to blackmail you, threatened to rape Taylor with a broomstick, and may have plotted an attempt on your life, either their first or second” Bruce explains, the laundry list seemingly growing every day, “when did we start playing vigilante? Because this doesn’t end without help.” “We don’t need help” Grant replies, finally pulling away from Taylor as the woman gathers herself, “we need to figure out who’s responsible for this!” Throwing his hefty briefcase into Grant’s desk, Bruce marches forward with a thud, getting closer to his client as tensions begin to mount. “We need help! Trying to solve things on our own hasn’t worked out in our favour if you hadn’t noticed!” Bruce exclaims, “shit’s about to hit the fan and we’re not equipped to handle it ourselves!” Before another word can be uttered, Vickers shoves the door in, Aiden tagging along behind the man as their collective employer shouts an order for everyone to calm down. “We’re not going to accomplish anything if we stand here arguing like children!” Vickers explains, “if we’re going to get to the bottom of this, we’re gonna do it the right way.” His eyes taking to the ground, Vickers pulls the blackmailist’s note into his hand, reading the writings to himself, visibly disgusted with each word his eyes wander over. “This is sick and depraved” Vickers murmurs, his eyes running down the length of the note before narrowing, an obvious point of interest focused on by the man with the wisdomatically keen eye. “What’s wrong?” Grant inquires, Vickers hurrying over to the man’s desk and flipping on a light, an action captivating the tension-filled group. Pulling the glasses dangling by his neck toward his eyes, Vickers notices a stain on the note beneath the light, a barely noticeable spot at the very bottom of the paper. Careful to switch the light off as he goes, Vickers hurries for the door, marching across the newsroom in silence as the group follows after him, all with their own questions. Refusing to answer any of the questions thrown at him, Vickers calls out for the woman at the end of the room, her attention stolen immediately as the train of high-end figures comes barreling toward her. “Do you know where I can find a blacklight?” Vickers inquires, Carly caught off guard in a moment before suggesting the control room. With a nod, Vickers runs off, every member of the train nodding or shrugging toward Carly with equal amounts of confusion to her own. In a dash, Vickers throws the door to the electronic-filled room open and flips a set of switches until a bulbous blacklight at the area’s front switches on. “Turn off the lights!” Vickers calls out, Bruce, at the very end of the line, doing as instructed whilst Vickers pulls the glasses back up to his face. With a smile, the man holds the paper over the light and nods to himself, calling for the line of people to follow after him. “Aiden, stay back with Carly and put together tonight’s show… You’re taking it this evening” Vickers calls out, the duo agreeing to such an offer as the line of employees trails off into the the newsroom’s depths, the front door their only care at the moment. “Looks like it’s just you and I” Carly calls out, Aiden looking toward her with worry, his head hanging and eyelids closing. | Angrily tapping against the metal door of a rundown motel, Vickers stands with an army of equally-frustrated employees all waiting for the sight of the man on the other end. To the mob’s collective surprise, it is not a man that answers the knocking at the door, but it is instead a woman, a woman whose sight is a familiar one to Grant. The surprise of the rest acting as a shock to himself, Grant steps forward, his jaw dropped and eyes wide open. “Kelsi?” Grant asks, his former fling answering the tapping at the door with a smile, nodding behind her as a suggestion for those outside in the cold to make themselves at home. In a moment of hesitation, the group stands in place, Vickers leading the march that eventually brings them inside. “You’re the person blackmailing me?” Grant wonders aloud, his suspicion almost insulting the woman, who takes the uncertainty as a slight on her ability. “Don’t stand there acting so surprised” Kelsi replies, “with all of the reporters you liked hooking up with, I figured I’d be far from the first person to dig up some dirt on you.” “I don’t understand, that’s what I’m saying” Grant explains, “why are you doing all of this? What is the point of any of it?” Her eyes rolling, Kelsi reminds Grant of how everything played out after he left CSN. “You’re blackmailing me because I ended things without having sex with you?” Grant wonders aloud, still lost in the reasoning, his answers now just prompting the woman to sigh in disappointment. “I’m doing this because of how you ended things” Kelsi explains, “you didn’t just tell me that it was over between us, you flat out pretended I didn’t exist, met with me after three months of outright avoidance and told me I’d never be worth a dime in New York.” More lost than he was before he entered the motel room, Grant explains that he remembers none of that. “How much of that do you remember, then?” Kelsi asks aloud, “do you not recall how fucking off-the-rails you were after all that shit went down?” As if it were all a blurry memory, Grant admits that he remembers none of what the woman is accusing him of, a stance Kelsi only takes further annoyance in. “I’m serious when I say that I wish I could remember, but I just don’t!” Grant exclaims, the woman now taking a seat in a chair opposite him. “Well it all happened” Kelsi replies, removing a recorder from the pocket of her jeans and tossing it into the waiting hands of Grant. Pressing ‘play’ on the device, Grant listens into their conversation, noticing the slurring of his own words to be an indicator of his intoxication. “You’ll be to this city what you’re worth to my wallet, nothing more than ten cents!” Grant shouts in the recording, a response that is followed by silence. Across the room, Kelsi holds back her desire to let a vagrant tear fall from her eyelids, allowing Grant to listen to the remainder of the recording. “Why are you being like this?” Kelsi asks, a question followed by silence on the other end, memories coming back to Grant in real time. The fingernails of his free hand digging into his palm, Grant awaits the response that he can’t recall giving in the recording, awaiting the long, drawn out silence that precedes what follows. “I don’t know” Grant’s former self replies to Kelsi, “I guess I’m just broken now.” His thumb gently pressing down on the stop button, Grant halts the recording in its place and looks back to Kelsi, who bites at the tip of her thumb. “You can go ahead and delete that if it makes you feel better” Kelsi concludes, mustering the power to look back at Grant, who stares at her with a horrified expression. “It won’t do me any good, though” the woman continues, stumbling over her words as the emotions prove to be a barrier in doing so, “I’ve already heard it enough to memorise it… Word for word.” Opening his mouth, Grant says nothing, knowing the Howard cover-up to be an action he remembers doing wrong by, but scared of himself for having completely disregarded that conversation ever happening to begin with. “I don’t have the words” Grant says, the people behind him looking to him in confusion, their sights coming over him as if they had just been shown the collapsing of a wall they never knew existed. “I said that?” Grant whispers to himself, a question Kelsi takes as her own responsibility to answer. “Yeah, you did” Kelsi replies, keeping her composure intact enough to keep emotions from swelling. “And if you can’t find the words, then let me help you” Kelsi offers, “you’re a terrible person that took advantage of my hopes, just so you can turn them into a way to hurt me.” “I didn’t mean that” Grant replies, “I don’t remember saying that, but I know I wouldn’t have meant that.” Her head shaking, Kelsi tells the man that she doesn’t believe a word that comes out of his mouth anymore, and was fed up with his success once she noticed that the entire country felt the opposite way. “I know you all came here looking for answers, but I’m not giving you anything” Kelsi states, her eyes wandering back toward Grant, “ten cents isn’t worth enough.” “How do we know that’s Grant on the other end?” Vickers asks, challenging the woman’s stance, her eyes trailing back to her once acquaintance, who looks back to the recorder and presses play once more. After another few seconds of silence, Grant’s voice can be overheard again, clarifying his prior statement. “I covered up a rape and got paid to keep my mouth shut” Grant continues on from the earlier conversation, “what else can you expect from me, Kel?” Pressing stop again, Grant tosses the device back to the woman seated across the room, his eyes glancing up toward her as he asks what she’s going to do now. “I’m gonna do what you did to me” Kelsi replies, her eyes drying the tears and replacing them with a scorching sight. “I’m gonna take everything you built over these last few months, and I’m going to reduce it to nothing” Kelsi threatens, “and if you don’t do as I tell you, I’ll take it farther than that.” Swallowing his pride, Grant nods in acceptance at what his punishment is to be before turning around and leaving the motel, the rest of the group staring at him as he walks off into the cold, New York night. “Good luck” Kelsi calls out to the figures Grant leaves behind, “try not to let yourselves get caught up as collateral… Or in the crossfire.” With a huff, Vickers motions everyone away, Taylor staring at Kelsi with an intense look, speculative and critical, harsh and judgmental. As Vickers closes the door, Taylor watches the woman on the inside, her eyes never leaving Kelsi once. In a short moment, Taylor can watch Kelsi’s eyes go from fiery to blank, her suspicions only raised as the door closes the rest of the way, mechanisms locking behind Vickers as the barrier between the two parties is re-established. == Tonight at 9 == / Monday, April 24th, 2006 /
Standing beside the massive panel of glass at the back of her office, Taylor surveys the roadmap of the major metropolitan area, her cup of coffee raised to her lips as a knock comes from the other side of her door. “It’s open” Taylor calls out, welcoming the person on the other end in, Aiden helping himself to the handle, pulling it and entering. “You alright this morning?” Aiden asks, the woman looking back to him, confused as to what he means. “You don’t usually walk in silently” Aiden explains, “you usually make some sort of conversation and then move on until you get to your office.” Dawning a friendly face, Taylor brushes off Aiden’s suspicions, chalking them up to being behind schedule. “Behind schedule?” Aiden asks with further suspicion, “but enough time to sightsee over a cup of French Vanilla?” With a chuckle of light amusement, Taylor lifts the mug back to her lips and takes a final glance at the sights below, retreating to her desk and taking a seat. “Is there something you came in here needing?” Taylor asks, watching the man shrug off any such notion. “I just came in to check up on you, that’s all” Aiden replies, the woman voicing her appreciation for his concern. “I’m doing well” Taylor quips, seemingly putting an end to the original line of dialogue, leaving Aiden with very little left to say. “I’ll go on with my day too, then” Aiden remarks, stepping away from the desk and making his way to the door. Half of his body having returned to the newsroom, Aiden thinks better of such a decision and returns to the office. “You’re aware that you’re still in my office, right?” Taylor checks, the man leaving the humour without a response as he pulls himself a chair. “Are you and Grant an item now?” Aiden asks, the question catching Taylor by surprise, the tenured anchor sat at her desk, confused at how to reply. “I don’t mean to intrude into personal matters” Aiden explains, “but if there’s some sort of relationship dynamic, I just want to make sure it doesn’t spill into troubles that could hurt the show.” Looking around her room to gather a response, Taylor brushes off Aiden’s apology once the guilt for having brought up such a topic settles in, assuring him that it’s all fine. “Grant and I are just co-workers” Taylor replies, marking the relationship out as nothing more than a friendly work interaction, “we just have a lot in common, and that makes it easy to trust each other.” Head moving back, Aiden looks at the woman with surprise, unable to hold back a laugh as he wonders aloud what these ‘similarities’ are. “We’re both news anchors, we both want to publish fair journalism, and we both-” Taylor begins, her train of thought stopping the moment a set of rapid knocks come from the other side of the glass. “Come in” Taylor calls out, both she and Aiden stood in the room, their attention directed squarely upon the shoulders of Vickers, his newsroom visits growing more common. “I need everyone ready for air” Vickers exclaims, his words strong and commanding, immediately captivating both Taylor and Aiden, “it’s happened again.” = Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 Media from the start of Season 1 onwards = “Someone help!” Grant cries out, propping a bloodied and unresponsive Bruce over his shoulders, “he’s been shot!” His shirt and blazer adorned with the blood of his agent, Grant hands the man over to doctors, who immediately place him upon a bed and hook him up to machines in an effort to save his life. “I’m gonna need to know what happened” the doctor calls out, Grant following along with the workers, dashing through the details. “We were stopped at a redlight and a car opened fire on us” Grant explains, “I saw it coming and ducked, but the shots hit Bruce.” Taking down other general information, the doctors inform Grant that they’ll have to take the man into surgery, leaving him in the hallway to watch as his friend is carted off into the depths of the building, alone. Stood there on his own for only a few seconds prior to a nurse attempting to lead him back toward the lobby, Grant finds himself with enough time for the anger to swell. Despite her best efforts and intentions, the nurse cannot help the enraged public figure, Grant letting out a burst of aggression by swinging around and burying his fist into the drywall just behind him. Not anywhere close to phased by the sight of his fist embedded within the wall, Grant stands in place huffing, the nurse calling in for security to assist her in escorting the man off the premises. Regaining his composure, Grant finally rips his hand from the wall, brushing off the powdery debris as the small security team approaches. Hands up, Grant assures security that he understands what he needs to do, and voluntarily leaves the mega complex. Returning to the vehicle he came to the hospital in, Grant takes a seat in the front and turns the key in the ignition, his eyes fixated on the odometer before slowly lifting up. In the distance, one structure remains towering over every other, the building resembling that of a lair the villain in a movie would call home. With a scowl, Grant pulls the gear shift into drive and moves on, taking the road that leads toward downtown, the structure the only thing the man can muster to think about. | “We’re out!” Aiden calls into the control room, his words running through the headset over Taylor’s ears, giving her the same clearance. As Taylor rushes out from behind the desk to grab her belongings, Aiden makes for his office, retreating to the back of the newsroom until Vickers calls out from afar. Surprised at being made the centre of attention, Aiden stands in place for a moment, at first believing he had done something wrong and was about to be scolded. Taking the calling of his name to be a request for his presence, Aiden marches forward, venturing through the newsroom before following after Vickers, the elder man of the pair noticing his awkwardness. “Is there something I can help with?” Aiden asks, Vickers brushing off the man’s question, switching the topic of conversation as he leads the executive producer down the halls of the building, the preferred targets being the newsroom’s least populated pockets. “Do you consider yourself a loser?” Vickers asks, finally catching a glimpse of an empty employee break room, eyes set as Aiden looks over his potential responses. “Um… Yeah, I guess I would” the young man replies, walking into the breakroom and turning to find Vickers closing the door behind them. “I’d consider you to be a nerd, which is very different” Vickers explains, “on one hand, you’d be nothing… On the other, you’d have a few weird quirks.” “I fail to see how any of this matters” Aiden replies immediately, “are you entering me in a chess competition or something?” Considering the options for a moment, Vickers admits that he’d have to consider it upon a last-ditch resort, but hopes not to need to. “I don’t care what you are… Nerd, loser, otherwise” Vickers explains, lowering his voice to a more hushed tone, “I just care to know whether or not I can trust you.” Surprised, Aiden assures his employer that he can, a response that pulls a nod out of Vickers, who stands there with a smile. “I’m going to let you in on a secret and I need you to do what you can to make sure everything goes according to plan” Vickers explains, Aiden immediately on board with whatever the plan happens to be, pulling a chair up for both men, insisting Vickers lay everything out to him. | Emerging from his vehicle, Grant slams the driver’s side door shut, his penny loafer shoes tapping along the concrete walkway as he approaches the entrance to New York’s downtown monolith. Pulling the handle of the door in, Grant enters the floor he’s become too familiar with in recent time, the soles of his shoes tapping along the marble walkway beneath his feet, eyes directed toward the lift at the back of the complex. “Sir, you need to check in first” the desk keeper explains, not paid enough to charge out from his perch to stop Grant, but not paid too little to let the man go without issue. “I’m visiting a friend” Grant says as he walks into the already-open elevator, allowing the doors to close just as the man enters view, his hands folded before his lap as the door keeper calls in to report the disturbance. “At least New York takes presumed threats seriously now” Grant mutters to himself, mocking the lack of progression in a post-9/11 world. Waiting time out, Grant listens to the elevator music fill the void of what would otherwise be silence, the cheery tune perhaps making him more angry than the fleeting quiet would. In an act of defiance, Grant stares at the speaker, noticing the floors he still has left to ascend and finds another outlet for his aggression. Removing the shoe from his left foot, Grant takes the tip to the piece of designer footwear and wields the article of clothing as a weapon, whacking the stereo speaker in the box with the reinforced heel of his dress shoe. Continuing to hit at the hole-laiden box, Grant wears out the material enough to rip the plastic coating from its place, a final strike with his shoe breaking the mechanisms within, only garbled and muffled jazz playing through what was once an operable system. The bell in the elevator dinging upon his intended destination, Grant watches with widened eyes as the doors slowly open. His feet instinctively taking him off the platform without concern, Grant makes himself at home in the foyer he ventures within. “Howard!” Grant calls out, his voice ringing through the cramped hallway, bouncing off the marble walls lining the entry tunnel before turning the corner to find the man he had just previously called out for. Standing in the middle of his living room draped in a velvet robe, Howard stands in surprise with a glass of wine in his hand, the man he once threatened now stood before him. His mouth becoming agape when he notices the splattered blood over the shoulders of Grant’s powerful suit, Howard becomes stricken with a fear that he is naturally unfamiliar with, the looming threat of unpredictability almost animalistic in a sense. “We have a few things to talk about” Grant says, his mind having taken him to a dark place as his eyes come over Howard, refusing to speak in any way that doesn’t demand attention or respect. Without the words to use, Howard steps aside, his hands held toward the couch, silently offering Grant a seat. With a heated smirk and a nod, Grant approaches the couch, taking a spot and commanding the lead of the conversation, his hand stretched toward the opposite sofa. Doing as told to ensure his own safety, Howard takes the seat Grant suggests, slowly making himself comfortable, his eyes never once leaving Grant. Reaching into his jacket, Grant pulls free a small recording device, pressing the power button and placing it upon the coffee table, not a word mentioned toward Howard during the effort. “Why are you showing me this?” Howard asks, his genuine curiosity becoming the only thing fueling any conversation. “Because it is Monday, the twenty-fourth of April, the year 2006” Grant explains, “and I want you to know that I am holding no secrets… I’m being completely and totally upfront, and honest.” Looking at the man as if to silently ask whether or not this is a joke, Howard is left speechless, allowing the lack of a retort work as a suggestion for Grant to continue his explanation. “Just ten minutes ago, I left the Mount Sinai Beth Israel hospital in New York, where I dropped off my agent at the emergency room” Grant continues, “he was shot multiple times, in a drive-by shooting that I was a potential victim of… For the second time in a month.” Clearing his throat, Howard musters the courage to skip ahead in the conversation, asking Grant what he’s trying to get at, the man opposite him only responding with an angry glare, silencing Howard. “I have my assumptions that Howard Nalty, my former co-worker, set up the attempt on my life in the attack one month prior” Grant continues, Howard’s finger raising to plead his case, which Grant ignores to finish his statement. “After that failed, I believe he set up a second attempt, which would play out today” Grant furthers, “so… I’m here to challenge him on that.” Leaning into his couch, Howard does what he can to maintain a distance between himself and Grant, caught off guard by the man’s sudden approach and quick judgments. “I had nothing to do with that” Howard says, “I’m suing you, why would I want you dead without a verdict on that?” With a smirk, Grant leans forward, his head tilted to the side, laying on the intimidation as thick as he can, using the appearance to further his stance. “I guess we’re going to figure that out very soon, aren’t we?” Grant asks, watching Howard swallow the spit forming in his mouth, the smirk on Grant’s face striking fear when put together with the blood-soaked clothing. | “What’s going on?” Carly asks, she and plenty others in the newsroom having noticed Aiden’s interaction with Vickers just moments prior. “He and Taylor were heading out and he wanted me to man the newsroom again” Aiden replies, continuing to trail toward his office, Carly following closely behind. “Should I be ready for the air just in case?” Carly inquires, following the man into his office. “Do whatever you want, I’ll let you know if we’re going on the air” Aiden replies, taking a seat at his desk, assuming the conversation to now be over. “Why do we get awkward around each other every time we have sex?” Carly asks aloud, Aiden immediately looking back towards her, his finger pressed against his lips. “Juno’s like a fucking ninja, never say that out loud unless we’re stuck in an elevator together” Aiden explains, “even then, check around you.” Apologising, Carly reiterates her question, prompting Aiden to sigh as his hands find the surface of his desk, his head hanging towards the mahogany surface. “Why do you make it awkward?” Aiden asks, turning the blame upon the woman’s shoulders, Carly left curious as to what he means. “I’m just an awkward person, you probably should start picking up on this right about now” Aiden explains, “I come to work to do my work, when I wanna fuck you, it won’t be during work hours.” With another deep sigh, Aiden adds in the presence of Juno being a constant factor in making him keep a pair of eyes in the back of his own head. “He walks into my office one night and threatens my life, then apologises the next time we see each other” Aiden explains, “that’s the guy you’re dating… Which means that’s the guy I’m having sex with the girlfriend of.” “Okay, fine… It’s more ‘open season of Aiden’ then we’d like” Carly replies, “but we don’t talk the way we used to anymore, which only makes it seem more suspicious.” Looking up in a moment of confidence, Aiden reminds the woman of the comparisons between them then and now. “Before all of this, we were co-workers that made your boyfriend jealous” Aiden explains, “now, we use each other to get off- We’re not exactly friendly with each other the way we used to be.” Accepting part of the blame to be her association with Juno, Carly regrets her end of the weird interactions, assuring the man behind the desk that things will become less awkward over time. “If you’re confident they’ll get easier the longer this goes on, why are you inquiring about its awkwardness now?” Aiden asks, “because you wouldn’t be looking for a solution if you truly believed the kinks would work out over time.” At a loss for any reasonable explanation, Carly shrugs toward the man, watching his head sink back into the slate of topics for the evening’s broadcast. Taking this to be the definitive end to the conversation, Carly turns to leave, Aiden suddenly propping his head back up to call out to the woman, his side of the efforts being voiced. “I think you’re trying to decide which of your relationships are more important” Aiden explains, “Juno as your boyfriend or me as your fling.” “What do you mean?” Carly responds, watching Aiden drop into his chair and run over the thoughts mulling in his head. “I think you don’t want to be with Juno anymore but aren’t confident that I’d be a good boyfriend” Aiden answers, “mostly because a pretty girl like you doesn’t tend to go around single for long.” Confused, Carly looks toward Aiden as if he were getting the wrong idea, making her statement known. “I love Juno” Carly explains, keeping the response brief and unnegotiable, a notion Aiden pokes holes in with ease. “If you loved Juno, you wouldn’t be fucking me behind his back” Aiden counters, “but furthermore, I don’t think you care that our conversations are awkward, I think you care that I’m awkward.” Even more lost than she was earlier in the conversation, Carly questions Aiden on what he means by that, the man essentially painting the picture out for the woman, one stroke of a brush after another. “I think you’d prefer to dump Juno and start dating me if you had the choice, but you don’t wanna be seen with a loser” Aiden clarifies, “I may not wear round glasses and tuck my shirt into my pants, but I’m somewhat attractive, great in bed and weird around people.” The longer the conversation ensues, the more Carly feels herself being lost, one turn of their words taking another until she’s left in a desolate area with no direction. Finally, Carly pieces together a broad assumption from what Aiden illustrates, voicing it in one, coherent question. “Are you under the assumption that I want to break up with Juno and start dating you” Carly begins, “but don’t know if you’re good enough to be my boyfriend because your weird?” “I’m completely under that assumption, yes” Aiden replies with a smile, Carly taken aback by the implication that she’d be so shallow. “I’m fucking you because we have chemistry, I don’t care if you’re weird” Carly explains, “but you and I aren’t an ‘item’ and we won’t be, you’re just a guy that I fuck- That’s it.” “Then I raise you another question” Aiden immediately says, rolling his chair out and standing to his feet, gradually walking closer to Carly until they’re only a few inches apart. “Why do you care about the nature of our relationship when all I am is a good fuck?” Aiden inquires, “what does it matter to you if I treat you like a B.F.F in the newsroom when all we are is each other’s fling?” Her face turning sad, Carly looks toward the ground, disappointed at the question asked, the answer requiring her to acknowledge what their relationship has done to their friendship. “Because I didn’t want to lose what we were” Carly replies, turning toward the door and concluding her statement before walking off, “and I guess we lost it a while ago.” With that, Carly leaves, Aiden now stands in the middle of his office with disappointment, the conversation not having turned in a direction in which desired. Not allowing it to sink into him, Aiden returns to his desk, eyes locked onto the sheets of paper beneath his face, a recap of the discussion from just a moment prior the only thing taking his attention, the words repeating verbatim in his head on a loop. | The bell sounding in the cramped box, both Vickers and Taylor emerge from the elevator and hurry through the corridor, rounding the corner to find Howard and Grant seated opposite each other. “Grant, this visit is a mistake” Vickers calls out, rushing up to the side of his employee, who leaps from the sofa and removes a gun from his jacket, taking aim at Vickers and telling him not to step any closer. “Grant, what the fuck are you doing!?” Howard shouts, Taylor pleading with the armed man to listen to reason, a gesture Grant refuses, demanding Howard remain seated, and his co-workers not move any closer than they already have. “This son of a bitch won’t listen to reason, and he’s clearly gotten somewhere in his threats” Grant explains, taking the microphone into his hand and launching it at the wall, the device shattering upon contact. “If I’m going to get anywhere with him, I have to go to a new level too!” Grant shouts, removing a second firearm from his jacket and holding it towards Howard, who sinks further into the couch as if that will help his chances of survival. “Grant, this is way too far!” Taylor belts out, watching her co-anchor’s eyes begin to twitch, Jessica stood at the back of the room, hidden behind drapes, refusing to draw attention toward herself. “This guy is either going to own up to what he did and face the consequences- or he’s gonna die today” Grant replies, his eyes tracing upon all three opposing faces as he declares this morning as Howard’s judgement day. Pleading her case, Taylor tells Grant to lower the guns and talk everything out like an adult, a gesture which Grant refuses, apologising to the woman for having escalated things to this degree. “This man has taken two attempts on my life, and he’ll take a third if I don’t stop him ahead of time” Grant explains, vowing to shoot Vickers if he moves any closer. “Howard, get up!” Grant demands, the fearful man struggling to make it to his feet, legs weak from the fear running through his every movement. “The patio, go there slowly” Grant demands, Howard pleading for his life as Grant remains adamant, refusing to give into his tormentor’s demands. “Your ‘wife’ pleaded for you to stop as well, and you didn’t” Grant explains, Howard slowly shuffling across the ground, agreeing with Grant’s every statement. “I know, and I’m sorry!” Howard replies, the heels of his feet dragging along the floor as his hands push him closer toward the backdoor. “If you didn’t stop for her, why should I stop for you?” Grant asks, one eye propped wide open while the other squints, the sunlight on Grant’s shoulders highlighting the blood splatters. “Because you have a choice!” Howard exclaims, “you have a life that I didn’t have! We’re different people and you’ve got more going for you!” With a laugh, Grant debunks Howard’s statement, reminding him of the lawsuit waged. “I’ve got nothing you impressionable bastard!” Grant exclaims, leaning forward as Howard backs against the sliding glass door, “if you’ve forgotten already, you’re suing me for everything I have!” Progression stopped, Grant lifts the gun from Howard and takes aim at the sliding door, firing a round forward and shattering the glass against Howard’s back. “Grant! You’re making a big mistake!” Taylor shouts, Howard continuing to back himself onto the patio, the heavy winds whipping through his hair as Grant continues following after him. In a momentary act of desperation, Taylor lunges at Grant, her hand grabbing onto his hand in an attempt to disarm him. Refusing to let up, Grant shoves Taylor away and strikes her across the face with the weapon, knocking her to the floor before firing at Vickers, bringing him to the ground as well. Nothing stopping him any longer, Grant takes aim at Howard, the man slumped against the glass railing in a final plea for his safety. “I’ll drop the lawsuit! I’ll drop it all and never talk to you again!” Howard shouts, his statements ignored by Grant, who simply demands he stand up. “I swear on my life!” Howard begs, “you can kill me if you ever see me in person again! I’ll leave television and move to another country, I swear!” Having had enough, Grant reaches down and pulls Howard to his feet before shoving him against the railing, the barrel of the gun placed against his head. “You’ve promised everything and given absolutely nothing!” Grant shouts, his hand wrapped around Howard’s throat, gradually pushing him further over the railing. Glancing back toward the gun before noticing the tears stream down Howard’s face, Grant thinks to himself, coming across a conclusion he deems more fitting. “Tell me the truth, because I know the answers, and I’ll let you live if you leave the country and never return” Grant explains, a moment of hope coming across Howard’s face, Grant demanding he calm himself and speak with uninterrupted cadence. “I want you to own up to your wrong doings the way you would if you were being interrogated by police” Grant explains, “say your name and what you’re guilty of.” Doing as told, Howard takes in deep breaths, elbows still pressed against the railing, confessing to his crimes calmly. “I sexually assaulted Jessica, that I did do!” Howard explains, “I had people hired to shoot, but not kill, you.” Finally, Howard finds no other way out of his situation, holding his hands up and losing grip on the railing, putting his safety in the strength within Grant’s hand. “But I did not hire anyone to kill your agent!” Howard says, the sound of a man speaking the truth resonating with Grant, “whoever did that has got problems with you that are different from anything involving the two of us!” Satisfied with the response he’s gotten, Grant nods to himself, returning the gun to his jacket and smiling toward Howard. “I appreciate your honesty” Grant replies, allowing Howard a momentary sigh of relief, “but I, too, am not a man of my word.” With this statement, Howard’s face shrivels, Grant gently pushing Howard the rest of the way over, allowing the man to vanish beneath the railing, falling through the stories below. With a laugh, Grant leans down and picks up the second gun, returning it to his jacket before stretching his hand out, helping Taylor to her feet and offering the same for Vickers. “Keep an eye on your husband for me” Grant calls out to Jessica, returning to the elevator with an unusual swagger, Taylor and Vickers joining by the man’s side as the elevator doors close. “Glad you could make it!” Josh exclaims, Howard pulled off a net stationed along the balcony of Josh’s apartment, the collar of his robe firmly in the grip of Josh’s hand. “You’re fucking sick!” Howard shouts, catching the breath that escaped his lungs in a fit of dire fear. “No, Howard… According to the audio recording… You are” Grant explains removing a second microphone from his jacket and replaying the audio, perfect quality coming from Howard’s confession. With the pressing of a few buttons, Grant edits the audio down to the most important part, the only words spoken being ones that a judge would only find as calm, and in no way said under duress. “There’s no fighting this in court, nor is there any fighting this when faced with jail time” Grant explains, “but the fighting there is- with this, at least- is whether or not I turn you in for it.” Crouching down, Grant looks Howard in the eyes, vowing to keep his word on the one guarantee he makes to his former mentor. “I’m not going to turn you in” Grant explains, “I’m going to let you live as a free man, though, one that knows that I will turn you in for this if I ever hear of you abusing your power in any way, ever again.” Explaining that Howard is now in Grant’s pocket, the ‘Tonight at Nine’ anchor lists Howard’s next moves with precise detail. “You’re going to marry Jessica, she won’t sign a prenup, and you’ll divorce one day later” Grant describes, “you’ll then leave television permanently, move off this continent and drop every lawsuit and charge you have against both myself and LMC Media.” With a nod, Howard agrees to the conditions, a response Grant takes appreciation for, patting the man on the side of the face and walking off. From off to the side, a wad of spit flies into Howard’s face, Bruce joining Grant's side, explaining that action to be taken on Grant’s behalf. One high-five between Grant and Bruce later, Taylor emerges from the group, staring Howard in the eyes with anger, the older man staring with worry as his hands are held behind his back by Josh. In an effort of revenge, Taylor runs the top of her head into Howard’s face, tearing the cartilage in Howard’s nose and watching it bleed. “That’s for being a cunt” Taylor mutters, turning around and rubbing the pain away with her hand. Escorted back to the elevator by Grant and Bruce, Taylor closes an open chapter in her story while Vickers stays behind for the moment, his eyes leaving Howard and turning back toward Josh. “Let me know if you ever need a favour” Vickers says, shaking the hand of Josh and thanking him for his assistance. “You look out for me, and I’ll look out for you” Josh replies, watching Vickers give him a nod of approval before walking away, ending the conflict once and for all before moving on, letting all parties involved move forward. == Tonight at 9 == / Tuesday, March 21st, 2006 /
“Would you be willing to put your name on the story?” Aiden inquires, standing before the desk in place of Grant and Taylor, his eyes and finger aimed toward Bruce at the opposite end of the table. “Yes, I would be willing” Bruce replies, adamant that he stands by his claims with certainty, “I know what I saw, and it was exactly as I saw it.” Strolling into the writer’s room, Vickers asks for an explanation of the early-morning rundown, Aiden holding nothing back. “We were asking Bruce if he could come on air and make the claims he made to us last night” Aiden replies, earning a swift turn of Vickers’ head, eyes held on Grant’s agent. “Are you?” Vickers asks, leaving no room for error, Bruce remaining steady in his guarantee. “No, I don’t want a simple ‘yes’ out of you” Vickers explains, taking the seat Aiden now abruptly relinquishes to his superior, “this is your name, your face, your reputation on the line.” Hands held firmly, fingers extended and pressed together, Vickers keeps them steady upon the table, making every outcome of this decision clear to the still-unknown man. “Everyone in New York will want your story” Vickers explains, “once you do this, you’re no longer Grant’s invisible agent.” Firm in his stance, Bruce leans forward, still sporting his iron-pressed suit coat whilst resting his arm upon the long, mahogany table. “I know what I saw, and what happened to Grant happened exactly as I said it did” Bruce replies, leaning just a slight amount further as he concludes, remaining poignant, “I will go on air. Name, face, the whole works.” With an enthused smile, Vickers stands from behind the table, extending his arm out to Bruce, who climbs to his feet and returns the man’s gesture. “I don’t like many agents, Mr. Langston” Vickers explains, citing most as cold and sleazy dirtbags, “but you aren’t as bad as the rest I keep finding.” “Thank you, sir” Bruce replies, his age nearly half that of Vickers’, though his reputation remains one of honesty and genuinity, those qualities having caught Grant’s eye before pen was put to paper on his contract. “Now, just to make sure the media doesn’t drag us through the mud for only carrying this story…” Vickers explains, his hand already pressed on the door with the expectation of departing, “find a few other stories to run that don’t involve our dearly wounded friend.” Turning his head toward the door, Vickers returns his eyes to Aiden upon the man’s response, a look of surprise coming over his face. “Already have” Aiden replies, almost immediately, “Alexander Lukashenko won a likely rigged re-election bid in Belarus, the UNHCR has been ordered to leave Uzbekistan within the next month, and Vladimir Putin visited China on Russia’s behalf to attempt arranged energy deal discussions that’ll probably lead somewhere important.” With a chuckle, Vickers drops his hand from the handle, lifting it through the air to pat Aiden on the shoulder, a welcomed response that puts a smile on his face. “Well done, Mr. Redwood!” Vickers replies, addressing Aiden as if he were an associate, the level of respect in the addressed title going unspoken, Vickers quick to depart in the same breath. “It looks like that will be all!” Aiden exclaims with a smile, his confidence shooting into the sky before plummeting back into the ground, his eyes tailing Carly through the glass walls encasing the writers. In a moment, the man glances away from the woman, his connection with her having never been stronger, though the dangers of thinking about said connection having never been higher. Swallowing the pride he’s been sent back to earth with, Aiden departs the room, water bottle in one hand and folder of notes and articles in the other, eyes directly toward his office. Feet taking him across the room, Aiden does what he can to avoid looking at Carly, hurrying at a quicker pace in his walk than usual, eyes only settling upon the door to his office. “You good, Aiden?” Shane asks aloud, crossing paths with the man, who quickly dashes back toward his office, nearly blowing his friend off completely. “Yup, just a last minute thing!” Aiden can only mutter, his mind elsewhere, too caught in a daze to make up an excuse. Finally reaching his destination, Aiden pulls the door open and dashes inside, his back pressing against the wooden entrance as if he’d just escaped the wrath of a school bully. Eyes aimed toward the ceiling, Aiden regains his composure, his nerves getting the best of him until he overhears the voice before his person. Caught by surprise, Aiden drops his belongings on the ground, the cap on his water bottle falling off as it, too, crashes into the ground. Looking forward, Aiden finds his problems to not be over just yet, discovering Juno sat in the chair in front of his desk. “I already told you, Juno!” Aiden exclaims, clearing the air before it can get stuffy despite Juno’s urge for him not to say anything, “there is nothing going on between Carly and I!” Hands waving through the air as a whistle blows through his lips, Juno keeps the atmosphere calm, assuring Aiden that he didn’t come down to make another point. “I just came here to apologize” Juno explains, Aiden’s eyes narrowing as the man’s opening statement outweighs his initial greeting. “I get a bit jealous from time to time, it just happens” Juno continues, leaving the chair and approaching Aiden, “Carly’s a beautiful girl and, I know I should trust her, but it’s just really hard to.” Lips parting randomly, Aiden tries to find the words to use, only to come up empty, allowing Juno to persist as he moves closer. “I’ve got problems with jealousy, that I will never deny” Juno explains, “but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you or gotten ahead of myself last night.” No longer minding the open water bottle pooling onto his carpet, Aiden just stares at the man, tensing up slightly the closer he grows, but not feeling a need to have fear. “I just wanted to come here, formally, and say ‘I’m sorry’...” Juno continues, “...And maybe, just ask politely of you, not to mention last night to anybody.” Stumbling over his words, Aiden allows the much bigger man to close in on him, not able to find the proper response for the request until Juno’s progression stops, the larger man now standing directly in front of him. “Yeah, sure… Not an issue, man” Aiden answers, piecing together what he thinks is a reply worthy enough to speak, merely judging its value off the reaction of the man in front of him. “That sounds great, Aiden” Juno replies, patting Aiden on the chest with his hand, the open palm of which feels more like being hit with a mallet, “I’m glad we could talk this out.” With that final statement, Juno moves on, walking through the glass door to Aiden’s office, venturing into whichever pocket of the newsroom he wishes to next. Aiden remains backed against the wall, still frozen for reasons unknown to him, staring blindly at the cluttered desk on the opposite side of the room. Concerned, Shane pops his head in through the door, asking his friend if he’s alright before noticing the properties he once held in his hand now being soaked in water. “Yeah, I’m fine!” Aiden replies, a fake smile on his face, a signal to Shane that he’s better off leaving now than progressing the conversation further. Breaking away from this spell, Aiden drops to his knees and collects what he’s left on the floor, returning to his desk to move on with his day accordingly. = Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 Media from the start of Season 1 onwards = / Tuesday, April 11th, 2006 / “Where are we with the protests?” Taylor asks through the mic, the chair beside her left empty, Aiden too preoccupied in the control room to give anything other than information already known. “Cat got your tongue?” Taylor jokes through the headset, Aiden scrambling around the panels, staring into different screens and eying different feeds. “No, we just keep getting pop news… Some rapper just got shot outside a nightclub in Detroit, I’m sure the networks gonna want it on air” Aiden replies, continuing about his work. “Just make sure I’m not broadcasting a news show-and-a-half, please” Aiden clarifies, Taylor giving him the all-clear on the other end of the signal. Like a knight in shining armor, a fully-suited Grant climbs behind the desk and takes his rightful seat, Taylor keeping a smile hidden as the familiar sight returns to her. “Ready?” Grant whispers, his eyes looking toward Taylor, the woman peering back with a face full of excitement as Aiden counts down from afar. Now on-air, Aiden settles into the next hour of production, door to the control room swinging open behind him. “Got a second?” Carly asks aloud, Aiden turning towards her, his eyes catching the only glimpse he needed before his head can turn anymore than an inch. Without a word, Aiden holds his hand towards the wall of monitors as he taps the headset draped over his skull, the woman acknowledging his current predicament. “I need you to come find me after the commercial” Carly explains, the man suggesting she wait until after the broadcast’s conclusion. “You told me to do that last week and then never came looking for me” Carly replies, the cold shoulder still being delivered towards her, a gesture she takes more anger toward not understanding rather than being given to start with. “I had a light lunch, I wanted dinner” Aiden replies, the woman warning him to stop beating around the bush. Aggravated, Aiden turns around, his hand removing the headset from his skull and tossing it onto the table behind him. “This is not the time, nor is this the place to be discussing whatever it is you don’t seem to be able to let go” Aiden explains, “so do us both a favour, whatever it is you want to say… Don’t.” His position made clear, Aiden turns back towards the monitor, Carly beginning to speak before the news alert pops up in the corner of the room. “Get back to your seat!” Aiden demands the operator originally intending to survey the alert, “I’ll take care of it.” Knowing his actions are purposefully intended to avoid her, Carly takes the hint and leaves the box, strutting into the newsroom and leaving Aiden to his work. Writing down the updates being given, Aiden takes in a couple of deep breaths, unaware of Juno glancing in at him from the other side of the glass door, a nod coming from him, acknowledging the truth behind Aiden’s statement. Charging back toward his set up, Aiden pulls the headset on and calls out to his anchors, his eyes locked on the screen. “The rapper, Proof, he’s a part of Eminem’s rap group- no idea if you know him- he was shot in a nightclub in Detroit” Aiden clarifies, glancing at Carly through another monitor along the wall, “he was rushed to the hospitals, early reports according to CSN and Fairweather say he’s dead.” Watching the tapping of Taylor’s pen, Aiden’s eyes track back onto the live feed of the newsroom, eyes locked on Carly, who sits at a desk in the centre of the room, arms crossed, eyes peering toward him through the glass walls. With a sigh, Aiden tucks his hands into his pockets and returns his stare toward the news desk, blocking her image out entirely in an effort of maintaining his ground. | “How was the first show back?” Taylor asks, entering Grant’s office without feeling the need to knock, a gesture that puts a smile along his face. “It felt great, obviously!” Grant replies with enthusiasm, “I know I wasn’t out for long, but it was long enough for tonight to have made me remember why I love this so much.” Almost as if the mention of loving the business were a beacon calling his name, Vickers taps his fist against the glass door, Grant telling the man to make himself feel at home. “I see the co-anchor’s getting comfortable enough to make herself at home on her own time” Vickers jokes, assuring the pair that he wishes to uphold the privacy on his own behalf. “Need anything?” Grant asks aloud, the rare sight of Vickers in the newsroom suggesting the need to address something of relative value. His teeth clenched, Vickers replies in kind, admitting his latest news delivery to not be one of particular joy. Locking the deadbolt on the office door, Vickers walks further into the office, pulling a seat out for Taylor and himself before motioning for Grant to do the same. Rolling his sleeves up, Vickers gets down to business, the casual look enough to warn Grant and Taylor of the weight to such impending topics. “Howard Nalty is suing Grant and LMC media as a whole for character defamation” Vickers explains, the ‘Tonight at Nine’ anchors staring at the man in partial disbelief, taking the statement as a joke at first. “You must be kidding” Taylor replies, Vickers looking toward her with his head shaking, Grant remaining silent, having seen this coming. “He’s arguing that, accusing him of domestic abuse against his fiancee, has no legal basis and therefor, is the same as slander in the court of law” Vickers explains, widening Taylor’s eyes further. “His fiancee?” Taylor repeats, Grant still silent, this time sporting a smirk, almost laughing to himself, having seen all of this coming with accuracy. “Of course she is” Grant replies, “because why wouldn’t he make the argument?” “He’s going through on what he said, that’s exactly why he’d make the statement” Vickers replies, “he wants to end your life and career. He probably tried on one front, and now he’s trying on the other.” In disbelief, Taylor goes quiet, Grant’s head lifting towards the man ahead of him, a look of exhaustion upon Grant’s face as he voices the question. “How much is he suing for?” Grant asks, Taylor looking at Vickers in defeat before gradually becoming more concerned the longer silence lasts. “Sam, how much is Nalty suing for?” Taylor repeats, her eyes staring a hole through her superior’s head, the displeased expression upon Vickers’ face telling the whole story. With a cold stare, Vickers looks back toward Grant, the man lifting his hand and pulling his fingers in his own direction, motioning for Vickers to get it over with. “An accumulative five-hundred million dollars” Vickers replies, the shock in Taylor’s eyes doing all the talking she needs, Grant’s head hanging in shame. “He wants to bankrupt you and put LMC out of business” Vickers explains, “or, at the very least, force LMC to fold the news division of it’s company.” Little other to speak toward, Taylor asks Vickers if Howard has a solid case to make, only wanting to know of her boss’ personal opinion. “She never did a rape kit, never filed a police report or made a report to CSN” Vickers says, “if he wanted to put us all out of work, he could do so with the snap of a finger.” Eyes taken to the floor, Grant does not respond, allowing the information to sink into his chest like an unending pit of nothingness. In that moment, Grant stares back toward Vickers, his look one of apologetic emptiness, eyes filling with the realization that his former co-anchor is now doing as he warned Grant he would. | Peering back into the empty newsroom, Aiden pulls a bag over his shoulders, making sure he leaves the building followed by no one. Once deeming the coast to be clear, Aiden makes his move, quickly sifting down the hallway and toward the elevator, rapidly tapping at the panel of buttons in an empty attempt to convince the machine to hurry quickly. With the cheerful ding of a bell, Aiden feels the relief waft over his body, dashing through the doors and pressing the bottom button of the interior panel before breathing a sigh of relief. Dinging again, the elevator alerts the man inside that the doors will now close, Aiden watching the space between the two large hunks of metal slide with a smile before another figure dashes inside in the nick of time. Suddenly sharing the space, Aiden looks on with his eyes pressed together while Carly pushes the big, red button, stopping the elevator after it descends half a level. “What is wrong with you?” Carly asks, cutting straight to the point as Aiden’s eyes roll, looking around the cramped space as if there were a third party amongst their presence. “I’d rather we didn’t ride down in the same elevator, so would you mind?” Aiden asks, pressing the red button to continue his descent. “I very much do mind” Carly replies, pressing the button again, the elevator now having climbed down one full level, “we’ll continue to take twenty minutes to get to the bottom if it takes that long to talk about this.” Taking his bag off, Aiden drops the sack to the corner of the space, politely asking the woman to leave it alone. “As you said, we had sex and we only had sex” Aiden explains, “I’m not your boyfriend, I’m not your roommate, we don’t need to talk about anything.” Reaching out for the button once more, Aiden feels his hand swatted away by the woman’s palm, her efforts stubborn, refusing to allow the lift to climb down any further than the brief amount it already has. “We may not be lovers or roommates, but we are co-workers, and we have the responsibility to work together” Carly explains, “considering we can’t even be in the same elevator as each other, I’d argue this arrangement of yours is harming our professional relationship.” “I think me thrusting my penis in your vagina ruined our professional relationship more” Aiden replies, shoving the red button again. As Carly ceases the room’s motion once more, Aiden’s voice begins to raise, his patience slipping. “We had sex once, almost twice, that’s it” Aiden explains, “you have a boyfriend, I’m a nerd, and we shouldn’t be in the position to have this conversation to begin with.” Pressing the button for a fourth time, Aiden finds his efforts successful for a brief few seconds before a less-enthusiastic Carly taps the button again, stopping another four levels of progress. “Is it Juno?” Carly asks, her voice soft and saddened, the initial statement prompting Aiden to glance toward her, ultimately forcing him into a double take, noticing the disappointment on her face. “Did he threaten you?” Carly asks, leaving the man sharing the space with him confused as to why she was able to put that together with such ease. “Has he done that to other people before?” Aiden queries, watching the woman’s mood change, her words refusing to give the man an answer. As he looks on, Aiden finds Carly stretching her hand out and pressing the red button again, this time allowing the elevator to descend further. The roles now reversed, Aiden finds himself commanding the stop, pressing the red button to halt the progression once more, keeping the pair entrapped within the metal box. “I want an answer to that question” Aiden explains, watching Carly turn back toward him before he repeats the question for a second time, the woman’s face flushed with defeat. “He’s not someone that likes me talking with any guys I could find even remotely attractive” Carly explains, “he tries to make a statement before anyone can think about trying to flirt with ‘his girl’.” With a sigh, Aiden is left shaking his head, asking the woman for the reason she stays with him, though Carly is unable to give him any response better than “because.” “I’m not saying he’s perfect, and I’m not arguing in favour of his flaws” Carly clarifies, “but there’s something about him that keeps me there- with him.” Head held down, Aiden twirls his fingers around each other, looking toward the woman through the corner of his eye. “Clearly it’s not enough to keep you around him at all times” Aiden interjects, the woman looking at him in confusion at first, her expression slowly changing into a smile. “There are qualities he lacks that some others make up for” the woman says with a smile, turning towards Aiden fully as the man does the same, the high-tension having faded into a moment of sincerity, which now shifts to a moment of lust-filled cravings for the other. Clothes flying off in the heat of the moment, the pair get down to business, their efforts made behind the privacy of sealed elevator doors. | / Friday, April 21st, 2006 / “Was there a dinosaur attack on the highway?” Grant asks, answering the clustered knocking on the other side of his rural home’s front door, allowing entry to Bruce, Vickers and Taylor. “Might I remind you that living outside of New York City, much like you happen to, is not great for time constraints?” Vickers replies, “I oughta buy you a flat downtown just out of pity!” Four glasses of liquor poured out on the coffee table in preparation, Grant takes a seat while he waits to be accompanied by his sudden guests. “We have a friend running a little late, same problems as us” Bruce explains, tossing his coat upon the hanger beside Grant’s front door, the second to take a seat, ahead of Vickers and after Taylor. “Why have you left the city to speak with me?” Grant inquires, curious as to the visit, “we could have done any of this over the phone… Or at the office earlier this morning.” With a devilish smile, Vickers suggests otherwise, “we couldn’t introduce you to our friend earlier today.” “And why is that?” Grant asks, watching Vickers as the third party finally takes his seat, his question answered by an amused Taylor, one leg draped over the other. “Because our friend will help you with Nalty” Taylor replies, immediately watching Grant repeat his original question, seeing no reason for it to change. “Because the help he offers isn’t exactly legal” Bruce replies, “but it certainly is effective!” Mouth agape, Grant asks Bruce to repeat himself, the already stated being recited verbatim by Taylor instead, the woman adamant that the only way to fight Nalty is to get on the same level. “He was right, as much as it pains me to say it” Taylor explains, “he can make an attempt on your life and do the same to your career because he believes that the only way to win is to cheat.” Making his voice heard, Vickers finishes the statement on Taylor’s behalf. “And when Nalty says ‘cheat’, he really means ‘break the law’” Vickers furthers, “so if he breaks the law to wage war, we’re gonna have to break the law to end it.” Head shaking, Grant refuses, leaving his seat and returning to his kitchen with the glass of vodka still in hand, vehemently refusing to sink to the same level as the man he holds such great disdain for. “If I thought the only way to win was to sink to Nalty’s levels, I would’ve let the rape he committed slide under the rug” Grant explains, “I came here to do the news, not create it.” “I don’t think you understand the full picture, Grant” Vickers replies, “as much as you love the news, you’ll never do it another day in your life if he bankrupts us at the knees.” Arms stretched out, Grant continues to refuse, unable to bring himself to the level Howard currently resides. Taking it upon herself to switch the direction the conversation is headed toward, Taylor springs from her seat and walks after Grant, her hands finding room on the man’s broad shoulders. “I understand why you don’t want to do this, but there’s not much of an option left… And that’s not your fault” Taylor remarks, “Nalty brought this upon himself, so doing this is not responsibility that falls upon your shoulders… This is self-defense at the least, and justice at most.” With a deep breath, Taylor clears her mind, speaking to the issue that weighs on her the most in an effort to align her views with the man before her. “We both know Jessica doesn’t want to be involved with Nalty any more than she already is” Taylor explains, “I know what’s going through her mind, and she can’t save herself… She’s hoping someone comes along and saves her in the way she can’t. We need to be that for her.” “I thought she was just as bad as Howard?” Grant questions, the woman admitting that she was wrong to repeatedly say such a thing. “I thought making her feel worse would get her to change her mind… And I was definitely wrong” Taylor admits, “but just because I was wrong then, does not mean that I’m wrong now.” Gazing around the room, Grant thinks to himself in silence, Taylor still standing in front of him as his doorbell rings, prompting Vickers to shoot to his feet with a smile. Looking back down at Taylor, Grant feels his mind racing with as many thoughts as his heart has beats, the ideas running through his head all clouded as he looks into Taylor’s eyes, feeling himself become weak in the knees as Vickers rounds the corner with their guest. “Grant, I want you to meet Josh Lane” Vickers explains, Taylor backing away from Grant as he approaches the new guest with an extended hand. “Josh was just promoted to the highest chair at VeroSoft, so he knows a thing or two about the spotlight” Vickers explains, “if you’re looking for powerful people in powerful places, Josh is your guy.” “I wouldn’t stop reciting my reputation there, Sam” Josh replies, “I’m also known for being tactical in how I approach things… Kind of helps add leverage in my corner for a later date.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lane” Grant greets, turning back toward Vickers with curiosity in his mind. “I’m not sure I understand completely” Grant quips, “how is this supposed to help me play Howard’s game at his own level?” With a smirk, Vickers downs the rest of the liquor in his glass, assuring Grant that it doesn’t. “This is how we get even” Vickers replies, “cut the dead weight and get back to square one… Compete from there rather than from behind.” Walking up to Grant’s side, Taylor looks the man in the eyes, tacking onto Vickers’ prior statement. “Furthermore, it’s also how we bring Nalty back up to our level” the woman explains, “his strength comes from playing below the surface… So bringing him to street level makes him relatively powerless.” Taking his sights away from Taylor, Grant peers toward Vickers, his boss asking the man to make his decision, the greenlight or the redlight being placed in the control of Grant’s own hands. With a final look toward Josh, Grant takes a final read of the room before parting his lips, offering his answer to whom are now his closest confidants. == Tonight at 9 == / Monday, March 20th, 2006 /
“I can’t believe it either! A stunt like that would only open the flood gates from both sides!” a man proclaims, his words fluttering through the air as he walks beside an unamused Grant, “but you’re getting praise universally!” Clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth, Grant nods to the man, who immediately notices the lack of care coming over Grant’s face. “What’s the matter with you?” the man asks, looking at with a smirk as he speaks, “you’re America’s sweetheart!” “I don’t care to be America’s sweetheart!” Grant replies, arms stretched out like he’s just conquered the world, “I just wanna do the news and finish what I started here.” With a nod, the man beside Grant understands what his client is getting at. “You still want Nalty to pay for his wrong-doings, I get it” the man explains, “but he and CSN have lost thirty-eight percent of their audience in the last two months… And they’ve all been coming to you.” His head hung, Grant looks toward the man in displeasure, the cup of coffee in his hands wafting through the air in his ever-moving palm. “I get how important the numbers are to your job, Bruce” Grant replies, “but I’m only going to care about the numbers I bring in when I can put Nalty to justice… Actual justice.” “Okay, fine… Don’t look at the numbers as numbers… Look at them as power!” Bruce explains, contorting the conversation in real time, “America latches onto whatever you say, use your words as a weapon!” Stopping on the sidewalk, Grant turns toward Bruce with the direction of his whole body, watching the man wave his hands in the air to visualize his point. Living in his own home outside the boundaries of the cluttered New York City, Grant takes in the sights whilst he’s downtown, never able to appreciate them the way they’re intended as Howard’s apartment complex dominates the skyline. “If you tell the world Al-Qaeda was behind JFK’s assassination, people would demand Lee Harvey Oswald be declared a saint as reparations!” Bruce explains, “take him, and all others you don’t like, down with what comes from your mouth.” Staring the man up, Grant considers his option in the moment, his eyes glancing at the towering monolith a number of miles away as he does so. “Where do I even start?” Grant asks, “whatever I say will be taken by them and used as anything from slander to character defamation.” Tilting his head to the side, Bruce continues walking, Grant following after the suit-dressed man as his suede shoes tap against the concrete ground. “Come off genuine, and compassionate” Bruce explains, “they can’t sue you for anything if you have solid proof to back up your statements… Then they’ll just be pieces of informative media.” Nodding his head around, not at all fully convinced, Grant beckons for the man to give off additional statements. “If you’re pitching this to me, pitch it to me like you’d put your life on the line for it” Grant explains, “I’m not settling for anything unless you’ve trapped me fully.” Their walk reaching the end of the street, Bruce presses his finger to the button as they await their turn to cross the street. “Ratings change and perception gets skewed” Grant recalls, Bruce looking toward the taller man, “a guy like Howard won’t sit back and let his audience dwindle for lo-” Without warning, tires screech in the middle of the road, a passenger’s window already opened wide as the traffic comes to a complete stop. In moments, multiple gunshots ring out, both Grant and Bruce forced to duck for cover, doing all they can to avoid being hit until the tires screech again, the car disappearing into the crowded city. “Who the fuck does a drive by in the middle of the day!?” Bruce calls out, turning back toward Grant with his hands extended, his intentions being to make sure the man is unharmed, only to find his top-tier anchor in a pool of blood on the side of the street. In horror, Bruce staggers for a moment until he hears Grant’s breath, the wounded man gasping for air until by his manager’s side. “Call an ambulance NOW!” Bruce exclaims, his words commanding the crowd as countless civilians already hold their phones to their ears. Hurrying up to the scene, officers in the area tend to the man’s wounds as sirens blare out, a crowd of confused and shocked passers-by watching on. = Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 Media from the start of Season 1 onwards = “Just ease up on the traditions after the last chant and it’ll be good” Aiden explains, walking away from the desk of one of his co-workers whilst Carly approaches. “A word in private?” the woman requests, walking at the same speed before, during, and after her whispered-request is aimed for Aiden’s ear. Doing as told in the moment in which the favour is made, Aiden breaks away from the clump of desks, following after Carly. “You needed me?” Aiden asks aloud, the woman looking through the rows of different office spaces, stumbling upon Grant’s still-empty room. “Grant isn’t here yet?” Aiden asks aloud, Carly not paying any attention to the man’s original question, instead getting directly to the point. “I don’t wanna mince my words, so I’ll be as upfront on this as I can manage to be” Carly explains, “what we did on Saturday can’t be shared with anyone.” Hands in his pockets with his eyebrows lifted, Aiden asks the woman for further clarification. “What did we do on Saturday?” the man replies, Carly’s recollection offered for the seconds it takes her to catch onto the joke. “Okay, I’m glad we’re on the same page” Carly replies, attempting to leave the space before Grant has the chance to walk in, only for Aiden to grab onto her arm before she can. “You don’t regret it, do you?” Aiden asks, stared at in confusion, “like, you don’t wish you hadn’t, right?” Taking in a deep breath, Carly voices the opposite, “I regret it because it shouldn’t have happened” she explains, “but not because you were bad or anything.” His head hung, Aiden swallows his pride and nods, stating that he understands, though Carly is unconvinced. “Okay, we had sex, we moved on, that was it” Carly replies, “I’m still with Juno, and for that reason, it shouldn’t have happened. We all caught up now?” With a nod, Aiden stays silent, allowing his posture to do the talking for him as the woman stares him up and down. “I’m not disagreeing, I totally understand!” Aiden exclaims, taking his hands from his pockets and holding them in the air, giving the woman the gesture of surrender. Her bottom lip in between her teeth, the woman runs her hand down the ruffles of his shirt, her finger tapping every button on her way further down. Leaning in forward, Carly breaks away in a split moment, both she and Aiden caught by surprise at the typical ruckus of the newsroom outside grows eerily silent in the blink of an eye. “Why does the news have to ruin every good thing in my life?” Aiden mutters to himself, the first to break away from the other as he moves for the door, a piece of paper folded in his hand to make it appear as though he were simply talking with Carly. “What the-” Aiden mutters beneath his breath, both he and Carly in awe as Vickers storms through the newsroom, his legs taking him directly to Taylor’s office. Noticing the pair strolling casually from Grant’s office, Vickers puts on a fake smile and nods, quickly disappearing into Taylor’s office as the star-crossed lovers return to their respective places in the studio. “What the fuck is going on?” Aiden whispers toward Shane, the man sat back in his chair, all hope of getting any work done disappearing upon Vickers’ arrival. The newsroom deathly-silent, Vickers’ rare appearance on their floor brings all work to a halt, his mere presence an oddity to many. “I don’t know, just keep an eye out” Shane explains, Aiden breaking away in the heat of the moment to return to his desk, only at a slow pace. After half a minute, the newsroom goes from muffled whispers to silence once again, Vickers leading Taylor from the comfort of her lavish office, the young blonde carrying her coat in her arms with her jaw dropped. “Ms. Carpenter!” Vickers shouts, Carly’s attention stolen towards the man in the same moment it’s called for, “get dressed for the air!” Hurrying off to do as instructed, Carly moves for her office, Vickers continuing to keep the newsroom silent as he calls for another name. “Mr. Redwood!” Vickers calls out, Aiden stopped in his tracks within an instant, “Go to your computer, cut the televisions off and direct the newsroom accordingly!” Watching his friend from the comfort of his desk, Shane’s eyes perform the same action as the remainder of the room, following Aiden’s every move until he gets behind his desk. Slumped forward, Aiden takes a few strokes across the screen with his mouse, directing the curser towards his email icon before his eyes widen in shock. “Oh-” Aiden whispers beneath his breath, the newsroom awaiting his every word. At the moment, his hands get sweaty, mouth becoming dry as he reads the first two sentences. Every monitor along the walls powering off around him, the newsroom from the ground floor to the ring surrounding those above, fed from his hand. “Alright everyone” Aiden calls out, his heart racing as he realizes that he’s now assumed full control of the show, “I need you all to listen very carefully.” | “This wasn’t just by accident” Taylor explains, her emotions running in drastically different directions, all taking her back to the same conclusion. “This was Nalty!” Taylor frantically exclaims, “somehow, some way, this was him.” Finger pressed to his lips, Vickers has very little to respond with, holding back the few words he can comfortably offer for a time when Taylor is less emotionally-driven. “I… Why didn’t we… I don’t-” Taylor begins again, fumbling over her words until Vickers stifles her, understanding that the statements she wishes to make are not ones she can make with ease. “We couldn’t be his bodyguards, he’s a grown man that can navigate the city on his own” Vickers explains, “if this was Nalty, we’ll find out and he’ll pay… Either with prison time, or with two hours locked in a cage with me.” Despite being on the older side of sixty, Vickers remains well-trained, the strength of a man half his age rendered obsolete compared to the tactics Vickers employs. Despite this obvious threat, Vickers holds hope to fall back on, noting Grant’s physical shape and healthy habits as a reason to believe in good outcomes. His hopes high, Vickers remains unable to do anything outright for the man, now awaiting their presence in the hospital. “If it makes you feel any better…” Vickers continues, a now-silent Taylor turning back to the man with tears forming in her eyes, “...I wish I would have done something different, too.” The news having just broken across all networks minutes prior, the pair’s car fights through the blockage of one news vehicle after another, all trying to get information they don’t already have. Stepping out of their vehicle, Vickers and Taylor make for the emergency room lobby, the woman’s hand being held up toward every camera and microphone shoved in front of her face. “I have no comments” Taylor exclaims, Vicker’s hand pressing against her back to lead her through the horde safely, the only backdrop to their efforts being the mashed voices calling out for their statements. “Taylor English, Sam Vickers, LMC News” the blonde news anchor calls out to the nurse stationed behind the front desk, “we’re friends of Grant Haste.” The conversation stops before it can begin, the nurse continues to press the phone against his ear, listening into the conversation being had over the line as Taylor looks on with displeasure. “Just be patient, we’ll see him” Vickers reassures the woman, who looks to him with eager eyes, her worry beginning to consume her. Despite the lobby being crowded with the sick and injured, Vickers makes out the sounds of a news report emanating from across the room, CSN broadcasting a live feed of the hospital Vickers and Taylor await word of Grant’s condition from. With a quick glance, Vickers finds the remote laid upon a wooden end table off to the side of the room, his finger gliding over the buttons to bring up the feed of his own network. Waiting patiently for the monitor to switch channels, Vickers stares on as the phone in the nurse’s hands falls back to the receiver, the feed finally returning to LMC’s regular, Monday morning broadcast. “We’re asking for Grant Haste, he’s our co-worker” Taylor exclaims, adding an apology for interrupting the man during his work whilst Vickers returns to her side. “Mr. Haste is in surgery right now, I’m going to need to see your credentials” the nurse replies, watching the pair before him ruffle through their belongings. Finally retrieving their identification, Taylor and Vickers hand the proof to the man, who takes one quick glance before trying his hand at contacting one of the surgeons. “Thank you” Vickers replies, Taylor too sick to get the words off properly. Knowing the distress they both share a part in, Vickers pulls a chair up for the woman, taking her off her feet for the moment, his eyes trailing back to the monitor as LMC’s programming is interrupted. Stationed behind the ‘Tonight at Nine’ desk, Carly sits with her hand against its reflective surface, the graphic at the bottom of the screen breaking the ice before she can utter a word. | “We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news” Carly introduces, Aiden watching from afar, hand pressed against the glass, unable to bring himself to watch through the monitors. “Grant Haste, one of two anchors on this channel’s primetime news broadcast, has been shot in downtown New York City, just a number of minutes ago” Carly persists, the newsroom fallen silent, every television in the building tuned to their own live feed. “We understand the importance of unbiased reporting at this network, so we’ll put forth our best effort to bring you an impartial look at today’s events” Carly concludes, “offering you more as the information comes into us.” With a sigh of relief, Aiden steps away from the window, nodding to his crew before stepping out of the control center. “Abby, Keith!” Aiden shouts, capturing the attention of two producers, “get a bag ready and head out to the police department A.S.A.P!” “You want us to question the police?” Keith asks aloud, both he and the woman he hurries toward only left more confused by the orders that follow. “Nope, I need you to pick up Bruce Langston!” Aiden replies, “he’s Grant’s agent and he’s giving his statement to the police right now… You’ll get more from him than whatever you’re gonna get from the cops.” With a nod, the pair ventures off, doing as instructed while Carly watches, a smile hidden behind her lips as her boyfriend walks into view. “Hey” Carly mutters, her arms wrapping around Juno’s neck, eyes still watching Aiden glance back to his office, the de facto leader of the newsroom doing a quick glance toward her before walking off at Juno’s sight. “I’m so sorry to hear about all of this, I wish you’d have told me” Juno explains, Carly wishing she could have done the same thing. “They told me to get dressed and get on air, I had no time for anything else” Carly excuses, Juno buying in hook, line and sinker. “We’ve got him in surgery!” Aiden calls out, just having gotten off a quick phone call from Vickers, “he’s still alive as of three seconds ago!” With a sigh, Carly shrugs towards Juno, a disingenuous “that’s my cue” serving as her parting words. Hurrying to Aiden’s office, the woman quickly takes a sticky note from the man’s hand and races back to the desk, Juno watching each step tentatively, his eyes immediately trailing back to Aiden the moment he leaves his office for the control panel. | Refusing to be moved anywhere other than the hospital lobby, Vickers and Taylor wait out the day for more information. Every doctor or nurse that walks through the doors getting the same treatment, daggers shot toward them in hopes of more information, the life in their desperate eyes fading the longer time passes with no new insight. Paying no attention to the entrance, Taylor and Vickers keep their eyes glued to the one spot they need answers to originate from, completely disregarding the question the entrance would offer. “What a surprise” a deep, monotone voice calls out, Vickers and Taylor groggily staring back to the source before jumping into action, entangled in rage the moment they find Howard walking in with a bouquet of flowers. Beneath the man’s arm, an unamused Jessica walks alongside her abuser, Nalty’s hands held high, coming on grounds other than those he’s waged with Grant. “Don’t think you can walk in and try to fool us, you know we’re suspicious of you” Vickers says, cutting to the chase, much to Howard’s chagrin. “I’m just here to offer my condolences” Howard replies, “the guy doesn’t have much of a spine, so I don’t expect much of a fight from him.” Nostrils flaring, Vickers stares at the man intently, the blood vessels in his eyes almost bursting with the fury he wishes to unleash upon the cocky anchor. Ripping the flowers from Howard’s hand, Vickers tosses the plastic-wrapped decoration across the room, staring down Howard, who reminds Vickers of the legal power he obtains. “I don’t care what you can do to me in the courts” Vickers replies, “it’ll all be worth it for just two minutes with you right here.” “I wouldn’t count your blessings on that, old man” Howard replies, watching Taylor shove Vickers away, demanding he regain his composure as the lobby looks on in wonder. “We’re in a public place, we’ll hash this out later” Taylor explains, Vickers backing away from the woman and adjusting his suit, “right now, we need to keep ourselves from getting thrown out of this hospital.” Taking in one deep breath after another, Vickers keeps himself cool again, Taylor angrily staring back toward Howard and Jessica, a sudden confidence falling over her. “You’re an evil bastard” Taylor whispers, slowly and intimidatingly approaching Howard, who’s look of confidence gradually falls into one of concentration. “You know what you did… I know what you did... Everyone you and I know is aware of what you did” Taylor explains, “and you won’t get away with it.” Clearing her throat, Taylor takes the flower pedal, having fallen from the rose as the bouquet was ripped from Howard’s hands, and presses it into her palm. “You may think you have every way to get yourself out of trouble, but you don’t” Taylor concludes, turning toward Jessica, who looks at her with worry. “As for you, you’re no victim” Taylor explains, “you’re just another cog in the machine that lets this happen… You’re just as bad as him.” Her hand held in the air, Taylor waves her fingers toward the way the pair came, implying they need to leave while they still can. “Take money-honey by your side back the way you came” Taylor demands of Howard, “and if you come back again, I’ll make sure they arrest me on the spot for your murder.” With a groan, Howard turns around, pulling Jessica with him and retreating for the door, both Taylor and Vickers watching on as the events unfold. Her huffed breaths noticeable, Taylor stands in place, staring down the pair as they walk off, Vickers’ hand finding the soft spot of the woman’s shoulder. “You did great” Vickers says aloud, his phone being placed to his ear to make a call as a nurse finally retreats from the back with the answers they’re looking for. “Mr. Vickers and Ms. English?” the nurse calls out, grabbing the attention of the duo in an instant, “please follow me.” | “I’ll have her hit the air with it” Aiden explains, his pen scribbling across the note against the surface of his desk. “Yup, I’ve got replacements and all ready” Aiden continues, the door to his office opening, unbeknownst to him, “we’ll run with Taylor’s rough run down, go over it a little and work from there.” With a smile, Aiden thanks the figure on the other end a final time as his door closes, hanging up the phone and preparing the final touches to the note. His pen returning to the cup on his desk, Aiden turns with the paper in hand to leave his space, colliding with the massive chest of Juno the moment he does, falling back into his desk. “Sorry, man” Aiden calls out, the surprise of the moment prompting him to forget how awkward bumping into Juno in his own office actually is. “You need help with any-” Aiden begins, his words disappearing the moment Juno lays both of his hefty, meaty hands against his chest, forcing him back onto his desk like a bully. “Dude, are you-” Aiden begins, caught by surprise once more when the behemoth grabs him by the collar and throws him against the wall, the breath that leaves his mouth cascading across Aiden’s face. “What the fuck are you doing!?” Aiden calls out, his surprise dissipating the moment he comes to understand the true nature of their interaction. Reminding the smaller man of his physical stature, Juno keeps Aiden pinned against the wall, telling him to quiet down before he alerts anyone else in the office. The worry beginning to settle in, Aiden does as instructed, not willing to play games with his well-being on the line. “I know there’s something going on between you and Carly” Juno explains, holding off on getting any more physical than he already has, “I may be jealous, but I’m not an idiot.” Raising his hands from his sides as a signal of surrender, Aiden stretches his fingers as far out as he can manage as he pleads innocence. “Carly and I work together, and that is it” Aiden replies, “there’s nothing more going on between us… Just two co-workers tasked with putting a broadcast together, okay? That’s it!” His teeth pressing together, Juno stares Aiden down in blistering anger, telling him to listen closely for his own sake. “I don’t buy what you’re saying for a second” Juno explains, “but if I ever, and I mean, if I ever catch you and Carly as being anything more than co-workers, it won’t end well for you.” “I understand!” Aiden replies, his eyes tearing up as the buttons on his dress shirt press against his throat, making it difficult for him to breathe. Feeling satisfied with his point made, Juno lets the man fall to the ground, stepping away from the executive producer and leaving the office, letting Aiden gasp for his breath amidst a coughing fit on his own. | Watching the broadcast from the hospital room, Taylor rests her head against the chair as Vickers’ phone begins to ring. Listening to Carly’s broadcast, Taylor watches the images flash upon the screen of Howard Nalty, his visit to check in on his former co-anchor having been leaked to the media. “Thank you” Vickers concludes, returning his phone to the pocket on his side and standing from his seat. “LMC wants me to make a statement on behalf of the news division” Vickers explains, “they’ll send out a car for you when you’re ready to go home.” Thanking her boss for his help, Taylor watches Vickers smile to her with a thumbs up, his eyes glancing over the unconscious Grant with concern and relief. “I don’t have any guarantees, just like anyone else” Vickers explains, “but I’ve got high hopes that he’ll be alright.” With a nod, Taylor watches Vickers walk off, her eyes drifting back to the monitor as her hand reaches for the remote, switching to CSN, who run their broadcast according to the news LMC puts forward. After a few minutes, the scene stays the same, the woman watching the competition as if she were surveying the land, a muffled voice calling out to her surprise midway-through, a passing jab at his former workplace widening her eyes. “They’ve always been nothing more than a copy of the better show” Grant mutters from his bed, prompting the woman sitting beside him to pop to her feet with a smile. A breath of relief escaping her lungs, Taylor hangs her head at the sight of Grant’s smile, hands squeezing the bars on the sides of his hospital bed. “You seem happy to see me” Grant whispers, finger tracing the outline of the vein in the woman’s arm, “who would’ve thought that two months ago?” With a weak laugh, Grant recalls to himself how much the time between then and now has changed, Taylor allowing the man to put it into perspective. “I’m glad you came around” Grant mutters, both he and Taylor laughing with whatever power they have left, “I knew you would, but I’m still glad you did.” Confused, Taylor asks the man to explain further, which Grant does with ease. “You’re not predictable in any way, but there’s one thing I noticed about you the moment we had our first conversation” Grant explains, “you’re used to your first impressions being right, so it sticks with you when you’re proven wrong.” “You noticed that all the way back then?” Taylor asks, amused as the man reminds her that he’s grown to study people easily. “I knew I was going to clear the air that night before I even accepted Vickers’ contract” Grant explains, “I was the opposite guy you first thought I was before I even walked into your office for the first time.” “That’s why I’ve taken to you so quickly…” Taylor admits, finally having discovered the reason behind her quick turnaround toward Grant, who lays there with a smile. “I know there’s plenty about you that I don’t know yet” Grant explains, “but I really look forward to learning more.” With a smile, the woman stares at the man, a phone ringing in her pocket, hand reaching in before pulling away, a surprised look coming over the man. “You don’t wanna tell them I’m alive?” Grant jokes, the woman staring back at the moment as she switches the television back to LMC, a smile on her face, “let them sing your praises a little longer.” With a nod, Grant shuffles to one side of the hospital bed, making a space for the woman, who looks at him with lifted eyebrows. Hands in the air, Grant eyes the woman with a reciprocated smile, “I promise to keep this strictly professional.” Flattered, Taylor climbs onto the thin mattress and lays by Grant’s side, hands folded in her lap as the pair look to the monitor, Taylor’s head resting against Grant’s shoulder as the broadcast continues. == Tonight at 9 == / Saturday, March 18th, 2006 /
“Are you sure you can handle this?” Vickers asks aloud, both he and Taylor standing beside Grant as the lavish elevator they occupy ascends. “Grant, you just buried your brother yesterday” Taylor murmurs, “I’m sure we can work out a postponement.” Vehemently refusing to consider any of the options offered, Grant silences the conversation, standing by his decision with his foot down. “I can’t put this off forever, and quite frankly, I’d much rather get this all over with” Grant replies, hands held toward his hips, their palms aimed evenly to the ground. Resigning to the man’s unwillingness to budge, Taylor and Vickers silence for a moment before the latter tries one final time. “Even if she pressed charges, we could get you out in a day and have all of them dropped” Vickers adds, “I’m sure the one night behind bars would be worth avoiding this.” “I have to do this, Sam” Grant responds, looking back at Taylor, his eyes affording the woman an apologetic glance. Knowing this situation to be out of Grant’s control, Taylor gives the man a smile, the bell of the elevator chirping the moment upon reaching its destination. Sliding open, the doors reveal an exquisite interior, the lavish luxuries of a penthouse slapping all three of its guests in the face. “This is unfair to all of humanity” Taylor mutters beneath her breath, the first to step off of the lift. Following the woman shortly thereafter, Sam stands in the foyer and shares a look back toward the platform, both he and Taylor watching Grant build up the confidence to step forward. As a puff of air leaves his lungs, Grant gingerly steps out of the elevator, feeling a cold air rush over his body the moment his feet touch solid ground. Both remorse for his past actions and fear for the ones he will make in the future, Grant scans the area he’s just entered, the doors behind him closing to seal off the only exit. “You alright?” Vickers asks, the tone of his voice replicating that of a concerned father, his hand held out in the event Grant would need guidance forward. In nearly the same breath as Vickers’ attempt at comfort, a man strolls around the corner at the foyer’s end, arms extended with a devilish smirk. “Grant Haste!” Howard’s familiar voice calls out, another chill coming over Grant’s spine as he stares, too rigid to move. “I think we have a lot to talk about!” Howard exclaims, waving over for the man with the fakest smile one could imagine being met with. Stepping forward collectively, the trio are stood in their places, Howard reminding them that he dictates the rules of how this confrontation works. “He comes alone, you stay back here and wait” Howard proclaims, Taylor immediately lurking forward to call his demands into question. Before the woman can get anywhere, Grant pulls her arm back, looking her in the eyes calmly. Opening his mouth to speak, Grant stutters for a moment, their collective worry fading at the look they share with each other. Easing his grip on the woman’s arm, Grant allows his hand to fall, removing itself from the soft cotton of Taylor’s shirt, rotating his hand and resting the knuckles of his finger on her shoulder. “I’ll be alright” Grant explains, giving Taylor a comforting grin, a gesture in which she reciprocates, her efforts slightly stunted by the obvious uneasiness settling over her. “Be careful in there” Vickers says, pulling the man around until Grant’s back faces the awaiting fiend at the end of the hall. “You just make sure you play into your strengths- and into his weaknesses” Vickers commands, sliding a pen into Grant’s blazer pocket and patting him in much the same spot. “You have all the leverage and all of the control” Vickers continues, lowering his voice further upon the final approaching reminder, “just let him think he dictates the pace.” With a smile, Vickers pats the man on the sides of his face, understanding his role as conscious mediator and taking the fatherly approach to heart. With a wink, Vickers allows Grant to turn back, Howard dressed in business casual attire for the occasion. “Follow” Howard insists, watching Grant pause for a moment before confidently striding forward, both Taylor and Vickers stood back, watching the man depart as if offering him a goodbye. = Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 Media from the start of Season 1 onwards = Groggy, Aiden pulls himself out of bed and rubs at his eyes, the harsh morning sun blinding him each time his eyelids part even the slightest bit. Walking through his morning routine, the man hears the door to his apartment swing open and slam shut in nearly the same motion, startling him. In a rush of adrenaline, Aiden storms out of his bedroom door and holds his fist in the air, glancing into the kitchen to find an amused man standing in a sweaty t-shirt, eating a handful of cereal. “Please tell me you didn’t think anyone would be scared at this sight when I know for a fact that you just woke up” the man pleads, Aiden immediately suggesting otherwise. “Shane, I’m telling you, one day you’re not gonna be the person shoving that door open” Aiden explains, “and when that day comes, I’ll be ready.” With a smirk, Shane holds back laughter and nods, replying “yeah yeah, okay” before shoveling the circular grains into his mouth. “How the fuck do you wake up so fucking early?” Aiden mutters beneath his breath, “I go home from work on a Friday night and you’re practically already awake.” His hands thrown out to either side, the young man, now amidst an effort to remove the headphones from around his neck, reminds his roommate of one crucial detail. “We work at the same place and we both work the same hours” Shane explains, a notion Aiden is quick to dismiss. “I work as the executive producer of a national broadcast!” Aiden shouts, “You're an associate producer- and you haven’t even been there for a year!” His hands held in the air as if to mockingly surrender, Shane apologizes for the easy mistake. “I’m so sorry, Aiden! I forgot how much different sitting at a desk and wearing a microphone for an hour a night truly is” the man shouts back, jokingly patting his roommate on the shoulder with a smile as a knock comes from the door. Pulling it open, Shane greets the woman on the other end with a welcoming “hello.” “Hi, you ready for the second loop?” the woman on the other side asks aloud, Shane agreeing to meet her outside the complex in a short minute. Removing his shirt and taking on a drier one, Shane hurries to get himself situated for yet another workout, something Aiden finds himself baffled by. “I don’t get why you do this to yourself” Aiden admits, “you let your girlfriend run you all around New York City, like a second-in-command, for what?” His displeasure with the act of working out until the point of near-unconsciousness showing vividly, Aiden listens to Shane strike both below the belt and above in one motion. “I let my smoking hot girlfriend run me around New York City so I don’t end up like you…” Shane replies, “sleeping in all weekend and spending the afternoons with my dick in my hand thinking about Carly.” Finger raised, Aiden defends his position whilst Shane walks away, throwing a jacket over his shoulders to fight the frigid Northeastern-March air. “I do not jerk off to Carly!” Aiden shouts back, a pleased Shane turning as he walks further towards the door. “Don’t even try to pass that nonsense off on me!” Shane calls out to Aiden, “her name is practically written on your tissue box at this point!” With that final remark, Shane dashes through the door, audibly slamming it shut before Aiden can even manage a rebuttal. With a brief look of amused shame on his face, Aiden’s expression goes to one of relaxed comfort, opening his laptop upon his legs as he sits at the couch, focusing on the written reports before him. | “You’ve made a really big mess, Grant” Howard explains, his arms swinging by his hips in the least intimidating posture, scolding Grant as if he were a petulant child. “I’ve genuinely been trying to help you since the day you sat at our desk for the first time” Howard explains, “trying to teach you the ropes, how the unspoken codes worked, how to get far in this industry… I did it all out of the kindness of my heart.” Stopping in his place at the uttering of that last line, Grant watches his former co-anchor waltz to a sofa opposite himself and sink into the soft, welcoming cushions. “And you took all of what I taught you, stabbed me in the back and moved onto some comfy gig up in New York” Howard explains, “not only that, but you smeared my character on national television for the entire world to see… Completely stabbing me in the back.” His nostrils flaring, Grant stands in the place he stopped, arms hanging by his sides as his fingers tense, spreading out at his hips to keep the tendons from pulling his hand into a noticeable fist, doing his best to uphold appearances. “You did a bad thing” Grant replies, mocking the simplicity of Howard’s description with one of equal treatment, “you did a truly awful, heinous, despicable thing- and expected me to lie about it.” Hand held in the air, four of Howard’s fingers fall back into his palm until only one remains, his index finger held toward the sky and extended at Grant, stopping him in his place. “I didn’t expect you to lie about it, I suggested you lie about it for your own good” Howard clarifies, “and not only do you mince those words, but you stand here, in my living room, pretending you didn’t still lie about it anyway.” “I told the truth!” Grant shouts back, his words not wasting a moment of silence upon Howard’s response, which only prompts Howard to do just the same as Grant. “You told the truth after months of silence!” Howard retorts, “but when you could have done something about it then, you chose to stay silent and lie to police.” Mouth shut, Grant stares angrily at Howard, the man sitting patiently, awaiting Grant’s next words. “Am I wrong or is that exactly what happened?” Howard asks, noticing his answer to not come from Grant without persuasion, his head tilting to the side as he notices the nerve he’s struck deep within Grant’s soul. “Am I wrong or am I right?” Howard asks again, his voice raising the longer Grant stands before him in complete silence. “You’re right!” Grant shouts back, the reminder of his actions being beaten into his head, again and again, by the man that prompted them in the first place. “I may have done the wrong thing then, but so did you” Grant explains, watching Howard sink back into his seat, smiling at the man he once considered his protege. “The difference between you and I is that I, eventually, came around to doing the right thing” Grant explains, “And I acknowledged my own wrong doings in the same breath.” Amused, Howard shakes his head and stands from the comfort of his couch, walking over to a side table with exotic alcohol in no rush. “My actions are the actions taken from thousands upon thousands of other people every single day” Howard replies, turning to Grant with a half-filled glass of vodka, “I had some fun.” With an arrogant smile, Howard turns back toward his kitchen, calling out for Grant to follow after him, the man he lets follow snarling. | His fingers racing across the keyboard as if they were competing with each other, Aiden loses himself in thought, emptying the ideas inside his head into the screen before him. Suddenly, the man’s fingers stop sprinting across the machine in his lap, coming to a strict halt and dangling in mid-air as he stares into the corner of his screen, lost. His head hung, his fingers finally fell to the empty pockets of metal beneath the keyboard, and his eyes redirected to his phone. Nothing more to offer than the time in the small square within the phone’s case, Aiden stares blankly regardless, almost considering his options silently. Contemplating his next actions, the man stares blindly for another few seconds before eventually looking back towards his computer screen, the white light covering his face and highlighting his brown eyes. After another few seconds, the door to the man’s apartment finally flies open, Shane returning inside with his girlfriend in his arms, the pair locking lips as if there were no other resident inside. Their jackets taken off and dropped onto the ground to reveal a pair of sweat-soaked shirts, the pair continue to go about their day, Shane carrying the woman into the room at the end of the hall and slamming the door shut. Shrugging this off, Aiden returns to work, continuing to allow his fingers to dash across the keyboard for another minute before coming to a complete stop yet again. The slight vibration of furniture dragging across the ground is nothing unfamiliar, Aiden finds it impossible to work any longer the moment the moaning and groaning from the end of the hall becomes rampant. Having gone to work almost immediately, Shane already brings the woman into a world of pleasure, a reality that forces Aiden to call it a day, closing his laptop and tossing it onto the other end of the couch. In a quick moment, the man takes off for his room and throws on a jacket himself, his feet leaping into shoes just moments before he takes himself through the front door. Descending the staircase of his apartment complex, Aiden is overcome with the wash of cruel light, the movie-like shade of uneasy green coming over the cramped corridors. Only a few stories to walk down, Aiden soon comes to the exit of his building, hands stretched out to push the doors in, immediately blinding the home-body man with a staggering amount of sunlight. Promoted to throw his hand over his eyes, the man staggers, gradually accepting the bright sunlight. His eyes adjusting to the new environment, Aiden is left standing there, the door shutting behind him as he looms aimlessly on the sidewalk. Not having thought his actions farther ahead than this, the man glances down both sides of the walkway and chooses one at random. Hands in his pockets, the man ventures into the neighbourhood at random, not caring where the roads lead him, only wishing that they take him somewhere. | “Why am I here?” Grant asks aloud, the man still strutting his way through the apartment without concern, only a half-smile on his face as he approaches the terrace. Stepping outside, Howard leans over the railing overlooking downtown Manhattan. Standing in the doorway, Grant stares blankly at the man, refusing to step any further. “You coming out here?” Howard asks aloud, his guest watching him turn with glee. “I’m gonna stay here…” Grant replies, his tone becoming defensive, “...away from the edge of the building you could throw me off.” With a chuckle, Howard takes the glass of liquor to his mouth, staring out over the view, high enough into the New York skyline that the knees of those afraid of heights would grow weak beneath their body weight. “Ninety-seven stories in the air, Grant” Howard calls out, “this is the life you could have had if you just kept your mouth shut.” Finally showing some emotion in his face once again, Grant chuckles to himself, hanging his head both out of humour and in order to shield himself from the awful sunlight above. “Unfortunately for you, I have some human decency” Grant replies, Howard forcibly puckering his lips and shaking his head in refusal. “I’m disappointed you can’t see as far into the future as I do” Howard explains, “we’re quickly getting to a point where only the cheaters and bad people are going to prosper.” Growing tired of Howard’s words, Grant stands there silently, growing angrier with each syllable Howard allows to leave his lips, his once coworker growing pleased with the horrible future he paints. “The government will be nothing more than a bunch of collective puppets” Howard invisions, “the only way for individuals to contain power… True power… Will be to create influence.” His hands held firmly by his side, Grant drowns out the words Howard shares, watching the man lean further out with ease, almost tempting Grant to just lay in a good shove. Nothing more than the muffled sounds of whatever Howard’s trying to say fluttering through his head, Grant considers it, thinking about the justice that would be served, even if it were to come at his own expense. For a moment in time, Grant truly considers murdering Howard in broad daylight, just lunging forward and shoving the man over the horrifyingly high ledge. In his eyes, Grant would be doing the world a great service, Howard’s muffled nonsense no longer needed to be heard by anyone, let alone himself. Despite the flurry of thoughts running that come over him, Grant spends only a few short seconds considering the choice made available, only needing such few seconds to go from consideration to outright refusal. “There’s going to come a time where it’s easier than ever to make your name known, to make your words heard” Howard explains, “and when that day comes, power will be given to the people… And if you think I’m evil, you should take a look at them.” “I don’t care about this sob story you’re trying to paint me, Howard” Grant finally exclaims, refusing to bend the knee any further, or allow Howard to dictate the discourse any further than he already had. “You asked me to come here and talk to you… You had your lawyer come in and force me into all of this” Grant recalls, watching Howard turn back to him undisturbed, “now get to the point or I’m going back to that foyer and walking out.” Now pressing one arm against the glistening metal bannister, Howard looks back out at the city, glancing down to the massive fall below before nodding to himself. “You sure you wanna cut to the chase?” Howard asks, putting a small concern over Grant at the moment, only for the visitor to double down, no longer wanting to spend any more time in this palace of filth than he already has. “Alright then, you can’t blame me when you don’t like what you see” Howard replies, returning to Grant, who backs away to keep himself a proper distance from the patio. With a smirk, Howard brushes past Grant, walking further into the home, settling on concluding their interaction. | The bell above the entrance ringing as Aiden steps in, a bustling coffee shop filled with men and women adorned in workplace attire is joined by the casual look Aiden sports. Stepping into line, the man stares at the cafe menu, his eyes running down the length of cardboard, taking the items he desires into his brain and eliminating each thing, one after another, until he’s satisfied. “That’s nowhere near business casual, Aiden” a feminine voice calls out from behind, her words spoken nearly right behind his ears. In the moment it takes him to leap forward in surprise and regain his composure, Aiden becomes a completely different man, his look of shock turning into one of great joy. Stood behind him, Carly awaits the line’s progression with her bag over her shoulder, an LMC sweatshirt draped over her arms, their out-of-work appearance foreign to each other. “Hey!” the only word leaving Aiden’s mouth, Carly apologising for startling him before he can pull off anything better. “No! It’s a wonderful scare!” Aiden exclaims, both unable to stop smiling until a different realisation dawns over the man, his eyes looking around the cafe before any other word can leave his lips, yet again. “Where’s Juno?” Aiden asks, Carly looking at the man with a now-half smile, her head tilting to the side. “I can’t go to a cafe without my boyfriend?” Carly asks, her words suggesting offence, but her tone offering the idea said the question is asked frequently. “I didn’t mean anything like that” Aiden replies, lying through his teeth, “he’s just with you a lot and I didn’t want to be rude and not say ‘hi’.” Her lips puckering for a moment, Carly nods, stating that she understands what he means, that being the truth both internally and externally. “I’ve never seen you in anything less than a button-down” Carly says, switching the topic of conversation to Aiden’s gym attire, “you just get out of a workout?” His mouth opening without any words to follow, once again, Aiden slowly lifts his finger toward the woman, thinking about his answer carefully. “Yes?” the man answers in the form of a question, a gesture which allows Carly to answer herself. “I hope you know I’m going to take that as a ‘no’, right?” Carly wonders, Aiden accepting defeat, coming clean. “I’ve never seen you pull off anything less than a skirt and pearls either, but you still amaze me” Aiden responds, genuinely flattering the woman, assisted by the surprisingly smooth delivery of it. Exchanging pleasantries, the pair move forward with the line, continuing to look at each other with smiles, neither sharing words any longer, only losing themselves in each other’s faces. In a moment of realisation, Aiden shakes out of his aimless gaze, Carly embarrassingly doing much the same, the pair in as much wonder as school children with a crush. Trading apologies, the pair remain in line, silently smiling to themselves at the thought of the strange encounter. Biting into her lower lip, Carly looks back to the menu, Aiden’s glance much the same, her eyes unable to keep focus on the overhead boards. Shaking her head, Carly breaks from her cross-armed posture and grabs Aiden’s arm, pulling him out of line and through the entry of the store, the pair running off into the city like two star-crossed lovers. | “Do you remember meeting me after you got the co-anchor gig?” Howard asks back, Grant refusing to speak any further until Howard gives him the answer he’s looking for. “Well, if you’re going to give me the silent treatment, I guess I’ll have to talk to myself” Howard explains, “you just stand there like a freak and listen.” Clearing his throat, Howard continues further, the longer the pair walk, the darker the penthouse becomes, the natural light pouring in from the vast amount of windows replaced by a bright, orange glow. “I told you there were going to be many perks to this job, and that, if you played your cards right, you could ride those perks all the way to the tippity top” Howard persists, turning back toward Grant with a smile, “I wanted to know how you would play your cards.” Setting his glass on a side table, Howard turns to Grant and removes the pen from his pocket, dropping it into the cup of liquor and watching it spark. “You didn’t even know the old man planted a mic on you, which shows me you don’t know how to properly play a hand” Howard mocks, reaching out for the door behind him and grasping the knob, “but I’ve got a pretty good hand and an astounding poker face.” Beckoning for those on the other side, Howard waits by the half-opened door with a smile, looking at Grant with the smug expression of a kid having proven his parents wrong. Before Grant can speak, a woman walks through the door’s opening, standing by the side of Howard as Grant’s face shifts from concern to shock. “Why the fuck is Jessica here?” Grant calls out, the pair of clattering footsteps leaving the foyer and hurrying towards the location of the shout. “Here’s one thing that your little friends over there should have made clear to you” Howard remarks, watching Vickers and Taylor hurry to them, “money is power, power is influence, and influence is control.” Closing his eyes in disappointment, Vickers listens to the rest of the conversation, Taylor stood by his side, looking at Jessica with an overwhelming anger. “Regardless of what you did, I have all the resources I need to keep this under control” Howard explains, “there is nothing you can do, on air or behind closed doors, to change that.” Rolling his eyes, Grant storms away from the new couple the moment Howard wraps his arm around her, his once-mentor calling for the man to turn back and listen to him with care. Unwilling to obey any commands the man may have, Grant is consumed by anger, looking towards the bannister and remembers the option he chose not to take. Somewhere inside, deep within his soul, Grant blames himself for the sights he’s allowed to be made, Howard calling the man’s name once again. Enraged, Grant allows himself to be faced with the punishment of not having ended the misery when he had the chance, turning back toward Howard for what the abuser has sentenced him to. “I told you that we anchors are supposed to look after each other- we’re supposed to have each other’s backs” Howard recalls, “you were told that you didn’t see anything, but apparently, you had your eyes open the whole time… Now we need to fix that.” Leaving Jessica’s side, Howard walks past Vickers and Taylor, both of whom wish to kill the man the moment he enters their area. Finally, after a few more steps, Howard meets with Grant, up close and personal. “You tried to end my career, and unfortunately for you, you didn’t hear me when I warned you the first time around” Howard whispers, “now that I know how you play your cards, I’m gonna bankrupt you… And then I’m gonna ruin your life.” Having heard enough, Vickers and Taylor walk back toward Grant, Taylor peering at Jessica with a scowl for a moment before doing so. “Let’s go, Grant” Vickers exclaims, roughly taking the man beneath his arm and leading him away whilst Howard waves, the trio returning the way they came. “He can’t do anything to you, we won't let him” Vickers explains, leading the man into the elevator and turning to face the doors. As the bell to confirm the selected floor beeps, Howard and Jessica turn the corner at the end of the hallway, the man wrapping his arm around his victim and waving with a smile. Visibly shaking in anger, both Grant and Taylor join Vickers in watching, the last sight before the doors close being the petty send-off from their newest, most-wanted figure. == Tonight at 9 == / Thursday, March 2nd, 2006 /
“Thank you for letting me know” Grant replies, the phone he’d held to his ear lowered into his lap as departing words are shared. Within seconds, Taylor knocks at his door, the distraught face he wears shifting as the woman is welcomed in. “We’re on in an hour” Taylor calls out, a mug pressed to her lips as her eyes fall upon Grant, the man nodding while he replies with a simple “okay.” With a nod of her own, Taylor turns to leave before thinking better of her decision, standing in the spacious doorway for a moment before turning back. “Is everything alright?” Taylor wonders aloud, Grant’s fingers locking together as he nods again. “Everything’s fine” Grant replies, the eyes on Taylor narrowing as she steps further into the room, taking a seat before Grant’s desk just as the man’s phone begins to buzz. “You going to get that?” Taylor asks, watching the man remove the device from his desktop, tossing it into his drawer. “It feels like we’re about to have a conversation” Grant replies, “it would be rude to waste your time with a phone call.” Suspicious, Taylor challenges Grant on his statement just as the buzzing ceases. “And yet, that’s never stopped you before” Taylor remarks, prompting Grant to hang his head with a playful smirk as Taylor asks further. “What’s up with it?” Taylor asks, the man biting his lip as he peers through the glass entry, a newsroom of men and women hard at work. Swallowing his pride, Grant puts professionalism aside to answer the woman’s question, immediately changing the dynamic of the evening’s broadcast in the process. “It’s my brother” Grant replies, Taylor furrowing her brows at the man as he continues, “he crashed his car on the ‘82, now he’s in the hospital.” “Oh god, is he alright?” Taylor inquires, how little Grant seems to be affected by it genuinely concerning her. “I don’t know yet” Grant replies, his words spoken as if he were talking about the status of a house up for sale, “he’s in surgery right now as far as I know.” Propelling herself forward, Taylor walks to the other side of Grant’s desk, the man having stood from his chair to throw his blazer on. “If you need to take tonight off, it’s not an issue” Taylor explains, her hand reaching out for Grant, placed upon his shoulder. Immediately upon the suggestion made, Grant turns towards the woman with widened eyes, the refusal of her offer coming almost as quickly. “The last thing I need to do right now is stay here and think about it all any more than I already have” Grant replies, “I like doing the news, I want to do the news, and right now, I need to do the news.” His voice never raising, Grant keeps himself composed, though the desperation to go through with tonight’s broadcast is easily understood. Quietly, Taylor offers her approval, sympathizing with the place he’s coming from. Reaching down, Taylor removes the phone from Grant’s desk, only allowing him on air under the condition that he keep his phone on him throughout the broadcast. With a slight disappointment, Grant gives in, knowing her approval to be a break of the woman’s character. “Thank you” Grant says, knowing Taylor to have ignored her best instinct to help him, appreciative of her compassion. “Of course” Taylor mutters in a whisper, her hand still resting upon the man’s shoulder for the next few seconds. With a smile, Grant forgets about everything going on in the moment, looking into the woman’s face as intently as she does his, the moment only ending when she suddenly breaks the gaze. Removing her hand from the man’s shoulder, Taylor awkwardly rubs her opposite arm in embarrassment as the pair shake off the encounter, leaving the room and reminding him of the time that remains before showtime. Exiting the office, Taylor returns to the newsroom as Grant stays behind, the encounter between the two enough to keep him from thinking about the other matters at hand. After a few minutes, the phone Taylor had placed back into his hands begins to buzz, the slight smile on his face disappearing. With a deep breath, Grant flips the top of the phone open, lifting the earphone to the side of his head and greeting those on the other line, “hello?” = Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 Media from the start of Season 1 onwards = “When we return, Drew Agnes and Brenda Holkes will join me to discuss the potential impacts of the Patriot Act” the brunette woman announces, “I’m Carly Carpenter, and we’ll be right back with more Issues of our Nation.” Stepping off set, the woman removes the piece from her ear and walks towards an empty desk just off camera, an applause from afar catching her attention before she can even spot the open area. “I know you do great numbers anyway, but why Drew Agnes?” the man questions, the curiosity on his face putting a smirk on Carly’s. “We can’t all have no-guest shows Aiden” Carly replies, tapping the man on the arm and continuing to walk, Aiden adjusting course in step with the woman. “I get that, but do you expect me to believe there aren’t eighty other more qualified guests in New York than Drew Agnes?” Aiden inquires, a suggestion Carly finds agreement with. “He knows absolutely nothing about anything” Carly explains, “but what he lacks in knowledge is what he makes up for in character, and character gets numbers.” With a nod, Aiden surrenders the point, continuing to walk with the woman through the newsroom. Almost as if the reason behind his sudden conversation had slipped his mind, Aiden puts a halt on the fun soft jab-trading to discuss matters relative to on-camera work. “Taylor and Grant, but mostly Taylor, wanted me to ask if you wanted a spot once a week at nine o’clock” Aiden explains, “the network wants less field agent reporting and more of... well... you.” With a grin, Carly asks of the motivation behind such an offer. “I’ve been her lead in for the last three years, what’s changed now?” Carly quandaries, Aiden suddenly quiet, a reaction the woman notices, stopping to turn back to the man. “Your numbers are going up and you’re in magazines every other day at this point” Aiden confesses, “and they show a bit more than just knee-level skirts and a blazer.” With a chuckle, Carly nods to herself, telling Aiden to let the pair of anchors she precedes know of her refusal. Walking off, Carly begins for her office before Aiden catches up, tapping her on the elbow with an apologetic look on his face. “I really didn’t want to ask you” Aiden adds, the woman seeing the sincerity in his apology, using it to push his buttons a little bit. “You think I wasn’t pretty enough?” Carly asks, flustering Aiden the moment she asks, the man stumbling over his words to correct the supposed mistake. With a smile, Carly stops the man before his apologies can continue, tapping Aiden on the jaw as she tells him to relax. “I’m just fucking with you” Carly assures, Aiden anxiously laughing the encounter off as another man approaches. “What’s going on?” the man asks, Carly’s face dropping the animated expression in favour of a dull, less charmed one. “Aiden was just offering me a spot with Taylor and Grant, Juno” Carly explains, the man, who stands noticeably taller than both Carly and Aiden, wrapping his arm around the woman. “You gonna accept it?” Juno asks, the woman replying otherwise. “The timing didn’t work out and nothing else was available” Carly answers, her eyes glancing towards Aiden as Juno looks to him, the man backing the woman’s claims. “Well that’s unfortunate” the man responds, giving Carly a peck on the cheek as she prepares to return to the air. “I’ll see you after the show” Juno calls out, Carly turning back to give a thumbs up, her eyes unable to avoid Aiden. “She’s great” Juno mutters aloud, Aiden standing uncomfortably still, nodding to the man before walking off. “You’ve certainly seemed to have found the one” Aiden replies, a suggestion which Juno agrees with. “I definitely have” the man replies, “and I really hope I don’t catch anyone trying to take her from me.” Stopping in his tracks and looking back, Aiden finds Juno turning away from Carly and looking back towards his direction. “I’m just saying, y’know?” Juno reiterates, “in case anyone gets any ideas. “ With a nod, Aiden gives Juno a thumbs up and continues walking away, those at the desks in the newsroom watching Aiden with sympathy, a gesture which Juno has found himself the frequent cause of. | Leant over the sink in the bathroom of his office, Grant takes in deep breaths as his head hangs towards the ceramic bowl, eyes swirling around the glistening reflection and towards the drain like running water. Hand quickly reaching for the knob, Grant lets the cold tap run for a few seconds before coupling his hands together, catching a handful of the frigid liquid. In a moment, the caught waters are taken to his face and run over his newborn baby-like smooth skin, the droplets running down his cheeks and falling into the bowl. Doing this a few more times, Grant blows a puff of air from his mouth while his fingers turn the knob the opposite way, the only water now hitting the ceramic bowl being the droplets from his face. Taking in one breath after another, Grant slowly lifts his face towards the mirror, the water running down onto the collar of his shirt as he makes eye contact with himself. His expression deflated and defeated, Grant takes his fingers and pushes his lips apart, forming an ingenuine smile that he slowly allows to stiffen. His fingers pulling away from his face, Grant retracts his facial muscles to keep the smile on, his eyes opening wider to present a plastic-like look of false happiness. With a nod, Grant walks away from his sink and returns to his office, tightening his tie and throwing a blazer over his shoulders before emerging from his office. Face drying off with each step, Grant holds his eyes towards the control room, hand extending upon the door before locking eyes onto Taylor and Aiden. “We almost ready?” Grant says in an excited tone, Taylor putting on a voice of equally-feigned excitement as she responds. “Indeed, Carly’s two minutes away from sendoff” Taylor replies, the tone in which she greets Grant with noticeably uncharacteristic, prompting Aiden to look at her in a way that shows reluctance in belief. “You two gonna donate half your wardrobe to the homeless after the show or something?” Aiden questions, his arms crossed as he turns back to the wall of monitors ahead of him. With a shrug, Taylor walks up to Grant and accompanies him out of the room, asking if he’s received another phone call in passing as of yet. “Not yet. I hope it stays that way until after the show” Grant replies, Taylor and himself leaving the room to Aiden and his crew. “They haven’t started sleeping together yet, have they?” Aiden asks the men behind the controls, an equal lack of knowledge voiced from Aiden’s peers. “I’m just glad you noticed something was off, too” one of the men calls out, Aiden realizing the truth behind such suspicions upon a similar conclusion being drawn by a second party. “Just for safety, let’s keep the cameras above hip-level” Aiden jokes, getting laughter out of those behind him. Despite the humor fluttering throughout the room, Aiden’s eyes lock onto Juno, the large man, unaware of Aiden’s sights being on him, takes a seat in the newsroom to watch the broadcast. With a deep breath, Aiden puts his attention back where it’s needed and clears the audio between himself as the anchors. “We’re all good on this side” Taylor replies, both she and Grant taking their seats and placing their scripts upon the desk’s glass surface. Instinctively, Grant lays his phone out upon the desktop as well, allowing it to rest there as the cameras count backwards from twenty seconds. Within a moment, the buzzing begins, both Grant and Taylor looking upon the phone, it’s rapid vibration creating an audible disruption with the help of the glass. In nearly the same moment that it began ringing, Grant takes the phone and returns it to his pocket, looking toward Taylor and nipping at the conversation before it has the chance to start. “I’ll call them back at the next break” Grant explains, Taylor already having leaned in to speak with him, returning to her original posture upon Grant’s guarantee. “Good evening, I’m Grant Haste” the man exclaims, a brief second of silence coming from Taylor as she puts her mind back to the show. “I’m Taylor English, and tonight at nine…” | His attention taken away from the screen before him, Vickers allows the source of the knocking upon his office door to enter, turning away from Taylor and Grant’s show to find an unfamiliar man in a suit approaching his desk. “What can I do for you?” Vickers asks aloud, the man introducing himself as he extends his hand, his business card held between his index and middle fingers. “My name is Marcus Hobbs, I represent Mr. Howard Nalty” the man greets, Vickers taking the card from his hand, which remains outstretched, this time offering a handshake. Glancing at the card for a mere moment, Vickers looks back to Hobbs, noticing the extended hand and paying it no mind. “I don’t shake the hands of people that have no issues representing rapists” Vickers explains, an insulted Marcus nodding to himself as he takes a seat. “Don’t make yourself at home, either” Vickers exclaims before Marcus can sit down, using a different way of telling Marcus to say what he needs to and leave. “I’m not going to waste my time with you, I have to watch the news… So get to it” Vickers remarks, watching Marcus match his approach. “Your employee, Grant Haste, has been avoiding my client’s requests to speak privately for the last two months” Marcus explains, a smile placed on Vickers’ face. “And he’ll continue to do so, now have a good rest of your evening” Vickers replies, turning away from the lawyer and looking back towards the television set. “My client is giving Grant one last offer to speak with him privately or else he’ll be subpoenaed to appear in court” Marcus explains, Vickers reminding the man of Grant’s testimony having already been offered in his initial broadcast. “The issue isn’t that he’ll be wanted to appear, but that he’ll be charged with obstruction of justice as well” Marcus explains, finally regaining Vickers’ attention, the older man turning around in his chair. “Our network has already squared away a deal with police to avoid charges in return for a first-hand statement” Vickers replies, a response which Marcus has no care over. “The police won’t be the ones charging Grant” Marcus explains, Vickers immediately questioning who will. “Ms. Jessica Malichi has offered to press charges on Grant of obstruction of justice if he does not comply with Howard Nalty’s requests” the lawyer reveals, widening the eyes of Vickers. “Why would she do that?” Vickers wonders aloud, Marcus turning the tables of power into his favour, picking up his briefcase and making for the door. “I’m not required to tell you anything more than I already have” Marcus responds, continuing his exit as Vickers calls for his return. Having done as was necessary, Marcus vanishes through the exit, leaving Vickers in the dark room alone, the glass door closing just as the broadcast returns from commercial. Grant’s voice the first he hears upon the program’s return, Vickers presses his hands at his hips, unsure how to digest the information given. | “We have the video package ready?” Aiden asks aloud, pleased with the answers he receives. Turning back towards the commercials on the monitor, Aiden watches Grant remove his phone from the blazer over his body and punch in a number. “Let’s just make sure whatever signal Grant is shooting out wont fuck with the broadcast” Aiden calls aloud, looking back towards the anchor desk before noticing a scene just off to the side of it. Nothing unusual occurred, the simple sight of Carly walking up to Juno and wrapping her arms around his neck catches Aiden’s attention, the man watching the pair’s every step toward the exits before his control team calls out a question, forcing the man back into the moment. “Sorry, you called twenty seconds before the intro” Grant explains to the other end, “how is he?” Only able to hear garbled voices on the other end of the line from her seat at the table, Taylor looks on at the man beside her, attempting to pick out any changes in his facial expressions. “Okay, thanks for keeping me up to speed” Grant replies, “I’ll call you after the show.” With that, the man folds the phone together and returns it to his blazer pocket, immediately prodded for an update from Taylor. “Still in surgery, they were just letting me know that they put him under” Grant replies, Taylor flashing a smile and nod before looking back down to her papers. “Anyone see that?” Aiden asks out to the controls, those behind the monitors looking at the main feed, Grant simply looking blankly towards the ground beside the table. “Y’know, I get really anxious when he just blanks out like that” Aiden calls aloud, still not being informed of the situation Grant finds himself embroiled in. His head looking off to the side, Grant just stares blankly at the floor ahead of his office door, eyes unmoving and mannerisms unchanged. “We’re back in twenty” Aiden calls out through the earpieces, Taylor capping the highlighter she runs over her notes while Grant looks back up toward the monitor, hands folding together before himself on the desk. “Welcome back, it’s nine thirty-seven, eastern time” Grant greets those at home, continuing through the rundown with ease as Taylor watches on. | “You were great tonight” Juno assures, his breath becoming fog the moment it leaves his lips, the smaller-in-stature Carly strolling beside the man along the New York sidewalks. “You’re always great, that’s obvious” Juno clarifies, “but tonight, you were perfect in every category!” With a smile, Carly thanks the man for the support, assuring him that it was all camera work and makeup. “Oh come on, you don’t need makeup to be magazine cover material” Juno replies, biting into the hot dog he and his girlfriend had ordered along the way. “They say the camera adds ten pounds, so it’s nice to think makeup is a way of shaving fifteen off” Carly replies, “but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless.” With a smirk, Juno nods to himself mid-bite, simply repeating the word ‘camera’ aloud as he lets his dinner settle. “Speaking of cameras, that Aiden guy seems to be pretty good at working them” Juno mentions, a suggestion Carly cautiously agrees with, commending the man for his work. “He’s great at putting a show together, you’re right about that” Carly replies, a response Juno only nods at. “Why didn’t you wanna do Tonight at Nine?” Juno inquires, the woman explaining that the timing never fit quite right. “I usually go back to my office, get changed and write down whatever I think about while I’m on air so I won’t forget about it” Carly explains, “the time they would’ve wanted me on for would have changed that up, and I already hate my schedule changing as it is.” “So, it doesn’t have anything to do with me?” Juno replies, curious as Carly stops, prompting the man to cease his progress as well. “No, of course not” Carly responds, “what about us would make me turn down the show?” Shrugging, Juno tells the woman that he isn’t clueless to his own actions, explaining that he’s more than already aware of his jealousy. “I won’t be stupid, Aiden’s obviously a good looking guy” Juno explains, “but more than that, you two seem to be… friendly… with each other.” Her eyebrows furrowed, Carly assures Juno that interactions between the pair are nothing more than kind banter. “I don’t like being on the bad side of anyone I work with, let alone the people manning the cameras I’m in front of” Carly explains, “Aiden’s just as dedicated to his job as I am, we just have things in common- so what?” “Do we have things in common?” Juno quickly asks, Carly’s expression treating him as if he were asking the one question most obvious to answer. “Of course we do!” Carly responds, “we wouldn’t have become a couple if we didn’t have a lot of things in common!” With a nod, Juno looks back to the direction they were heading and begins walking again, prompting Carly to begin her pace once more to keep up. “Is there something going on I need to know about?” Carly asks aloud, Juno shaking his head as his teeth sink down into his dog once more. “Is there something going on with you I need to know about?” Juno counters with the same question. “What ‘something’ would that be, Juno?” Carly replies, the man not hesitating to get toward the obvious conclusion he was starting to make. “Do you like Aiden?” Juno inquires, Carly’s eyes narrowing as the suggestion is made. “You’ve got real jealousy problems” Carly responds, shaking her head in disapproval before walking off, Juno quick to catch up with her, taking her arm into his hand. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Juno calls out, pulling Carly back, immediately apologetic for his implication. “That was too far, I’m sorry” Juno persists, Carly crossing her arms as she looks back to the man, who tosses the rest of his hot dog into the trash. “You can’t keep doing this, Juno” Carly explains, “if you keep thinking I want every guy I talk with to fuck me, we’re going to start having some serious issues.” Aware of his mistake, Juno agrees, understanding the place in which Carly is coming from. “I’ll stop, you’re right” Juno replies, the frustration in Carly’s face fading as she accepts his apology, continuing to share the walk with him. | “I’ll see you tomorrow, Aiden!” Taylor calls out, pointing out toward her producer, who points back silently as he makes for the exit. Her hair running over her shoulders as she walks toward her office, Taylor notices the lamp she left on at her desk, lighting the room in a way that Grant’s does not. While a dim shade of orange peers through the glass door of her space, the interior of Grant’s is cloaked in dark nothingness, just a massive glass-panel of nothing. Stopping in her tracks, Taylor looks toward Grant’s office and approaches, the ball of her index fingers’ knuckle tapping against the glass casing of Grant’s door. Not expecting a response, having assumed the man would wish to contact his family from the warmth of his own home, Taylor is surprised when the voice inside welcomes whomever stands at his attention. Reaching down, Taylor pulls in the handle and walks into the dark room, the moonlight that hides behind the clouds above New York City only enough to make out Grant’s figure. Walking up to his desk, Taylor turns on Grant’s desk lamp, noticing his cell phone left on the hand-crafted wood finish, one of the pictures on his desk having been left toppled over. Rolling one of the chairs from in front of Grant’s desk towards the window, Taylor sets it up beside the man’s own, Grant peering at the skyline of the city with a glass of liquor in his hand. “Everything alright?” Taylor asks, the man flashing her a half-smile with a nod. Taking the moment to talk, Taylor looks out at the view of the city, a tight-lipped smile coming over her, the view their office affords them never growing old. “You were really great tonight” Taylor says aloud, Grant smiling at her and reciprocating the kind words. “You’re always great, so it’s not really a surprise anymore” Grant explains, “but you were still equally great tonight.” Her elbow resting against the chair’s arm, Taylor joins Grant in looking back out at the skylight, the pair taking in the moment until Grant’s phone begins buzzing again. “They went to bed for the night” Grant exclaims before Taylor can suggest he answer, “probably some telemarketer trying to get me to buy a timeshare.” With a chuckle, Taylor tells Grant that she has high hopes for his brother, a gesture that Grant silently smiles at. With a nod, Grant looks back towards his drink, taking another swig as Taylor points out her thoughts on the matter, trying to look through the lens of logic. “He was obviously stable enough to operate on, certainly stable enough for them to put him under!” Taylor explains, Grant’s eyes locking back onto the glass to allow the woman’s continuation, his fingers pressing harder into the shell the longer she goes on. “And car accidents aren’t always bad! The car can take enough of a beating to act as a shield of sorts…” Taylor persists, “if I’m looking at it, I’ve got a lot of hope for something that-” Before she can continue, her efforts are paused by Grant, the man relinquishing his strengthening grip on the glass as he turns toward her, interjecting his own words between those of Taylor’s, silencing her immediately. “He died. My brother died” Grant murmurs, Taylor’s words stopping immediately, her mouth still open as her brain processes the information she’s just received. “Wh- When?” Taylor asks, arm pressed against the back of the chair as Grant looks toward his watch. “About… about an hour ago” Grant replies, the time on his watch reading ten forty-eight o’clock, “seventy-one minutes ago.” Silence overcoming the pair for a few seconds, Grant takes it as his signal to keep sharing. “During the break when I said he went under, my mother called sobbing” Grant continues, “just said he was gone and I thanked her for letting me know… It’s okay.” In awe, Taylor continues to sit there, jaw dropped as Grant does his best to present her with a half-smile. “You’d just been sitting there-” Taylor begins again, Grant stopping her from continuing, keeping his assurance intact. “It’s okay, really… I’m okay” Grant replies, swallowing the build up in his mouth before concluding, “I’m okay. I wanted… I needed to. I’m okay.” Finally closing her mouth, Taylor sits back into her seat, her head still turned towards Grant, who stares at the window, looking around the city. In the reflection, Grant sees himself, slumped in his chair with a glass of liquor in his hand as Taylor still looks to him, a sight that harrows the man, the strength to keep his composed look rapidly depleting until it fades altogether. Jaw shaking, Grant’s face quickly devolves into one of pain, filled with misery and lost hope. His tears beginning to fall quickly, Grant begins to sob, trying his best to hide it, but failing immediately. Without hesitation, Taylor takes the glass from his hand, returning it to his desk and pulling Grant into an embrace, the tears continuing to run and the sobs remaining unleashed. “I’m so sorry, Grant” Taylor mutters, her chin pressed against the top of the man’s head, both hands cradling Grant’s distraught body, his emotions having simply overwhelmed him. The dim light now bringing visibility into the office, the fogged glass appears a dark orange, the faded outline of a destroyed man held against the arms of an apologetic friend seceding the black nothingness, a representation unbeknownst to the pair of there being a light to come from all darkness. == Tonight at 9 == / Monday, April 4th, 2005 /
“Coming up next is Joe Vonsen with ‘Tonight in the World’, I’m Grant Haste” the man signs off, the closing portion left to his co-anchor. “And I’m Howard Nalty, please have a warm evening. Goodnight” the man departs, those hidden beyond the view of the camera cutting the feed to yet another great show. “Brilliant, as always, Grant!” Howard exclaims, quickly leaving the desk and ripping the ear piece from where it lies. “You too” Grant responds with appreciation, neatening his papers before following Howard’s lead, his earpiece kindly left upon the desk to be collected. Returning to his office, Grant hastily removes his tie, tossing it onto his chair before disappearing into the connected closet, running his fingers through each edition of his wardrobe as if he had minimal time to do so. Having mastered undoing the buttons on his shirt with one hand, the man uses the one which remains free to sift through even more clothing, his brain running through the bountiful combinations he can leave the office draped in. His phone beginning to ring, Grant closes his eyes and yanks a random shirt from the rack, hurrying back to his desk to answer the call. “The desk of Grant Haste, Capitol Studio News” the man greets, the woman on the other end warmly starting the man’s night with a seductive tone, an act that puts a smile across Grant’s face. “Ms. Dolin, I trust” Grant replies, the soul on the other line amused by the front. “Please, Grant… It’s Kelsi to you” she responds. Undoing the cuffs on his shirt, Grant thanks her for the immunity, shirt gliding down his arms and falling across the back of his chair. “I’ll meet you in around fifteen minutes, cool?” Grant replies, Kelsi promising to wait in the event he gets held up. “With you waiting for me, I don’t think that will be an issue” Grant replies, the smirk of confidence spread across his face as the conversation ends, his phone lifted into his hand and returned to the receiver within a second. “No breaking news since I went off-air, right?” Grant calls out, his body covered by a dark purple shirt, a slick black tie and golden cufflinks. Long legs dressed in a pair of ironed, black pants with a brown leather belt, Grant completes the look with equally black penny loafers. “Unless you consider being off-air to be a national travesty, unlikely” a woman sat behind a “Maggie Barnes” nameplate replies, Grant insisting on that being the news he likes hearing most. Stopping by the control room entry, Grant looks to his left for reasons not even he understands, his internal feelings just giving him the command, there and in that moment, to look where he does. Across the newsroom, Howard and an assistant, duck into a storage closet unbeknownst to the rest of the staff, who all begin taking off by this point. The door shutting behind them, Grant realizes himself to not need to take such interest in the sight, though his mind can’t stop thinking about it. The way the man pulled her by the arm, the way their faces didn’t interact with each other in a racy, or otherwise sexual way, suggested this to be an encounter less than it had appeared to be. Brushing off the sighting, Grant enters the controls, his eyes ducking back to the doors as he walks further within, unable to become any less suspicious than he already was to the sight, even with other matters he deems more pressing to worry about ahead of himself. After a brief conversation, Grant thanks his executive producer, telling him to have a safe ride home. “You, too!” the man replies, a cocky Grant putting on a show as he runs his fingers down the sleek outfit he sports in that moment. “I don’t think it’s my home I’ll be getting safely to tonight!” Grant replies, spinning around with confidence and pushing his way through the glass doors. Entering the newsroom once again, Grant walks halfway through the now completely-empty newsroom before his eyes latch onto the closet once more. The date he prepares to partake in is no longer the only thing he is able to think about, Grant does extra to keep himself from being concerned with the business of other people, finally taking a few steps towards the doors before turning back yet again. Now facing the newsroom, Grant pictures the sight in his head persistently, playing it to himself on repeat before finally glancing back towards the storage room. With a grimace and sigh, Grant shakes his head in disappointment and makes the long journey towards the back of the room. Knowing his middle-aged co-anchor to be more than capable of handling a situation himself, Grant kicks himself for giving into the curiosity, hoping to see the pair having left the room without him knowing. Clearing his throat, Grant approaches the door, hand stretched towards the knob as the sounds of occupancy from within greet him once close enough. Rolling his eyes, Grant shakes his head and prepares to walk in, only to stop upon the hearing of grunting, the intercourse the pair engage in now being a forgone conclusion. With his head shaking, Grant smirks and turns to leave, only for a plea from within to capture his outright attention immediately. “Please… Stop…” the feminine voice within remarks, Grant’s head quickly turning back to the door upon the voice catching his ears, the grunting continuing well after the plea is first voiced. No prior experience of such an encounter to base his actions off, Grant operates on instinct alone in what he does next, turning back to the storage room and reaching for the handle, turning it without question and pushing the door in. = Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 Media from the start of Season 1 onwards = / Tuesday, April 5th, 2005 / Entering the building with eyes locked on his familiar pathway, Grant dulls out the secretaries answering phones upon his entry, just intent on making it to his office without disruption. Having nullified every sound into background noise, all Grant takes into his ears are the sounds similar to that of the whirring he falls asleep to at night. Before his destination can be reached, Grant’s progress is impeded, arm taken by the familiar face he’s shared the desk with countless times. “We need to talk in private” Howard proclaims, leading Grant through the hallways by the arm and yanking him into the men’s bathroom. “What are you doing?” Grant asks, watching Howard check every stall with his finger pressed to his lips, the coast being clear enough for him to finally speak openly. “It’s nothing big, I just need to touch base with you” Howard replies, his hands tucked into his pockets, the lack of a blazer making the man appear less professional than he usually does. “Touch base upon what, exactly?” Grant responds, Howard looking around the room frantically, unable to keep eye contact with the man unless he, himself, is talking. “What… uh…” Howard begins, his words unable to come in the form of complete sentences, the worry in the man’s voice overtaking his ability to coherently string together a well-rounded sentence. “What, what did you… you see, last night?” Howard inquires, “as in… how much did you see last night?” Taking in a deep breath, Grant breaks eye contact, Howard snapping his fingers to draw Grant’s attention back to him upon noticing this. “I saw… you” Grant replies, Howard nodding his head as Grant puts his words together. “I saw you… in the closet… with her” Grant concludes, Howard’s head nodding in agreement at each word until the woman’s presence is mentioned, upon which, his head begins to shake. “That’s not what you saw” Howard replies, prompting Grant to turn his head to the side, eyes remaining still upon Howard’s. “That definitely is what I saw” Grant responds, Howard’s head shaking even more erratically now. “No, you just saw me in that room last night” Howard replies, hands held in the air, positioned as if the man were guiding Grant onto the similar train of thought. “I saw you in that room last night?” Grant wonders aloud, immediately prompting Howard to begin nodding his head in agreement. “Yes, you saw me in that room last night, returning a broom I had taken to sweep my floor” Howard responds, Grant unintentionally beginning to lean forward the longer Howard draws the story out to him. “I saw you returning a broom last night?” Grant responds, Howard’s nod continues, “with your dick in that woman?” Immediately, Howard’s head begins to shake once more, the man refusing that any such encounter happened. “So that woman wasn't there last night?” Grant asks, “it was just the broom asking for you to stop fucking it, right?” Becoming aggravated, Howard goes to answer, his thoughts sidetracked when the bathroom door begins to open, the man immediately pressing his body weight against it, calling out its occupancy to the man on the other side. Turning to the door, Howard presses his back against the wooden frame, keeping any outsiders from entering as he cuts the childish discussion where it was. “I’ll put it this way, Grant… When, no, if someone asks you what you saw that night… You answer exactly as I have told you” Howard explains, Grant’s eyelids narrowing as the man desperately tries to lure Grant into his corner. With a shrug, Grant recites the statement Howard’s fed him, the made up story of how the broom asked Howard to stop raping it. “Quit fucking around with me, Grant” Howard warns, Grant’s hands thrown out by his side, the man refusing to ignore what happened the night prior. “You raped that woman last night, and you want me to cover it up for you!” Grant explains, “if anyone’s fucking around here, it’s you feeding me this broom bullshit!” In the corner of the room, a mop bucket lays unattended, Howard quick to snap the stick over the corner of the tiled wall and place it between the handle, allowing him to speak to Grant’s face. “Listen, Grant… I get that you’ve played by the rules up to now, but there is a level of power with this job that everyone abuses at one point or another” Howard explains, “and in those cases, the people with similar power, that will do the same thing one day, cover for the people that will cover for them.” Head shaking, Grant tells Howard that he’ll never abuse power in such a way that the man before him has, a statement Howard immediately disagrees with. “You’re gonna use your power someday, and it won’t be anything less than abuse” Howard explains, “and when that day comes, I’ll cover for you… Just like you’ll cover for me now.” Mouth agape, Grant looks on at Howard in disgust, the man pleading with Grant to do the right thing, a statement which leaves the putrid feeling to run down Grant’s skin like tar. “What makes you so confident that I’ll do what you want?” Grant questions, “why do you stand there thinking you can convince me that I didn’t see you rape a woman last night?” With a sigh, Howard explains that all debts are to be paid, and reminds Grant that he has a debt to pay Howard back. “You would have never gotten your start at CSN had it not been for the good word I put in on your behalf” Howard explains, hand pressed against Grant’s shoulder for the brief moment it takes before Grant shoves it away. “You owe your career to me” Howard warns, finger raised towards Grant’s face as his hand reluctantly rests back on Grant’s shoulder. “Just as I gave you the career you have, I can take it away like that” Howard concludes, Grant left to allow the man’s hand to rest beside his face, “so when the question is asked… you didn’t see anything.” A break in the man’s warning allowing for silence to fill the room, Grant stares at his co-anchor with disgust, Howard backing away from the man slowly before removing his makeshift lock and leaving the bathroom, Grant left swiping the filth from his shoulder in response. | Knuckles colliding with the glass on his office door, Grant turns on a light to illuminate the room he had just sat in surrounded by darkness, half-heartedly welcoming those on the other side in. Taking their chance, the detectives help themselves to the comfort of Grant’s spacious office, the fur seats before his desk sit welcoming and soft, the room dressed almost like a cozy, miniature house. “Mr. Haste, I’m Detective Mathias, this is my partner, Detective Arcnote” the man greets, Grant insisting they refer to him by his first name. Taking their seats, the detectives ask the man if he’s had anything to drink this evening, Grant answering with a question as to whether or not a wine cooler counts. “It does, is that a ‘yes’?” Mathias humorously replies, which Grant answers to in kind. “Is this about the police questioning I keep hearing around the newsroom?” Grant wonders aloud, a suspicion seconded by the detectives themselves. “We’re investigating a report made by an assistant that works here” Mathias replies, “Do you know Ms. Malichi?” “I do” Grant responds without hesitation, “she’s Howard’s assistant, if I’m not mistaken.” Assured to be thinking of the correct woman, Grant is asked if he can describe the relationship between her and Howard in words, a question which takes Grant a few seconds to answer. “I guess it would be the typical relationship one would have with their assistant” Grant replies, “I wouldn’t have had a reason to believe otherwise, if that’s what you’re asking.” “Have had?” Arcnote points out, a statement that catches both Grant and Mathias off guard for a second, “why have had? As if you’ve recently become aware of something…” Glancing back to the man behind the desk, Mathias seconds Arcnote’s quandary, asking Grant for the reasoning behind his sentencing structure. “Just a slip of the tongue, I suppose” Grant replies, Arcnote visibly suspicious of his statements. “Grant, did you happen to see anything take place last night?” Mathias questions, Grant attempting to dissuade any further digging, still uncertain if his career is more important than the justice for a woman so blatantly wronged as Jessica was. “I had a date after work last night” Grant replies, “that may not necessarily be anything new, but it was what had my attention throughout the evening.” “Can anyone corroborate that?” Mathias inquires, Grant sliding his phone towards the detective, bringing up his contact list and telling the detective to take Kelsi’s number down. Doing as instructed, Mathias gives the floor to Arcnote, who pushes towards Grant’s connection with Howard. “How influential was he in bringing you into primetime here?” Arcnote wonders aloud, her question answered before Grant needed to reply. “I’m pretty sure it’s well-known that Howard put in a good word to get me here, alright” Grant replies, “does this question have anything to do with Howard?” Without hesitation, Arcnote confirms the man’s suspicions, Mathias holding his hand out to Arcnote, keeping her from going on, instead, thanking Grant for his time and showing themselves out. “You have a lovely evening” Grant replies, a smile flashed towards the officers as they remove themselves from the room, Arcnote looking back through the glass window, peering at the man she knows is aware of more than he lets on. | / Wednesday, April 6th, 2005 / Tapping on his glass once more, Detective Mathias opens Grant’s morning with a conversation over coffee, a tray of beverages in his hand as he walks through the door. “I asked the secretary downstairs how you took your coffee, if you don’t mind that” Mathias greets, Arcnote following behind as Grant thanks him for his consideration. Suggesting they get right down to business, Mathias runs down the phone call he had taken with Kelsi the night prior, a vivid description of the date being recited by the lead investigator. “To make a long story short, Grant, she explained to us that you seemed more than pre-occupied throughout the evening” Mathias explains, “she also added that whatever had your mind stolen away was important enough to keep you from… getting it up.” His head dropping, Grant nods to himself as Arcnote asks about what could have caused such a reaction, the microphone on the table active, as represented by the bright red light ominously on throughout the length of their shared discourse. “I was nervous” Grant replies, a response prompting Arcnote to lower her head and roll her eyes, “it was a big date, I had just gotten off a show, plenty to be concerned over.” “Can you tell that we’re a little… questionable… of that excuse?” Mathias asks, reminding the man of the kind of falsehoods they have the capabilities of easily picking up on. “I don’t know what else to tell you, sir” Grant replies, “I was nervous, I’m always meeting new people, and something about her really got in my head.” Having heard enough of what she deems to be nonsense, Arcnote reaches across the desk and presses the pause button on the mic, the small red light turning dark as Mathias looks on in wonderment. “You’re used to going off the record in journalism, correct?” Arcnote questions, Grant assuring her of his familiarity. “Good, so will you stop bullshitting us if we take this off the record?” Arcnote questions, brushing off Mathias’ suggestion to do otherwise. “If you can tell us what really happened on the record, we can find a way to protect you from whatever it is you’re running from” Arcnote explains, “your loyalty to your job shouldn’t be enough to let an innocent woman suffer.” Head hung, Grant’s hands folded together, Mathias turning to suggest Arcnote go about things in a different way, his suggestion left unsaid upon noticing Grant’s reaction. “I can’t” the man behind the desk whispers, Arcnote assuring the man that he can, and should. “Regardless of what you think you can do for me… It won’t change what I know, that you don’t” Grant replies, assuring the officers that he’s sorry for not being able to give them the answers they came looking for. His hand outstretched, Grant brushes Arcnote’s finger away from the pause button, hitting it again to allow the red light to return. “I didn’t see anything. I was nervous about the date, and that is all” Grant remarks on the record, Arcnote’s head slumping as Mathias takes a disappointed breath, “end of story.” | Walking by the man, Howard flashes Grant a smile, his hand patting his protege on the shoulder, prompting Grant to stop his walk, standing still in the hallway before calling Howard back. With a smirk, Howards gradually slows down, exhaustedly turning back, Grant determined to set the record straight for the man standing before him. “I’m never, make this known, never going to be like you…” Grant explains, “whatever power I have will not be abused the way you have, so don’t worry about needing to cover for me.” With a laugh, Howard adjusts Grant’s suit, the shorter man by height pulling away from the fingertips of his on-air counterpart. “There are a lot of things about this business that you don’t know yet, Grant” Howard explains, “one of those things is what abuse of power truly is.” Face scrunched, Grant admits to Howard that he’s not following along, giving his co-anchor all the invitation he needed to break it down in the simplest of terms. “To abuse power is to use your influence to an unfair advantage” Howard explains, “a little frisky action is one way, as apparent… but as is using your status as a national news anchor to break the law with ease… doing something like, oh, I don’t know, obstructing justice.” Eyebrows furled, Grant opens his mouth to speak, Howard holding his hand out before he can, leaving Grant to look on as Howard wipes his hands all over his subordinate’s blazer. “But don’t worry about that, Grant Haste from CSN” Howard explains, getting closer to the man before lowering his face near his, making sure they’re at eye level before finishing his statement, “I’m gonna cover for you… just like you covered for me.” With a pat on both shoulders, Howard turns around to walk away, briefcase strapped over his chest casually as he walks off, Grant left feeling disgusted. Storming back into his office, Grant throws his blazer across the room, tearing the buttons of his dress shirt off and throwing it onto the floor. Stepping out of his pants, socks and shoes, Grant tosses his jewelry to the side and steps into his adjacent shower, allowing the cold water to run over his head, gradually turning warmer. The shower running over his face, Grant places his hands against the tiled wall, the warm water running down the length of his body before audibly finding its way to the drain. Trembling in anger, Grant lets out a shout, his yelling only growing in volume as he lets out the rage in his own disgust. Eventually having to halt his shouting to catch another breath, Grant makes up for the lack of verbal distress with a straight jab at the tiles ahead. Within moments, the bruised knuckles the man sports connect with the wall further, his hand progressively hurt more with each strike he takes on the shower wall. Before long, the man’s energy is spent, his punches ceasing and his shouting coming to a silence, simply sliding down the wall to the floor, slumped over as the water from above continues to run, its flow unimpeded by the man’s inner conflicts coming to the surface. | / Wednesday, January 11th, 2006 / “You wanted to see me?” Grant asks aloud, Vickers staring out of the window from his view-heavy office, New York City shining bright beneath the stars. “Do you know why I thought you had potential?” Vickers wonders aloud, “I mean… even after I found out what you were responsible for…” “Because of talent?” Grant replies, a clearly changed man, his appearance the farthest thing from his mind, his confidence replaced with a genuine intrigue he never once had at CSN. “No… It’s because I knew what kind of person you were, and obviously, still are” Vickers replies, his hand held towards a waiting glass of whiskey on his desk as he continues, “I knew putting you in a situation where you were reminded of what you did would influence you to make the right choice.” “So you paired me with Taylor to teach me a lesson?” Grant asks, Vickers refusing with a smile. “I put you with Taylor because she brings the best out in people” Vickers remarks, “and I put you in that newsroom knowing you’d, well, at least eventually, do the right thing.” With a smile, Grant takes the drink and has a seat in the chairs before Vickers’ desk, thanking him for the final drink before he finds himself behind bars. “I wouldn’t have let you go on the air if I knew it were a one and done” Vickers replies, the glass in Grant’s hands hovering as he stares towards Vickers in confusion. “LMC’s legal team has been prepped for this kind of outing” Vickers confesses, “and as soon as Taylor gave the clearance to Aiden in the control room, I’m sure they were already on the phone working out a deal with law enforcement.” In complete surprise, Grant stands from his seat, questioning whether or not he’ll be on his way to jail in handcuffs by the end of the evening. “You will not be going to jail tonight, Grant” Vickers replies as he turns to face the man, a relieved smile coming across Grant’s face in a moment of overwhelming emotions. “Holy shit, I was ready for a heart attack” Grant exclaims, Vickers laughing at the man as he pats him on the shoulder. Eventually, the shoulder patting ceases, Vickers keeping his hand upon Grant’s shoulder without hesitation, the younger man not pulling away how he once had with Howard. “We’re covering for you because of who you are, not what we owe you…” Vickers explains, “but I suppose, most importantly, we’re covering for you because you covered for the right person this time.” With a smile, Vickers removes his hand from the man’s shoulder, holding it out for a handshake, a gesture easily reciprocated by Grant. “Now come along!” Vickers exclaims, “the crew’s going out for celebratory drinks tonight, and I think our guest of the evening should be on his way.” With a smile, Grant walks along before pausing for a moment, inquiring about the possible presence of one person in particular. “She’s not really one for these kinds of after-hours sessions” Vickers replies, “she’s usually here until the early hours of the morning… busy bee and all.” With a nod, Grant tells Vickers to go ahead to the bar without him, promising to catch up shortly. “I have to see someone real quickly before I go” Grant admits, a wider smile coming over Vickers face as he nods, departing his office as Grant stays behind, appreciating the moment of clarity while he can. | “Come in” Taylor beckons at the sound of a knock at her door, turning away from her computer as Grant enters the room, his blazer held within his palms rather than being draped over his shoulders. “That was ballsy tonight, Grant… Stupid in most places of work, even…” Taylor greets, chin resting on her knuckle as it sits on her desk, “but it’s not stupid here.” Placing his jacket on the back of the chairs before the woman’s desk, Grant helps himself to a seat, apologizing for the man he once was. “The way I came into this building perceived by you was my own fault, and I’ll never deny such a truth” Grant explains, “but I really hope you and I can be on a better page than that going forward.” With a smile, Taylor places her hands to the desk and stands to her feet, explaining to the man that what he did nearly a year ago was something that disgusted her. “In most cases like those, that person would be dead to me before I even got to grill them” Taylor clarifies, “but none of them would have the balls that you had out there, to do that knowing what trouble you could have gotten into.” Sweeping her hair behind her ear, Taylor explains that Grant was not following decent company when he arrived. “When I first started working here, there was a woman that suffered a very similar treatment, and it ended with the same result, too…” the woman recalls, “no one spoke up for her, no one covered for her… they covered for each other… criminals covering for criminals.” With a sigh, Taylor admits to having lost hope in the ability people had to confess to their wrong doings, believing it to have been hopeless to depend on others to do what’s right. “Maybe it’s the world we live in now, or maybe it’s just in our own nature to be self-sufficient” Taylor ponders, “but it happens, and it bothers me… It really bothers me.” Looking towards the window, Taylor’s expression becomes one of anguish, a hidden pain behind her face of confidence before her mask returns. “What you did tonight won’t ever change what you did that day” Taylor reminds, Grant nodding with a better understanding, “but what you did today will always mean something, to someone… and tonight, it meant something to me.” Doing her best to stop the conversation from getting too emotional, Taylor takes a breath and returns to her side of the desk, admitting that Grant was right. “There is more to you than your darkest moments, Grant” Taylor admits, “and while it may not be the only thing there is to you, you have your brightest moments to offer, too… just like tonight.” With a smile, Grant holds back a tear and stands from his seat, hand stretched out to the woman, who responds with a respectful handshake. “Go enjoy your welcoming party” Taylor commands, a smile threatening to peek out from behind the well-detailed expression. “It may not seem like it completely, but what you did tonight earned you a lot of respect…” the woman explains, Grant latching onto her every word, “...and that respect isn’t just from them.” With a nod, Grant smiles and leaves for the door, its latches closing into place and giving Taylor the isolation she wanted so greatly earlier in the day. Left to the yellow light and the bright monitor of her computer, Taylor takes her seat back and attempts to return to work, the encounter she had just finished ultimately proving to be too much to leave behind. Turning her chair towards the seats in front of her desk, Taylor lifts the knuckle on her finger to her mouth, teeth biting down on the skin lightly as her eyes stare up at the door. Thinking to herself, Taylor makes a decision on what she was considering in her head, powering down the computer and its adjacent monitor. Grabbing her jacket, the woman throws it over her shoulders and turns out the light, calling for Grant to wait up as the office door closes on her way out. == Tonight at 9 == Series Premiere
/ Wednesday, January 11th, 2006 / Phones ringing from the hooks, the echo-centric main floor carved from granite and polished with a shine holds home to a litany of greetings from those stationed behind their respective desks. “LMC News Division, a subsidiary of Leicester Media Corporation” a welcoming voice greets, her words sharing space in the room with countless others, “this is Nola.” The woman’s desk directly in front of the slue of rotating doors separating those on the inside from those on the outside, every new, well-suited addition to call the floors home immediately look towards her upon arrival. His suit, one of many others within the warm confines of the frigid New York morning, a man with swagger and poise struts through the doors and approaches Nola’s desk without a moment’s hesitation. “I will connect you to Mr. McIntosh, please leave him a message if he does not pick up” Nola replies, the voice on the other end responding in such a way that gives her comfort to end the call. “Grant Haste, I’ve got a 12:10 appointment with Mr. Sam Vickers” the man checks in, Nola not offering the man more than a cold stare, her eyes glued to the papers on her desk, an unenthusiastic, almost scoff remark made for the man to look around the room. Caught by surprise at the woman’s unprofessionalism, Grant does as instructed, his eyes wandering around the walls as he does his best to brush away the unwelcoming introduction. “Do I just walk to his office?” Grant proceeds, a sign at the back of the lobby reading off the direction in which Mr. Vickers’ room can be located, Nola’s to look at the man starting to turn into a scowl. “Do you want me to hold your hand and escort you there?” Nola asks, though Grant refuses to answer, departing the front desk as another call takes the woman’s undivided attention, the annoyance clear in the expression draped across his pale face. In halls clean enough for the man to get a detailed-enough reflection to see the blemishes upon his skin, Grant travels through turns and open-areas as if he were a freshman on the first day of school, Vickers’ waiting lobby finally catching his eye. Having himself a seat upon the undersized, flimsy plastic and dollar-store supports, Grant folds one leg over the other and places his briefcase atop his lap. Lined along the walls, portraits of some of the greats to have once entered the building’s grounds hang with pride, the luminescent lights above each portrait doing their part in suggesting those portrayed to be etched in infamy. Near the entry to Sam’s office, one portrait of many takes Grant’s focus upon its sighting, whilst some of the portraits in colour, others in black and white, this one portrait not only appears most recent, but the most familiar as well. The only woman photographed along the line, her blonde hair runs over the shoulders of her blazer, and her forward portrayal differs from that of all others, who sport a side-pose, almost as if their appearance were all just a pointless presentation. A short time later, the clear-glass door opens, a secretary poking her head through the opening to repeat Grant’s name. Following the woman within the much darker confines of Sam Vickers’ office, Grant is welcomed by the charming smile of an old man appearing gleeful to see him. “Mr. Washington D.C getting his first taste of the big apple!” Sam Vickers remarks, shaking the hand of the man opposite his desk, “how’s the first bite?” A confused mixture of unintelligible sounds, Grant neatens up his phrasing to describe his first greeting in proper english. “It wasn’t all that welcoming” Grant replies as Sam returns to his seat, “if the big apple is supposed to be a juicy one, the first bite can best be described as ‘dry’.” “You’re an outsider encroaching on their territory” Vickers replies, Grant finally having himself an adequate seat for adults. “Not to mention, you’re from D.C” Vickers continues, his hands folding atop his chest as he slouches in his seat, “you’re not going to be one finding yourself all-too liked at first.” With a nod, Grant puts on his most pleasing front, laughing at Vickers’ jokes and playing along with his employers’ every move. “How’ve the last few months been off television?” Vickers inquires, Grant explaining the difference between on-air life and returning to a more secluded routine. “I always find it to be more calming when you don’t have to show up on screens every day” Grant replies, “you get to be yourself, y’know? Live the way you wish to, not how the media does.” With a smile, Vickers changes the direction of the conversation for a moment, offering the man a shot of whiskey as he retrieves a vintage bottle from the drawer of his desk. “Are we allowed to drink on company grounds?” Grant challenges, Vickers now holding the curved bottle in one hand and a pair of glasses between his two lead fingers in the other. “It’s my news network!” Vickers responds, hands spread out like a triumphant boxer, “I can, quite frankly, do whatever the fuck I want!” With a laugh, Grant takes the man up on his offer, the older gentleman not one to shy away from over pouring, the glass he slides Grant half full, and the glass he keeps for himself being just a shy over that. “To new beginnings!” Vickers exclaims, glass held high, awaiting Grant’s reciprocation. “And to fresh starts!” Grant adds, colliding his glass with that of Vickers, his first sip bringing a sour edge when mixed with his coffee, the evening beverage never one to sit well at first. “It’s New York City, Grant… The sleeping giant that controls this entire country’s informational input from the comfort of a side-stand studio” Vickers explains, one finger removed from the glass, aimed towards Grant. “You’re not in D.C anymore, my friend” Vickers concludes, Grant’s head bowing, a slight disappointment overcoming him before he affirms the older gentleman’s statement. “How did things leave off back home?” Vickers questions, Grant’s face changing to one of surprise at first, returning to the usual composure he had been sporting for the minutes previous. “Things were going well” Grant replies, the left eyebrow on Vickers’ face lifting into the air, “but I realized that it was time for a new chapter, so I called it a day.” With a deep breath, Vickers adjusts in his seat before ultimately choosing to remove himself from it entirely, his stroll taking him around the desk and into the seat beside that of Grant’s, a slight smirk coming over the younger man’s face as this change of scenery unfolds. “I like people with the poise that you have, which is why I think we can get along” Vickers explains, placing his drink back upon the desk, “but in order to do that, you need to not bullshit me.” Grant’s expression quickly changing, Vickers alters his approach, the ice having been broken, the bits that remain intact discarded with the force of a blowtorch. “I know why you left, D.C, alright? And I know that it was not of your own volition” Vickers explains, “now I think very highly of you, but I also understand that you’re someone in need of proper punishment for your actions.” With a sigh, Grant’s eyes turn away from Vickers, his head looking towards the floor whilst his employer continues. “I think you’re far too talented to have allowed yourself to be the advisor to an asshole” Vickers continues, “but you need to know your place.” Placing his glass beside Vickers’, Grant runs his hand over his face, preparing for tides to turn in a dramatic fashion. “Because of how easily D.C let you off the hook, keeping your scandal out of the public eye and, instead, keeping it in house…” Vickers explains, “I figured making you suffer with a daily reminder, on air, every day of the week until your contract runs out, would be the best form of punishment… Whilst still not wasting the good you still can offer and do.” “That’s why you signed me?” Grant replies in question, his tone having shifted into one of defence, “have me play second-fiddle to Taylor so I can get a paycheck and never move on?” With a shrug, Vickers notes the woman’s experience in dealing with flawed people, both on camera and off. Nodding to himself, Grant returns to his feet and takes his belongings into his hand, Vickers left remaining where he was left whilst Grant walks out of the door. Whispering to himself, Vickers counts down from ten as he takes another swig from the glass. Upon reaching zero, Vickers looks back to the door and watches Grant return through it, asking for directions towards the newsroom. Offering the man the answers he returned looking for, Vickers oversees Grant’s dramatic exit once more, chuckling to himself as the glass is brought back to his lips. “This is going to be fun” the man says to himself, shrugging his shoulders as he returns to the desk, the office bound for a little more fun in his eyes than it previously had, his Wednesday morning beginning with some spice. Just beyond the view of his office, Grant remains standing in the glistening hallway, his eyes unable to detach themselves from the blonde-haired woman’s portrait, her name plate read from his lips in a whisper. “Taylor English” the man mutters a number of times, his eyes closing tightly before parting differently, his annoyance having turned into an intense stare, and his feet finally taking him in the direction his immediate future resides within, waiting for his entry to begin a new chapter. = Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 Media from the start of Season 1 onwards = The bulletproof glass doors that lead into the towering newsroom granting him entry to the centre of everything, Grant stares towards the heavens, the heart of LMC News taking the design of a panopticon, fifteen rows of floors towering above the open-air space, a newsdesk stationed in the room’s middle. Monitors in each direction turned to competing channels, a wall of colour-coded pop-ups differing in severity and constantly-updating bulletins, the newsroom offers nothing less than the best of technology. Gazing in wonder, Grant goes completely unaware of the numerous faces all staring at him with a range of expressions, those stationed on the floors above staring down from their pedestals. His eyes finally stumbling into the one door he was most concerned with finding, Grant swallows his worries and proceeds forward, the balls on his knuckles tapping against the fogged glass with hesitation. “Enter” the voice from within calls aloud, the door’s handle taken into Grant’s grasp and pushed forward, his eyes immediately landing upon the blonde woman sitting behind her computer. Stood in the middle of her office, Grant remains silent for an awkward few seconds, his new co-anchor patiently waiting for the man to muster the courage to speak his first words. “Hi” Grant begins, the woman rolling her eyes as if to suggest the first word was less than worth the wait, “I’m Grant Haste, the new co-anchor of-” Without letting the man finish his introduction, the woman insists that she already knows who he is. “Why are you in my office?” the woman proceeds to inquire, the nameplate at the forefront of her desk designed in much the same fashion as the one beneath her portrait outside Vickers’ office. “I just wanted to come in and introduce myself” Grant replies, the woman turning her chair towards the man’s direction, hands folded upon her lap with one leg draped over the other. “I already know who you are… As does everyone here” Taylor replies, “why would you think you’d walk into a newsroom after what you did in D.C and have the need to introduce yourself as if we didn’t already know everything there was to know before you could even walk in?” Clearing his throat, Grant’s hands reach around his back, folding together away from the woman’s sights, a few eyes from beyond their office door frozen upon them, intrigued in seeing how this unfolds. “I don’t think you know everything” Grant replies, his tone sounding sarcastic, almost humorous in a way Taylor doesn’t take kindly to. Flashing a grin of displeasure to accompany an unwelcoming chuckle, Taylor’s hands press against the sides of her chair, pushing her from her seat. “You don’t think we know everything?” Taylor asks, slowly walking around her desk, Grant left watching anxiously as he knows this welcome to be bound for little more than what he’d already encountered. “You vouched for a rapist because you ‘owed him’, and got away with it until the woman he fucked over, both literally and figuratively, took him to court” Taylor remarks, “and then quietly depart from D.C on mutual interest of what’s best when you become a liability.” Taylor’s face gets close to his, eyes cold enough to send shivers down Grant’s back before he can even feel the heat of her breath. “You go ahead and tell me, right now, how I don’t know everything” Taylor exclaims, holding the floor open to allow the man his damndest at climbing out from the inescapable hole he’s dug himself into.” His teeth sinking into his bottom lip, Grant responds in a way in which the woman expected, her face showing that she’s glad to find the man is still capable of telling the truth. “I can’t” Grant replies, the woman turning around and returning to her desk almost immediately, “but I can tell you that there’s more to me than my darkest moments.” As her hand reaches out for her chair, Taylor’s palm merely presses into its headrest before her body freezes, anger building in the moment Grant finishes his sentence. “What about her, D.C?” Taylor asks, her head turning back towards the man, hair covering one eye, the one which remains undisturbed serving enough of a stare to demoralise the man before her. “Is there more to that woman than what she had to suffer through that night anymore?” Taylor questions, Grant’s head sunken in self-hatred, “I’d bet everything she does reminds her of him in some way.” A smirk on her face breaking from the filth she feels coursing over her, its disgust wrapping around her arms, and coiling around her fingers, Taylor takes her seat behind the computer, eyes locked onto Grant as he peers at her, head still hung. “You had the choice, in that moment, to do the right thing… And you chose the wrong thing” Taylor explains, “that decision isn’t one that you get to take back, nor is it one that you can just forget about.” Leaning forward, Taylor tells the man to hold his head up and stare her in the eyes the way she believes a real man to be capable of. His battery-sized pride swallowed, Grant holds his head up, eyes unmoved from her face. “You’re no real man, Grant” Taylor explains, fingers locked together atop her desk, “you’re a piece of garbage in an expensive suit… And all that luxury covers up is moral bankruptcy.” No longer wanting the man to stand before her sights unless he needs to be, Taylor directs the man to the office beside her own. “Unfortunately, I have to share a wall with you” Taylor concludes, “so stop being here, and go over there.” Eyes turning back to her computer, Taylor begins to question herself as her hand rests atop the keys, Grant doing as instructed until his name is called back. Turning around, Grant looks the woman in the eyes, her face illuminated by the monitor’s screen. “I only share a desk with you because I owe Sam” Taylor explains, “I don’t like you, and trust my prediction when I say, I know that is never going to change.” Clearing the build up of tension, Taylor makes it through her final warning unscathed, the man leaving her office for the one next door upon its conclusion. “Stay out of my way, and I will stay out of yours” Taylor furthers, “because, if I really wanted to, I could have you back off-screen, slowly fading into obscurity by the day, with the snap of my fingers.” Walking around the sloped walls to the office one room over, Grant places his hand upon the door and pushes forward, stopping in the walkway for a moment to stare back into the panopticon. Every set of eyes on the floor directed towards him, a mob of people leaning along the bannisters of each floor above act just the same, an entire crowd watching the man’s first vanishing act, his body encapsulated for the time being behind his own thick-fogged glass door. | Alerted by the tapping at his door, Vickers allows entry to the figure on the other side, a motivated Grant emerging from beyond its fogged-out divider. “I see you’re finding your way around the building nicely… I like to be a fast learner!” Vickers exclaims, Grant immediately opens the conversation with a request issued on similar grounds. “Can I start a few days early?” Grant inquires, the man down a blazer and tie, instead sporting an unfurled dress shirt and slacks. “Are you going to ask for information leading you to the whereabouts of your stolen wardrobe?” Vickers mocks, a genuine chuckle coming from Grant as he implies otherwise. “You may not trust me on air yet, but I’d like to start from scratch… True scratch” Grant explains, Vickers left asking a simple set of questions before he makes his decision. “Have you sat in on the rundown?” Vickers wonders aloud, Grant offering him the exact time and location of such a meeting. “Have you a wardrobe, preferably one that is complete, for this evening's show?” Vickers continues, Grant revealing the blazer and tie from behind his back. “Do you know what city we’re in?” Vickers inquires, Grant enthusiastically reciting the nicknames associated with New York. “And have you been drinking?” Vickers concludes, Grant reciting a perfect rendition of the alphabet backwards to seal the deal. “Let Taylor know I gave the ‘all clear’” Vickers replies, a nod of appreciation coming from Grant as he quickly dashes out of the man’s office, leaving his boss with a smile plastered across his face. | Adjusting his collar, Grant stares at himself in the mirror, eyes locking upon those within his reflection, a mutter of confidence spoken beneath his breath. Removing himself from the office, Grant walks around the lengths of the panopticon, his journey taking him to the control room hidden behind the desk’s backdrop. “You’re Aiden!” Grant exclaims, the man he calls for stood before the monitors, double checking the set for airtime. “Redwood” the man replies, his last name added onto the first, a name which Grant formally recites. “Aiden Redwood, it’s a pleasure to meet you” Grant greets, a hesitant Aiden explaining that he’d prefer it to be as much a pleasure for him as it appears to be for the new co-anchor. “Listen, I don’t wanna step on toes, so you just let me know if I’m encroaching into territory I don’t belong” Grant explains, Aiden suggesting Taylor would take care of that before he could. Entering the room, almost as if the mere mention of her name incited her presence, Taylor finds both Grant and Aiden stood together, gradually walking further into the room, buying her time until Grant leaves. “I have to take care of something really quick, I look forward to tonight’s show” Grant exclaims, walking past Taylor without a word on his way out, she and Aiden coupling together, watching the man zip into the front desk. “Can I have everyone’s attention for just a second!?” Grant calls out, his feet planted against the platform which the desk sits upon, the eyes on the floor placed in his direction. Above, doors open quickly as a crowd begins to gather the length of the towering overhang. “I know you all already know who I am, and I want to address the reason why” Grant explains, the newsroom now flooded with people eagerly awaiting what he has to say. “I fucked up at a time where people counted on me not to” Grant explains, “and I’m not some asshole that doesn’t understand that… I’m just an asshole that has to live with it.” Taking the captivating display as worth more than nothing, the eyes treat every word with the weight they were intended to be taken with, each statement hitting with those surrounding the man with a storied past. “Not only did I help ruin someone’s life, but I hid behind millions of dollars of comfort without needing to worry that I’d never get to return to the air with a squeaky-clean reputation” Grant furthers, “but that all goes away tonight.” Intrigued by the front, the crowd awaits the man’s continuing statements, questioning the promises with actual uncertainty. “The truth is, I know just as you all do, that I don’t deserve to be sitting at this desk tonight” Grant concludes, “but since I am, I’m going to make sure that I’m nothing but honest, both in front of it, and otherwise.” With a deep breath, Grant nods to himself and those around him, assuring them that, through one way or another, they’ll be both in store for, and a part of, a great show this evening. “What’s going through your mind right now?” Aiden whispers to Taylor, knowing her well enough to assume she holds an opinion on the guarantees having been made. “I don’t know, but if I were you, I’d make sure I had five minutes saved in case this thing goes off script at some point.” | “And you’re on the air in three…” Aiden counts down, words through the earphones unheard by the rest of the newsroom, which watch the stage before them anxiously. “Two…” Aiden counts as Taylor looks to her side, eyes upon Grant in wonder of what he truly plans to have unfold in seconds from this very moment. “One…” Aiden counts, his words fading into a breath as silence proceeds, Grant recognizing heard silence as the signal that the show has begun. “Good evening, I’m Taylor English...” the woman greets, her head turned towards the man beside her, “...and I’m Grant Haste” the man concludes. “Tonight we discuss, amongst other things, an attack in a Russian synagogue that wounded at least eight” Taylor continues, Grant’s eyes locking onto the woman as she moves along the script. Finally concluding the opening introduction, Taylor pauses for a moment to allow Grant to take over, the words on the teleprompter walking him into a rundown of Tony Blair’s setting out of his Respect agenda. His eyes running down the lines moving up the screen before him, a lack of words leave Grant’s mouth, the man frozen live on air as Taylor watches on, his inaction prompting her to begin the first story on his behalf. “Today in the United Kingd-” Taylor begins, her opening statement concluded abruptly by Grant, who breaks his silence by admitting to the viewers that he first has a statement of his own to make. “Thank you Taylor for your hindsight” Aiden says to himself from the control centre, the flip of a switch at his finger deactivating the teleprompter, the screen going completely black, allowing for Grant to take the reins. “As many of you know, the last time you saw me on television was for another network” Grant explains, Taylor’s hands folded, right elbow on the desk as her body turns towards the new co-anchor. “A number of months ago, I was released from my contract with such a network under what was then-described as a ‘mutual agreement’” Grant explains, “an agreement that, in reality, was me being fired behind the scenes due to my existence within the network becoming a liability.” With a smile, Taylor looks on at the man, surprised at his gall to go through with such career-altering promises, a sort of satisfaction running around the newsroom much aligned with that of Taylor’s own. “I was a liability to the network because I had information that was, and still is, detrimental to a legal case currently ongoing, and including my former co-anchor, one Howard Nalty” Grant continues, Taylor awaiting the punchline she knows resides in hiding around the corner. “The legal case, in specific, pertaining to that of a claim, one Jasmine Malichi, made against Mr. Nalty” Grant specifies, “a claim that he, after work hours, had physically and sexually assaulted her not only against her will, but on company grounds.” “Get ready to cut to commercial on Taylor’s cue” Aiden calls out, the control team he stands before knowing exactly what their orders are. “I was let go on the agreement that I was to remain silent on the ordeal until after its conclusion” Grant explains, “it was an agreement I once agreed to… And itt is a deal I no longer agree to such conditions of.” “Take it home, Grant” Vickers says from the comfort of his office, the glass of whiskey in his hand pressed to his lips with a smile, every television usually presenting his competitors turned off, only one, sat before him, powered on and tuned to his network. “Tonight, I most likely surround myself in legal battles that will probably kill me someday” Grant continues, “but I do so confidently, knowing that my inaction will not remain so.” Her hand covering her mouth, Taylor conceals the smile she is no longer able to contain behind her fingers, those within the newsroom unable to keep themselves back from such a similar response, overwhelmed with a weird sense of joy at such honesty prevailing in a fairytale-like manner. “Tonight, I submit myself to the truth” Grant explains, hands folded upon the table as the wide shot zooms into his face, the close-up only adding to the weight of such a decree. “I witnessed Howard Nalty assault, and rape, Jessica Malichi after work hours on company grounds” Grant announces, “I knowingly took part in a cover up, I knowingly committed obstruction of justice, and I knowingly ruined the life of a woman I live every day regretting my own wrong doing of.” With a tear, Grant explains that he accepts all responsibility for his own inaction, and will subject himself to the punishment according to his actions. Stunned into silence, Taylor looks on at Grant, holding back tears of her own, allowing a few seconds of silence to linger in the air, nods of approval given to those within the newsroom, Aiden calling for Taylor’s signal through the earphones. After a moment, the woman composes herself, fixing the papers before her accordingly as the wide shot zooms out, Grant still staring straight into the lens as he had for the minutes prior. Clearing her throat, Taylor lays the papers back across the desk, her hands folded upon its glass surface once more, eyes returning to the lens as the teleprompter returns. “We’ll be back after this” the woman concludes, camera screen fading to black, the last sight before commercial being the uneasy rest in Grant’s expression, eyes still sturdy, as confident in his decision as he can be, and proud of his remarks. == Tonight at 9 == |
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