/ 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 ==
0 Comments
/ 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 == |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
March 2023
Categories |