S2, E5 | Kind Gestures

\ Monday, February 26th, 2007 /
\ 4:18 pm est. - 1:18 pm pst. /

“Hello, ma’am- I’m with the Giuliani campaign, and I see that you are a registered Republican voter?” Kelsi opens, sat behind a common table, its top covered by a black cloth. “That’s great to hear!” Kelsi replies, made privy to a preferable response from the woman she’s phoned, “I was just hoping we could count on you to throw your support behind Mayor Giuliani in next year’s New York primary.”

Pressing the headset to her right ear, Kelsi shields the left with her hand, drowning out the sea of voices, all reading off the same call script. “Yes ma’am, Mayor Giuliani is, indeed, pro-choice” Kelsi responds, her eyes beginning to close the longer her call persists, the short discussion she’d anticipated drawn out much longer than hoped. “Mayor Giuliani is, indeed, a supporter of the second amendment, you are correct” Kelsi furthers, unable to hear the footsteps that approach.

“Yes, medicaid is a very crucial element of Mayor Giuliani’s-” she continues, stopped at the interruption of dead air, the other line having gone quiet. “I think she gets the memo” Grant remarks, his finger pressing into the handset’s receiver, ending the call on the woman’s behalf. “Why did you do that!?” Kelsi responds, her annoyance undoubtedly clear, “you could get me fired!”

“As if that’d be a bad thing for you” Grant responds, turning away from the woman’s table as that statement leaves his lips, their conversation not one belonging in the public eye. “You can’t just barge in here like you own the place” Kelsi hisses, quickly following Grant’s lead, his mouth covered by a neck gaiter. “Your candidate’s electability counts on people like me covering him in a good light” Grant responds, opening an exit near the building’s rear, “in a weird way- I sort of do.”

The cloudy afternoon just a few steps ahead of him, Grant stands in the doorway, caught between the building’s inside and patio. “You wanted to see me in person, so here I am” Grant remarks, his head motioning toward the outdoors, their discussion’s progression dependent on Kelsi’s willingness to partake in it. Conflicted, Kelsi stares into Grant’s eyes, his body bundled beneath a jacket and a long pair of slacks, her first thought to take the man on his offer followed through on.

“What was that comment back there about?” Kelsi inquires, watching Grant remove his face covering as the door shuts behind them, “the one about getting fired being a bad thing?” Rolling his eyes, Grant steps past Kelsi, occupying a vacant bench chiselled from concrete. “You slept with me when I was at CSN because you wanted to be a reporter,” Grant responds, his left arm casually draped across the seat’s back, “this campaigning- it isn’t what you want, it’s a way to get your foot in the door.”

“Gee, it’s almost like it was my choice to get frozen out of your life-” Kelsi responds, watching Grant’s head bow slowly, “-like someone didn’t slam the door on my toes before I could walk through.”

“I could have done plenty of things to keep you quiet by now, but I didn’t. I bent over and gave you the coverage you wanted” Grant replies, “I think we both know I’ve done my best to make that right.” Preferring to stand, Kelsi looks down at her once-partner, her left arm cupped over her hip. “Sure- you did something for me. You did what you had to so we could be even” Kelsi replies, the sky darkening just overhead, “but you didn’t do it because you were sorry.”

Having agreed until the latter-most statement, Grant’s expression turns, his calm demeanour remains intact, though his expression shifts to one of defence. “I’m sorry- I’ve been sorry” Grant corrects, his upper body beginning to move forward. “No, you apologise because it’s what you think is right” Kelsi rectifies, taking two steps closer toward Grant, “you’re not sorry about what happened. If you could have, you would have cut me out of the picture sooner!”

“What do you mean if I could have? I could have!” Grant interrupts, no longer sharing in Kelsi’s hurt feelings, the discussion beginning to amuse him. “Then why didn’t you?” Kelsi quickly retorts, her voice raising an octave, “you came to New York, you started a new job, you met a new toy to fuck around with, you got yourself a new life! Clearly, you wanted a redo- so why did it take you so long to cut me loose!?”

“I-” Grant begins, his mouth widening to respond with words that evade him, a truth he holds within beginning to appear on the surface, “-can’t.” With a sigh, Grant rubs the sides of his head, no option left other than to accept his faults. “I used you as a shoulder to cry on. It was wrong of me, and I’d never given it thought until I got here” Grant confesses, Kelsi unable to convince herself to do more than listen.

“While I’m being honest, I’m pretty sure I did plenty of things back then that I’d be sorry for now” Grant continues, “it feels, in a way, like who I was back then just- wasn’t me.” Struggling for thought the longer he goes on, Grant leaves his seat, eyes finding a small plot of dirt where deceased flowers lay. “I played with your career, and that was even more than wrong” the man continues, turning back to face Kelsi, “I’m not trying to make us even, I’m trying to make it right.”

Her arms crossed, Kelsi watches Grant, her attention never once moving away from him, the words he uses easily discernible from empty gestures. “Trying to get me thrown off Giuliani’s staff doesn’t help that much” Kelsi softly replies, her right leg bent forward, “the gesture is nice, though.”

“It’s not a gesture” Grant corrects, his hands pressed atop the elevated garden bed behind himself, “sleeping with me may not have been the most professional way to get started, but this- all this crap is below you.” Her head veering toward the door she’d stepped through to join Grant, Kelsi’s attention is called for, the woman trying to hide the flattery she takes from the man’s compliments.

“Like I said before, it’s not like I had much of a choice” Kelsi restates, “I could say the same thing for the blackmail. I used you for something I needed the same way you did.” With a gentle push, Grant propels himself forward, each step drawing him nearer the woman he’d spent much of the year crafting worries over.

“You did have a choice, but I can’t blame you for the one you made” Grant retorts, his each step somehow slower than the one before it. From the pouch on his jacket’s side, Grant retrieves a folded piece of paper, a dark, black scrawling barely visible through the layers of sheet. “When you’re done with-” Grant remarks, peering toward the brutalist-designed building her campaign quarters occupy, “-all of this, you’ll have that foot in the door I rudely shut on you.”

The man’s statement not lining up, Kelsi unfurls the paper, listening to Grant slowly return the way he’d arrived, the gaiter placed back upon the lower half of his face. “What’s this?” the woman inquires, watching the man spin back toward her direction. “It’s Aiden Redwood’s phone number- he’s my E.P” Grant responds, raising his finger to the note, “like I said- there’s your open door.”

Embracing the metaphor, Grant steps back into the building, letting the entrance close behind him. Unsure of how to react, Kelsi just stands were she was left, sharing looks between the folded note and the building’s entrance as the offer weighs itself upon her mind.

= Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

\ Wednesday, February 28th, 2007 /
\ 1:18 pm est. - 10:18 am pst. /

“Slow news day?” Taylor wonders aloud, scanning a folder stacked with reports as she approaches Shane’s desk, where he, Vince and Keith take turns throwing bunched-up papers into a bin across the room. “It’s a quiet day, almost too quiet” Vince jokes, hurling another paper through the air with great height, it’s landing place coming up ten metres from his target.

“The last time I heard that, a few more buildings occupied our skyline” Taylor responds, lifting Shane’s feet away from an empty chair with her foot before descending upon the same seat. “Hey, Shane? Do me a favour and remind me what your degree is in, please?” Taylor inquires, her eyes still yet to leave the folder. “Bachelor’s in journalism, which will become a master’s in a semester-and-a-half, with a minor in English-” the man responds, “-don’t bother getting too into that last part.”

“I won’t, but I will focus on that degree” Taylor responds, watching Shane’s next shot take on the distance needed for a score, though the accuracy lacks enough to keep the ball from veering right. “Haha, funny- my ex-girlfriend said the same thing on our first date” Vince replies, swiping his hand in front of Keith’s face, the man holding the shot back before it can leave the man’s hand.

“Well my reasons are very different obviously” Taylor replies, her face finally lifting from the portfolio, “wanna be an executive producer?” Having prepared an attempt, Keith’s hand wavers at the last second, the ball sailing toward an empty grouping of desks as his focus is claimed elsewhere. “Uh- you want me to E.P?” Shane replies, caught by surprise just as much as his colleagues are, the offer coming unexpectedly, “wh- what would I-?”

“Tonight at Nine” Taylor replies, crossing one leg over the other as she interrupts, a conclusion to the man’s question unnecessary, “Aiden’s leaving to take over ‘On Air’.” Though pleased at the offer, Shane’s joy quickly subsides, his mind travelling elsewhere. “On A-? Wait, that’s Carly’s show” Shane responds, his arms pushing into the sides of his chair.

“It is, her E.P’s leaving for CSN at the start of spring” Taylor replies, moving her binder to the unoccupied desk beside her, “Aiden’s moving over to eight, we’re offering you nine.”

“But eight’s a lesser show” Keith interjects, readjusting himself in the chair he’d almost fallen out of, “no offence to Carly, but she draws five million fewer viewers. Why is he-?” Before Taylor can answer, Shane breaks away from the conversation, silently leaving his chair and the discussion. “Aiden!” Shane shouts, storming through the newsroom as his friend exits the control booth, the call of his name surprising him.

“Why are you leaving nine o’clock!?” Shane exclaims, his arms thrown out. Glancing past his friend’s head, Aiden’s watches Keith and Vince emerge from their seats, Taylor’s seated-frame discovered not too long after. “Keep your voice down and follow me” Aiden responds, the men leaving the bureau in favour of the office near its end.

“I live in an apartment in New York, I don’t own a car, and my day consists of coffee, coffee, and more coffee” Aiden replies, “I don’t think the difference in pay is as important as you’d think.” As Aiden climbs into his chair, Shane remains standing, too preoccupied with Aiden’s decision to care about his own. “That’s what last weekend was about, wasn’t it?” Shane wonders aloud, the expression on Aiden’s face doing little to convince the man otherwise.

“The friends we were meeting with were her producers” Aiden responds, the animated head roll Shane responds with disappointing him. “You’re leaving one of the best gigs on T.V for a girl!” Shane replies, stretching out the final words for added emphasis, “not even your wife! To hell with that, not even your girlfriend! Just a woman you have a crush on!”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand” Aiden replies, turning his attention to other matters. “What is there to understand? This isn’t elementary school!” Shane responds, struggling to keep his voice at a reasonable level, “you’re not giving up your pudding cup, you’re giving up a lifetime’s worth of job security because you’re horny!”

“I’m not giving up anything, I’m taking on a new challenge!” Aiden counters, lifting his voice to the point where it reaches Shane’s pitch, “I practically do nothing at nine! Taylor and Grant have done this for so long they practically run on autopilot!” His head shaking, Shane attempts to turn away, intending on leaving the room before Aiden calls him back.

“It’s more than just following Carly to eight o’clock. Don’t you think I’d demand more money in exchange for making a lateral move?” Aiden responds, his declaration beginning to calm Shane. “Carly’s contract expires after the election, and she told Vickers that she wanted a choice over her next E.P is she was going to re-sign” Aiden explains, Shane’s open-mindedness growing as Aiden progresses, “I’m getting full control, minus Carly’s final say, over designing an entirely new format.”

His eyes squinted, Shane’s body turns the rest of the way around, the clarification making the step down seem more like a promotion. “I know you said that, at some point, you wanted to try your hand at E.P’ing” Aiden continues, his hands placed knuckle-first against the desk, “as far as I know, there’s no better set of training wheels than nine o’clock. You’ll get to take your lumps without having to suffer much for them. It’s the best present I’ll ever give you.”

|

\ Wednesday, February 28th, 2007 /
\ 3:48 pm est. - 12:48 pm pst. /

“I wish I'd known it wasn’t going to rain before I left the office in such a big, bulky coat” Vickers remarks, throwing the jacket onto an empty couch, Taylor following his lead as she trails closely behind. “At least you can leave the house with adequate coverage” Taylor replies, a styrofoam cup of coffee grasped within her right hand as she takes one of two empty seats in front of Vickers’ space.

“What? Too afraid you won’t be such a girly girl if you walked out of the house with that lug over your shoulders?” Vickers responds, sipping at his warm beverage. “I may be mighty, but I’m still a few tin cans off from 5’6” Taylor chuckles, resting her drink on the man’s desk, “if I walk out in that thing, it might as well turn into a dress. That thing will be dragging along the sidewalks from here to Albany.”

“I thought you lived in Manhattan?” Vickers replies, flashing the woman a grin, “don’t I pay you well enough?” Rolling the long, purple sleeves of her shirt to her elbows, “I said I had an apartment in Manhattan” Taylor responds, meeting Vickers’ grin with one of her own, “I never said that’s where I lived.”

“With how high the rent is in this city, what the hell else could you be using it for?” Vickers jokes, the humour only continued by his younger half. “I think you underestimate just how much my salary is, Sam” Taylor quips, sinking into the chair she’d claimed as her own, “I’ve signed three contracts since ‘98, and my ratings just keep going up. How long do you think it’ll be until I buy the Knicks?”

“Ha! About as much time as it’ll take them to play a decent brand of basketball!” Vickers replies, the conversation dying with Taylor’s inability to argue the point made. As the air quiets, Vickers settles into his chair, the sight of a happy expression on Taylor’s face enough to bring warmth to his heart.

“How’ve you been, kid? Good, I’d hope?” Vickers inquires, the woman’s calm posture bringing a comfortable, home-like air to the room. “For the first time in a while, Sam- I’ve been alright” Taylor replies, a gleam in her eye that hasn’t always been common over the years. “Your folks aren’t giving you trouble?” Vickers continues, unwrapping the clear, plastic wrap his sandwich is contained within.

“They’re fine as far as I know” Taylor replies, her answer interrupted by a pause, “they haven’t messaged much. They’re sort of distant, which of course, is nothing new.” Wrapping his fingers around his meal’s first half, Vickers prepares to sink his teeth into the puffy, white bread. “If the family isn’t the source of your ‘alright-ness’, someone else must be” Vickers remarks, his elbows digging into the mahogany tabletop, “Grant treating you well?”

With surprise, Taylor’s hand drops from the back of her own head as she looks at Vickers, the man’s question catching her by surprise. “How’d you know that was still happening?” the woman queries, watching for the smile Vickers struggles to hold back whilst mid-chew. “Oh, come on- it’s not like the two of you are very secretive about it” Vickers responds, rubbing the corner of his mouth with his thumb, “I may not know him well enough to see the secrets, but I do know you.”

Accepting the discovery, Taylor reclaims her beverage from Vickers’ desk, choosing to answer the question rather than further inquire upon it. “He’s the kindest man I’ve ever been with” Taylor responds, both hands wrapped around her cup as it sits atop her lap, “I haven’t been with many men, though. I’m not so sure how distinguishable that honour is.”

“As long as he’s not Barry, that’s the only thing that matters” Vickers replies, pushing the second half of his sandwich closer toward Taylor, already having anticipated her inevitable request for it. “That’s a pretty low bar, to be fair” Taylor responds, setting the cup back upon the desk as she claims the half of Vickers’ meal, “that’s like implying it’d be possible for me to be any worse to Grant than Howard was.”

“It’s possible, just not likely in the slightest” Vickers corrects, one finger raised toward the air, “but the two of you work well off each other. You flow evenly, as the kids would say.” Her head shaking, “the kid’s don’t say that” Taylor replies, finishing her first bite before answering the next question, “what do the kid’s say, anyway?” Vickers inquires.

“I haven’t kept up with that shit since ‘crunk’ was a thing” Taylor answers, her eyes squinting as guesses flood her mind, “I think I’ve heard ‘totes’ go around at some point, but I’m really not sure.” His head shaking, Vickers lets the question fade, no meaningful conversation expected to come from it.

“Speaking of Howard, any news on him?” Taylor inquires, pressing her teeth for a second bite, “I doubt the last we hear of him is when he angrily storms out of our newsroom not getting his way.” Head shaking, Vickers repeats the word “no”, again wiping a dab of mustard from the corner of his lip, “I hope I’ll never half to hear that name go around the news cycle again.”

“Of course not, but we can’t exactly go out of our way to avoid him” Taylor replies, “he tried to strip Grant of his entire life in a literal sense. This ‘pretend he’s not our problem’ thing doesn’t sit well with me.”

“It doesn’t sit well with me, either. Unless we have a reason to think he’s coming back around, there’s no reason to put our heads on a swivel” Vickers replies, “the last thing we need is to concern ourselves with terrible people of no importance.” With a shrug, Taylor lets the man’s stance prevail, the day continuing to pass as it always has, their presence enough to bring comfort to each other.

|

\ Wednesday, February 28th, 2007 /
\ 10:00 pm est. - 7:00 pm pst. /

“-and I’m Taylor English, your local news is next” the anchor remarks, sharing in Grant’s silence until Aiden’s voice cuts in. “We’re out!” the executive producer exclaims, all red lights on the floor going dark, the broadcast’s conclusion having been reached. “Great show, everyone!” Grant exclaims, remaining seated for a few moments longer than Taylor, the woman the first to depart the stage for her office.

Hearing out three unimportant voicemails left for him, Grant returns the phone to his pocket, climbing down from his transparent platform. Unimpeded by any of his coworkers, Grant’s ears take to a nearby television, one of countless others lining the walls of their panopticon-shaped bureau. “-nes Industrial dropped an entire four hundred and sixteen points!” the monitor remarks, drawing Grant’s attention further, “there’s a nine-percent plunge in the Chinese market.”

With a suspicious look, Grant lets the economic talk move on with their discussion points, the scrolling ticker at the screen’s bottom presenting plenty of downward-facing, red-coloured arrows. “Hmph” Grant hums, the hands that sat upon his hip returning to their sides, his feet carrying him around the abundance of screens as his office draws nearer.

Reaching out for his handle, Grant relents, yet to pull the frosted glass door that separates him from his workspace. “You alright, Grant?” Vince wonders aloud, walking past the man on his way to the breakroom, easily taking notice of the man’s suspicious expression. “I never leave the light on when I’m not in my office” Grant responds in a lower tone of voice, a faint glow of orange sitting behind the semi-pellucid divider between the bureau and his confines.

“Well, I’m not going to sit in the dark!” an annoyingly familiar voice responds from within his chambers, the concerned look on Grant’s face falling almost immediately. “Hey Vince, if I end up getting thrown through that big window in my office, make sure nothing in my wine cellar gets sold for less than asking price, please?” Grant jokes, entering his quarters to find Robin sat behind his desk, occupying the seat Grant is paid to assume.

“I must say, I never took you for an ultrasuede seat kind of guy” Robin remarks, both arms draped over the sides of his chair, each arm rest carrying equal pressure. “It’s the same material as the seats in my car” Grant replies, loosening his tie before discarding of it in a random corner of the room. “That, I’d understand. The office chair, however? Not so much” the woman responds, “I took you- Mr. Bigshot out of the nation’s capital- as an old-fashioned, leather chair kind of guy.”

“Yeah, well ‘Mr. Bigshot’ kind of likes being ‘Mr. Big Apple’ these days” Grant responds, loosening the cuffs on his shirt. “Well, if that’s true, you’re not doing much to prove that” Robin replies, pushing her weight back in the seat, the chair moving with her shift in pressure, “I tell you not to contact Rudy Giuliani’s staffers again, and instead, you offer them a job.”

“I only offered one-” Grant attempts to respond, the tone of his voice never lifting from the tired pitch he’d entered the room with. “I don’t care what you offered to whoever you offered it to!” Robin fires back, interrupting Grant without opposition, the man remaining stood in the middle of his office without a rebuttal. “I told you not to contact that woman again, and you directly disobeyed my orders” Robin clarifies, leaving the air for Grant to respond, now with permission.

“I apologise for my rebellion, Mrs. Lloyd” Grant responds, the woman’s face turning with intrigue as he opts not to leave the reply there. “I was attempting to make right by a mistake I made, and I was doing so to someone I wronged” Grant continues, watching Robin’s face soften, “I’ve done all I need to for that to be accomplished. And with all due respect, not a damn thing you would have said could have stopped me from finishing business that I needed to take care of.”

Her lips puckered, the woman eases in her seat, thinking about the man’s response for a few additional seconds before leaving it. “Grant, I’m a hardass to anyone I sign paychecks for. In the last forty years, I’ve learned which people need to be feared, and which people need to fear” Robin clarifies, slowly approaching her second highest-paid anchor, “with that said, while I am very disciplined in the business I take on, I am not without an understanding of noble human quality.”

Realigning each side of Grant’s jacket, Robin stares up at the man, giving up a few inches of height to her employee. “I may not agree with your disobeying of me, but I do respect it” Robin explains, making sure to look the man in the eyes as she does, “you were brought into this company with great risk. From what I’ve been able to see, this newsroom has been better off for having you in it than not.”

His eyes squinted, Grant gives the woman a nod, “thank you” he replies, his voice softer than it was before. “From now on, I want you to understand that- if you want this newsroom to keep you in it- you ought not to step on my toes” Robin remarks, their serious faces ever-so-slightly graced by a smirk in the corner of their mouths, “I can give you plenty more sleepless nights than Rudy Giuliani could ever fucking dream to- so don’t make me.”

“Yes, ma’am” Grant respectfully responds, his shoulder given a pat by the woman as she steps past him, showing herself out with not another word to offer. The skyline dark beyond the boundaries of his window, Grant approaches the transparent wall, his professional attire stripped away in parts, whilst intact in others. His face lit more by the moonlight overhead than the one on his desk, Grant stares at the dark city below, a brief smile coming over his face.

== Tonight at 9 ==