\ Thursday, May 24th, 2007 /
\ 9:00 pm est. - 6:00 pm pst. / “Alright folks, we’re live in five- four- three- two-” Shane declares, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to his elbows, voice going silent as the opening credits roll. “Welcome to ‘Tonight at Nine’, I’m Carly Carpenter” the woman introduces, “and I’m Alonso Frost” her co-host follows, the night running just as their past few broadcasts have, script-heavy, story-focused, and issue-free. Alerted to a knock at his door, Vickers lowers the volume on his television, the lamp stationed just beside it bathes his office in a soft, warm glow. “You wanted to see me?” Aiden inquires, poking his head through the slightly-parted door. “No, I wanted to see the news” Vickers corrects, extending his hand toward the empty seats across from him, “I wanted to talk to you.” Letting himself in, Aiden follows Vickers’ hand, hands folded atop his lap as he sinks into the seat. “I’d wanted to give you a few more weeks- maybe see if they’d bounce back naturally” Vickers clarifies, reaching for an unopened bottle of malt liquor that sits beneath his desk, “unfortunately, the rating’s have remained as-is.” “Oh, give me a break” Aiden groans, his eyes rolling as the request is made, “I’ve gotten just over two full months in, and since Carly got called into nine, twenty percent of that has been without her.” Two glasses clinking together between his first two fingers, Vickers nods his head toward Aiden. “You have not found the best luck as of yet, I agree” Vickers replies, twisting the bottle’s top open, “but you knew losing Carly every now and then was part of the job.” “Every now and then- yes” Aiden quickly responds, watching the liquor pour smoothly into the first glass, “but to lose her for a full month before the new format has a chance to get its feet off the ground? that’s completely different.” “Aiden, I empathise with you and I’m sure you know that” Vickers replies, a gentle pour now trickling into the second glass, “but you know how Robin thinks. Context isn’t important, the numbers- and the numbers only- are.” Looking his premier executive producer in the eyes, Vickers guides the second glass across the desk, leaving the post-shift drink for Aiden to do as he pleases with. “You wanted a new challenge, didn’t you?” Vickers inquires, licking the caramel taste the drink has left on his lips, “you wanted a new pace at a new time. This is what you left nine o’clock for.” With a sigh, Aiden’s head falls to his lap, each statement Vickers makes only drawing his chin higher, the glass still left upon the table for him. “I won’t lie, I’m not that into the format- which is good, ‘cause I’m not the target demographic” Vickers admits, “but I believe that you’ll make it work.” Swallowing his pride, Aiden releases a sigh, looking Vickers in the eyes as he accepts the drink, his right leg crossing over his left. “I know it’s risky- I do. But if you could see things the way I do, you’d-” Aiden explains, Vickers’ interruption putting a half-hearted smile upon both of their faces. “I do, which is why I agreed to let my premier E.P leave my premier newscast” Vickers replies, the drink lowered from his lips again, “the younger the audience, the more precious the adspace is.” Taking his first sip, Aiden continues to let Vickers speak, the man’s genuine understanding brings a slight comfort over him. “If you can manage this, Robin might just promote you to the goddamn heavens” Vickers remarks, a gesture Aiden scoffs at, “eight o’clock could trail nine by four million viewers, and as long as the 18-49 remains a central element of your ratings- she’ll promote the two of you as equals.” “That sounds lovely, but the format hasn’t even proven to work yet” Aiden quickly interjects, able to feel the anticipation of something that may never come, “I know you guys just promoted Vince to senior producer, so don’t be surprised if he starts climbing the ladder quicker than you anticipated.” “The news has needed an ‘in’ with the youth for some time now” Vickers responds, eager to do so, “you know where the money leads, you just need to find the sweet spot. Don’t underestimate yourself.” His doubts forced aside at Vickers’ command, Aiden keeps his eyes on the man a few pegs above him on the corporate ladder, another sip taken from his glass. “It’s rocky right now, and it still might take some time to get going- but I believe you’ll get there” Vickers continues, finishing what sits at the bottom of his glass, the cup tapping against the desk as his hand lowers, finger pointed in Aiden’s direction, “I believe in you.” = 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 = \ Sunday, May 27th, 2007 / \ 7:45 pm est. - 4:45 pm pst. / “I've never lived. I mean really, lived. I've never enjoyed one moment in my whole stupid life” the character on Grant’s television remarks, the movie that plays having run its entire length without once capturing the couple that watch. “Stop shaking your leg” Taylor requests, held in Grant’s arms with her hand atop his knee, keeping it from tapping the wooden floorboards further. With a sigh, Grant pauses the film, gently guiding Taylor aside as he lifts himself off the chesterfield. “I’m gonna go for a walk” the man murmurs, groaning as he stands, the seat he’d spent the majority of the day sat upon imprinted with his rear. “I’ll come with you” Taylor replies, though Grant wasn’t hoping for her to accompany him, he doesn’t much mind her presence. Adorning a pair of shorts and a plain, white t-shirt, Grant steps onto the rocky walkway that leads toward his front door, Taylor following closely behind in a tank top and sweatpants, her hair tied in a messy bun. Purposely trailing behind her co-anchor, Taylor remains mum, listening to water in the nearby creek splash upon smooth boulders, the gravel kicked beneath their feet. “You’re awfully talkative” Taylor swipes, Grant’s hands tucked into his pockets as he stares at the ground, seeing the path that lays ahead before he traverses it. Answered with silence, Taylor continues to spoor, aware of how limited their time is now that the sun begins to make its final descent for the day. “Do you wanna talk about it?” the woman inquires, continuing to tail Grant as he breaks from the path, his lead steering them toward the creek, which grows louder as they approach. “What’s left to say that I haven’t said already?” Grant wonders aloud, seeking out a large enough rock to accommodate his companion and himself. “That’s kind of up to you” Taylor replies, seating herself beside the man upon his discovery of an adequate seat, “I didn’t take a vacation for me.” Hands pressed against his knees, Grant’s face shines beneath the deep orange sunset, the shadows of tree branches that obstruct the descending orb scrawled upon him. “Is it Kelsi?” Taylor inquires, rattling off possibilities the longer Grant remains quiet, installing a worry within his co-anchor that his answer is not to come. “Is it getting suspended?” Taylor proceeds, Grant’s face still held toward the impeded sunlight, unencumbered by feelings, “is it me?” Finally caught by something he doesn’t like, Grant turns around, Taylor’s face equally shaded by sunset-cast branches. “It’s not you- it’d never be you” Grant replies, his bottom jaw hanging open, prepared to follow up, “I just- I can’t stop thinking about the kind of person I used to be.” The answer, though easy to see when mentioned, puzzles Taylor, whose eyes narrow as she leans forward, not wanting to interrupt. “It’s like, when I walked into LMC, that vision I had of myself before just went away” Grant continues, his eyes returning to the running water, “I wasn’t distant. I didn’t give people a cold shoulder at every turn. I didn’t treat my secretary like an errand boy- I didn’t even have a secretary to begin with!” Letting themselves take humour in the lattermost statement, Grant and Taylor return to the conversation’s weight. “I wasn’t the big shot from D.C anymore. I entered the building with that thought, but when I stepped into the newsroom- it’s like a wake up call” Grant recalls, a delighted expression held upon Taylor’s face as he speaks, “don’t get me wrong, I want nothing more than to keep moving forward. But when those thoughts pop into my head, it’s like all I wanna do is make things right.” Her hand resting on Grant’s knee, Taylor shares Grant’s view of the impeded sunset, her head resting on the man’s shoulder. “The man you are now is what matters. That big head of yours is gone- just as the rest of that person” Taylor replies, a gesture that brings Grant’s smile back, this time one he doesn’t have to share, “it wasn’t a wake up call. You said it yourself- you didn’t want to lie when the cops came around about Howard. That ego never made you a bad person- just a pain in the ass.” Sharing a chuckle, Grant leaves Taylor to continue speaking, his mind following the same path hers had minutes prior, not wanting to interrupt. “The person you are now has always been there, he just needed to find the right place to break free” Taylor concludes, her free hand pulling Grant’s face toward hers, their eyes connecting as her head leaves his arm, “there was no ‘wake up call’- it was a cold splash of water at best.” Though his smile remains within his cheeks, Grant’s lips cover his teeth, his hand gently grazing the side of Taylor’s face. “You’ve got such a way wi-” Grant begins to whisper, the woman interrupting his thoughts before they can be voiced, her palm cupping a handful of the water that rushes past them, Grant’s face soaked by her own doing. “Wake up, Grant!” Taylor exclaims with jubilation, leaping back from the rock to create distance, filled with laughter as Grant wipes his eyes. “Oh, I’m wide awake now!” Grant enthusiastically shouts, matching Taylor’s pace as she steps down the river bank, her hand scooping water every few seconds, nothing else that surrounds her of satisfactory defence. “Go ahead!” Grant exclaims, leaping a short distance back at each thrust, side-stepping any further unwanted bath. “You better be careful!” Taylor utters, another handful of water hurled at Grant upon the conclusion to each declaration, “if I beat you to the house, I’ll trade this creek in for the hose!” Having begun playing along out of mutual fun, Grant soon steals all the joy from the banter, his progression having stopped, hands having dipped into his pockets. “If the house is your destination, you’re going the wrong way” the man smugly remarks, the woman's retreat ceasing all the same, succumbing to a look of regret. “Yup, the house is behind me” Grant clarifies, unable to wash the smirk from his face, “you’re heading toward the river- and even then, you’ve got about two miles of whatever this is before you get there.” Crouched near the ground, the fingers on her hand resting just above the waterflow, Taylor’s mind begins to puzzle together her next move, uncertain of how she plans on evading the drenching she’s in line for. “Fuck” Taylor murmurs, her eyes darting from one spot to another, holding out the hope that some strategy can help direct her back to the home entirely dry. “Alright, timeout” Taylor mutters, cautiously ascending her only option for sanctuary, a small hill that a thin, dirt walkway resides atop. “Oh, we’re doing timeouts now?” Grant replies, eyes having widened, hands having left his pockets, the humorous assail resuming. “Sure, why not?” Taylor responds, stood halfway up the hill with her arms extended, the plan working perfectly thus far, “I want a hug!” Giggling like a child, Taylor watches Grant approach, the man doing all he can to conceal the equally-gratified laughter he takes from her reply. “I’ve just been pelted with creek water, why would I want a hug!?” Grant yells through a laugh of his own, his arrival slowing as he draws near, prepared for the counter he knows Taylor’s conjured. “Why wouldn’t you want a hug?” Taylor replies, her tone showing a hint of sass, a gesture she fails to realise snitches on her intentions until it’s too late. “Because you’ve got a plan somewhere in that big, sassy head of yours” Grant replies, each step forward taken slower than the one before it, “but you’ve got your mind set on it too much to notice that it’s pointless. I’m faster than you, stronger than you, and I’m standing between you and the house. You’re going in the drink.” Only able to muster a sigh, Taylor lets her arms drop, peering at Grant with a frown, “I guess you’ll have to catch me first” she replies. With a half-glance over his shoulder, Grant spots the lights in his home through the treeline, the sky too dark to make out a decent illustration of the home’s figure. “Yeah-” Grant murmurs, the home roughly one hundred metres away, the journey it takes to return offering plenty of room to catch up, “-I’m not too worried about that.” Sucking on her teeth, Taylor waits a beat, her original plan having crumbled beneath the weight of its reliance on Grant, the only option she has left now is to make a break. Taking two steps higher upon the hill, Taylor fakes a run, a poor attempt at trying to juke the larger anchor, who keeps in step with her. Her planting foot levelled, Taylor begins to dash the way she’d arrived, hurrying downhill with little success. His arm extended, Grant tugs at the strap on Taylor’s shirt, the woman’s only thought to escape residing in her attempt to lunge forward. Her white shirt stained green, Taylor rolls down the small hill, barely able to evade Grant’s reach for the moment, yet to understand that her last-ditch effort has already doomed her. Just as she climbs to her feet, Taylor’s sights on the house are stolen by Grant, who throws himself off the final few inches of the hill, his arms extended. Embracing Taylor, Grant spins himself with the woman in his arms, his acceleration throwing the pair to the ground, his instinct to ensure Taylor lands on him rather than vice versa presenting itself. Digging her hands, already soaked by the creek, into the sandy, rock-covered riverbank, Taylor attempts to pry herself free, Grant’s grasp proving too great to break from. “Come on, Taylor- why fight it?” Grant jokes, his arms wrapped around Taylor’s hips as he climbs back to a stand. “Unhand me!” Taylor quips, kicking her legs and flailing her arms as her feet leave the ground, the absence of trees and rocks within reach affording her no chance to disentangle herself without a struggle. “Grant! Put me down!” Taylor continues, throwing her weight toward one side as the man carries her away, the sound of splashing water growing closer. “I thought you wanted a hug!?” Grant exclaims, laughing with each word, indulging himself in the mockery, “come on, let’s take a bath!” “No, Grant! No!” Taylor exclaims, the man’s weight suddenly dipping, carrying her with him as she reaches for safety, the house’s porch light the last thing she sees before she’s consumed by the water. “You fucker!” Taylor screeches, slamming the waist-deep water as Grant chuckles uncontrollably, hands pressed to his abs, which ache from the lung-draining laughter. “You look-” Grant remarks, watching Taylor scutter against the waves, forced to pause from sheer elation, “-so fucking good, Michael Phelps!” Throwing her hands out, Taylor shoves Grant back into the water, his body descending beneath the surface for a brief moment, his shocked expression upon re-emerging implying yet another need for revenge. With a leap, Grant latches onto the woman’s waist for a second time, his right hand dunking her head beneath the water for a brief moment, the favour returned. Little else to retaliate with, Taylor pushes against the streambed, her legs wrapping around Grant’s hips as she mounts him, her forward momentum allowing the surface to reclaim them as their own for one, brief moment. Knelt before each other, the water only high enough to reach their chest, Taylor and Grant cease the struggling, their faces taken to one another. “I love you” Taylor utters, the quiet that overcomes them having given her the courage to impulsively reveal her feelings, the banter they share bringing a sense of intimacy that she can’t deny. “I’m not perfect. I have my flaws, and I’m not always the easiest to be with” Taylor explains, free to express herself without intrusion, “but you’re always there. You’ve stuck with me in ways no one else has, and you make me want to be a better person- and everyone has their own definition of what love is, but that- all of that- that’s mi-” Without warning, Grant’s hands emerge from the water, taking each side of Taylor’s face as their pull drags her in for a kiss mid-sentence, her conclusion left unsaid. As their lips part, Grant stares into Taylor’s eyes, his face slowly retreating, their breaths in sync. “I love you” Grant replies, his hands wiping the wet strands of hair away from Taylor’s face, pinning them behind her ears as they rest, the creek they sit within of no more importance than the setting sun. | \ Monday, May 28th, 2007 / \ 5:51 am est. - 2:51 am pst. / “Thank you, driver!” Vickers remarks, his hand raised to the man seated near the front of his town car, the sky just beginning to lighten, though their sun buries itself behind the clouds. “Samuel Vickers” Robin’s familiar voice exclaims, the man’s lifting from the stone-paved entrance to LMC’s tower. “I never took you for an early bird” Vickers quips, as unphased by her appearance as he always is, the woman’s blue blazer adorning her stiff shoulders. “I am when the Board of Directors call an early meeting” Robin replies, stepping out from beneath the building’s awning, her hand reaching for the coffee in Vickers’ hand. “You don’t want to do that” Vickers replies, the hand his coffee rests in pulling away, “you don’t wanna know how much Brandy I’ve poured into this thing.” Her reach extending quicker than before, Robin claims the vessel from Vickers’ hand, “yes the fuck I do” the woman mutters, the cup hoisted toward her lips before Vickers has the chance to respond. “So am I supposed to ask why the board decided to ring you?” Vickers inquires, the woman matching his pace as he steps through the building’s revolving doors. “I was going to tell you anyway” Robin answers, obviously disgruntled by the tone of her voice. “It doesn’t sound like something you’re very pleased about” Vickers replies, his walk stopped amidst the woman’s brief pause. “What!?” Robin inquires, turning back to find the man’s eyes wide, a smile creeping over him. “You’re like a tiny little bottle rocket- always have something up your sleeve” Vickers replies, the briefcase in his left hand swaying as he steps forward, “they told you to reinstate Grant, didn’t they?” The woman’s hung head all he needed for an answer, Vickers steps back, leaping into the air to click his heels like a leprechaun. “Of course they fucking did!” Vickers exclaims, the lobby mostly void of personnel not paid to be present. “Sam, do not make me fire you” Robin warns, her index finger lifting from the coffee cup, the man’s chipper demeanour remaining, though his skippy mannerisms cease at the woman’s behest. “I want Grant back on television tonight- and for that matter, get Taylor off vacation” Robin commands, already leading herself toward the building’s exit, “throw her a few grand and offer to fly her back if you must. Just get them on T.V.” Swinging his arm like a sailor, Vickers lets out a huff, his eyes soon trailing back to the woman, his coffee cup carried with her as her car drives off. | \ Monday, May 28th, 2007 / \ 9:11 am est. - 6:11 am pst. / “I’m not suggesting you strip down for Playboy!” Aiden laughs, his jacket carried in one hand, a caffeinated beverage in the other, “I’m just saying you should get in front of more eyes.” Her own jacket thrown over one of the seats in front of Aiden’s desk, Carly sets her coffee beside the man’s computer, the conversation continuing. “How could I possibly get in front of more eyes?” Carly responds, the implication flabbergasting her, “up until two hours ago, I was hosting the most-watched news programme in the country.” His eyes rolling, Aiden settles in, claiming his seat just as Carly does. “Yes, the most-watched programme where the ‘50+’ demo outmatches the ‘18-49’ by a ratio of six-to-one” Aiden rebukes, “if you haven’t noticed- that’s the thing I’m trying to fix!” “It’s not broken, so you’re not trying to ‘fix’ it. You think we can do better, so you’re trying to ‘improve’ it” Carly corrects, her gesture discarded. “I’m doing both!” Aiden grumbles, arms stretched as if to illustrate his conquering of the argument, a smile still worn on his face, “you need to appeal to the young audience if you’re gonna get that pay hike you’re banking on!” “Why don’t I just loosen a few buttons before the camera starts rolling then?” Carly responds, her right arm leaning over the chair, “why stop there? Why not just take my tits out during a piece on Al-Qaeda? What do you think that’s gonna help!?” “Probably quite a few teenage boys whose mothers are too-talkative for them to get online?” Aiden jokes, his girlfriend’s eyes immediately rolling as she turns to leave. “Wait- Wait!” Aiden shouts, Carly’s hand resting on the handle as she turns back. “I’m not saying- ugh- I’m not saying you should exploit your sexuality. It’s not like it wouldn’t help, but it’s not what I’m suggesting” Aiden explains, the humour put aside, “you just need to break out of the LMC-mould, y’know? Get involved in stuff young people actually watch.” Though she remains annoyed, Carly better understands the point being made, her grasp of the man’s occupational expectations aiding her toward acceptance. “Alright, I’ll see what I can find” Carly replies, leaving the room with that answer alone, her voice softer than it had been before. | \ Monday, May 28th, 2007 / \ 10:53 am est. - 7:53 am pst. / “Grant!?” Vickers exclaims slamming his knuckles against the front door, the opposite hand balled into a fist, which rests on his hip. “Are either of you two gonna pick up the damn phone!?” Vickers inquires, again slamming his knuckles against the door, answered with the same avoidance. Pressing his ear to the door for a brief moment, Vickers waits for something, a sound or movement inside to present any notion that people reside within. Dissatisfied with the results, Vickers steps back, hands hanging by his sides, unsure of what to do next. “Take this-” Vickers whispers to his driver, five one-hundred dollar bills exchanged, “-as far as you know, all I did was knock and no one answered.” Tracks covered, Vickers departs his car for a second time, stepping over Grant’s lawn on his way to the front door, willing to spend no time on hesitancy. Sucking in a deep breath, Vickers throws his foot at the door’s centre, the strike plate torn from the frame, permitting Vickers the entrance he’d hoped for. Adjusting his bow tie and jacket, Vickers steps through the front door, the living quarters he soon enters presented as empty. “Grant!? Taylor!?” Vickers calls aloud, his words bringing a subdued ring as the reverberations travel upward, “are you guys alright in here!?” Though he knows very little of the home, his expectations bring an assumption of where to look, his steps guiding him to a set of stairs. Ascending to the second floor, Vickers’ eyes peer down the nearest hall, a half-opened door displaying an unmade bed and little more. “Grant!?” Vickers shouts once more, descending upon the hall with one point of interest, “Taylor!?” With a gentle push, Vickers gains entry to the master bedroom, the comforter thrown halfway off the bed, multiple drawers partially closed, and valuable belongings left neatly upon dressers and nightstands. Squinting curiously, Vickers approaches the adjacent bathroom, nothing out of the ordinary to be found aside from the lack of dental products, notably a brush and paste. “Oh shit” Vickers mumbles beneath his breath, quickly returning to the larger bedroom, the few drawers he pulls out either near or fully emptied. “Fuck!” Vickers exclaims, ripping one drawer directly out of the dresser in frustration, his hands slamming against the wall. Catching his breath, Vickers licks his lips, the first thing his hand reaches for being the phone in his pocket. “This is Robin Walker-Lloyd’s personal number. I’m unavailable, so please leave a message” the voicemail reads aloud, forcing Vickers to wait a few, anxious minutes before delivering his message. “Robin, it’s Sam. We’re not getting Grant or Taylor back on air anytime soon” Vickers remarks, stepping onto the balcony that overlooks Grant’s living room, his hand leant against the bannister, “I don’t know where they are, but I know they’re not here.” == Tonight at 9 ==
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