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\ Wednesday, June 6th, 2007 /
\ 8:25 am est. - 5:25 am pst. / “Hi” a brunette woman says softly, dressed in a white blouse and black skirt and walking in the opposite direction of Shane, whose eyes take to her with a warm reply. “Hey” the man replies in a rather flirtatious manner, hair still wet from the shower he’d taken prior to leaving the gym, keys jingling in hand as they sway back and forth with his arm. Holding their eye contact for a few seconds, the unacquainted pair follow through with their ventures elsewhere and move onward. In a quick and painless manner, the nine o’clock producer’s hands lift the small, metallic pieces into the deadbolt and unlock the door, granting him entry into the apartment he expects to be vacant. “Holy shit!” Shane exclaims once his eyes push past the still-opening door, falling upon Aiden’s figure buttoning a dark blue shirt in front of the mirror. Attention taken by the frightened noise, the eight o’clock shot-caller peers back with his laid back presentation unchanged. “What’s up?” the former tenant nonchalantly remarks, offering no more than the two words used to form an innocent question before looking back toward the mirror. Letting his sudden apprehension subside before speaking, Shane pulls his keys from the door and lets it shut, walking gingerly into the living room before setting his gym bag on the floor. “Man, you nearly gave me a fuckin’ heart attack!” the apartment’s sole permanent resident proclaims, running his hand through his hair as his former roommate remains standing in front of the standing reflexion. “Why? Did you think I’d be gone by now?” Aiden responds, genuinely unsure of the motivations behind his friend’s reaction as he focuses on his dress preparations for the day of work. “Um, I was thinking something more along the lines of- I thought you’d have been nowhere near this apartment by now!” Shane retorts, veins popping out of his neck as his voice raises momentarily, adding emphasis to the final six words of his statement, “why the hell are you here!?” With his eyelids pressing close together, Aiden reaches toward the couch he’d used for sleep the night prior and retrieves his tie from the closest cushion. “Because my name’s still on the lease and I never stopped paying rent” Aiden answers, lifting his shirt’s collar to drape the silky neckwear within its cloth confines, “didn’t you see me when you left a couple hours ago?” Visibly lost, Shane shakes his head slowly with a slight widening in his eyes, illustrating just how unexpected this presence is. “No. No, I did not” the nine o’clock producer replies honestly, “I never knew you were coming and I left before the sun rose, why would I have?” Shrugging his shoulders, Aiden shakes his head without a verbal answer, preferring to let his posture’s display provide one on his behalf as he crosses one end of the tie over the other, looping it around itself twice. “Why aren’t you at Carly’s?” Shane soon inquires, having already accepted the presence of his once roommate in spite of not knowing why it would be within the walls of his residence, “the two of you get into a fight or something?” “Sure, I guess you can say that” Aiden quips back, bringing the head of the tie up behind itself before dipping through the overlap sitting at the neckwear’s closest point to his chin. “I woke up a little after midnight and she wasn’t there. After a little bit, she walked in looking like she’d just come back from a date” he continues, explaining the situation with as much simplicity as he can offer, “I decided it wasn’t worth fighting over, so I walked out and came over to crash on the couch.” Tightening the loop into a knot, Aiden adjusts his tie properly and lowers his hands, satisfied with the accent’s placement in his attire before he retrieves the suit jacket from its place atop the kitchen counter. “So she came home late, what’s the big deal?” Shane responds after a brief pause, leaning back against the half wall dividing the living room and kitchen with his elbows atop the glossy, hardwood finish, “didn’t you say she goes on fake dates for scoops and sources?” With a squint in only his left eye, Aiden shakes his head as he extends one arm through the sleeve of his jacket before having a brief struggle to get the other one to follow suit. “We agreed that she’d tell me when she goes on those fake dates. It saves the conversation of having to check in every time I see her in the tabloids with a random guy at her arm” the producer retorts, adjusting the sides of his suit’s sides, “everything about last night was off. She wasn’t on a fake date.” “Well how do you know it was a date of any sort?” Shane calls back, preventing his friend from taking another step to the front door, aware that they’re not short for time and more than willing to take advantage of that, “what did she tell you she went out doing?” Slowly lifting up a satchel and bringing it over his head, Aiden tucks a hand into his pocket and replies, “she said she went out drinking with a friend” the rebuke is offered. “There- she went out with a friend, why is that so hard to believe?” Shane wonders aloud, a hand stretched toward the man that shakes his head with the slightest smirk appearing through his barely-parted lips, his friend’s eyes taking toward the blind-covered windows. “Because she didn’t go out with friends” Aiden replies, his eyes wearing the bags of exhaustion as if they were medals earned in armed combat, “she didn’t.” “Oh, come on, Aiden” Shane quips back, watching the man’s adamant expression take back toward him, unphased by this visual reply as he proceeds with his attempt at keeping all options on the table, “what else did she do then? If you’re so adamant she didn’t go out with friends, what did she do?” “My mind instinctively goes to cheating, but it wasn’t something she’d want me to know about. Cheating, dating, murder- it doesn’t matter” Aiden responds, watching his friend’s lips part in an attempt to speak before raising his own hand, halting his former roommate’s endeavour fall flat. “Even if you nearly shit your pants, do you know what you did when you walked in and saw me?” the apparent rent-paying resident inquires, now opening the floor for his pal to speak. “I made sure I was still conscious and breathing” Shane answers, shaking his head without another conclusion in the event his one and only proved incorrect. “No. The first thing you did was take your keys out, walk inside and let the door close” Aiden corrects, watching the unchanged and unconvinced nature in his friend’s posture usher him toward further explanation. “She walked through the door, saw me sitting there, and stood there for ages. Didn’t take her key out, didn’t walk in and get situated, none of that- she just stood there” Aiden illustrates, an almost-curl in his top lip stiffening as he continues to speak, “it was like she was a teenager that just got caught by her parents coming through the front door after sneaking out. It’s like she knew she was in trouble before I even said anything.” “You could’ve just taken her by surprise” Shane counters, though without the certainty in his tone that had been present throughout the duration of their conversation, almost as if he holds doubt within his own retort. “Shane, you’re like a truck and I’m a toddler. You could run over me like I was a speed bump if you really put your mind to it” Aiden rebukes, his head shaking more predominantly than it has been to that point, “it took you a couple seconds to make yourself at home like nothing was out of the ordinary, and unlike her- you didn’t even expect me to be here.” With his chin pressing against his exposed chest, Shane bows his head as the room goes quiet for a moment, his guest awaiting the reply he knows is incoming, though is uncertain of the contents of. Pressing the tip of his tongue against the centre of his top lip, the nine o’clock producer considers the verbal options he has to offer in the moment before choosing the one that makes the most sense, quietly illustrating his own personal assumption alongside it. “So what are you gonna do?” Shane finally asks, remaining leant against the half-wall with his full attention glued to the friend he might have to call a roommate once more. With his eyebrows lifted slightly, Aiden’s sights take back to his close acquaintance as he shrugs, beginning to step toward the door and open it before replying “we’ll see” as he steps out, returning the flat to its true inhabitant to sit and simmer, thinking about the situation as presented with much more to focus on. = 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, June 6th, 2007 / \ 4:31 pm est. - 1:31 pm pst. / “It’s got the latest in central air and heat, all of the pipes are brand new and the floor was retiled five months ago with local cedar” a welcoming-voiced brunette lady in a white blouse and black skirt remarks, holding a leather-bound folder against her beige blazer, “there are two bathrooms, four bedrooms, rooftop access and patio with a modest garden on the third story.” Equally unenthused as his girlfriend is, Grant walks cautiously around the expensive furniture-laden living room, not wanting to knock over an antique vase or porcelain sculpture whilst already having to fork over a small fortune. “Why’s the tenant selling?” Taylor inquires from afar, her hands folded behind her back as she walks the length of the rather spacious living quarters, staying close to the walls that are adorned with colourful, eye-popping artwork. “I’m not sure. My job is only to ask what they want for the residence and return the offers to them” the polite realtor returns, standing as close to the centre of the potential buyers as she can with how spaced apart they are, “I can ask if you’d like?” Shaking her head without a verbal retort, Taylor gestures off the notion with a squint in her eye, attention returning to the man across the room from her as she turns the conversation elsewhere. “Can we have a second alone, perchance?” Taylor kindfully inquires, providing with such a request as the brunette woman steps out of the living area, returning to the loft’s entrance to afford the couple a chance to speak privately. “I still don’t understand why you need another place in the city” Grant remarks, having kept to himself throughout the duration of their visit with mind paid to the elevated view of Manhattan every window affords them. “Because we’re not married and it’s advantageous to have a place closer to the office than the outskirts of Thompson Ridge” Taylor responds, gently adjusting the sunglasses that sit atop her head. “And the place you just handed off to Vince was practically an empty loft anyway. After all, it was you that said you only went there to take a nap in between shifts” Grant retorts, a reminder that prompts his girlfriend’s eyes to distance themselves toward the window’s view. “A motel room for something like fifty bucks a night can give you everything you’d want out of a multi-million dollar loft in the city” the man continues, his expression still holding warmth in spite of his critical objection to the woman’s assertions. Aware of the flaw in her plan, Taylor lets her fingers tuck into the back pockets of her jeans as she steps closer toward the window, looking out at the city countless stories below, its life uninterrupted and unimpeded. “You’re right. I know I can be critical of the city, but it’s really nice to look at from up here” Taylor expresses, her head leaning to one side as her significant other steps closer to her, his hand resting on the small of her back. “Should I go ahead and assume that was the reason you didn’t have curtains in your old place, or would you rather I just blame it on laziness?” Grant prods, earning a small chuckle before receiving his response. “You can blame it on Bed, Bath, and Beyond not having two story-high curtains in-store” Taylor corrects, continuing to stare out at the distance as the few proceeding seconds they spend in silence allows her boyfriend’s mind to drift toward a prior remark. “What did being married have to do with you wanting a place in the city?” Grant wonders aloud, his eyes kept on the skyline whilst his girlfriend’s turn back toward him, curious for emphasis. “You said you needed a place in the city to be closer to the office and because we weren’t married” Grant reiterates, invoking the woman’s own remarks as support for his question, “what did being married have to do with living in the city?” Pushing her bottom lip inward, Taylor shakes her head and shrugs with her sights on the taller man, looking back at the city within the mid-pause that splits her answer in two. “Because I can’t just live in your villa- or whatever it’s called- if things sour between us” Taylor replies honestly, looking at the clear view the flat offers her of the Empire State Building, “the process of having to find a new place to live isn’t easy- especially in New York. It’d all take a while, and there’d be a ton of papers to sign, and-” “Why do you think things would sour between us?” Grant interrupts, his visage wearing a very slight concern as their eyes meet once more, not interested in the process relocating would entail as much as he is for her reasoning behind the assumption. “I don’t think things would sour between us, but it’s not like it’s impossible” Taylor answers, making certain to keep herself grounded in reality in spite of how well their relationship has gone throughout its lifespan. “I love you and everything that we have, but I’m not gonna play make believe and convince myself there’s no chance it ends” the black jean-wearing anchor explains, “and if it ended, we’d be thrusted back into our own worlds. I don’t want to be unprepared for what that would look like.” “How would marriage make that any different?” Grant replies, clearly growing more anxious as the seconds pass, though it’s an anxiety he maintains enough composure to keep unexpressed in anything other than his posture. “Marriage keeps us bound together. I’ve got no reason to have a backup ready incase we don’t work out” Taylor answers, “‘til death do us part. If you die, you’d just leave the villa to me. If I was the one that died, I wouldn’t need to do anything now, would I?” “What about divorce?” Grant inquires, finishing his question as the woman already begins to shake her head in refusal, “if we grew apart in marriage, divorce would come before death, would it not?” “Nope. I don’t believe in divorce” Taylor responds, beginning to present a side of herself to the man he’d never known existed, “if love is strong enough to result in marriage, it’s strong enough to last forever.” Turning his sights toward the window they stand beside, Grant parts from the conversation mentally for a mere moment, taking a second for himself as the air quiets. “Are you alright?” Taylor wonders aloud, quickly receiving a dismissive nod from her boyfriend as he tries to sort his thoughts, unaware of the realtor beginning to re-enter the premises. “Yeah, I guess it’s just now hitting me that- we’ve never actually talked about this” Grant confesses, opening his mouth to speak before taking the first notice of the third party’s heels tapping along the cedar floors, eyes taking to the woman’s direction and letting her return put a cork in the discussion. | \ Wednesday, June 6th, 2007 / \ 8:59 pm est. - 5:59 pm pst. / “Taylor and Grant are up next with Tonight at Nine, from On Air- I’m Carly Carpenter” the anchor remarks, a graceful bow of her head and pleasant smile paid to the camera, able to hear the other end of her in-ear disconnect before the conclusion of her broadcast can even be completed, “goodnight.” “Good show everyone” Aiden proclaims to the men and women stationed behind the controls, removing his receiver pack and placing it upon the nearest desk as his girlfriend’s wide shot is carried to conclude the show. Making little effort to be cordiable or conversational, the executive producer takes a direct stroll to the back of the room and lifts his satchel out of the corner, stepping through the control centre’s exit and walking toward the opposite direction of the bureau. As he carries himself onward, Aiden reaches to his side and grabs the miniscule audio player from his pocket, gracefully taking the set of earbuds that connect to it and placing them in each ear. Turning the nearest corner away from the final corridor in his path capable of returning him to the newsroom, the producer advances past the closest elevator and presses the call button, waiting a beat for the doors to part with eyes half-heartedly drifting toward the direction he’d come from. With a brief look at his Blackberry, Aiden takes a few swipes with his thumb, taking him to different ends of the directory as his foot anxiously taps along the ground, his inner emotion refusing a place along his visage. “Come on, you tortoise-speed fuck” the man whispers toward the lift, glancing at the first text message his phone can provide him with the sight of just as the elevator doors pull away from each other. With a nod, the producer pulls his head away from the screen and steps halfway into the lift, pressing the button for the building’s top-most floor as he tucks his phone into his pocket. Refusing to wait for the doors to close back in, Aiden dips out of the compartment and allows the elevator to take its time, his thumb pressing the centre button on his music player and flooding his ears with the sound of loud rock and roll as he carries himself through the doors of the nearest staircase. Within a few seconds, Carly turns the same corner her boyfriend had taken with her heels carried in hand, a last-second sprint through the doors of the lift entrapping her within the confines of the wrongly-directed elevator. Stone-faced, Aiden appears completely undisturbed with the uncharacteristic adventure he puts himself through in the name of evading the woman he’d spoken little to throughout the day, elongating the struggle as he ventures upward. After the passing of three minutes, Aiden emerges on the back end of the nine o’clock soundstage and dips into the control room without disturbing the broadcast. “The cyclone’s maximum winds are expected to get as high as one hundred and sixty miles per hour as it reaches it continues threatening to get worse, though meteorologists believe it will pass within the next couple of days” Taylor remarks, her voice incapable of reaching the earbud-hosting ears of her former producer. “Just warning you not to scream like a little girl when you get back and find me crashing on the couch again” Aiden calmly remarks as he dips his head into the nine o’clock operations, wasting little time in waiting for an answer that his friend doesn’t even bother to offer. As quickly as he’d entered, the eight o’clock showrunner guides himself back the way he came and sprints down the same set of stairs he’d ascended to reach the Tonight at 9 studio. Having taken his time in climbing down the LMC tower, Aiden inevitably reaches the ground level and spots the car he’d requested. “I know it may be June, but this holiday season- I’m grateful for you, Nola!” the E.P exclaims, passing the building’s receptionist a thumbs up as appreciation for her calling a driver on his behalf, incapable of hearing the warning the woman tries to offer him. Waiting to take out the earbuds until he sinks into the leathery seat the black town car awaiting him provides, Aiden shuts the back doors as quickly as he’d opened them to take his place within the vehicle. “There’s a reason people press multiple buttons when they’re trying to keep someone in the elevator” Carly remarks, her feet having long-since returned to her shoes as her boyfriend realises she’d already taken occupancy of the car. Rolling his eyes with a groan as he throws himself against the seat, Aiden stares at the vehicle’s upholster-covered ceiling as the wheels begin to move, carrying him to the same destination he’d requested Nola provide for him. “It’s one thing to avoid me all day, and it’s another to disconnect from the ear piece before I can finish the show” Carly explains, an expression of near-glee carried in her face as she thinks of the situation humorously, “it’s another to plan an escape route.” “It was clearly a much-needed plan since you followed it” Aiden murmurs in a much less pleased tone, his eyes kept at the road straight ahead as the vehicle is stopped by the congestion of traffic. Noting her boyfriend’s visible look of aggravation, Carly places her amusement aside and carries on with the conversation she’d initially sought out her significant other to have. “You never came home last night” the eight o’clock anchor remarks, paying no mind to the brown locks of hair that fall in front of her face, “why not?” The rigid look of distaste in the way in which the tides have appeared to turn held firmly upon his face, Aiden keeps his eyes glued on the picture that appears in the car’s windshield, its illustration of the brake lights flashing in the cars brought to a stop by the choke point that interrupts their advancement all that meets him. “Aiden, please talk to me” Carly pleads, hosting a clear disdain for the tension that simmers between them, “we’re supposed to be able to talk about these things, not run away from them.” His silence almost palpable enough to taste, Aiden’s lips remain fixed together, refusing to pull away from each other in spite of his girlfriend’s requests, more than fine with leaving her in the same position of uncertainty he’d spent every moment since her early-morning return suffering through. Beginning to lose hope in earning her response without strife, Carly starts settling back into her seat without looking away from her boyfriend, continuing to maintain the belief that he’ll break free from his silence eventually. With the faintest squeeze in his eyes, Aiden continues to stare forward without any intention of looking at the woman beside him, the woman’s persistence reaching the lengths of running after him incapable of proving too much to handle. “I know that you know I’d be upset if I found out what you did last night” Aiden breaks his vow of quietude to remark, left uninterrupted by the woman sitting beside him. “We both know you didn’t go out drinking with friends, and we both know what you did wasn’t a good thing- but only one of us knows what you did” the producer explains, speaking with calmness and composure, “I’m not interested in playing games, or arguing, or fighting, or whatever. Just tell me what you did.” “Aiden, whatever you’re accusing me of-” Carly begins to reply, only to be immediately interrupted, the dismissive nature of her retort something her boyfriend picks out and refuses room to breathe instantly. “I’m not accusing you of anything other than lying, and I’m only going to ask one more time” Aiden replies, finally turning to look the woman in the eyes as the vehicle begins moving once more. “Tell me what you did, and I promise to let it go and move on as if nothing ever happened- but I’m only giving you one chance” Aiden clarifies, a single digit held toward the woman in display of his offer. “How would you even know if I was lying?” Carly quickly wonders back, not yet offering an answer as her efforts to dismiss the man’s accusatory presentation persists as well as she does. “Show me your call log” Aiden immediately demands, lowering his hand toward his lap as the woman pauses, freezing like a statue upon his request, “you said your friend called and asked you out for drinks. If that really happened, I’ll see her name on the call log and I’ll admit I was wrong. With that, do whatever. Break up with me, call me a control freak, burn my shit and toss it in the river- I don’t care. Show me the call log and prove you’re telling the truth.” “No” Carly immediately replies, not bothering to even reach into her purse in order to retrieve the device, her mouth opening to continue speaking before her efforts are thwarted. “If you’re gonna start running your mouth off about privacy, don’t even bother” Aiden interjects, shaking his head as he looks to the road that still remains ahead, “the only reason you wouldn’t show me the call log is because there’s something in it- or something not in it- that proves you lied.” “Or maybe it’s because I’m trying to keep you from getting hurt” Carly rebukes, prompting her boyfriend to drop his stoic demeanour and break out into laughter, her expression remaining unchanged. “Why is that so hard to believe?” the woman soon wonders aloud, calling the man’s reaction into question for exactly what it was. “What would hurt me about having my assumptions proven wrong?” Aiden inquires, generally curious as to the woman’s reasoning, “why wouldn’t I want my girlfriend to prove she’s not lying to me?” Rolling her eyes, Carly shakes her head with disappointment as she’s proven incapable of offering a response, her boyfriend’s adamance that she answer his demands for clarity voiced in the meantime. “What were you doing last night- final chance” Aiden queries, not uttering a single word further as he waits for the woman sitting beside him to answer the question. Visibly distressed and angry, Carly turns her head and locks eyes with the man, unwavering in her resilience to his assumptions, “I went out to drink with a friend” the anchor replies, watching the same anger she wields find its way to her significant other’s face. “You wouldn’t want me to show you the call log ‘cause then you’d spend all day kicking yourself for immediately assuming the worst out of me, and I-” Carly begins to argue back, falling silent the moment her boyfriend’s voice reaches the reflexion of a yell, snapping at her before the chance to conclude her statement is given. “You’re a fucking liar!” Aiden exclaims, taking the phone out of his pocket and tossing it upon the woman’s lap, its screen already preloaded with a picture. “My college roommate works for TMZ. Someone sent him this last night and he wanted me to see it before he published it in the magazines” Aiden explains, adding context to the photo of his girlfriend walking the streets of New York early in the morning beside a man in a white t-shirt. “That’s you, in the same dress you wore last night and- while I can’t put my finger on who that is, I know it’s not a chick” the producer explains, providing the evidence behind his assumptions. “I didn’t need you to tell me what you were doing, I just wanted to give you the chance” Aiden clarifies in a murmured tone, pressing his hand into the back of the passenger’s seat as the vehicle comes to another traffic stop. Shaking her head, Carly flips the top to her Razr open and runs down the same log the man had been so eager to see, eventually finding what was asked of her and presenting it as her own evidence to the man beside her. “That’s Eliza’s number- my friend from high school that wanted to know if I was interested in catching up over drinks last night” Carly confesses, letting the man read the number quietly to himself before returning the phone to the front-most pocket of her purse. “I picked out the first dress I could find, did my makeup on the ride to the pub and left” the woman continues to explain, allowed to do amidst the silence her boyfriend is incapable of filling with anything of substance. “Brant was out with some of his colleagues, we bumped into each other ordering a few beers, and I talked to him since he’s a pretty decent guy once you break the ice with him” Carly proceeds, buckling her purse up and opening the door beside her, “Eliza got drunk and went home with some dude and I couldn’t get a cab, so he walked me a few blocks to where they were rolling through.” “Carly” Aiden quickly speaks aloud in a subdued tone, his entire demeanour flipped to the opposite of what he’d spent the entire car ride enduring. “Are you happy now, asshole? I hope you are, ‘cause I’m taking you up on that offer from earlier” Carly remarks, stepping out of the vehicle with her head leant in for the final remark, the door slamming shut upon its completion before her boyfriend can have the chance to reply, “we’re done. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow, you piece of shit.” Pressing his eyelids together as tightly as he can the instant her door is forced to close, Aiden’s head falls into his hand, not needing a moment for the realisation of how badly he’d been mistaken to settle in. Reserving his judgement, the driver avoids looking into the rear view mirror and simply remains intent on taking his passenger to the location desired, not wishing to interject himself into something clearly not meant for him to partake in. == Tonight at 9 ==
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\ Monday, June 4th, 2007 /
\ 12:13 pm est. - 9:13 am pst. / “It’s just a power move- something to hold the west at bay” Olivia replies, fidgeting with a pencil as she sits to the right side of an expansive table the rest of her producers occupy, “it’s an empty threat that teams will only use to fear monger.” With her one running shoe-covered foot propped atop an empty seat a short distance from the chair she occupies at one end of the conference table, Taylor lifts an uncapped pen a few inches away from her face. “Are you trying to insist that our competitors are putting out inferior coverage solely based on keeping people around through the ad breaks?” the well-experienced anchor asks sarcastically, concluding her point amidst a chorus of humoured chuckles, “blasphemy!” Playing into the amusement of the newsroom, Olivia shrugs her shoulders and leans back in her seat, the point made clear enough to satisfy her as the rest of her peers have their fun. “If you guys keep making claims like those, I might start having to negotiate myself out of this deal” Grant jokes, keeping the mood light, “there wasn’t just one reason I left CSN, that departure had levels.” With the white sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, Vince sits with one arm resting against the side of his chair, his left leg kicked over the right as he proposes an intriguing question toward the opposite end of the table from Taylor. “Would you bring anyone from the CSN desk over here if you had the chance?” the stock market-follower inquires with a capped pen pressed against his bottom lip, “I’m not saying you had to poach them from there, but if you found out they were let go, was there anyone from over there you ever looked at and thought ‘I always thought they were cool’?” Fascinated with the mental experiment proposed to him, Grant pushes back in his seat slightly and stares off at the distance, the foot he rests against one of the seat’s wheels propping one leg higher than the other. “I’m sure there were a few people I wouldn’t mind walking into the newsroom to see again” the anchor answers honestly, “the first people that come to mind was this producer Holly.” “Holly Hooper?” Keith quickly wonders aloud, looking in the direction of the D.C-originated anchor closest to his left side, “she married her field correspondent, right?” With his finger pointed at the man, Grant nods in assurance at the suggestion, “Tate McPherson, yup” he replies without pause, “they were the life of the party, I’d love to work with both of them again. And since it’s easier to promote producers than guys in the field, hiring her first would be the key to netting him in too.” “I don’t think that’s true” Abby replies with lips puckered and her face scrunched, one arm draped over the table’s surface. “Finley hired me after two years doing field reporting at a local station in Sarasota” the woman recalls, eyes wandering from one end to the other by the time she finishes speaking, “they made me an associate producer after six months and I worked there for another year or so before I came here.” “Abby, it’s okay to admit you owe your life to LMC for saving you from those bad people at Finley” Marcus jokes, again leaving the table entrenched within shared laughter, “they can’t hurt you anymore!” Already with a crumpled ball of paper within her reach, an equally-amused Abby tosses the discarded sheet in the man’s direction as he braces for an impact much greater than the one anyone reasonably expects. With spirits still high and the brunt of their meeting already having mostly concluded, Shane speaks out from the group to raise a different conversation for the colleagues to have. “Whilst we’re on the subject of saving people from the horrors of places like- ugh- the Finley Network, let’s give it up for our very own Taylor English!” the sweatshirt-wearing gentleman proclaims, putting his hands together in the woman’s direction. “Our very own Taylor has saved Vince- our dearly beloved little man- from the egregious world of the New York real estate market!” Shane announces, earning both his intended applause and laugh-filled cheer, “thanks to her generous efforts, this handsome little lad and his family will nevermore be forced to spend eighty thousand dollars on the installation of a sink or something stupid like that!” Keeping her laughter to herself, Taylor plays along with the good nature of the man’s remarks and gestures her fingers as if she were tipping her cap, a pair of thumbs-up’s given to the man she prepares to leave her luxury apartment in the possession of. “I’m five-foot-nine and I can install my own damn sink, thank you very much” Vince quips back, a half-smirk held on his face as the show’s anchors quietly watch on in delight, pleased in the light-hearted nature of their subordinates. “I’m sure you can, buddy- but would Whitney let you?” Shane responds, his hands settling upon the man’s shoulders as he proposes the question, a pause offered in between its vocalisation and the answer given. “No” Vince replies with a deflated tone, the retort only bringing the raucous laughter to an even higher level. “Well, now that you won’t have to spend your evening installing sinks, I propose a group dinner!” Shane exclaims, throwing his hands out at either side as the newsroom’s focus draws toward him, “everyone here’s been kicking ass and now we’ve got a reason to celebrate! Friday night, I’ll make the reservations for that steakhouse downtown!” “I know we pay you well, but exactly what incentives did you negotiate into that contract we don’t know about?” Taylor quickly asks aloud, watching her E.P’s face widen with realisation, a pause taken as his finger slowly drifts toward her direction. “Good point, I can’t afford that!” Shane rebukes, watching the blonde woman with brown highlights fail to subdue her laughter this time around, “instead, I’ll make the reservation for that steakhouse and put it on the company card!” Holding her side as it begins to pain her from the group giggle-fest, Taylor leans back in her seat as her free hand fixes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Alright, you’re all dismissed!” she bellows, remaining seated for a few moments as the crowd begins to disperse, returning to their respective stations to continue with their work, prepared to go about their next ten hours with certainty that their homes will call for them upon the day’s completion. With a crooked smile on his face, Vickers walks toward the group of departing producers as the meeting concludes, his hand stretching out to hold the door open for the last few employees before entering on their behalf. “You do realise that you don’t have a company credit card, right?” the heart attack survivor inquires, looking at the man still wearing the scar of his headbutt from just days prior. “How can we not have a company credit card?” Shane replies after a pause, shaking his head in disbelief at the revelation, “we’re worth- like- twenty billion dollars!” Shaking his head with one hand extended toward the executive producer, Vickers’ stance adjusts. “No, no, no- I didn’t say we didn’t have a company credit card, I said you didn’t” the man replies, watching the physically-superior and strategically-inferior gentleman tilt his chin toward the sky in defeat. Reaching into his back pocket unprovoked, Vickers opens his wallet and rummages through a few sheets of reflective plastic, the gesture only noticed by Shane once a card flies through the air and into his possession. “Consider it a way to make us even for that headbutt I can see you’re still feeling the effects of, champ” the older man remarks, adjusting his suede suit jacket to the side as a way of returning the wallet to his back pocket. “What headbutt?” Shane replies, earning a wider smile from his superior from the endearing way of implying the event had already slipped his mind in return. “You’ve been doing a fine job in the control room. Keep it up” Vickers proclaims, patting the younger man on the back as he passes him, wanting to leave him with his props before he can fully exit the room. In silence, the executive producer smiles and bows his head before stepping away, leaving the room for the trio’s use. “What’s up, Sam?” Taylor inquires, stepping out of her chair to follow the man toward her boyfriend’s side of the table, taking a seat in the chair her father figure of sorts pulls out to offer her. “I just wanted to let you know that word has begun dropping of Ross’ intention to sell” Vickers responds, stepping around the male anchor that remains seated before taking to the side opposite him. “I don’t exactly know if it’ll be a bloodbath to get some- or even all- of his shares, but I know there are already a few people with interest” Vickers explains, slowly lowering himself into the chair his hands wrap around the sides of, “and they all have the capital for such an acquisition.” With eyes narrowed, Grant looks toward the surface of the table that sits before him with his knuckle pressed against the side of his mouth, letting the conversation persist between those to either side. “Are these people the kinds that we should worry about?” Taylor queries, watching the man wince as his eyes drift toward the depths of the enclosed space they sit within, pondering the answer to her question. “As people, I’d say there are a good couple that I prefer not associating myself with” Vickers retorts, his arms crossed atop the table as he nods to himself reassuringly, eyes settling back upon his longer-tenured anchor, “no one that would come in and shake things up.” Lowering her eyes, Taylor keeps her thoughts to herself as Grant takes over the conversation, his voice the first to emerge amidst a momentary pause. “Ross mentioned Lehman and JPMorgan Chase when he was here-” the man interrupts, the reflexion in his voice much lower than that of his contemporaries, “any word on whether or not they’re throwing their hats into the rink?” “I doubt it. JPMorgan might, but I doubt Lehman will with what I’m hearing internally” Vickers answers, patting the table as he continues to shake his head, “I think we’re in the clear of those guys, the rest are who I’m not so sure about.” Unable to take anything more than the simplest of satisfaction for the reply he receives, Grant sits further back in his seat as the room goes quiet, an odd and misplaced feeling left to linger as if there was more that was meant to be said- but is unspoken. = 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 = \ Tuesday, June 5th, 2007 / \ 12:24 am est. - 9:24 pm pst. / His arm hanging off the side of the bed he lies atop in little more than a pair of plaid boxers and a white t-shirt, Aiden presses his face into the soft cushion of his pillow as his face tightens. “God fucking damnit” the man groans, his voice muffled by the puffy support his head is meant for before joining the rest of his face in freeing itself from its burial place. Turning to face Carly’s side of the bed, the eight o’clock producer peers toward the digital clock set up on the distant table. “Twelve twenty-five” he murmurs to himself, coupling his hands together and pressing them against his face, the inability to sleep for much longer than an hour or so at a time proving to annoy him more with each day it occurs. Angrily screaming obscenities at himself inside of his head, Aiden’s thoughts soon eventually fall silent, not even the internal sound of his voice whaling him with insults able to persist amidst the sudden realisation he comes to in a brief moment of clarity. Letting his palms fall from his sweat-covered face, Aiden’s eyes take to the space beside him beneath the covers, his view of the tabletop clock having never gone unimpeded before. “Carly?” the man whispers through the darkness, soon reaching for the dial to the nearest lamp and flooding the room with a warm, yellow embrace. Empty instead of its usually-filled position, his girlfriend’s side of the bed appears vacant, untouched by the woman he’d knowingly gone to sleep the prior night without. Knowing himself to be alone, the man’s eyes wander throughout each corner of the room, checking every space made available to him in spite of knowing for certain that she will not be found. Falling to his lap with a thud, the man’s hands hit his legs and fall to each side of his now seated-upright posture, back pressing against the headboard as his sights take to the picturesque view the closest window affords him of Roosevelt Island. Jostling her keys gently within the deadbolt of her apartment’s front door, Carly parts the divider between herself and the small foyer standing between her and the living room. Before her hand can be presented with the chance to free the metal teeth from their place within the lock, the eight o’clock anchor's eyes set upon the occupied recliner in the room just ahead, the figure sitting within it perfectly presented through the light he sits beside. “What are you doing up?” Carly inquires, peering past the walls standing to each of her sides and toward her boyfriend’s groggy position in the distant seat. With his legs propped up by the footrest, Aiden’s blank stare at the distant wall- its blank facade given character by only a three-piece glossy statue anchored to the plastered division- never wavers in spite of the question asked. “I have trouble sleeping” the accomplished producer responds with minimal emotion, his face only turning toward his girlfriend’s direction after a few seconds of mutual silence, “you already know this.” Still standing in front of the door with her keys yet to be freed from the deadbolt, Carly nods slowly to herself in reply to the man’s answer, a brief glance taken toward the spotless kitchen just to her right side. “That’s right, you do” the woman answers, her frazzled tone obviously hiding a deeper reaction than the curious one she presents the man across from her. With his lips pressed together, Aiden looks at the woman’s body, investigating everything from head to toe within his own mind, speaking only to himself as the quietude continues. Contained by a leather strap, Carly’s feet sink into the soles of a six-inch high pair of heels, her bare legs running up to where her dress ends. A shade of black just light enough to reflect the smallest amount of light, the mid thigh-high dark dress runs up the length of her body, accentuating her curves at every opportunity before ending short of her shoulders. Providing the slightest glimpse of the woman’s cleavage and leaving her shoulders uncovered, the choice in clothing leaves little to the imagination, and yet leaves Aiden’s mind running over endless speculation he can’t help but bring himself to voice. “Where did you go?” the man wonders aloud, still staring at the wall ahead with an emotionless void of a stare, met initially with a lack of an answer strong enough to return his attention onward. “I went out to the bar with some friends” Carly replies, still remaining within the door frame as she just now frees her primary key from the deadbolt, slowly letting the entrance shut behind her. Nodding to himself with his eyes squinted, Aiden’s sights redirect themselves back toward the distant wall across the room from him, unable to find their way back toward the woman. “Is that a problem?” Carly soon wonders aloud, only able to catch her boyfriend’s lips puckering together before noticing the rest of his head answer her with a simple shake of refusal. “Nope” Aiden replies, his arms resting to each of his sides, fingers draped over the ends of the armrests, “I just found it odd for you to be out so late when you were here before I went to bed.” Moving as if she were the prey to an animalistic predator, Carly gently makes her way further into the home, letting the leather strap of her purse fall down the length of her arm before joining the rest of the accessory in falling limply onto the stone-finished countertop. “It was a last-second thing” the anchor retorts, placing the palm of her hand against the drywall-covered concrete pillar at the intersection of her kitchen’s archway and adjacent island. “A last-second thing?” Aiden replies, turning his head toward the woman once more with an intrigued look in his eye, face leaning toward his left shoulder as the woman leans against the support column. “Yes, a last-second thing” Carly reiterates, jostling her head as her free hand swipes a few hairs away from her face, “she called about an hour after you went to bed. I got my stuff and I left.” With his eyes lowered, Aiden takes his right hand and lowers it past the armrest, adjusting the crank at the chair’s side to let his feet collide with the ground, freeing them to join him in departing from the chair. “Oh, okay. That makes sense, I guess” the man responds in a tone that doesn’t exactly imply he’s as convinced as he lets on, “it just seems odd that you put on this whole get-up to go out in the span of- a few minutes or so.” Standing from his seat, Aiden gracefully turns toward the chair’s direction and begins stepping toward the hallway separating their living room from the shared bedroom. “What are you saying?” Carly asks back, interrupting the man’s attempt at leaving with the question, seemingly inquisitive about the deeper motivations that he holds away from her ear’s reach. With his head hanging, Aiden’s pause leaves him stranded in the centre of the walkway, standing right in front of his girlfriend with eyes on the bedroom in the dark reaches of the corridor he’d yet to traverse. “It’s just odd that you can take an hour and a half in the morning to get ready for work, but when a friend calls you out, you’re able to put on all of this in just a couple minutes and slip out without a peep” Aiden answers honestly, motioning his hand toward the elegant ensemble her clothes combine into, “it just seems odd- that’s all.” “It sounds like you’re not telling me something” Carly replies, making her voice heard the moment he comes to a subtle conclusion, a defensive tone beginning to come over her reflexion. “If there’s something you want to say to me, just come out and say it” the woman adds on, watching the man’s disappointed visage meet her as his head tilts to the side, “whatever this is- I’m not a fan of it.” Placing his hands on his hip as he nods to himself, Aiden feels a range of emotions beg for him to stand on the side of releasing them, though he ultimately chooses to keep the peace whilst it is still to be had. “I’ll see myself out then” the man finally remarks, making the conscious choice to depart the situation before it can escalate as he begins for the door. “What are you doing?” Carly interrupts, asking the question aloud just as their paths cross, her boyfriend’s figure stopping beside her as his answer is called for once more. With his stoic face supplanted upon the heavy front door, Aiden soon turns to look the woman he steps past in the eyes, answering her honestly mid-pause before proceeding onward, “I’m going out to the bar with some friends” he replies, resuming his forward progress and closing the door behind himself without another word. Left entirely alone, Carly lets her hand fall from the plaster-covered pillar at the archway’s end as she stares at the entrance, half-heartedly expecting the man to re-enter as if the odd interaction had never occurred in the first place. With squinted eyes, the moments turn into genuine seconds without the man’s return, the shake of her head preceding her first steps in the man’s path. Pulling the door open, Carly looks down each end of the hallway the man would have ventured toward, unable to decipher in which direction he would have headed and incapable of following him any further. | \ Wednesday, June 6th, 2007 / \ 11:04 am est. - 8:04 am pst. / “I’m sorry, Mr. Vickers- there was only so much I could do” Nicole remarks, standing in the doorway of her understanding employer’s office. “I don’t blame you for Ms. Lloyd’s lack of civility, don’t you worry” Vickers replies, using his retort as a backhanded quip at the woman’s unannounced visit, “unfortunately, some people just don’t take others into account and people like us just have to deal with them.” Adjusting her jacket, Robin crosses her legs professionally and folds her hands atop her lap, both elbows pressing into the supports to either side of the man’s desk chair. “This uncivilised drop-in is the only reason you can afford to fill your veins with all the expensive booze in the world” the company’s owner replies, wearing a smug look as the man chuckles to himself, walking for the pair of empty chairs in front of his desk. “Whether it’s you or your ex husband, why is everyone taking my chair other than me?” Vickers inquires aloud, unbuttoning the shoulder-padded blazer as he lowers himself into the seats his office intends to offer for guests to occupy. “Because I pay you well enough to buy a comfortable chair” Robin replies, returning the playful backhand to the man initiating the conversation with a smile, “I can show up and take your chair for the same reason I can show up unannounced- I own your ass.” Enjoying the banter as nothing more than their usual back-and-forth, Vickers laughs to himself with the widest, child-like smile as he sits back in his seat, letting the humour settle before turning his attention toward the reason for the woman’s appearance. “I’m going to assume there’s more to this than a simple request to have lunch?” the company’s president inquires, head leant to the side as the woman bows her head, “something tells me it has more to do with our little situation?” With a smile appearing in the corner of her mouth, Robin’s eyes remain glued to her longtime friend’s welcoming demeanour, “are you saying you don’t want to take a ride to Wendy’s?” she wonders aloud, trying to keep a fair amount of levity present. “As great as their burgers are, I’m not supposed to eat red meat for the next few weeks” Vickers responds, hiding his annoyance for the restrictions his heart attack had made necessary for him, “spill the beans.” With her teeth falling behind glossy lips, Robin stares toward the ground once more as her tongue presses against the roof of her mouth, distant sights accompanying her internal strife. Letting free a sigh, the company’s owner lifts her attention back toward the company’s president as her shoulders fall slightly, “Burt Russo wants in” she confesses, watching the disappointed look take her friend’s face within its grasp, shuffling his expression into one of disheartened annoyance. “I thought Burt was one of the few Ross wasn’t willing to sell to?” Vickers wonders aloud, watching the woman’s head shake at him. “No, he said it would take a miracle for him to sell to Burt” Robin corrects, pushing herself up in the seat she claims as her own for the time being as her hands uncouple, one reaching up to support her head, “well, it seems like a miracle is in store for all of us.” “How much is he offering?” Vickers quickly inquires, aware of that question being the difference between hope being justified and such a desire proving fruitless. As her visage sours, Robin’s eyes take toward the windows of her friend’s office, watching droplets of rain slowly run down the glass panes separating his inner sanctum from the gritty city streets beyond them. “Five-point-five billion for all twenty” Robin answers, immediately watching the closest man to her place on the ladder stare at her with the widest eyes she’d seen on him yet. “You’re fucking kidding” Vickers says as his face goes stiff, following the lead of his posture in leaning forward, closer toward the woman than it had been at any other point in the conversation, “how the hell does he even have that much liquid capital?” “I don’t know, but he has it. He has it, and he’s willing to put every last dollar into buying a fifth of the company” Robin answers, hands gently pressing into her legs as the man whose chair she occupies turns his focus toward the distance, trying to process what such a conclusion means for LMC going forward. “Well what the hell are we going to do?” Vickers soon inquires, knowing that they’ve now been forced to take action with the field becoming more well-illustrated. “Robin, there’s no way we can let the founder of Finley take on any percent of this company- let alone a fifth of it” the president continues to assert, a declaration his only superior is already more than well aware of. “I know that, and we’re not going to. It’s not what we’re going to do, it’s what I’m going to do” Robin retorts, stepping out of the man’s seat and pressing her foot firmly into the ground, standing defiantly in the face of being presented with such crucial opposition. “I’m not gonna mince words, and I’m not gonna waste my breath. I’m getting my books in order and I’m picking out every last dollar I have-” Robin replies, one finger aimed toward the ground she refuses to let fall into any hands other than her own. “You’re gonna find five and a half billion dollars and make sure that gutless sack of donkey shit never steps foot in your fucking building” Vickers declares, watching the finger the owner holds toward the ground shoot toward his direction. With her teeth pressed together and lip curled, Robin nods to the man with certainty as she growls her reply, wasting no breath and not mincing a single word as promised. “You’re goddamn right I am.” == Tonight at 9 == \ Tuesday, May 29th, 2007 /
\ 10:24 pm est. - 7:24 pm pst. / “Did you come here looking for sympathy?” Robin wonders from her corner of the room, watching her ex husband wipe the blood from his lip and steady himself properly. “No” Ross responds with simplicity, kept from offering anything more by his ex wife’s rigid and callous interjection. “Then what is it that you came here for?” the company’s owner inquires, hands placed on her hips as she stands beside Bruce, “forgiveness? Revenge? A check for the chemo?” “No” Ross replies, again composed and well-collected, hands pressed against the top of Vickers’ desk to steady himself. “Then why are you here?” Robin cuts back with haste, a few steps taken closer to the workstation that her ex husband collects himself at, her every word holding malice and vigour, “I told you I never wanted to see you in this building the moment the ink dried on our deal. I don’t care if you’re a few months away from playing patty cake with Satan, why are you here?” With his head hung and face held toward the desktop, Ross collects his breath for a few moments as the strength in his knees begins to waver, desperately trying to force him back into the chair he’d fought so hard to escape the grasp of. “Well for one, I still own the land this tower is built on- which makes it mine” the cancer-ridden founder retorts, finally giving into the call of the seat that sits behind him, lowering himself back into the soft restraint of the rolling throne. “And secondly, I didn’t come here to throw jabs at you” Ross continues, his eyes veering toward the side of the room Shane occupies, the man’s dress shirt lifted toward the cut on his head, “-or anyone else for that matter.” “I’d do it again” Shane responds beneath his breath, though more than loud enough for the rest of the room to overhear. “He did nothing to deserve that” Kaye interjects, her finger pointed toward Shane before another voice earns her attention, defending the well-built, nine o’clock producer with a stern weight in his voice. “He tried to convince the board to let that fiend get away with what he did to Taylor” Aiden replies, stepping in front of Shane with his hand toward the primetime host. “For the last time, I never tried to let Barry get away with what he did to her!” Ross exclaims with a much more angered reflexion, “how the hell was I going to justify replacing a fifteen year veteran anchor with an intern straight out of college to everyone with skin in the game?” Letting his arms hang freely by his sides, Vickers answers the man’s question on behalf of those targeted with the inquiry. “You could’ve told them I was putting my career on the line for that call- which I was” Vickers replies, both hands finding sanctuary within the comfort of his pants pockets, “I made the call, and I offered myself as the fall guy in the event that it didn’t work out. You chose not to take me up on that.” With his arms extended by each side, Ross sways his head from one side to the other as he leans further back in the chair, his wife’s hand gently rubbing his shoulder, “you still got your way, what does it matter now?” With her foot planted into the ground, Robin steps forward to resume her place in the conversation once more, “the difference is that I had to buy nearly ten percent of this company to usurp you” she retorts, “it cost me a fortune to get a rapist off my airwaves.” “Alright, hold the fucking phone here-” Bruce interrupts, one hand carrying his reinforced briefcase whilst the other rubs at the sides of his aching head, “what’s going on here?” With his eyes peeled, Ross looks to the only man he can’t identify from the crowd with a scowl, “who are you?” the company’s founder wonders aloud, immediately drawing the ire of his primetime host’s agent. “Bruce Langston, agent of Grant and the guy that’ll start stripping people of their wealth in court if someone doesn’t tell me what’s going on right now” the man responds, pointing toward the feeble founder before looking elsewhere for answers. “Ross is Robin’s ex-husband. He founded the company and she bought him out of it in 1999” Vickers replies, wasting little time in providing the man with context. “And what’s the deal with this rapist-and-investors thing?” Bruce quickly inquires, his hand waving toward the open space between the two sides of the conversation, “is this something no one outside of this room is supposed to know about?” Shaking his head, Vickers refuses the notion as he parts his lips to reply, only for the words offered to the agent to come from a mouth other than his own. “Arnold Barry was the solo anchor on Tonight at Nine before me” Taylor answers, still standing beside Grant just as she has throughout the discourse’s duration, “he raped me, they fired him, and had me man the broadcast from then on.” Attaching himself to the conclusion of the woman’s argument, Ross points his finger in her direction and adds further context suited to defend himself. “And- as the majority owner of the company- I had to try to convince thousands of investors not to pull their money out in spite of the fact that we were replacing a veteran of the industry with a rookie fresh out of school!” Ross exclaims, prompting Bruce’s eyes to roll, “I never liked having to take that stance, but how else was I supposed to stop hundreds of millions from being pulled out of this company!?” “You were just struck in the face by a guy with the physique of an ancient Greek sculpture, I’d suggest you not try to make anyone here more annoyed than they already are” Bruce interrupts, providing the company’s founder with the only warning he’s willing to offer before moving on. “So cancer-man was majority shareholder, a prick had his way with Taylor, and you bought your ex-husband out to push Mr. Touchy-Feely out” he concludes, laying the question to Robin, “am I missing anything there?” “Yes” Ross replies on his ex-wife’s behalf, watching Bruce’s eyes roll before the agent’s face turns toward his direction, “you’re missing the fact that she didn’t buy me out.” Though having expected another defensive remark, the agent looks to the founder with an intrigued glare, compelled by the discovery he offers. “He owned thirty percent, she owned eleven” Vickers corrects, “his share went down to twenty, Robin’s went up to twenty-one.” “Exactly. That still leaves fifty nine percent of the company in other hands” Kaye responds, lending credence to the agent’s correction, “she may be the owner, but she’s not the majority owner.” “Fifty six” Taylor corrects, her arms crossed with one finger lifted toward the air, shrugging as she corrects the woman standing beside the founder, “I negotiated three percent at a fixed rate for myself when new shares hit the market.” “I owned enough to make it so that I could stand before the board and justify replacing Barry with Taylor” Robin replies, not one to refuse her employees their credit when due, “nine o'clock’s ratings have never been higher, and she’s as big of a reason for why this ship was steadied as Sam or I are.” With his head bowed, Ross presses the sides of each hand against the desk’s hardwood finish as the group goes quiet, letting the increasing tensions settle before continuing to speak. “Taylor is one hundred times the anchor that Barry ever was, and she’ll go down as the greatest call either of you have ever made” Ross confesses, not hard-pressed to look Vickers and Robin in the eyes as he admits such, “in the same breath, it’s also true that none of us had any way of knowing that for certain when she was promoted. Look no further than Sam feeling the need to put his job on the line in the event his call was wrong.” “Let’s move this along, I’ve got the centre for the Miami Heat waiting to run up a bill at the most expensive steakhouse in the city” Bruce interrupts, resting his briefcase in the same seat he’d recently stepped out of. “The point is that I won’t be around for much longer and I’m not going to let the state take my twenty percent when I hit the ground” Ross proclaims, taking the same tension he’d attempted to let settle and forcing it to begin simmering once more, “I’m selling it off.” With her eyebrows furrowed, Robin crosses her arms with a scowl before her pupils begin darting toward the much younger woman standing beside her ex husband. “I thought you were leaving it to your whore” the woman remarks, earning a disgusted eye roll from Kaye, the younger woman staring off into the distance with her tongue bitten, “that’s what you said you were doing when we agreed to ten percent.” “We’re all different people than we were eight years ago, Robin” Ross retorts, shaking his head as he tries to free himself from the chair’s restraints once more, “Kaye doesn’t want the twenty percent.” Scoffing with a bemused grin, the twenty-one percent owner of the company shakes her head in disbelief, “of course she doesn’t. She never married you for your good looks in the first place” she murmurs, words intended to be heard by the younger woman she was left for. “Go fuck yourself” Kaye retorts, clearly annoyed at the off-hand quips made toward her throughout the conversation’s duration, a comment the older woman takes pleasure in arguing back. “Oh bite me, you hussy” Robin shoots back, a confrontational front resuming in the wake of her calm demeanour no longer being needed, “you spent two years fucking my husband behind my back, you goddamn homewrecker. Taylor’s lucky I don’t judge her for the people she surrounds herself with.” “I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you did” Grant jokes, aware of the room that he’s left to read and dismissive of the mood it’s filled with. “Wait, those two are connected?” Bruce wonders aloud, looking at the woman with the highest percentage of ownership in the company as he points toward Taylor and Kaye. “She was my roommate in college” the more-tenured anchor of Tonight at Nine replies, “she was my plus one at a company dinner when I was interning. That’s where she met Ross.” “And I like her in spite of that fact, which must mean that I’ve earned my angel wings when the day comes” Robin sarcastically mutters, using her control of the conversation to redirect it toward the reason for the man’s stop by. “Sam just had a heart attack, Grant and Taylor need to be ready to come back to the air tomorrow night, and Bruce apparently has plans with Shaq, so let’s get on with it” she utters, hands placed on her hips with a deep breath, “who are you selling to?” “No one yet, I wanted to give you a head’s up” Ross responds quickly, having waited through a physical assault and a trip down memory lane to explain himself. “I founded this company and I want it to do well. The people in this room- minus the guy with the briefcase- have kept it going smoothly. I’d like to keep my legacy intact” he proceeds to declare, “without an absolute majority, everyone here might feel a lot more pressure to perform.” “We’re performing just fine” Grant quips back, shrugging his shoulders as his arms cross, “the ratings at nine o’clock are rock solid.” With both eyebrows slightly lowered, Ross looks past one half of the company’s premier anchors to their former executive producer, whose facial expression lacks the confidence of those he used to work with. “Not everyone’s ratings are rock solid” Ross replies, prompting those that hadn’t to turn their focus toward the E.P of eight o’clock. “Aiden has creative control written into his contract. The audience he’s turning the program toward is a harder reach, but it’ll provide a much greater return if successful” Robin replies, defending the man to her ex husband almost as if he were the board she’d have to provide such a defence to. “Yes, if successful” Ross responds, coupling his hands together atop the desk as he leans over it slightly, trying to keep himself steady, “you have no way of guaranteeing that.” “Sam and I were the people that made the call to move off Barry and onto Taylor eight years ago” Robin replies, watching her ex-husband shrug his shoulders and shake his head, “our resume speaks for itself- that’s what we’ll lean on.” With a sigh, the cancer-ridden founder pushes himself away from the desk gingerly, keeping himself balanced upon two feet as his arm is taken into his wife’s grasp. “If it pans out, the two of you will look like visionaries. But if it doesn’t, your credibility takes as much of a hit as it did a boost from the switch to Taylor” Ross argues back, “all it takes is that one missed call and your leverage gets flushed. If that happens, you’ll want a majority ownership to fall back on. The calls you make from then on won’t be as easy to get away with unless you have it.” “Is this all just some pitch to get us to buy you out of the company?” Shane wonders aloud, still nursing the wound over his forehead as he cuts into the conversation, “from the sound of it, you came here to do more than just warn us you were selling off your shares.” Shaking his head as his wife’s reach holds him steady, Ross replies in kind, “I don’t hold any ill will toward any of you- I mean it. Lehman owns nine percent and JPMorgan Chase owns seven- either can buy me out and overtake her.” “They’ve both got their own issues to deal with” Robin responds, watching Ross step away from the desk in preparation to leave, “the last thing they need to do is pour more money than they have.” With an amused chuckle, the woman’s ex-husband throws a cap over his head and steps past Vickers with the aid of his wife. They’re too big to fail. If they run out of funds, a federal bail out will be right around the corner” Ross retorts, making his way for the door before turning back, paying one more word of caution to the woman he’d left behind just as he prepares to do with the company he founded, “if you think there’s anything actually stopping them, that’s your own mistake- not mine.” Not needing to offer anything more than what he already had, Ross steps through the door of Vickers’ office with Kaye by his side, departing the same building he owns with his fingerprints left behind. Simply via his presence alone, the uncomfortable aura over the office he now leaves in his wake continues to persist in spite of his departure, the warning he’d provided hanging over the large group’s head like a dark cloud, threatening to rain on the parade of their smooth-sailing vessel. = 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, May 30th, 2007 / \ 8:13 am est. - 5:13 am pst. / “I’m clear tonight, right?” Carly calls out from the bathroom adjacent to her shared bedroom, applying mascara cautiously as her boyfriend shouts back from the kitchen. “Grant and Taylor are back in the ‘States tonight, so you should be” Aiden replies, wiping his eyes with the base of his hand as he groggily shifts through lumpy oatmeal with a metal spork, “but our luck with that has been piss poor and it’ll only get worse moving forward, so I’d plan on being up an extra hour just in case.” “At this point, 2008 can’t get here soon enough!” Carly exclaims, her voice bouncing off the surface of her mirror and echoing throughout the dense bathroom walls, “I’m so ready to renegotiate!” Shaking his head as his chin pulls back, Aiden keeps his eyes set upon the clumped-together breakfast sat on the counter before him, replying to the woman out of the corner of his mouth. “What good would renegotiating do?” Aiden shouts back, shaking his head as he takes the bowl into his hands, stepping off the chair beside the eating platform to discard the meal he’s no longer hungry for, “you’ve already got all the money you could ever want.” Whilst his girlfriend calls out from the furthest reaches of their bedroom, the man dumps his early-morning meal in the bin and places the dirty bowl and spork beneath the faucet’s running water. “I don’t care about making more money- though I wouldn’t mind it” Carly responds, setting her brush down as she pulls her head back, creating distance between herself and the mirror as she judges the final product, “I can have them write a specific limit of days I’m allowed to be taken off eight o’clock to fill in for another show. Then neither of us will have to worry about going very long without each other.” Lifting his eyebrows and jostling his chin toward the kitchen, Aiden ventures through the arch splitting the marble-clad preparation area from the corridor with his bedroom at the end of it. “That day is still just over seventeen months away, honey” the man replies back, gently grazing the drywall with the tips of his fingers as he slowly closes in the distance between himself and his significant other, “at this rate, I’m not sure I’ll make another two months- let alone seventeen of them.” Rolling her eyes as she screws the brush back into its cap and hears her boyfriend’s footsteps near closer, Carly’s eyes drift toward the open door separating her from the rest area, waiting to see the man close in as she speaks. “I know they’re up your ass right now, but the ratings are going to shoot back up soon” the woman replies, offering the man that finally rounds the corner to face her a branch of hope to seek refuge atop, “we’re almost out of the growing pain stage.” “Even if that weren’t the case, I’ve got more than the ratings working against me” Aiden replies, shaking his head as he presses his forearm against the doorway, leaning against it as he finishes his thought, “this whole thing’s been a disaster so far.” With one hand pressing into her hip as her opposite presses against the edge of the countertop, Carly challenges the man on his open-ended statement, intrigued by the mystery hidden within the part left unsaid. “What else is working against you?” the woman inquires, her question immediately prompting the man to part his lips and rummage through his thoughts in an awkward silence, searching for the easiest excuse to make up to incite a redirection of the conversation. “Listen, it’s too early in the morning for me to make something up. Please just trust me when I say that you don’t want to know” Aiden eventually caves, accepting that he’ll find nothing and hopes his plea will be accepted unquestioned. Squinting her eyes as her face drifts slightly in one direction, Carly inspects the man’s slightly-concerned posture before accepting that his statement is probably correct. “Alright then” the woman sighs, placing the mascara down before slowly reaching for the nearest brush, over-playing her suspicions of the man’s secret as she squints toward him, playfully showing him her doubt in his remarks. “I wouldn’t keep it a secret if it wasn’t important to” Aiden reassures, trying to ease any worry that may linger amongst her before taking it upon himself to guide the discourse elsewhere, “how was your date with the Monopoly man last night?” Her playful demeanour immediately falling into one of displeasure, Carly gently pulls the brush from the ends of her dark hair as her head tilts to the side. “Don’t do that, you know it wasn’t a date” the woman replies, the disapproving grimace she returns to the man immediately prompting him to ease his light-hearted dialogue shift. “Relax, I’m just kidding” Aiden assures the woman, putting both hands out before stepping into the bathroom, placing one hand upon each of her shoulders and leaning in to press his lips against hers, both of his eyes widening the moment they lock. Keeping the kiss locked for a few moments, Aiden’s eyes remain wide open as he looks toward the woman’s face, the immediate look of regret that comes over her expression telling him exactly what he’d instantly assumed. “I promise, he kissed me as I was getting into the car and I didn’t realise until the second he pulled away” Carly reassures, knowing her boyfriend had smelled the cologne of the same man she’d purposefully mislead the night prior, “I made up an excuse and he took me back here.” Rolling his eyes as he begins to pull away, Aiden’s arm is quickly taken back by the woman’s hand as she holds him back, his half-hearted spin away thwarted before he could even make half a rotation. “I know that’s not going to sit with you and I’m sorry, but it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t let my guard down” Carly continues to remark, “sometimes, when I do this stuff for intel, I forget I’m supposed to act like I’m on a date with them. I just get caught up talking and asking questions.” “Wherever your mind goes when you do these things doesn’t really matter, all that does is that it doesn’t become more than a fake date for info” Aiden replies, giving into the woman’s physical plea for his eyes to return to hers with a pointed finger, “just tell me that kiss meant nothing.” “Of course it meant nothing, Aiden!” Carly quickly responds, understanding why the man would be so disheartened by the unpleasant detail she’d purposefully omitted as she does, “it was nothing more than a move he’d snuck past me after a fake date I went on for a favour- I promise.” Still visibly annoyed, Aiden’s disgruntled posture is soothed slightly by his girlfriend’s reassurance, the tension in his shoulders dropping as the stress in his eyes follows suit. Remaining silent, Aiden lets out a sigh and continues with his turn around, passing the woman nothing more than a nod of acceptance as he pulls out of the bathroom, returning to the kitchen to await her work preparations to conclude. With an apologetic expression as the man wanders off, Carly’s eyes soon fill with remorse and regret as she takes the brush back to her hair, clearly still wearing her boyfriend’s reaction on her conscience. | \ Wednesday, May 30th, 2007 / \ 10:24 pm est. - 7:24 pm pst. / “You’ve seen me naked, you don’t have to knock” Taylor calls out, sitting behind her desk with her fingers tapping rapidly along the keyboard before her. “I know that, but it doesn’t hurt to be considerate” Grant jokes, stepping through the door with a smile on his face, one that slowly falls in favour of a more curious expression upon the lack of a reply, something that prompts him to peer past the knick knacks atop his girlfriend’s desk and toward the screen of her computer. “You can follow the market on this thing?” the masculine anchor wonders aloud, prompting his girlfriend to look back at him with a raised eyebrow, “what? I don’t use this thing for stuff other than work.” With a smirk on her face, Taylor shakes her head and sets her sights back toward the screen, changing the page on her browser with a few clicks of the mouse. “Why are you following the LMC stock?” Grant inquires, taking one of the chairs in front of the woman’s desk and carrying it with him as he makes his way closer to her. “If I know what I think I do about the market, I’ll be able to see the change when Ross sells his twenty percent- or at least a good chunk of it” Taylor responds, pulling back in her seat with an elbow pressing into a nearby armrest, her head supported by the knuckles her chin rests atop. “You don’t expect him to dump it off this fast, do you?” Grant queries, lowering himself into his chair before resting his palm upon her thigh. “I don’t really know anything about the stock market, but Vince told me what to look for” Taylor answers honestly, her face painted in the bright colours that occupy her screen, “I don’t know, he could get rid of it pretty fast, right?” With raised eyebrows, Grant tilts his head toward one side as he reads the lines on his girlfriend’s screen, honestly incapable of understanding what any of them mean. “I mean, in theory he could” the man replies, a brief chuckle kept to himself as his head slowly shakes with uncertainty, “I don’t know much about the market either, but I doubt a few hundred million dollars worth of shares would be able to change hands this quickly.” With a disappointed visage, Taylor’s head falls back into the seat she sits against as her boyfriend watches on silently, reading her expression as the newsroom beyond their shared walls continues to empty. “Why’s this got you so wrapped up?” Grant wonders aloud, leaning forward in his seat as his palm gently rolls along her leg. “Because Ross is right” Taylor answers with complete transparency, turning to look at her boyfriend as the harsh, white light falls from her face. “All it takes is one of the big guys to come in with a fat stack of cash, and Robin doesn’t have that leverage” she continues to speak, a visible distress clearly held within her visage, though she fights valiantly to hide it from her other half’s onlooking eyes, “she’s been in charge for so damn long that not even I know what the alternative is.” “You don’t know that someone’s gonna swoop in and outmatch her, babe” Grant retorts, only to find his attempt at reassurance falling upon deaf ears. “Do you know how many corporations have a little over a percent in LMC? Do you realise how easy it would be for them to snatch up a larger share than Robin?” Taylor inquires, not needing to know how the market operates in order to understand the simple maths behind it, “don’t you realise what would happen if Ross sold to the wrong people?” “Things that wouldn’t affect us as long as we could prove we kept people watching” Grant answers, watching his girlfriend roll her eyes and look away before her stare falls back upon him. “Taylor, look at me and tell me that we haven’t both gone through worse than this” the man doubles down, guiding her sights back toward him and following through, “this, all of this- it’s just uncertainty. The scary part is not knowing what the outcome is, but it’s nothing compared to what we’ve already seen.” “Grant, it’s not that I’m scared of what’s gonna happen. The idea of the wrong person buying Ross out worries me, yes. But I’m not scared of who it falls into the hands of” Taylor retorts, shaking her head with a half-smile on her face, “I’d just prefer to not be bothered with some greedy prick walking into the newsroom and demanding a bunch of things be changed just to suit some grand vision they have of the news.” “Alright, yeah- that’d be nice not to worry about. But come on, it’s not worth sitting alone, in the dark, in your office following the stock market- which closed almost five and a half hours ago” Grant quickly counters, taking his free hand and letting it rest on the side of his co-anchor’s face, “even if some prick like Rupert Murdoch walks in with a fistful of cash, we’ve got tenure and clauses in our contracts to make sure he can’t shut us up if we decide to start going PG-13.” With a subdued chuckle, Taylor’s eyelids press shut before eventually parting, letting her eyes return to Grant as the air goes quiet, not a word shared between them for a few seconds as they let the moment simmer. Grazing her cheek with his thumb, the newer of the two anchors keeps his focus on the woman’s eyes as they begin to share in a mutual loss of time, each second passing blissfully and without interruption. “I’m the luckiest man in the world” Grant soon says aloud, interjecting his voice in the silent retreat as the woman’s smile meets him, her heart worn on her sleeve metaphorically- or rather her face in a more literal manner. “You can say that again seventy times over and I still wouldn’t disagree with you” Taylor responds, her whip-cracking humour met with a smile as her boyfriend leans in, their lips pressing together. For a few seconds, their kiss continues, not a sound left to interrupt them aside from the suction of their romantic entanglement pulling apart. “Alright, we should get going” Taylor soon concludes, patting the man on the leg and lifting herself from the comfort of her chair, her boyfriend soon to follow. “You don’t need to tell me twice” Grant replies, stepping away from his seat and wrapping his arms around the woman’s waist, holding her close as they make for the office’s exit together. == Tonight at 9 == Season 3 Premiere
\ Tuesday, May 29th, 2007 / \ 9:36 pm est. - 6:36 pm pst. / Draped in a rather fitting cloud of darkness, a spacious, luxury apartment sits without its occupant as a set of doors pull apart, bathing the lofty interior in a cloud of white light. “I still can’t believe I haven’t been inside your place yet” Grant remarks, following his girlfriend through the parted entrance and looking toward each direction, the woman’s applause prompting the light of an elegant chandelier to waft over the room. “I’m barely inside my place anymore” Taylor retorts through an exhausted tone, gently placing the coat folded over her arm atop a chair nearest her adjacent kitchen. “I know it’s much bigger than I need, but it feels a lot smaller after spending time with you up north” she continues, resting her hand atop the same chair her jacket loosely hangs over, eyes drifting toward the cavernous ceiling that towers over her penthouse. “Smaller I’m not so sure of” Grant replies, doing a slow turn as he scans every aspect of the living space he can find from the space just a few feet away from the elevator, “colder I can see, but not smaller.” Clearly lacking much enthusiasm, Taylor responds with a simple shrug and pout, again staring at the depths of the same flat that feels less like home with each passing day, the marble walls and granite finish almost as foreign to her as a friend’s home would be. “I guess so” she speaks back with a flattened tone, eyes falling toward the exposed floor that allows for her every step to bounce with an echo. Pulling himself away from his wandering gaze throughout the premises, Grant’s mind parts from his inspective nature and places its full attention on the woman standing across the room from him. With his expression lowering, the man’s head begins tilting to one side as he closes the distance between them, wasting no time in hugging her. For a moment, the pair share not a word as their eyes press together tightly, the man’s arms holding the woman close as her chin digs into his pec, their own individual comfort taken from the presence of the other. “He’s going to be okay” Grant whispers reassuringly, the side of his face resting gently against the back of his girlfriend’s head, unable to see the consoled, warm smile earned from his remark. “He’s awake, he’s talking, and more importantly- he’s very upset that he can’t drink for a while” Grant continues, smiling as he pulls his face away at the sound of Taylor’s laugh, their eyes colliding as their collectively amiable visage take toward each other. “The good part of that last one is that he’ll live long enough to eventually be okay with that” Grant concludes, both hands pressing into his co-anchor’s shoulders as he holds her tight, “in a few weeks, he’ll be back in that stingy, booze-filled office watching us on primetime. It’ll all be back to normal.” Pressing her lips together, Taylor bows her head for a moment as she clears her mind of the stressing thoughts that had supplanted themselves within it, eradicating them as if they were a plague trying to strike at her. “I wish we’d never left normal in the first place” the woman responds, still wearing a much more cosy expression as she turns away and begins walking for the equally-spacious living room just a few steps off, “it’s been one rollercoaster after another for a while now.” Wearing a frown as his girlfriend makes for the same couch she sleeps upon whenever present, Grant turns his eyes toward the nearest window, its size taking up nearly ninety percent of the nearest wall. “I have a history with that as you can tell” the man confesses, following his girlfriend’s path before advancing past the couch she sinks into, making for the view of the city her living arrangement affords them. “It’s not like I intend to shake things up everywhere I go, but change just seems to keep finding its way to me” Grant explains, feeling partially responsible for the shellshock carried over the last year-and-some-change. Falling quiet for yet another moment, the air allows Taylor to take a second for herself as she sifts through the ways in which she can reply, her apartment’s visitor continuing to stare out at the sunset that begins to fall behind the collection of Manhattan’s skyscrapers. “It’s been quite a few years since things changed this much. Aiden had been the producer since I started and I hadn’t shared that desk with anyone” Taylor explains, remaining seated as the man across the room from her tucks his hands in his pockets, slowly turning back toward her direction. “Everyone in the newsroom usually went about their own ways. Some roomed together to make the rent more manageable, but it wasn’t as personal as it is now” she continues, “there was a quiet respect everyone had for each other. Things were a little smoother and taken more day-by-day.” With a smile in the corner of his lip, Grant makes for the couch as the respected anchor shuffles off to one side, freeing a spot for him to claim. “But, even though there’s been a lot of chaotic change since you came in, there’s been a lot of good change too” Taylor reassures, establishing a balance between the two halves as the man lowers himself beside her. “Everyone likes showing up to work more. They’re closer and more willing to speak freely. Do you even realise how rare it was for Sam to come up to the newsroom?” the woman continues to say, “you brought a lot of good change when you came in too.” Gently placing his hand upon the woman’s thigh, Grant stares at the floor as the room goes quiet once more, their silence spent within the presence of each other instead of debating whatever’s at play. “Whatever the change may be- good or bad- I’m just glad it worked out in such a way where I ended up with you” the man confesses, watching yet another smile come over Taylor’s face, “even if I was never able to do the news for another night starting now, it’s all worth it as long as you’re here.” Without the words to offer in return, the well-tenured anchor places her right hand within the pair her boyfriend rests atop her leg, the other resting against the side of his face as their lips press together. For a few seconds, the kiss lingers before the sensation of buzzing captures Grant’s attention, forcing him to end the romantic moment in favour of the phone that clammers for his response. “I’m sorry, I have-” the man begins to apologise, retrieving his Blackberry as Taylor waves him off with an unperturbed expression, “you don’t have to apologise. Go ahead” she assures. With a nod, Grant presses his thumb against the green key on his handheld and rests it against the side of his head, “Grant Haste speaking” he answers, squinting at the sound of a familiar voice from the other end of the line. “I’ll be right there, Bruce” Grant responds to his agent, letting a few seconds pass and a question be raised, “yeah, she’s with me.” With a few additional remarks, Bruce concludes the call with one reply of certainty from his client, “yeah, we’ll both be there soon” the anchor replies, unable to speak another word before his paid professional ends the call. “What did he want?” Taylor asks aloud, having waited for the man to pull his head away from the handset before voicing her inquiry. “He wants us to meet him at the office” Grant responds with a confused tone in his voice, uncertain over what’s meant to be awaiting their presence. Equally at a loss, the apartment’s resident sits back in her seat as she ponders what could be of such importance that they’d be called to attendance in such a quick manner. “If it was something about Sam’s heart attack, surely we’d be called back to the hospital, right?” Taylor suddenly inquires, her father-figure’s health standing near the top of her priority list at the moment. “It’s nothing about Vickers- at least not about his health” Grant retorts, picking himself up off the sofa and extending his hand, assisting his co-anchor to her feet as he finishes his thought, “but it seems important- whatever it is.” = 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 = \ Tuesday, May 29th, 2007 / \ 10:00 pm est. - 7:00 pm pst. / “Great fucking show, guys! Everyone- well done!” Shane exclaims, applauding to the crew that sit behind their stations upon setting his headset aside, the widest smile worn upon his face. “Listen, I don’t want to keep you guys long, but I did want to just say a few things to you and the crew outside really quick. I promise it won't take up more than a few minutes of your time, alright?” the man continues, watching a few collective nods and shrugs be returned to him as the men depart. Organising a few things in his office, Shane lets a few minutes pass before following through on his request and stepping through the door, joining the closely-gathered workers that await his explanation for the meeting. Standing near the front of the group, Vince shares a spot near one of the desks closest to the news set with Olivia and Keith as Marcus and Sherry claim a space close by. “Alright, thank you for staying back for a little bit. I really appreciate it” Shane remarks, looking out at the crowd as he begins speaking, the front doors parting to present a hurried Grant and Taylor the moment he begins speaking. Stopping in their tracks momentarily, the lead anchors meet the eyes of the man that stands atop their platform just as his do for them, the brief pause buying the recently-approved executive producer a moment to unclutter his mind. “I just wanted to say that I know it’s been hard lately. It’s been a struggle to get the show together for the last few weeks and it’s taken a lot more effort to get things in order around here” Shane begins, pausing for a moment as his hands dip into the pockets to each of his sides, “I don’t want anyone thinking that hasn’t been recognised. I know I haven’t been the captain of this ship for too long, but I still wanted to make it my responsibility to tell you that it’s been noticed.” “The work has gotten harder, and you’ve all shown that you’re up to the task. You’ve been kicking ass and everyone- everyone sees it” Shane begins to conclude, “there hasn’t been a lot of stability in the last few weeks, and we wouldn’t have been able to course correct if it wasn’t for you. So, I just wanted to say thank you. I wanted to give you the props you deserve and make it clear that I appreciate all of you. That’s all.” Unprompted, the crew gathered around applaud themselves and each other for their work, taking pride in the respect shown as Shane steps off the transparent platform, earning a few pats on the back from his colleagues as the evening comes to a conclusion on a good note. “I know we’re in a rush right now, but when the holidays come, I think we owe the crew a couple bottles of wine-” Taylor whispers, joining Grant in continuing to march for their offices, “-I mean really nice.” “I agree, but first thing’s first-” her boyfriend responds, hurriedly strolling across the bureau with his office in sight, “-let’s make sure we all have a job by the holidays.” Coupled together, the primetime broadcast’s anchors dip into Grant’s office as their executive producer watches on, unsure of the reason behind their appearance, and refusing to bother with asking too many questions about it. Sharing a few remarks with those that approach, Shane’s feet soon take to the nearest exit. “Wait, why are we in your office?” Taylor inquires, pausing in the middle of the room with a set of wandering eyes, the pair soon taking toward her boyfriend’s desk. Taking the phone from its machine, Grant presses the handset to his ear and quickly dials a number, pressing the bottom half to his chest as he answers the question asked of him. “Because I don’t know anyone’s extensions by heart” the man confesses, quickly returning the handset to his ear, waiting for the soft, feminine voice on the other end of the line. “Hey, Nicole. I know this is an odd question, but would Bruce happen to be in Mr. Vickers’ office?” Grant politely wonders aloud, nodding his head for a moment before the satisfied gesture pauses, his eyelids pulling closer together momentarily as he looks up at his girlfriend, “Robin’s there too?” With her head pulled back, Taylor looks at her co-anchor with a confused stare before continuing to listen to his end of the conversation, unable to make out what’s being said on the other end of the line. “Wait, all four of them? Who are the other two?” Grant asks aloud, the squint remaining in his eyes as the woman sharing his space in the office reacts similarly, her boyfriend’s confused expression kept on as her own eyes widen upon his next remark. “Who the fuck is Ross Walker!?” Grant blurts out, gazing around his office momentarily before his sights fall upon the woman across from him, her clearly-shaken visage prompting his guard to rise, the response he gets from Vickers’ secretary not striking him with much comfort. | \ Tuesday, May 29th, 2007 / \ 10:06 pm est. - 7:06 pm pst. / “Can I come in?” Shane inquires, peering his head through the glass door to his friend’s office on the level below his own, spotting Aiden behind a small tower of loose papers. “Sure, why not?” the eight o’clock producer replies, watching the primetime E.P enter and passing a wave to Doug as the latter man steps past the entrance. “That was a good show” Aiden remarks, sitting at his desk with a small glass of wine sat beside his computer’s monitor, “how’d you manage to get Zoellick to come on?” With his head leant to the side, Shane blows a gust of air past his lips as he steps into one of the unoccupied seats across from his friend’s desk. “He actually contacted us” the visitor replies, “well, his agent contacted us. But I figured we needed the interview to make up for the lack of Grant and Taylor.” “Fair enough” Aiden responds, shrugging his shoulders as he extends an empty wine glass to his friend and reaches for the bottle with his opposite hand, looking to offer it to his once-roommate. “How’s everything going at eight o’clock?” Shane inquires, passing a look over his shoulder at the newsroom he can see from within the office’s chambers, catching a glimpse of the glass fragments his friend had been incapable of digging out of the carpet as he does so. “You mean the Carly Carpenter show with Carly Carpenter that- more often than not- doesn’t actually feature Carly Carpenter?” Aiden replies, rolling his eyes as he sarcastically finishes his response the moment before he takes a swig from his glass, “so damn good.” Pouring himself a small glass of wine, Shane returns the cork to the bottle and places it on his friend’s side of the desk, a shrug in his shoulders and a wave of the hand responding to his fellow showrunner. “It’ll only be a matter of time before Taylor and Grant are back full-term” Shane replies, taking a gentle sip from the glass as he finishes his thought, “you’ll have your girlfriend back and jutting her chest out on nightly television before you know it.” Shrugging the remark off as less-than-believable, Aiden takes another sip from his beverage as the man on the other side of the conversation speaks up once more, lifting yet another original question. “Speaking of which, where is Carly?” Shane inquires, crossing one leg over the other as his friend’s Blackberry begins to buzz, skidding atop the hardwood desktop without its owner’s mind paid to it. “She’s off on a date with Brant Washington” Aiden replies, finishing the last of what’s in his glass as his phone continues to beg for his attention. “What!?” Shane exclaims, quickly recovering the glass that he’d almost let slip from his grasp out of shock, “she’s your girlfriend! What the hell is she doing on a date with someone else!?” Squinting his eyes as he peers to the side, Aiden reaches for the bottle atop his desk as his handset ceases its cry for his attention. “Dude, calm down. It’s not an actual date” the man replies, pouring himself a tall and generous second helping of liquor as his phone begins buzzing once more. “Carly’s a journalist before anything else. How else do you think hot journalists get their information?” Aiden replies, capping off his beverage with the glass slightly over half way-filled. “Alright, what does this Brant guy do that’s got Carly willing to go out with him for a scoop?” Shane inquires, watching the man’s lips part as he attempts to answer the question, only for the primetime producer’s attention to split elsewhere, “and for god’s sake, are you gonna answer your phone or what?” “Whoever’s calling can leave a message and wait for me to get back to them” Aiden replies stubbornly, “I’m a very busy man that’s clearly very busy. They can wait a few.” Letting the phone’s second attempt at calling for his attention die out, the eight o’clock E.P takes another sip from his drink as he waits out the call, prepared to answer the questions set for him. “Brant’s a financier at Lehman. She’s running with a thought piece one of the guys upstairs brought up about the housing market” Aiden replies, setting his glass back atop his workspace as his phone begins buzzing for a third time, “she’s looking for some insight as a favour. Vince is trying to pull some strings with Zoellick’s agent to get a small piece for eight o’clock when she gets back in full-time, so they’re doing each other a solid.” With a subtle nod, Shane slowly lifts the glass to his lips as he takes the man’s claims into consideration, reading them as best he can as his ears inevitably take to the phone once more. “For fuck’s sake, dude. That could be Carly for all you know” the visitor remarks, immediately watching Aiden shrug the notion off. “That’s not the ringtone I’ve got assigned to her” the eight o’clock producer replies, preparing to take another sip before watching his friend snatch the device off his desk. “Hey, what the hell!” Aiden exclaims, reaching out with his free hand as Shane answers the phone, pressing it to his ear and greeting the man on the other line, leaving his chair and walking to the corner of the office to buy himself some time. “Shane, this isn’t cool!” the phone’s rightful owner remarks, cautiously setting his drink down as he leaps out from his chair, rounding the desk and marching after his friend, whose amused expression soon begins to fade into loss. With his hand extended, Aiden’s reach for the device is halted in mid-air as he watches the call’s answerer pull the phone away from his head, looking at the screen with profound confusion. “You might want to take that” Shane remarks after a moment of pause, looking his friend in the eye as the machine’s owner snatches it back, looking at his friend with disapproval before reluctantly taking part in the call. “This is Aiden” the man responds cautiously, squinting his eyes after the first few words are spoken from the man on the other end of the line. “Woah, Grant- slow down” Aiden interjects, leaning closer toward his desk as the handset digs into the side of his head, ear pressing to the receiver as well as it can to decipher the hurried words spoken from the other end, “alright, I’ll be down in a second!” Clearly trying to de-escalate the situation, Aiden’s thumb presses into the red button on his keypad before the rest of his phone is slipped back into his pocket, a quick turn away carried. “What’s going on?” Shane wonders aloud, turning to follow his friend’s figure across the room, left with as little of an answer as the eight o’clock producer is provided. “I don’t know, but Grant told me to come with my fist’s balled” Aiden responds, motioning his hand toward his friend as if to guide him into following, “I’ve never gotten into a fight in my life and you live off of going to the gym- I think I’m gonna need you.” As if having waited all his life for this moment, Shane pops up without a second of hesitation and follows suit, led by Aiden through the On Air newsroom in favour of the building’s lower levels. | \ Tuesday, May 29th, 2007 / \ 10:19 pm est. - 7:19 pm pst. / With an expression of clear anger worn across his face, Grant leads the charge toward the building’s lower levels, stepping out of the elevator and onto his desired floor. “Sam!” Taylor shouts, having followed closely behind her boyfriend before a last-second glance toward a nearby coffee stand catches her full attention. “What are you doing out of the hospital!?” Grant calls out, following his girlfriend’s lead as she steps toward the company’s president, who dresses as if he’d already put in a twelve hour shift. “When Robin calls and says her ex husband is making an unexpected drop-by, did you honestly think I was just gonna sit around in a hospital bed waiting for updates?” Vickers responds, adjusting the plaid jacket over his baby blue dress shirt and salmon tie. “Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect from you” Taylor replies, stopping in her tracks as her father figure continues walking forward, joining the pair as they become a trio- all making way for his office. “I’m turning seventy two in a few weeks and can still run a 5k” Vickers responds, shaking his head as he hands the woman a styrofoam cup, not needing the hot beverage as much as he assumes she does, “the only people that think I’m laying in bed all day are people that don’t know me.” With a gentle few pats on the back, Grant moves with the flow of the situation at hand and simply takes joy in knowing the man’s more than able to hold his own, his mind more so concerned with the war that he believes remains ahead. “For fuck’s sake, I’m just glad you’re conscious” Taylor responds, earning a chuckle from the older man to her left side as he pats her on the shoulder. “The only prick you’ll have to worry about watching go unconscious is the one in my office” Vickers declares. With a passing few seconds, the triumvirate turn the corner nearest to the eldest’s office, a smile offered from the woman stationed behind the desk set up just near it. “Mr. Vickers!” Nicole exclaims, watching the man smile and bow his head toward her as he does each morning. “Thanks for giving me a head’s up!” Vickers replies, extending his hand to shake the woman’s own, “I’ll make sure my gratitude is shown in your next check!” Amused and appreciative in spite of her shock at the man’s astounding feat of physical composure, Nicole remains mostly-silent as the triad set for the man’s office, awaiting the shelves of awards and cabinets chalk-full of liquor. Within seconds, their destination presents itself, occupied by four faces- two of which are familiar to Grant whilst the other two are no different from any stranger he can find passing through downtown New York. “Woah, Sam- you’re-” the older gentleman sitting in the president’s seat begins to remark, only to be cut off by the same man he speaks toward. “Not dead or bedridden and easily capable of kicking your ass back through the front doors you entered through?” Vickers questions, nodding through the pause that the man replies to him with, arms crossing over his chest as his ground is stood, “yeah- I’m exactly that.” “Um, Grant, this is-” Bruce begins to speak, clearing his throat before beginning and stopping before he can continue, his introduction already capped off by his client. “Ross Walker. He’s the founder of LMC, owns the second-largest percent of the company and stopped working here in ‘99 from what I’ve heard” Grant interrupts, soon turning his head toward the much-younger woman that stands beside the distinguished man. “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. You can either leave before you have to watch me kick your husband’s ass or stay here and watch” Grant concludes, stepping away from his well-respected colleagues with a balled fist, “like I said, I don’t c-” Before he can finish his thought, the near-aggressor’s arm is taken into Vickers’ deceptively-strong grasp, one half of the company’s leading primetime anchors held back from starting a fight. “Keep it together, kid” the company’s president interjects, looking Grant in the eyes for a moment as he waits for the tension in his readied arm to cease, which takes a few additional seconds. “I’m going to assume you’ve already clued him in?” Ross inquires, turning his sights toward the woman at the trio’s centre, again earning the aggression of her boyfriend. “Don’t fucking talk to her! Not one-fucking-word” Grant warns in a stern voice, unballing his fist and instead pointing a finger toward the older man, making a mental note of the founder’s frail condition. “I said it at the time and I’ll say it until I’m dead and gone- I was speaking on the investor’s behalves” Ross proclaims, defending himself before switching the course of the conversation. “And for your information, her name is Kaye” the company’s founder corrects, turning his finger to point at the same young woman Grant had warned moments prior, “she is my wife and you will not talk to her that way.” “Oh, that’s Kaye?” the confrontational anchor responds with raised eyebrows, “as in Taylor’s old friend?” As her arms uncross, the woman in question places a hand against her hip as the other hangs by her side. “The one that was fucking Ross behind Robin’s back, yeah yeah yeah- that one” Kaye replies with her eyes rolling, “god forbid someone fall in love with an older man. Go ahead, sue me.” “Well when you sleep with him behind his wife’s back, I think there could be some legal justification in that” Robin remarks from afar, muttering beneath her breath- though loud enough for the rest of the room to hear. “It’s not my fault you couldn’t keep up anymore, honey” Kaye quickly retorts, her own brand of confrontation taken in the owner’s direction, only for the calmest voice in the room to come from its normal occupant. “Everyone shut the fuck up before I have a second heart attack in protest!” Vickers exclaims, quickly readjusting his stance as pointing his finger toward the ground, “and I’m serious! You may not think it, but I’ll induce another one just to prove a point- don’t threaten me with a good time!” “Alright, listen! I’m not here for a fight!” Ross exclaims, pushing his hand into the sides of his desk chair in an attempt to usher himself upward, only for his first try to falter. Clearly in a slight daze, the founder’s legs give out beneath him and force him back into the rolling chair, his eyes widened as his wife leans in to check on him. “God, you make Sam look like a spry chicken” Taylor quips, wearing a snarl at the man’s inability to even leave his seat, taking the moment to poke some light-hearted humour at the man’s expense. “I am a spry chicken, I’m just stuck in an old man’s body” Vickers corrects, stepping ahead of the woman slightly before situating himself between the two opposing factions- the founder with his much younger wife and his primetime anchors. “Alright- Ross. You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here” the company’s president begins, directing the group’s attention toward the frail man once more, their collective eyes watching him make a second attempt at standing- this time successfully. “Like I said, I was just speaking on behalf of the investors” Ross replies, continuing to defend his honour, “I never have and never would defend what Barry did to Taylor, but the only way it wouldn’t have crippled us was with a miracle.” “And that miracle happened” Aiden retorts, finally catching up to the ground and entering the office as Shane squeezes past him, eluding Vickers before throwing a fist into the jaw of the fragile founder. The unexpected assault not yet intended to be over, the Tonight at Nine executive producer keeps his grip on Ross’ shirt collar, holding him up and preparing a second swing. Without a moment of reluctance, Vickers catches Shane’s attempt at a second shot and pulls him around, sending the much larger man flying back with a single headbutt. “Everyone knock it the fuck off!” Grant exclaims, now taking over for the military-experienced president of the news division as the voice of reason, getting between all three members of the warring sides with his hands held outward. With push having come well past the point of shoving, Grant keeps himself in the centre of the chaos, preventing another escalation from occurring. Adjusting his ruffled jacket as if the day were just another one of many for him, Vickers nods in his anchor’s direction and slides his fingers through his own hair, unphased by the strike of his own cranium against Shane’s. Helped up by Aiden, the well-built executive producer of nine o’clock, presses his open palm against his own bloody forehead, staring at Vickers both annoyed and impressed. “Fuck, I just came here to give you a warning damnit!” Ross exclaims, sunken back into the same chair he’d struggled to free himself from the grasp of. Waving his much younger wife off, the company’s founder grunts with his teeth pressed together as he pulls himself from the seat, leaning over the desk. Met with silence as everyone aside from himself and Kaye gather themselves, Ross catches his breath and clears clutter from his mind as he stares toward the well-populated office. “The cancer is back and it’s going to win this time” the clearly-ill man reveals, passing another glance toward his ex-wife as she stares on, both eyes looking toward him with a look of profound perplexity as he finishes his remark. == Tonight at 9 == |
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