S3, E4 | White Lies

\ 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 ==