|
\ Friday, February 22nd, 2008 /
\ 10:56 pm est. - 7:56 pm pst. / “What the fuck is going on!?” Grant shouts as he storms through the doors of the lift that bring him into the chair woman’s loft, the detail of his veins showing through the skin on his neck. “Grant, give me a second” Vickers calmly pleads, standing a few feet away from his superior with one hand on his hip and the other pressing against his forehead, speaking politely, but clearly harbouring a great deal of exhaustion from yelling himself. “I’ll give you a second after you tell me why-!” Grant battles back, only to fall silent at the raised voice of his immediate superior. “Grant, for the love all things- fuck!” Vickers exclaims, spouting the same aggravated yell that his anchor had offered him, “shut your fucking mouth and give me a second!” Punching the air in a pure rage, the company president finishes his declaration before venturing away, stepping toward the large windows of his boss’ flat whilst the male anchor of nine o’clock watches on, doing as demanded out of respect for the president. Controlling his breaths, Vickers places his second hand at his hip whilst he stares out at the city and the bright lights that keep it awake, his face bathed in the glow of distant illumination as he stares into the darkness of the northeastern night. Watching the man’s distance-creating stroll come to a stop at the end of the room, Grant turns his attention toward his boss’ employer with as much of a scowl as he’d entered the flat with. Clearly pissed off by the same display that has found the ire of those in her company, Robin sits on her pure white chesterfield without a drink in hand, one hand pressing against her chin whilst the other rests across her chest, the hand of it sitting in the nook of her arm as the president rejoins the discourse. “Alright. You’re clearly not telling me the whole truth” Vickers calmly states, letting go of a deep breath before turning back for those in the living room’s centre, “did we enact a lifetime ban from broadcasting in Barry’s clause or did we not?” Visibly invested in hearing an answer, Grant crosses his arms in an effort of containing his anger before turning toward the seated woman a short distance away. Wearing a disgruntled demeanour, Robin looks toward the floor of her luxury living space whilst Vickers draws nearer, staying quiet for a moment as she settles her frustration. “We did not” the woman confesses, shocking the anchor who’d only joined on with their company less than two years prior whilst the president looks toward the heavens with an irritated grin. “I tried to establish a lifetime ban in our settlement deal, but he promised to not sign it and sue if it was included” Robin doubles down, recalling the moment in which both sides met at the negotiating table for the final time. “We settled on a ten calendar-year deal for him to remain off the air. We had Taylor take a rape kit in secret and paid the police to keep in on the low like she asked” the chair woman carries along, “at the time, spending ten years off the air might as well have been a lifetime ban.” ‘Yes, but it’s not... is it?” Vickers questions back, speaking calmly in a way that makes the LMC owner feel more guilty than she already does. “No, it was not” Robin answers, again staring at the ground out of utter horror at seeing the disgraced anchor’s face on the television this evening. “And yet, you told me...?” the president continues along, stepping back as the shorter woman fires off of her couch with a fever-pitch yell. “I told you it was a lifetime ban, goddamnit!” the chair woman howls back, stepping up to her subordinate with a face of outright anger, “I told you it was a lifetime ban so neither you or the girl would have to worry that he’d break the mould and show back up on someone else’s air! Are you happy!?” “No, because now he’s back on the air” Grant calmly answers on the president’s behalf, re-earning the attention of the woman who owns forty-one percent of the company he’s employed by. “And had I known that there’d be a reason to worry that he’d show back up in 1998, I would have pretty much pushed Taylor into the courtroom myself!” Robin shouts, approaching the anchor’s much calmer figure as it remains standing in place, “what do you want me to tell you!?” Having replaced the outrage that had fueled his expression with a glum and depressed sorrow, Grant keeps firm in his stance with his arms crossed, looking the company’s shot-caller in the eyes and speaking with more composure than anyone in the room had carried up to that point. “I’d like you to tell me something that I can take back to the newsroom...” the anchor answers through great pain, tears forming in his eyes, “...something that can help me convince my fiance to stop crying in the corner of my office with her arms wrapped around her legs.” Unable to say anything in response, Robin looks the much younger gentleman in the face before letting her eyes fall with the rest of her head, the direction of her face carrying her away in even greater shame now. “Please tell me she didn’t have to go on air tonight” Vickers wonders aloud, trying to look past the flat’s primary tenant in favour of asking over the state of the victim to their issue. “Aiden stormed upstairs during the broadcast and demanded a typed script from us about five minutes after Arnold showed up” Grant answers, shaking his head in refusal, “I refused to let Taylor go on the air and Aiden refused to let me all the same. He just did our nine o’clock script downstairs.” “That’s fine. No one mentioned Barry or Nalty on our air, correct?” Vickers questions back, only to receive an uncertain shake of the head from his trusted anchor. “I wouldn’t assume that Aiden would allow that, but I don’t know for sure” Grant replies whilst Robin paces around the room with her hands on her hips, “I was too busy consoling Taylor until Aiden and Carly were down at ten. I told them to look after her while I ran over here for answers.” “Well, it seems you and I both just got them” Vickers responds, nodding his head with great displeasure as he looks toward his superior, “what do we do now?” Pressing the tip of her tongue against her top teeth, Robin stares at the ceiling and gingerly shakes her head, the lids of her eyes tense in their slight squint closer toward each other. “I’m not sure there’s anything we can do now” the chair woman confesses beneath her breath through a sigh. “We can go on air and out him” Grant suggests, finding the lack of a reasonable reply unacceptable, proposing whatever he can think of. “We have fine lawyers, but those are the ones that put this arrangement in place to begin with” Vickers answers, shaking his head in refusal, “in all technicality, his punishment was the agreement that he signed. As far as legality is concerned, he’s a rotten bastard who did the crime and the time.” “Well I’m not sure how you expect Taylor to go on the air each night and compete with that asshole for an hour with a straight face” Grant retorts, seeing the sideways nod that the president reacts to his claim with, “she’s the strongest woman I know, but no one is that strong.” “I’m going to put the two of you on a paid leave of absence” Robin answers, turning her front back to the men that share the flat with her. “I’m fine with going against Nalty. There’s nothing that bastard-” Grant begins to rebuke, only for his response to fall silent at the behest of his superior’s voice. “She’s putting you on paid leave to look after Taylor” Vickers corrects, seeing where his anchor’s misunderstanding comes into play, “think of this as how we reacted to what happened with Kelsi, just with the roles reversed.” “You can’t seriously expect Aiden to go another couple of weeks without Carly, can you?” Grant questions back, earning a warm smile across his boss’ face, “he just got her back. They’re finding their groove, you can’t take that away from them.” “Grant, I have deep respect for your consideration of the company’s situation even in the face of this adversity” Vickers clarifies, lifting the ends of his suit jacket up to place his hands within his pockets, “nevertheless, this is not a matter you can talk either one of us out of.” Hanging his head, the anchor lets out a deep breath as the president turns toward his superior, calmed enough to be able to think relatively clearly. “He is right about one thing, however. Aiden can’t afford to lose Carly for that long again. They’re finally finding their stride” Vickers explains, looking at Robin as she stands with shaky confidence. “We’ll find temporary anchors for nine o’clock and tell the audience that personal matters have taken both Grant and Taylor off the air for a prolonged period of time” the president remarks, calling their immediate shots, “Carly and Aiden will continue as is and we will not release any statement regarding Nalty or Barry.” “Well we’re going to have to say something” Robin replies, only for the man opposite her to shake his head and fight against the statement. “No, we do not. And I’m sorry, Robin. I don’t care if you’re the person who signs my paychecks, allows me to keep working past the age of retirement, or hell- I don’t care if you’re the right-hand woman to God himself...” Vickers doubles down, standing firm in his stance, “...as far as how we handle ourselves in this war- I’m in charge of it now.” Parting her lips with the tip of her tongue pressing into the corner of her mouth, Robin looks off to the side and reserves her counter-argument to the man’s claims, holding back in the name of admitting that he might be better suited for what’s next to come than she is. “I love you, I care about you, and you are my closest friend. But, Ms. Lloyd- this can’t be your battle to wage” Vickers reassures, “I’ll run our calls past you before we make them, but they will be my calls.” Resting her upper and lower jaws closer together, Robin settles into the man’s explanation with a slight defeat carried in her heart, eyes taking to the ground. “I need you to tell me that you understand that” Vickers clarifies, earning a slight chuckle out of the woman as she begins giving into the good-faith release of power she’s asked to place in other hands, “if I’m going to be the general of this counterattack, I’m going to need to know that you have my back when it counts.” Looking back to the president, Robin finds both sets of eyes that stand before her planting their focus in her direction, waiting for whichever reply she’s bound to give. Finally closing her mouth fully, the chair woman stares past the men and to the barely-decorated wall that resides behind them. Letting his arms fall from the cross that they’d rested within, Grant takes on a similar posture to Vickers as they await their conclusive remark, watching as the superior’s lips part as she presents them with her answer. “I understand.” = Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward = \ Wednesday, March 5th, 2008 / \ 9:15 am est. - 6:15 am pst. / “So, we now know for certain that John McCain will be the Republican nominee for president this November, leaving just Obama and Clinton to duke it out over who gets to represent the Democrats” Carly comments, dressed in a Nike sweatshirt and a pair of grey slacks, “as always, we’ll be keeping you up to date with that.” Offering her closing remarks, the eight o’clock anchor wraps up this online show’s recording and has it sent over to be edited, earning a quiet applause from her boyfriend. “Great show as always” Aiden remarks, kissing the woman before joining her in venturing toward the office she can hear her phone ringing from inside. “Hello?” she quickly greets, having reached her desk just in time to pick up the phone before taking a seat, her boyfriend’s hands coupling at his lap as he waits for the call to wrap up. “Yeah, this is her” Carly reassures, entering the leathery embrace of her seat as she listens to the masculine tone that replies to her from the other end of the line. “Why not?” she asks back, unable to fill in her out-of-the-loop boyfriend into the remark that draws her curiosity more than any others. Scoffing at the reply that she receives, Carly rolls her eyes and looks toward the office’s window at a loss for words, wearing the bemused grin on her face as the other party continues to speak. “Well, what more do they want me to do? Strip to my underwear and do an exotic dance while I break down the weather report?” she questions back, instinctively lifting her finger in the direction of the man she knows heard the reply without context. Letting his pleased smile descend back into a resting face, Aiden takes a seat in one of the chairs opposite his anchor and awaits the conclusion of her conversation. “They’re just trying to save pennies. They’re buying low so they don’t need to pay the market value” Carly responds, shaking her head in disapproval of the conclusion that’s been brought on by the call. “I’m not going to threaten to take an offer somewhere else. I like what I have here, I like what we’re building, and-” she carries forward, only for the muffled voice on the other end to kickstart once more, interrupting Aiden’s girlfriend as he tries his best to make out what’s being said. “No, don’t send a counter offer yet. I’m going to go talk to someone” Carly rebukes, leaning closer to the phone in the name of ending the call, refusing the claim that the other party makes to her. “I don’t know who I’m going to talk to, but I’m going to go talk to someone” the eight o’clock anchor rebuttals, pulling the handset from her head before finishing her defiant proclamation as she goes to hang up, “I mean it... don’t send a counter offer yet.” Without another utterance, Carly returns the handset to the receiver and pushes her chair out, leaving it with eyes set on the office’s exit. “What was that about?” Aiden wonders aloud, squinting out a genuine uncertainty as to whether or not he should be concerned or amused. “I’ll tell you later. Go do whatever you have to do, I want to handle this myself” Carly explains, leaving her office in the same breath as her delivery whilst the man she ditches watches on. “What on earth was that about?” Aiden wonders aloud after a brief few seconds in the quiet, shaking his head at a loss as he sinks further into the guest’s chair. | \ Wednesday, March 5th, 2008 / \ 9:22 am est. - 6:22 am pst. / Staring at the cloudy sky from the comfort of a lawn chair, Grant occupies the end of the pier to he and his fiance’s recently-inherited beachfront property. With a pair of sunglasses draped over his face and an unzipped sweatshirt that continues to be pushed by the breeze, the anchor turns to his side without much emotion in his face. “We should be able to use the beach as a beach in a few weeks” the man murmurs aloud, prompting his lover to turn and face him, “are you excited?” Wearing a similar set of clothes, Taylor sets her sights back upon the glum heavens above with a slight squint, having chosen not to join her fiance in adorning tinted shades. “I don’t know. I’ve never actually used a private beach before” she confesses, shrugging her shoulders with a shake of her head, “I’d never even owned a home until we got this place.” “Yeah, there isn’t really much room for a private beach within a residential tower in the middle of Manhattan, is there?” Grant queries, earning an amused laugh out of the woman beside him, seeing a lift in her spirits that had been hard to come by over the last few weeks. “If there was, I’m sure every stockbroker on Wall Street would be wearing a swimsuit to work” Taylor replies, matching her fiance’s amusement with some of her own, mustering a chuckle all the same. “It’s probably for the best. Those September 11th conspiracies would be a lot tougher to sell otherwise” Grant quips, sending the humour directly back to his co-anchor, “imagine if, instead of complaining about jet fuel and steel beams, they just started spouting off that the death toll was too high to be realistic because people could’ve just cannon-balled into the harbour instead of aiming for the ground.” Laughing quietly, but hard enough to press the lids of her eyes together, Taylor shakes her head at a loss for words as she lifts a travel cup of coffee to her lips, taking a sip as the amusement settles into good spirits. “Hey...” Grant mutters, prompting the woman to lean her head against the back of her seat and roll her face into the direction of her fiance, staying quiet as he speaks. “...I really love you” the man remarks, watching his lover’s eyes close again as her face wears a genuine smile, the space between them remaining quiet for nearly another minute after the woman’s eyes reopen. To the sound of dull winds whipping by at the pace mother nature dictates for them to, the couple glue their faces toward each other’s as their breaths steady, foggy breath leaving through their noses with each exhale. “I’m so sorry about everything that’s happening” Grant confesses, prompting a slight regression of the woman’s grin, her face beginning to wear the recollection of the circumstances that surround them in a way that she knows is necessary. “If I’m being honest, I’m pretty sorry that I didn’t see it coming” Taylor admits, lifting her eyebrows as she wraps both hands around the exterior of her travel container, “after all these years, I’d ignored any mention of him so much that I never asked whether or not he’d show up again.” Remaining silent, Grant keeps his eyes held upon the woman as she takes another sip of her drink, singular strands of loose hair flailing in the breeze as she stares ahead. “I never even really thought it was a possibility that he’d show up again” Taylor carries on, feeling comfortable enough to speak mainly because of the company she shares the moment with, “in hindsight, it feels so obvious. Even Russo’s email specifically pointed out you and I.” “He’s going to pay for this shit, you know that right?” Grant interjects, offering a reassurance that his fiance can only silently turn her face back toward his own in reaction to. “Barry’s going to pay for showing his face again- that much is for certain” the male anchor doubles down, pointing toward the ground with confidence, “but it’s Russo that gave him the platform to show back up on in the first place. And for that, it’s Russo that’s going to feel the worst of it.” Though her teeth hide behind her pressed-together lips, the corners of the woman’s lips rise at either side of her face, forming a smile that only Grant and very few others can muster out of her. Letting a long breath leave through her nose, Taylor reclaims the sky into her field of view, the redirection of her gaze not convincing her fiance’s eyes to do anything other than keep upon her. “That sounds very optimistic” she admits, presenting the returned comment with a modest amount of scepticism in her tone, “it’s almost like suggesting that good always beats evil. You think that when you watch superheros in cartoons as a kid, but then you grow up.” Falling, Grant’s eyes spend only a moment being carried away from his significant other, returning them to focus just as she begins speaking again. “If good always beat evil, then Russo wouldn’t have a network, Barry would’ve died years ago like I’d thought he would’ve, and Nalty wouldn’t have been able to get away with what he did for as long as he did” Taylor proceeds, earning a scoff-like chuckle out of the man beside her. “Russo’s going to get his ass kicked, Barry is going to get what’s coming to him, and Nalty only got away with it for- as shameful as it sounds- as long as I let him get away with it” Grant argues. “We’re not on the air and this isn’t a back and forth, honey” Taylor politely rebuttals in a way that fails to resemble a rebuttal, locking eyes with the man beside her whilst wearing a sorry expression. “Good people lose more than they should, and bad people win more than they should” the longer-tenured nine o’clock anchor remarks, holding back a displeasure in that confession that her fiance takes notice of despite her efforts, “in our line of work, the bad guys win a lot more.” “I don’t believe that” Grant refutes, only for his better half’s face to sway from one side to the other with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter what you believe. We might be the only moral company in all of New York, and even we have skeletons in our closet” Taylor confesses, again presenting a truth that her fiance struggles to cope with, “Barry should be behind bars, but he’s not because the company needed to protect its brand. Robin and Sam signed off on that, and so did I.” Turning his sights toward the sky, Grant parts his lips with hopes of offering something worth replying with, only to continuously fail to find anything of value in quick succession. Watching this hassle unfold in real time and knowing that it hurts her fiance’s heart to fall so silent on offering a retort, Taylor begins to wear the weight of the struggle she’d caused, not wanting to be a burden to one of the few people she cares more for than herself. “I didn’t mean to make you upset” the woman sighs, apologising to the sound of her fiance’s laughter, purposefully meant to argue anything other than that. “I’m not upset, honey” Grant refutes, continuing to find reluctance to believe such a response from the woman beside him, “I’m not upset. I just don’t know what I can say to convince you that...” Leaving no possibility to not take notice of his pause, Grant comes up short of what he’d wished to say before seemingly deciding to wipe the train of thought from his mind. “Say it” Taylor demands, watching the direction of her lover’s face collide with her own, nodding as she stands by her request, “I’m not a fragile little girl that you need to walk around eggshells to please. I know what you were going to say, so please... say it.” Pressing his lips together in a slight frown, Grant keeps his line of sight firmly upon that of the woman’s own, unable to pull his face away from hers as she remains silent, not wanting to prevent her fiance from finishing his thought. Begrudgingly, the man carries out with his declaration to the reception of a genuine smile, knowing it’d be more disrespectful to pretend like she couldn’t handle criticism than to actually offer it. “I don’t know what I can say to convince you that you’re wrong” Grant confesses, watching the pearly whites that his fiance offers back to him as an invitation to continue speaking. “Bad people win a lot. I can’t argue against that, but what can be argued is what we’re supposed to call ‘winning’, is it not?” he doubles down, watching Taylor’s less-enthused and more-intrigued visage return to him. “Nalty has a fortune. He had a legacy. He had luxury cars, and properties in different countries, and a yacht for fuck’s sake...” Grant carries forward, using his own past as an example, “...but you know what? I won.” Slightly furrowing her eyebrows further, Taylor watches the eagerness in her fiance’s face carry on before changing her invested expression into a joyful visage. “Nalty knows that he doesn’t hold any power over me now. No matter what we have to our names- the luxury, or the legacy, or the reputation... I won” Grant declares, watching the shift take shape in his fiance’s face in real time, “I looked him in the eyes and I took every last belief that he won that war away. I kept that power from him, I kept that control from him... and he knows it.” Looking toward the heavens, Taylor feels the embrace of its warmth come over the skin of her face as her fiance continues, disregarding the slight bite of the winter wind in favour of the pleasant kiss of the sky’s subdued sunlight. “One day, Barry’s going to see the exact same thing. He’s going to see that he doesn’t have the power or the control...” Grant doubles down, watching his lover’s eyelids press together, “...and he’s going to know it.” With nothing more than the look of bright red brought on by the cloudy sky, Taylor parts her lips with both rows of teeth gently pressing against each other. As her fiance falls silent, she begins slowly lowering her bottom jaw and pulling her teeth away from each other, shrugging with a slight lift in her eyebrows as she finally responds. “Agree to disagree.” | \ Wednesday, March 5th, 2008 / \ 9:34 am est. - 6:34 am pst. / “Why am I being low-balled?” Carly questions, entering the office of her immediate superior with a genuine inquisition carried through her eyes. “I beg your pardon?” Vickers genuinely retorts, leaning slightly with a squint in his eyes, unsure as to what’s being insinuated through this visit. “My agent says LMC is low-balling me in their renewal offer” the eight o’clock anchor replies, “it’s not even less than what I’m asking for, it’s less than what I’m already getting.” “Well, I just sign off on whatever deal finance puts on my desk once they’ve crunched the numbers into something more favourable for them” Vickers replies, pulling the pair of cheaters away from his face whilst he does, “but, if I had to imagine why you’d be getting low-balled, I’d assume it’d have something to do with the shift in your viewership. And by viewership... I mean the decrease of it.” “It’s only dropped in one demographic because it’s steadily growing in the opposite direction- the one that’s more favourable to advertisers” Carly responds, only to receive little more than a shrug. “Sure, but it’s not there yet” Vickers rebuttals with his hands coupled over his chest, leaning back in his seat with each elbow pressing against the sides of his chair. “I want more money than what they’re offering” Carly restates, only for the president to roll his eyes and look toward the windows at the end of his office. “We’d all like more money than what we get, but the fact of the matter is... there’s a reason not many of us get our way” Vickers rejoinders, uncoupling his hands for only a moment as he directs them toward her, “your reason is that you sacrificed the ability to negotiate a higher pay when you and Aiden took on the risk of completely restructuring your broadcast.” “And again... it’s working” Carly reiterates, only for the president to shake his head in a slight lean forward. “But it’s not working fast enough” Vickers argues back, watching the woman let out a sigh as she begins pacing in the opposite direction, “I mean seriously, Carly. Did you really think you’d be able to put on a currently less-successful show than what you used to put on and still be able to negotiate a bigger deal?” “You can see the growth in the audience. You know there’s no reason to believe that it’ll stop any time soon” Carly counters, doing little to convince the president to switch sides into her corner. “And you have no certainty to argue that it won’t stagnate” Vickers replies with an equally-solid argument, “I’ve been in this business for multiple decades, Carly. You’re not the first person to walk in here thinking she can change the way we do the news.” Displeased with the conclusion reached, Carly hangs her head in disappointment with both hands pressing against the sides of her hips. “The deal you’re on now pays you for the show that you used to do. The one that you’re doing right now isn’t as valuable as that one was” Vickers explains, again coupling his hands over his chest, “but in that same breath, the one that you can do in three years time could also be more valuable than both put together.” “I’m not signing another three year deal at the figure that they’re giving me, sir” Carly rejoinders, only to find both hands being held out at either side of the company’s president. “Well, I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Ms. Carpenter. Sign a one-year deal at a lower figure in the meantime so you can negotiate a stronger one when the key demographic actually does kick in” Vickers offers instead, hard-pressed to find much of an alternative. “I know what I’m worth, sir. I know what Aiden is worth, too. And- with that- I know what our show is worth” Carly argues back with confidence and civility, only to receive just as much push-back from the president as she’s received since entering his office. “Ms. Carpenter, you wouldn’t be the first anchor to think she’s worth more than she is and then take that value to some other network” Vickers explains, “present that argument to finance, and they’ll have no problem letting you walk and going out to find someone to do the news they’d rather pay for.” “I don’t want to leave, but I guess that leaves us at a stalemate” Carly concedes, disappointedly doing so, “because I know what we’re worth, and I am not willing to play ball with people that aren’t smart enough to see the same thing.” Letting out a displeased sigh of his own, Vickers adjusts his posture in his seat and folds his hands atop his desk, looking toward the attractive woman opposite him without much certainty in her stubbornness for a specific figure. “Intelligent people would see the concession for a one-year deal, or even a two-year deal, as being representative of the means to an end” Vickers clarifies with a raised eyebrow, paying the woman the respect she’s owed by placing his full attention upon her. “You can sacrifice lesser pay for a shorter period of time in the name of earning yourself a blockbuster deal when finance can’t hide behind a previous deal” the president furthers, “why not bite your tongue and make the stupidly-high wealth that you’ll get then by just biting the bullet now.” “Because no one should ever hold themselves to less than what they’re worth” Carly argues back, staring directly into the unmoved expression of her immediate superior. “Let me ask you something...” the woman changes course, crossing her arms as she stands before the man’s desk, “do you believe that Aiden and I will actually succeed in fully making this work?” With the ball in his court, Vickers turns his glance toward the carpeted floor of his office and thinks quietly to himself for a moment, weighing his options with all the time in the world that his eight o’clock anchor will afford him. “I may stupid for it, but yes, I do” the president answers honestly, giving the attractive and mostly-affable face of their lead-in to ‘Tonight at Nine’ all the ammunition that she needs. “Good. That means you believe we will, and so do I, and so does Aiden, and so does finance for that matter. That’s why they’re offering me a lesser deal” Carly fights forward, one foot resting further than the other, “they want to pay less for a superior product than what they were getting before.” “What is your point, Ms. Carpenter?” Vickers questions, seeing the line of dialogue approaching like a train at the end of a tunnel and wanting it to just reach its next stop. “It’s that everyone knows what Aiden, and the show, and myself are worth. Everyone knows that I’m right about how much I’m worth...” Carly answers back, stepping directly up to the front of the president’s desk, “...and the problem here is that- even though we’re all sure that I’m right- everyone is trying to convince me that I’m wrong.” Keeping to himself for a moment, the spectator to the eight o’clock anchor’s pitch sits with the rebuttal for a moment before looking away. “Everyone wants to convince me that I’m worth less than what I am. And that precedent is a very dangerous one” Carly continues to argue, re-earning the president’s line of sight, “and then, when everyone knows what I can be except for me, how the hell does that not incentivise me to just inherently think less of myself than I should?” “It does” Vickers answers with a slightly-convinced tone of voice, nodding in agreement as Carly lets her arms fall by each side. “That’s why I can’t stand to take a lesser deal. I have to hold myself to a standard, otherwise I waste what I’m truly capable of” the woman concludes, stepping further back from the desk to appear less-confrontational than she’d eventually become, “LMC saw that when I first negotiated, and that was why I signed on to work here instead of Los Angeles. I can’t go back on those laurels now.” Sitting in silence for a moment, Vickers pulls back in his seat slowly and stares at an unimportant corner of the room, nodding along with the conclusion that has been raised. “I’ll make a couple of calls, but I can’t guarantee it’ll amount to much more than what you’d consider peanuts” the president concludes, addressing the woman with as much reassurance as he can muster, “but- hopefully- it’ll be a start.” == Tonight at 9 ==
0 Comments
\ Tuesday, February 12th, 2008 /
\ 8:17 am est. - 5:17 am pst. / “He might even win Virginia tonight” Vickers remarks, walking through the frosty, snow-covered streets of New York City dressed in a long, heavy trench coat with a coffee in hand. “That would have him leading past Clinton” Taylor responds, dressed in a similar manner and carrying her coffee in a similar way, with the only difference being a fuzzy, grey hat she wears atop her head, “I’m not saying he’ll win the presidency, but it seems more likely than ever that he’ll win the nomination.” “I’ve been calling it since late December. I don’t think she’s got the charisma that he does... It connects with people” Vickers doubles down, approaching their company’s home base and opening the door for the young woman walking alongside him. Continuing their conversation all the way into the lifts and onto the level in which the president’s office resides, their casual stroll into a much warmer climate brings their journey to the destination they’d wished to arrive at sooner when struck by the northeastern winter. “That’s why you’ve been focusing on the main trio” Vickers comments, assisting the younger anchor in shedding her trench coat before freeing his shoulders from that of his own. “No, we’ve been focusing on the main trio because no one else stands a chance” Taylor corrects, setting her beverage atop the wooden desktop that her father figure soon steps behind, “since Romney suspended his campaign last Thursday, the only guy on the right to concern ourselves with is McCain.” “I would argue that Romney never really stood a chance since, to put it bluntly, he’s not within eight hundred delegates of McCain” Vickers doubles down, lowering himself into the swivel chair whilst his guest crosses one leg over the other. “Romney and Paul are only being focused on because it feels like they’d be the ones bred to run for a meaningful nomination in 2012” Taylor replies, leaving a pink stain of lipgloss on the lid of her coffee, “we all know that no Republican is winning the presidency after the last eight years of Bush.” “How does our fellow Republican upstairs feel about that?” Vickers queries, only to be immediately met with a slight squint. “Who says I’m a Republican?” Taylor questions aloud, playfully tightening the crossing of her arms and the downward-lean of her chin. “I never said you were, I just alluded to your fiance being one” the president retorts, taking a gradual lean to the side of his seat before switching the conversation in the woman’s favour, “are you a Republican?” “People who like to consider non-traditional conservatives as not ‘fully-Republican’ would certainly argue that I’m not” Taylor rebuttals, earning a smile that quickly takes from one side of Vickers’ face to the other. “That doesn’t answer my question, it just takes one option off the table” the president carries on, the reply doing enough to earn a stretching grin across the anchor’s visage. “I’m a libertarian” Taylor concedes, tucking one hand into her inner elbow whilst the other holds her coffee a short distance from her chin, “I believe in smaller government, fewer taxes, more responsible use of taxpayer money, and accountability in Washington.” Staying quiet, Vickers continues to look the woman in the eyes despite saying nothing, drawing the interest of the lady across from him. “What?” the female anchor queries, waiting for the zinger that she knows the man opposite her awaits permission to throw out. “You’re a libertarian?” Vickers questions aloud, seeing the humoured nod of his good friend’s head respond to him without a word, “isn’t that just a synonym for ‘loser’?” “How original” Taylor jokes, nodding along from a place of amusement as Vickers returns his cup to his face, “I take it you’re a genuine Republican?” Licking his lips, “close...” the man replies, lifting the lid of his beverage before sliding a tiny bottle of bourbon from the inside of his suit jacket and pouring it in, “...I’m a Democrat.” “That’s not close at all” Taylor corrects, only to see the man opposite her scoff, pulling back in his seat as he re-attaches the lid to his foam cup. “Is it not? We both support the death penalty, we both agree that the government’s ineptitude is the reason our programs don’t work- we just disagree on what those programs are” Vickers carries on, “we both support military spending, we both support stronger border defence, and neither of us want independents or other parties playing in our sandbox... I mean, our congress.” “And they disagree on more things than they agree on” Taylor rejoinders, only receiving a modest shrug from the man in response. “Yeah, but the more crucial elements that we have the power to change through legislation are universal, even if some candidates say they’re not” Vickers responds, turning his face toward the door as he leans in his seat, “we’re the same party where it counts, though.” “I take it that means you’re voting for whoever leaves the primaries as the nominee?” Taylor wonders aloud, lifting the cup to her lips once more. “As I stated earlier, I have my suspicions that there will be people over the moon about voting for a Republican in the wake of Bush’s terms” Vickers answers, extending his hand toward the woman, “what about you, Madam Loser? I take it you’re filling your ballot in favour of Bob Barr?” “I said I’m a Libertarian, not that I vote for the Libertarian Party” Taylor replies, resting the bottom of her drink against her thigh, “in order, my most-preferred candidate is Obama, then McCain, then Clinton.” “I’m going to assume Grant doesn’t agree with you?” Vickers questions, watching as the woman opposite him stretches her hand to the back of her head, leaning in her seat with as relaxed of a position as she can muster in the chair she resides in. “He’ll consider Obama if the man wins the nomination” Taylor responds, lifting the cup back toward her face, “if Clinton gets it, he’s voting for McCain without reservation.” Wearing his grin, the president nods along with the conversation as it brings itself to a natural close, staring into the distance for a few seconds as his mind wanders toward a less-boring line of dialogue. “I’m very happy to see you two together” the man speaks aloud, watching the warm look of pleasure that spreads across his anchor’s face like a welcomed infection, “how’s he been?” “He’s coming into work, isn’t he?” Taylor responds, allowing the question to answer that of her legal superior’s own, “he ran Nalty out of this building, he called our shot on the Finley Network, and he’s not missing a beat when the camera’s on.” “That is correct, but I’m not around him all day long like you are” Vickers reiterates, lifting his elbow onto the desk that he leans against, “there’s a better chance of you catching him not acting like himself than I do.” Shaking her head before the man can even finish his point, Taylor denies anything of the sort, staying adamant by the side of her fiance. “If he’s not as alright as he lets on, then he’s even got me fooled” the anchor replies, bouncing her leg atop the one it’s crossed over, “he genuinely believes we’re going to throttle them in the ratings, and I believe we will too.” Nodding, the president allows the conversation to go quiet again, taking a sip of his spiked beverage. “I’m proud of you, kid” Vickers remarks, again bringing about a warm expression over the anchor opposite him, “you’ve faced a long road and you’ve made the most of it. You’ve found someone who makes you happy and that... That makes me happy.” Smiling even deeper than at any point in their discourse prior, Taylor holds off her ‘thanks’ in favour of keeping the gesture of silence, aware that the display of her white teeth is all that the man needs to see her appreciation. Carrying on with silence, the professionals remain in each other’s company, appreciating the presence of each other as the day carries on, counting down to showtime just as every other one. = Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward = \ Wednesday, February 20th, 2008 / \ 10:16 am est. - 7:16 am pst. / “...So start pinching pennies, because shit is going to get much better from here” Carly remarks, seated in front of a camera without a desk in front of her. Dressed in a dark blue blouse and a pair of navy blue jeans, the woman sits casually in her seat with one leg over the other, one free arm resting over the back of her chair whilst the other sits atop her lap. “This isn’t something that was impossible to predict. The market cratered and I think we’ve quietly- and with our fingers crossed- been expecting this to come” the attractive anchor continues, watched on by her boyfriend as he assumes his usual place beside the camera. “Nevertheless, Washington will hand over bailouts and further economic aid will be presented by the president as per usual” Carly carries forward with a grin, “if there’s anything D.C hates, it’s the ‘a’ word... accountability.” Slapping her thighs with both hands as her relaxed posture shifts to something more prepared to depart the stage, the anchor lets out a sigh and regains her fixed smile. “I’m on the air properly at eight o’clock, so tune into LMC if you want something more in-depth than the surface level you get here” Carly concludes whilst Aiden begins stepping away from the hard camera, “until then, thanks for continuing to watch and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Casually ending the recording, the primetime anchor receives a subdued applause from her executive producer, his desire to keep the clapping from interrupting those at work made clear. “Are we any closer to being able to just release the show at a fixed time?” she wonders aloud, standing out from her seat before joining alongside her significant other, marching toward their offices at the other end of the panopticon. “Not that I know of, but that’s alright. Our crew needs a bit more time to really gauge the feel of the show and get it properly set in the first place” Aiden replies, taking immediate notice of the disappointment that’s provided from his girlfriend at this comment. “Relax. We’re still in the early stages and working through our growing pains” the executive producer assures with a smile, “at the end of the day, what’s important is that our audience is watching.” “I know that’s really all that matters, but I’d still like some consistency. It’s the easiest way to maximise our potential audience” Carly confesses, entering her workspace with a hand placed upon her hip. “It’d be nice to have a scheduled recording time, a clear type of broadcast, and a backup plan in case you or I aren’t here some days” the woman furthers, bringing collectively valid points to the forefront. “Scheduled time and a backup plan are fine, but specify what you mean by ‘type of broadcast’” Aiden requests, confidently taking a seat in the chair his lover would frequently occupy. “We do domestic and international stories that the American people need to hear at eight and nine o’clock” the woman carries on, “aside from shows where we bring in people via satellite or have guests in the studio, the only variety in either hour is when Grant and Taylor cover stories of economic interest upstairs.” “And you want our show to differentiate a little bit more from theirs?” Aiden queries, not understanding what the lady that leans over the front of her own desk is getting at. “No, I want our online show to differentiate a little bit more from our primetime one” Carly explains, the lone button undone at the top of her shirt affording her producer with a pleasant view of her cleavage, “I want a structure that we can consistently rely on like the eight o’clock hour, but a different focus on the actual type of news we produce.” “So you want to cover stories that teenagers and young adults are interested in?” Aiden questions, earning his answer through the woman’s nod before following up, “wouldn’t that just be celebrity gossip and paparazzi shots?” “No, it’d be stories that- since we need the online show to tie into the eight o’clock hour- we can cover from a more youth-specific point of view” Carly responds, lowering herself into one of the chairs opposite her desk upon noticing her boyfriend’s continued glances beyond her shirt. “For example, if the governor of some state signs a bill that proposes private educational institutions are no longer allowed to adhere to their own curriculum and must follow their state’s own, we’d cover it from two different sets of eyes” the anchor furthers. “At eight o’clock, we’d go into detail about how the curriculum would change, what adverse effects this would have comparative to public school such as a possible drop in graduation or literacy rates, and the possible shift in what this would financially leave these private educations to deal with” she compares, “with our online version, we’d explain how this would change scheduling, what classes would now be deemed mandatory, what their expected passing grade would be considered and so on.” “So, correct me if I’m wrong. You’re suggesting we cover the same stories, but use the eight o’clock hour to cover the news for adults and the online show to cover it for high schoolers?” Aiden queries, making some sort of in-roads with the woman. “Not just high schoolers, but anyone up to their mid-thirties or so” Carly clarifies, “those people don’t want this drawn-out information with big words. They want to be told how this will affect them and their ability to afford basic necessities.” “I see your point, but how are we supposed to cover the news from the perspective of a broke, paycheck-to-paycheck college undergraduate?” Aiden questions back with narrowed eyelids, “we’re wealthy figureheads of a primetime newsroom at a publicly-traded company. I just so happened to keep living in my stingy, starter apartment after I started making good money. That’s about as much of an understanding as I have to them, and it’s far more of one than you have. No offence.” “None taken, but we don’t need to know what they’re going through in order to know how these changes are going to affect them” Carly doubles down, “I think they’d be much more receptive if someone bypassed the legal-speak gobbledy-gook and just said, ‘look, your rent is going to go up and you’re going to fucking hate this’ without holding back.” “You do realise you’d be turning everyone under the age of thirty five against the Democratic Party, right?” Aiden quips back, only to receive a sarcastic frown from the woman. “If we’re doing the news for a younger audience, we can’t do it half-assedly” Carly assures, firm in her stance as she pulls back in her chair, “we have to let them know what they need to know. We have to earn their respect and treat them like adults, but do so from a place that doesn’t try to pretend like it understands them, but it understands what they should know.” Pressing the back of his head against the woman’s chair, Aiden groggily turns his head toward the frosted glass wall of the woman’s office before letting free a deep sigh. “We’ll see what we can do in that case” he concedes, tapping the surface of the desk with the palms of his hands, “if worse comes to worse, we can hire someone younger to write the scripts and break them down in a way we can better present.” | \ Friday, February 22nd, 2008 / \ 11:11 am est. - 8:11 am pst. / “It’s Serbia and Kosovo... Canada is nowhere near Europe” Keith corrects, looking across the table at Abby, who rolls her eyes in an amused manner. “Actually, it is on technicality” Vince interjects, re-earning the eyes that line the table from top to bottom, “Denmark owns Greenland, which is directly to the Atlantic coast of Canada. Which means that technically Canada borders Denmark, which is a European country.” “If we can get back to the Serbian’s breaking into and lighting the American embassy on fire part of this, that would be great” Taylor interrupts, returning the conversation to their original point. “I’m more interested in the United States shooting its own satellite out of orbit” Olivia responds, bringing a chuckle out of Marcus, who sets his own writing pad upon the conference table. “We can get to that in a second, I want the numbers on the Serbia riots first” Taylor redirects, pointing the cap of her pen toward the man who’d initially brought the point forward. “Well, the British, German, Croatian, Belgian and Turkish embassies were also attacked, but more specifically- they’re not calling them riots” Vince corrects, “some national media is referring to them as ‘protests’ to spare the Serbians from being considered aggressors and getting singled out as the issues here.” “Which national media? Or should I even bother asking?” Taylor queries whilst her fiance keeps to himself one seat beside her, more interested in playing spectator to the back and forth unfolding before him. “Russian and Chinese media” Vince answers, earning an eye roll from the female anchor that proceeds to fall back into the restraint of her chair. “So I shouldn’t have bothered asking... good to know” Taylor replies, waving her hand in the man’s direction as a gesture for his continuation. “In all, about half a million Serbs protested in the capital, Belgrade, against the Kosovo declaration” Vince explains, pulling back in his chair as his eyes wander to the rest of the crew that surrounds him, “the only real discovery of note is that a protestor’s remains were found burned inside the American embassy.” “Not necessarily. The Russian president essentially used the declaration as a masqueraded threat to the west” Keith interjects, “he said it’s a terrible precedent that breaks up the entire system of international relations, which has taken centuries to evolve and that undoubtedly, it may entail a whole chain of unpredictable consequences to other regions in the world, and that will come back to hit the West in the face.” “Yeah, that doesn’t-” Taylor begins to reply, only for the sound of knocking at the transparent room’s entrance to catch her attention, cutting her off before she can offer her sarcastic reply. “I’d like to see the two of you in private now” Vickers remarks, poking his head inside the conference room before pulling it free just as quickly. Beckoned for, the primetime anchors take a glance toward each other before climbing out of their seats, quietly gesturing for Shane to continue the meeting. “Wouldn’t it be better if you didn’t make us wait an entire walk to your office to tell us something?” Grant questions aloud, following the lead of the mostly-silent president as they venture toward a far-lower level than their newsroom. Begrudgingly accepting the lack of a response he continues to receive, one half of the anchors falls silent in favour of waiting out their journey’s conclusion, its finale being brought into the man’s office. “Finley’s thrown everything they were doing out the window. They’re debuting their new anchors tonight” Robin remarks, having awaited the trio’s arrival from the comfort of her immediate subordinate’s desk. Unsure of why they’re meant to care, the recent arrivals turn their focus toward each other without uttering a word. “Okay?” Taylor queries back, watching her father figure step toward his desk and retrieve his cheaters. “From the desk of Alburt Russo” Vickers begins to read, staring at the email that his computer screen allows him a clear picture of. “When I said I would make your lives a living hell, this is what I meant” the next line carries forward, both anchors crossing their arms and quietly bypassing the voice of their superior who reads along, trying to picture Russo’s voice speaking each read-through word aloud instead. “This is war for all of you. Your company has a past, and all of your employees are no different. Grant Haste and Taylor English will bear the biggest brunt of this war. And from what it sounds like, Mr. Haste is more than welcoming of it” Russo’s letter carries forward, leaving a sour expression across the male anchor’s visage. “I had initially intended to move one of my weekend anchors into the slot beside Howard Nalty, but I have no made an executive decision to go after an even bigger fish than that” Russo’s declaration proceeds to explain, “I hadn’t set my eye out for this bigger fish until Grant’s expletive-filled rant on your show a few weeks prior. So, I just wanted to you know that- when I introduce the new team of my nightly broadcast- one half of them is on air once more strictly because of Mr. Haste’s comments.” Unmoved by the threats levied toward him, Grant’s unenthused face is carried toward the seat that he begins to occupy, feeling no emotion to what he supposes was meant to concern him. “At eight o’clock- on the dot- Thompson and Olbermann will officially depart their roles at Finley and allow my new anchors to begin their first show under the new format” Russo continues to divulge, “I wanted to surprise all of you with a blast from the past that will leave no room for misunderstanding.” “Stop reading” Grant remarks, scoffing at the comments being made with a roll of his eyes, “I’m tired of these idle threats and cheap little potshots. If the fat cunt wants to spark some kind of worry, he’s not going to.” “That was the end of the email anyway” Vickers confesses, guiding his face away from the screen and toward his visitors, “all he said after that was ‘this is a war’ and signed off on it.” “Are we supposed to be concerned by this? So we’ll get a good look at who’s manning the second hour that we’ll be competing with. No big deal” Taylor carries onward, her arms falling from their cross as she steps past her fiance, approaching the president’s desk. “I just wanted the two of you to know what’s going on. I don’t put it past Russo to try and fuck with our show somehow” Vickers explains, tucking his hands into each pocket, “I just wanted to let you know about the change in plans.” | \ Friday, February 22nd, 2008 / \ 7:58 pm est. - 4:58 pm pst. / Preparing her makeup for tonight’s broadcast whilst her fiance stands by watching, Taylor pats her face with a brush and a pad whilst eying the mirror. “Most of the show’s going to be on Serbia anyway, we won’t need to worry about Olivia’s satellite” Grant assures, approaching his significant other with outstretched arms, taking her gently by the waist and kissing the back of her neck. A few levels below, Carly- dressed for the air- taps her pen on the table twice at the behest of her executive producer in the same moment, seated behind the news desk and ready for a similar broadcast from the quicker version she’d filmed earlier in the day. “Do we have the Finley feed on any of the screens?” she wonders aloud, staring at her script with a red pen in tow. “On your right, it’ll be- fittingly enough- the farthest screen to the right” Aiden giggles, playing with the buttons at his disposal for a quick moment before stepping back, inspecting the live feeds that he receives of his modernising anchor. “I’m looking into the camera and giving you a level check” Carly mutters in response, staring directly into the lens ahead of her to ensure the control centre has an adequate reading to sync her audio with. “Should we get to the bureau with the others?” Grant whispers, cradling his smiling fiance in his arms as she nods, looking into his eyes before meeting him with a kiss. With a hand in each other’s own, the pair embark upon a journey away from their office, guiding themselves into the sea of desks that sit near the base of their news desk’s platform. “They’ll be opening the show with the usual guys and then leaving the rest of it to the replacements, right?” Vince wonders aloud, looking toward the couple that approach in real time. “That’s what we were told, so we’ll go with that... sure” Taylor replies, staring at the pair of monitors purposefully set to rival networks, the final commercials that either Finley or LMC air prior to the top of the hour concluding. “And we’re on air in five, four, three, two...” Aiden remarks, counting down with his fingers as he watches the broadcast’s intro roll on, passing glances toward the same opening credit package that the Finley Network broadcasts. “Good evening, this is On-Air with Carly Carpenter. Thank you for joining us” the brunette host remarks, her introduction seen in passing by those in the studio above, though the speaker system that operates within their walls voices the audio of her rival network. “Thank you for joining us” the young, clean-shaven black anchor on the adversarial broadcast greets before throwing it to his co-anchor, who begins his service to the network an hour earlier than usual. “Tonight is a big step for this network as we introduce primetime, national news to a super-sized format” Olbermann explains, coupling his hands together atop the black desk he anchors from behind. “Any predictions?” Grant whispers, waiting out the time between the show’s greeting and the introduction of the new hosts by watching the screen his colleague at eight o’clock takes up. “Some preppy blonde chick from the Giuliani campaign. Someone that reminds you of Kelsi or something along those lines” Taylor answers, shrugging her shoulders at a loss for anything further, “I literally don’t know anyone else that he’d legally be able to bring on with this quick turnaround.” “If he can’t get the real girl, he’ll get one of her fellow staffers. Not a bad pick” Grant admits, conceding the point to his co-anchor, “I was going to assume it’d be someone that worked the eight o’clock show from when I was at CSN.” “It doesn’t matter, we’re going to take them to the cleaners any-” Taylor mutters, squinting at the sound of a third voice from the rival broadcast. Having been interrupted from off to the camera shot’s side, both Thompson and Olbermann take a modest amusement from the unintelligible quip their successors had made from offscreen. “That didn’t sound like Nalty” the female anchor of LMC’s nine o’clock hour murmurs, unable to fully get a register of the muffled voice from afar. “As you can tell, we have the new anchors of the two-hour nightly broadcast here, in studio, and ready to bring us into a new era at the Finley Network” Thompson comments, placing his hands against the desk in preparation to wheel his chair out of the camera shot. “Without further adieu, we bid you farewell and wish you comfort as we transition over to the hands of your new hosts” the younger-appearing anchor comments, pushing himself to the side with a nod, “take it away, fellas.” “With feet on the ground in Serbia, we now send it over to-” Carly explains, preparing to send the broadcast’s feed over to their European field reporter before falling silent, her eyes glued to the rival broadcast over to the side. Completely missing his girlfriend’s pause amidst one of his own shock, Aiden stares at the Finley Network display just as the rest of his colleagues in the control room do, his eyes wide and mouth agape. With audible silence, Carly stares to the side of the stage with chills running down her spine, seeing the pair of smiling faces that take over the show opposite of her own. “Aiden! Where do we go!?” a member of the crew calls out from behind the eight o’clock producer, amongst the few to take notice of the show they’re still at the helm of producing as he forces the man to snap out of his trance. “Cut to- cut-” Aiden stammers, trying to pull his attention back to his job at hand without success, forcingly his face to send itself back toward the direction of the rival network, “just send it to Serbia!” Without the assistance of the still-aghast eight o’clock anchor, the crew clues their field reporter into the troubles at home and sends the shot toward him, cutting the picture of Carly’s awe-stricken face in favour of the man with a mic in his hand and little clue what’s unfolding. Collectively in awe to the sound of brief fits of gasps, the nine o’clock newsroom stands in complete silence, staring at the screen of the rival network as all but one on-duty colleagues look with utter stupor. “Mr. Thompson, I can say with absolute certainty that it is an honour and a privilege to take over for you” Nalty remarks, smiling toward the clean-shaven man that sits beside him, his light-skinned figure presenting equal joy to be back behind the desk. Frozen in peril, Taylor stares at the man beside Grant’s ghost from her past with widened eyes and viciously trembling hands, unable to move from the night terror-like paralysation that grips her. “Good evening from the first-ever edition of National News Tonight. I’m Howard Nalty” the publicly disgraced anchor greets, turning to the right as he looks toward his privately-disgraced colleague. “...and I’m Arnold Barry” the minority replies, prompting his direct replacement at LMC to stumble backward, unable to function with the breath that had been stolen from her lungs. Retreating from his daze, Grant quickly hurries to his fiance’s side as her legs begin to shake, struggling to keep her small body upright as he redirects his concerns away from the ghost of his own past in favour of the one from his fiance’s, catching his lover before she can hit the floor, supporting her as the only thing preventing the successful anchor from outright collapsing. “It’s been almost a decade since I’ve been able to say these words, so let’s see if I’ve still got it...” Barry speaks aloud, looking directly into the camera with his television presenter-fitting grin, passing it a nod as he carries out his return to the national audience, “...this is the news.” == Tonight at 9 == \ Monday, January 14th, 2008 /
\ 12:02 pm est. - 9:02 am pst. / “And we’ll call it ‘Online and Unfiltered with Carly Carpenter” Colin explains, standing beside Joey with an audience of both friendly superiors and unfamiliar superiors alike. “And you’re in favour of this?” Vickers questions, standing with his arms crossed beside his swivel chair, which hosts the company’s chair woman as it usually does when possible. “I think it makes sense for the demographic we’re working toward” Aiden answers, finding himself as the subject of the president’s interest. “I’d be willing to bet a pretty penny out of my paycheck that the younger generation would be more willing to watch a bipartisan news broadcast if it broke free from the traditions that their parents’ news show stuck to” the eight o’clock producer explains, sitting in one of the visitor’s chairs whilst his girlfriend occupies the one beside him. “If you don’t catch the youth’s eye, you’re going to need every penny that you get” Robin interjects, turning her eyes toward the woman beside him. “What’s your take on this?” the forty-one percent shareholder in the company questions, her hands coupled and left elbow pressing into her seat’s armrest. “I think you want us to get a move on with bringing in younger eyes and this might be the way to do it” Carly answers, passing a look toward the associate producers she sits to the right hand side of. “I don’t see how this is supposed to bring in more eyes to our program” Vickers remarks, looking toward Doug whilst he stands behind the eight o’clock EP and his anchor girlfriend, “your show is an alternate, shorter, less-censored broadcast of the one that we put on. Even if it brings in more eyes to what you’re doing, it doesn’t bring in more eyes to our show.” “Which can work out well for the company as a whole if you play your cards right” Joey retorts, recapturing the collective attention of the crowd he and Colin have at their disposal. “We can ease our younger-approach at the traditional eight o’clock show and do more of the stuff that the older generation watched for” the man explains, holding his hands parallel to each other before directing them toward the young, attractive anchor, “and online, we can have a similar show with fewer restrictions and the younger demographic that we’re looking for.” “And absolutely no guarantee that the companies we’re targeting with this ‘younger approach’ will want to attach their name to a show that has no vetting process whatsoever” Robin rejoinders, bouncing her right leg up and down as it sits atop her left thigh. “It doesn’t matter if we don’t have a guarantee. These are companies, not religions. They’ll throw morality out the window as long as it turns a profit” Joey doubles down, “we make strong revenue out of the ad space we sell as is. This show is- for you- a way of having your cake and eating it too.” “And what happens when uptight mothers with a stick up their asses begin boycotting our sponsors because they don’t like the program we’re peddling to their kids?” Vickers queries, watching Colin stare toward the trio occupying the space to his right with curiosity. “You say that as if Carly’s going to go on air and call Al-Qaeda a group of fags and start fighting for the return of slavery” the quieter of the two associate producers respond. “They’ll certainly take issue with the bodacious brunette on the eight o’clock show spreading her unholy-ways to their youth” Vickers retorts, letting his arms fall from their cross as he places a hand against the corner of his desk. “The last thing we need is Robin swinging by because the family foundation for the foundation of families are threatening to boycott our advertisers unless Carly gets baptised on the air to expel the demon within her or something” he argues, earning the humour of the woman’s producer. “At least the ratings for that show would go through the roof” Aiden murmurs, earning a sarcastic frown from the company president and a playful elbow in the side by his girlfriend. “The point is that we’d be tainting the image of the anchor that most wives across America already feel their husbands watch each night more than they need to” Robin interjects with a shrug, “we’d threaten to push the advertisers that have already bought into our plans away in the same breath.” “And you’d be threatening to lose out on perhaps the biggest head start in business that any company’s had since the creation of the telephone” Joey argues back, watching Robin part her lips to speak before raising a finger in her direction, not uttering a word as he gestures for her not to interrupt. Widening her eyes at this motion out of surprise at the man’s gall, the company’s chair woman does as instructed and allows the man to continue speaking. “We all know the internet is just going to get bigger. Most of the presidential candidates are already using these message boards to gain traction with the youth in their campaigns” Joey continues on, pointing out the direction in which their industry is headed. “Doug showed you a couple of months ago how fast these things can move if we play our cards right, and we’re playing our cards right” he continues to argue, “other agencies are going to be following our lead, so we might as well beat them to the punch.” “At best, other agencies would just put the show they air on television on the internet instead. They wouldn’t go out of their way to create an entirely new show” Vickers rebuttals, only for the confident producer to fight the claim. “Exactly, which is why they’d lose to us” Joey rebukes, splitting his attention between the two superiors he holds less familiarity with than those who’d joined him in the office. “If we don’t start this show, someone else will do the same thing with a rinky-dink camera and a shotty microphone in their bedrooms or basements and gain the audience that can be ours” Joey explains, watching the president step around his desk with an inquiry. “What reason do we have to believe that they’ll be able to collect the kind of audience that we already have on air?” Vickers queries, approaching the head-strong gentleman and locking eyes with him. “Because our audience is shrinking and dying while their audience is growing and just needs to know where to find them” Joey counters, “and as long as these schmucks keep their little show going on long enough with inferior equipment to ours and far less attractive anchors than ours... people will find them.” “And what do you suggest that we do in the event that we start losing sponsors because of this little stunt?” Robin questions aloud, regaining the attention of the men who’ve approached to present her this opportunity. “Carly and I have contract negotiations coming up within the next few months. If this doesn’t work, you’ll likely want an entirely new crew in at eight o’clock anyway” Aiden speaks aloud, throwing their hat into the ring with full support of his girlfriend, “there’s no reason for us not to put our jobs on the line for this.” “You’re really that confident in this?” Vickers questions back, approaching the seated figures with both arms crossed over his chest. “There’s no other way to gain that kind of traction in the demographic as fast as you want us to” Aiden confesses, shrugging his shoulders whilst shaking his head, “as far as I’m concerned, I probably don’t have a strong enough case for renewal if we can’t get this show approved.” “We’ve finally found a stable foothold in the key demo with consistency. But, as far as when our contracts are up, we won’t have done what you wanted us to by then. It’ll take longer than that” Carly remarks, completely buying into the proposition levied prior to the weekend, “as far as we’re concerned, you likely don’t have support of the board to renew our contracts without this.” “As much as we like you, how would you argue that taking this risk to keep you two around is preferable to just cutting bait when the time comes and starting over again?” Vickers questions, failing to find a suitable answer. Shaking their heads at a loss, the pair of figureheads fail to come up with a satisfying reply as the air grows quiet for a moment, only to be filled with sound by the voices of those that the president now stands slightly ahead of. “If this show runs sponsors off, you’ll have to restart anyway” Colin speaks up, regaining the focus of those that share the room with him. “The news needs to adapt and there’s no reason for us to let someone else beat us to the curve. We need to evolve with it if we’re going to maintain our place at the top” the shy and reserved producer explains, “if either option ends with you starting from scratch anyway, you might as well roll with the one that has the bigger upside.” Staring at the men without offering an immediate response, Vickers presses the palms of his hands against his hips and inspects their figures, eyeing them from head to toe. Going along with his investigation of their persons, the associate producers at the centre of attention allow the man to continue with his internal thought, maintaining eye contact with differing levels of confidence before watching the man’s lips finally part. “I guess I might as well” the company’s president responds with a faint nod. = Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward = \ Wednesday, January 30th, 2008 / \ 1:17 pm est. - 10:17 am pst. / “My sources are confirming the same thing!” Abby proclaims, pulling her head away from the desktop handset with her palm covering the receiver, staring in the direction of the casually-dressed anchors in the centre of the panopticon. “Who’s your source?” Taylor questions back, stepping ahead of her fiance as he balls his hand by his hip, ready to punch the air in celebration. “A staffer with the McCain campaign” the associate producer responds, “she says they were told that Giuliani’s flying out to California to end his campaign and offer his endorsement.” To a handful of claps throughout the bureau, the male anchor of nine o’clock punches the air in front of him with a nod, pleased with the way in which the voters of his preferred party have chosen to take their nomination. “Alright, we’ll run with Edwards and Giuliani’s campaign suspensions at the top of the hour” Taylor remarks to those on duty, “we’ll lead into the cutting of the federal funds rate and follow into the district council’s dismissal.” Accepting of these plans, the broadcast’s producers carry on with their business whilst Marcus remains manning the assignment desk. “Taylor?” Keith questions aloud, prompting the woman to turn back for the man calling out for her. “I have Sam Vickers on the phone, he says he wants you and Grant in his office as soon as you can” the associate producer explains, watching the anchor approach with her hand held outward. Handing the phone over, Keith steps out of his chair to afford her the ability to sit within it. “Hello?” the nine o’clock producer greets, her fiance approaching at the sound of his name being mentioned. “When you’re done putting tonight’s show together, I’d like the two of you to see me in my office” Vickers comments, refusing his anchor the opportunity to respond by hanging up the phone, returning an empty dial tone to her ear. “What’s going on, Sam?” Taylor wonders aloud, walking into the man’s office with her fiance following closely behind. “We’ve got ourselves a little bit of an issue that I’m pretty certain was intentional” the president replies, slapping a newspaper down upon his desk and opening to the sixth page of the document. “Finley Network appears to close a deal to name disgraced news anchor Howard Nalty one of two faces for new, two-hour flagship show” the older man reads aloud, voicing the headline that stains the most eye-catching space on the tall paper. “You think they leaked it?” Grant questions aloud, taking over the conversation with his ally whilst Taylor turns the published journal around, reading the article that resides beneath a photograph of a smiling Howard exiting the tower Finley is headquartered out of. “I don’t see any other reason there’d be to just allow Howard Nalty of all people to walk out of the front door to your building” Vickers comments back, “even if he didn’t set it in motion, you wouldn’t want to have a ten foot pole of yourself seen within the vicinity of that man if you could help it.” “We did have him escorted through the underground parking lot, so I can’t argue your point there” Grant responds, wearing a visage of disappointment as he locks eyes with the man’s printed photograph. “I called you two down here because, if this is purposeful as I suspect that it is, there might be more than just dirty tactics that Russo is willing to go to” Vickers explains, “I’d rather you find out that his name is about to take over the headlines from me than some vender shelling papers on the corner.” “When did they say they were installing the change to the two-hour format?” Grant questions aloud, continuing the discourse whilst his fiance remains fixated on the column written. “Jack Thompson and Eddie Olberman have their last days at eight and nine o’clock respectively on February 22nd” Vickers answers, both hands tucked into his pockets whilst he speaks, “the idea is that they’ll have a fill-in for their shows for the week following and officially transition to the two-hour format on March 3rd.” “When do they announce Nalty and the other one?” Taylor questions aloud, nearing the halfway point of the article as she ponders. “From what I’m hearing, that’ll also be the 22nd” Vickers answers, “Finley’s allowing an overrun for five minutes after ten to debut the new anchors. It’ll be Thomspon and Olberman’s contribution on their last show.” “Do we have anybody looking into who the other anchor is supposed to be?” Grant inquires, only to receive a shake of the president’s head at first in reply. “Russo is keeping a tight lip and only a select few people know internally” Vickers answers, reaching into the liquor cabinet just to the side of his desk and retrieving a bottle of light brown alcohol, “from what I understand, the people that know are spreading rumours around in hoping that it’ll get to one of the other agencies and send them on the wrong track.” “So we know the other anchor is either someone they don’t want people knowing about or a complete nobody that won’t make headlines. Got it” Grant replies as his fiance lowers the journal down, shrugging her shoulders at the lack of insight the catalogue had afforded her. “Should we make a comment about it on tonight’s show?” Taylor wonders aloud, watching her respected elder shake his head in refusal, “people are going to- understandably- expect Grant to have some kind of opinion on the matter.” “I wouldn’t suggest it” Vickers rejoinders, unscrewing the clear cap to his glass bottle and pouring a modest ounce and a half of booze into his transparent cup. “Even if Grant doesn’t give a shit, there’s still no reason to give them more leverage than they’re worth” the president assures, “even Aiden and Carly aren’t considering any sort of counter-programming. They know it’s not worth it to let the pricks at Finley think this is a competition.” “They don’t think this is a competition... They think this is a war” Grant rebuttals, earning a chuckle from the president as he’s amidst a sip of his beverage. “No, a fat troglodyte thinks this is a war” Vickers counters, smirking as he takes down the refreshing sip, “everyone else sees this for the cry for attention and hissy fit that it really is.” | \ Tuesday, February 5th, 2008 / \ 11:18 am est. - 8:18 am pst. / “Job well done, everyone” Aiden remarks, stepping out from the side of the camera that filmed his girlfriend from a tighter shot than usual, the format of their filming being adjusted slightly in the name of giving their online-exclusive broadcast a more intimate feel. “I feel like I came off needlessly edgy” Carly retorts, stepping out from behind a much smaller desk than the one she usually mans, one leg having been crossed atop the other as she’d leant further in her seat than usual. “If it worked out for Nirvana, it can work out for you” Aiden replies, cracking a smirk as his significant other’s unamused expression carries itself back toward him. “Relax, we’re just ironing out the kinks. It happens with every broadcast and this one is no different” the executive producer responds, handing the woman a copy of the rough rundown for their proper broadcast much later in the day, “besides, your tits look even better today than they usually do. I’m sure no one will notice the edginess.” Amusedly swatting the man’s chest, Carly takes the sheet of papers into one hand before grabbing a hold of the coffee that her boyfriend places into the other, their walk carrying them toward the transparent box off to the room’s side. “Polling places are closing early in the south, but none are being shut down as of right now” Aiden explains, walking with the woman toward the conference area, where most of their staff already resides. “I’m a newswoman. I don’t cover tornadoes until they start infiltrating actual news” Carly responds, the first to enter the meeting room as she’s mid-conversation, “tell me when primaries start getting cancelled over it and then I’ll care about the tornado.” “What does everyone have?” Aiden asks aloud, accepting the woman’s retort as conclusive before switching the conversation once in the presence of their colleagues. “A quick point to mention before we get to putting together tonight’s show, as a matter of fact” Joey quips, collecting the eyes of the host’s dictating figureheads. “Does this have anything to do with yesterday’s premiere episode?” Aiden wonders aloud, watching the man’s head nod without any identifying features in his posture to insinuate what’s about to be brought up. “I do, but it doesn’t really have anything to do with you two” Joey assures, earning a confused look from the newly-arrived couple as they take their seats, “it’s actually got something to do with Grant and Taylor upstairs.” “I thought that was your show, why are they talking about us?” Taylor responds, having been called into Grant’s office at the polite request of the eight o’clock anchor and executive producer. “Because people are trying to figure out what your take is on Nalty getting hired by Finley and most don’t seem to know how to get a hold of anyone close to you” Aiden explains, standing with his arms crossed as Vickers remains quietly reserved in the corner of the room. “Our new show is part of a bigger message board online. People can comment on whatever it is they want either anonymously or with their actual credentials” Carly furthers, earning a nod of understanding from the similarly-young anchors. “Even though it’s our show, our younger audience knows that you guys have a history with Nalty- especially Grant- and they don’t know how else to tell you that they want to hear more” the woman confesses, “so they’re asking us to let you know that they’re hoping for a response.” “I figured they might” Grant comments, turning his head in the direction of the onlooking president, though without receiving much of an initial reaction from the man. “They don’t like Nalty and seem to respect you for having taken the stance against him that you did” Aiden continues on, “they’re opposed to the idea of the Finley Network bringing him in and they’re hoping you can share some of your thoughts on the matter.” “Are they expecting us to say something on your show?” Taylor inquires, only to watch either visitor shake their heads in refusal. “No, they’re just hoping you’ll say something somewhere” Carly explains, “they’re using our stuff online as a way to communicate with LMC as a whole from what it seems.” “Be sure to have Robin send them a gift basket in that case” Grant comments toward the company president, who ventures back and forth at the room’s side, his lips puckered and head nodding. “I’m sure she will if this helps our bottom line or public perception in any way. Neither of those are of the issue at this moment, however” Vickers rebuttals, taking his face toward the man seated at his desk, “what is, from what I understand, is the fact that people want to hear from you.” “And you don’t want them to” Grant concludes, only to receive a shrug of the man’s head initially. “Well, I didn’t want them to until I was confronted with the fact that I might not have a choice” Vickers corrects, pulling in a deep breath as his pace slows to a stop, his full attention planted upon the four figures that share the room with him. “I have to do what I can to ensure both of- well, all three now- of your shows are successful” the man concedes, “listening to the audience is a priority in doing that.” “Then it seems like this should be Grant’s decision to make” Aiden responds, standing at the centre of the room with his hands coupled behind his back, eyes holding firmly upon his immediate superior. “It does certainly seem that way, doesn’t it?” Vickers reaffirms, looking at the eight o’clock producer before confidently swaying his face in the direction of the office’s primary tenant with a closed-lipped smile, “the call is yours to make, Grant.” | \ Friday, February 8th, 2008 / \ 9:58 pm est. - 6:58 pm pst. / “As we prepare to go off the air until Monday evening, we here at Tonight at Nine would like to send you into the weekend with a few words from yours truly” Taylor explains, passing a look toward her fiance as she lifts the paper script off of the news desk. Gently tapping the bottoms of each page against the glass surface, the female anchor levels her papers properly and steps out of her seat. “I have been Taylor English, saying goodnight and wishing all of you a safe weekend” the woman signs off, passing the broadcast’s focus off to her co-anchor, “now, here is Grant Haste with closing remarks to offer you.” “Hard camera, tighten the shot on Grant” Shane instructs, commanding the direction of the broadcast in its closing minutes whilst following with the results on the largest screen he stands before. “Good evening. It has come to our attention at the Leicester Media Corporation that members of our audience, mostly through our channels online, have taken interest in personal comments they believe I may be able to offer in the light of inner-industry information that has come to light in recent weeks” Grant explains, coupling his hands atop the small stack of papers before him. “The belief of many within our field of work is that a rival network- namely the Finley Network- is prepared to bring on former CSN anchor Howard Nalty as one of two new leads for a competing show to that of Tonight at Nine, and our lead-in broadcast, On-Air with Carly Carpenter” he continues. Climbing down from the transparent stage, Taylor retreats to the left side of Vickers, who watches on from just beside the hard camera as his current-primary anchor closes their flagship broadcast. “As many of you may know, I have a very detailed history with Mr. Nalty. It was on my first night in this chair that I shed light on a sexual assault involving my former co-anchor on the premises of my former employer” the male anchor recalls, speaking from a place of devoted professionalism. “As I stated then, I played a role in covering up that assault that I- even to this day- deeply regret taking part in” Grant confesses, parting his hands to lift a finger toward the camera. “I, however, have made it a mission in my life to make good on that deeply unprofessional and immoral mistake ever since” the man continues, speaking with the newsroom- and the nation- watching on. “I’d like to thank Ms. Carpenter and her executive producer, Aiden Redwood, for bringing forward requests for my comments made through their online presence” Grant explains, his words catching the ear of those that he mentions, who watch his show from the levels below his panopticon’s floor. “Howard Nalty is a deeply disturbed man that I wish to never associate myself with. He is someone who I believe has never truly paid for his actions in the way that so many others have” Grant confesses, shaking his head with outright disappointment in the results that have followed. “Nevertheless, he seems to be in line to take over a fledgling broadcast on an infinitely-inferior network opposite my own” the nine o’clock presenter concedes, “and that is something we are all going to have to make our peace with.” Watching from the comfort of her luxury flat, Robin sits on her pure-white sofa with a glass of red wine in hand, watching the comments one half of her lucrative primetime team makes on the company’s behalf. “While I feel deeply troubled for those within Finley that will be forced to co-exist with such a deliberately-heinous presence within their workplace, I am not responsible for welcoming it into their building...” Grant furthers, pointing his steady finger toward the camera lens, “...Alburt Russo is.” Squinting as he watches the broadcast breach the point of ten o’clock and carry on, Burt Russo watches his rival network’s broadcast with a semi-smirk, disregarding the comments made toward him. “As admittedly excellent Howard Nalty is as a newsman, he is one of disgraced integrity for a reason. That disgraced integrity is what the Finley Network is hitching their wagon toward” Grant carries on, watched with a smile from his fiance and immediate superior, “that wagon is one that stations like mine will send careening off course.” Sipping from her glass of wine, Robin lets her free hand gently rest atop her leg, a pleased smile coming over her face as the man’s comments carry forward. Resting further back in his seat at the same time, Burt Russo lifts one hand toward his chin to support the weight of his head, eyes focusing firmly upon the broadcast he’d otherwise refuse to let show itself within his presence. “Burt Russo made an attempt throughout last year to purchase a significant number of shares within LMC” Grant confesses, returning his hands to their coupled state atop his paper script. “That attempt failed numerous times, and now- Russo makes an attempt at trying to take down LMC since taking it over didn’t work” the premier anchor proceeds with a smirk, “unfortunately for him, this ploy will fail just as his broadcasts do at resembling anything even remotely close to journalism.” Standing guard in their defiance toward the opposition, Taylor and Vickers watch on with grins as wide as what’s worn over their company chair woman’s own. “The Finley Network has failed to get under our skin. They have failed to set themselves up as direct competition, and they have failed to present themselves as anything worth being concerned over” Grant declares, shaking his head disapprovingly into the camera, “the Finley Network has sacrificed their flagship broadcast in the name of petty failure.” Pulling back in his seat, Grant loosens his posture from the professional front that he’d taken on, assuming the mantle of someone speaking from the heart rather than the pages before him. “The Finley Network has decided that they want to make this- the beacon used by LMC to best leave the United States with a well-informed electorate- a competition” the man confirms, deepening the sway of his head from one side toward the other, “we here at LMC liken this ‘competition’ as being equivalent to Michael Jordan taking on a wheelchair-bound child in a dunk contest... There is no competition.” Taking the paper script before him into each hand, Grant tosses the pages to the floor beside his desk and carries on with his stare into the camera. “Wipe off all other lower-thirds” Shane instructs from within the control room, clearing all graphics from the broadcast in an effort of leaving nothing between the audience and the man who addresses them, “leave him the screen.” “The Finley Network has left us with no other choice than to ensure that- no matter who they place in that desk at eight and nine o’clock...” Grant commands, “...their flagship will be met with Carly Carpenter’s On-Air and our Tonight at Nine stopping at nothing short of delivering them total annihilation.” Coupling his hands together atop the now-cleared desk once more, the lone anchor leans further toward the camera as it begins slowly zooming into his face. “We here at eight and nine o’clock don’t pull punches... We deliver knockout blows” he declares, shifting his face with a smile and a confident poise. “So, on behalf of my fiance and co-anchor Taylor English, the president of our news division Samuel Vickers, chairwoman and CEO of Leicester Media Corporation Robin Lloyd, and everyone here at LMC...” he signs off, placing a slight lean against his left side as his closing remarks are provided, “goodnight, have a good weekend...” With the camera as close to his face as it can get without breaching the boundaries of comfort Shane concerns himself with, the man closes his broadcast with the same utterance of defiance that those he works with wish to provide. “...and to those at the Finley Network...” Grant proclaims, giving a simple nod to the camera as it readies to outright cut to black, following through on his promise not to pull punches, “...go fuck yourselves.” == Tonight at 9 == \ Wednesday, January 2nd, 2008 /
\ 1:37 pm est. - 10:37 am pst. / Thrusting his hands forward, Aiden angrily throws the back entrance to the level in which the nine o’clock office is located outward, marching forward like a man on a mission with Carly following closely behind. “Where the hell is he!?” the eight o’clock producer shouts, rounding the corner from the rear of the newsroom in time for Shane to step in front of him, keeping an advancement toward Nalty from getting underway. “I’ll handle this, Aiden” Grant calls out, stepping toward the transparent platform he hosts the show from, purposefully remaining a few feet ahead of his co-anchor as he does so. “Oh, you will?” the now-rival anchor questions back, humoured at the idea that his one-time ally has taken it upon himself to step up to the plate. “Look at how far you’ve come, Grant” Nalty quips aloud, his comment failing to phase his former ‘number two’ as the man continues forward. “It feels like it wasn’t that long ago that you were the new guy in town not wanting to step on peoples’ toes” the besmirched anchor carries on, speaking from the stage in which his adversary proves his worth, “and now, you’ve gone on to conquer the national news.” “What are you doing here?” Grant questions aloud, preventing his foe from continuing to wander down memory lane in the name of getting to the point of his arrival. Reacting with laughter at first, Nalty lets his eyes fall to the ground as the male anchor joins him upon the stage, watched on by the nine o’clock newsroom and the stars of the eight o’clock one. “Relax, I didn’t come here to disrespect the sanctity of your turf” Nalty explains, holding his hands up in a show of surrender as his former friend stands before him, arms held at each side- but ready for a fight in the event that one were to come out of this interaction. “I only came here because I feel like there’s an apology that I should make for my actions” the man responsible for ending each of their time at CSN remarks, “now that I’m getting a second chance on television, I should make amends for my shortcomings from the first time.” “Who the hell is letting you back on television?” Aiden questions from afar, having wanted to keep his nose clean now that Grant has the situation under control- something that hadn’t been true when Shane had phoned him about the uninvited guest minutes earlier. “The fat cunt at the Finley Network, who else do you think would take that kind of risk?” Taylor responds, answering on behalf of the man who she believes doesn’t deserve the respect of being able to answer it himself. “They’re not giving you a second chance, they’re just using you to try and get at me” Grant corrects, refusing to carry his line of sight away from the eyes of the man he’d assumed had been put away for good less than a year prior. “True or not, I get the chance to make amends for my mistakes. Should I not?” Nalty queries, seeing little of an alternative, “I’ll be on television for two hours every night. Why should I not try to make amends for my wrong doings?” “Because your sincerity isn't genuine” Grant answers, watching the masculine host-to-be of the rival broadcast roll his eyes and look away, his head slightly hanging as he takes in the response. “I had my career and reputation stolen from me. I’ve obviously seen the kind of thing that my actions have led to” Nalty remarks, unable to say much more than that before another voice interrupts him. “You had nothing stolen from you” Taylor speaks out, re-earning Nalty’s attention whilst her fiance continues to stare daggers into the criminal’s eyes, “what you lost- you pissed it away.” Visibly displeased with the conclusion that’s been drawn, the former CSN anchor looks toward the ground before his former co-anchor adds onto the claim. “And you know what you did was wrong. You made it a point the day after to make sure I wouldn’t squeal on you because you knew what you did was wrong” Grant tacks on, regaining the focus of the man that stands upon his home field, “if you weren’t sorry about it then, I’ve got no reason to believe that you’re sorry for any of it now.” “If I don’t get to make good on my mistakes, why should you get to?” Nalty questions back, throwing defiance into the face of the nine o’clock anchor as he twists the metaphorical knife into his former partner-in-coverage’s past. “Why should I believe that you’re sorry for what you did? Why should anybody?” the new Finley newsman queries, his comments not sitting well within the man opposite him. “Because I covered for you in a moment of weakness that I can never take back” Grant responds, earning a crossing of Nalty’s arms whilst he continues, “you raped a woman. After the fact, you ran around looking for people to cover it up, and when push came to shove- you married her so she wouldn’t testify against you if it came to that.” “Well, I’ve allowed the two of us to amicably divorce since that happened. So, clearly I’ve made some sort of progress in coming to terms with what I did and accepting my faults” Nalty responds, swaying his head with no passing concern. “What is the point of you being here, Howard?” Grant questions aloud, tired of the constant circles that their conversation seems to be amidst making, “I know you’re not sorry, and I know you’re not here for any reason that I’d like. So why are you here?” Looking off to the ceiling, Nalty lets the question sit in his head for a few seconds before the sound of another entrance catches his ear. “You have sixty seconds to get out of my building before I have security through you out through the windows” Robin calls out, storming through the front entrance and down the same centre of the aisles that her anchors had taken to the transparent stage. “I don’t care what network you go to as long as the person that hires you knows that you stand no chance of making a dent into our market share” Robin continues, stepping past Taylor in an effort to climb the stage, “so go back to Russo and let him know that this ploy will not-” Kept from finishing her thought, the company’s chair woman falls silent as Grant calmly steps in front of her, gently resting his forearm against her side to prevent her from carrying on. “Robin, please...” he speaks through placidity, locking eyes with the powerful woman as she remains quiet, allowing him to make his case, “...let me handle this?” Looking her male anchor in the eyes, Robin eventually redirects her sights toward the unwelcome visitor standing upon her stage, holding back her anger for him as she returns her focus toward Grant, who remains confident in his polite request. Bowing her head in the form of an accepting nod, Robin takes a step back and frees the bureau’s focal point to be reclaimed by its male lead, respectfully bowing out of the business that isn’t hers to put to an end. “In all honesty, I was sent here by Russo. He told me how to sneak in and get up here without getting caught by security” Nalty confesses, taking on a more sincere tone than the semi-presentful one he’d entered the building with. “I’m sure he wanted me to get in your head, but I don’t really care to” the disgraced newsman admits, letting his arms fall from their crossing against his chest, “I’m just a pawn in this war between the two of you- I’m just satisfied with getting a chance to be on television again.” Slightly narrowing his eyelids, Grant remains silent as he allows the man opposite himself to continue speaking, feeling like he’s finally found something worth hearing his adversary out over. “I can’t stand here and say what you want to hear. The only thing I’m sorry about is that I got caught” Nalty continues, verbally cutting through thin skin and creating winces throughout the audience, but doing so with honesty at the least, “I lost my career and now I have to work at Finley. I get a chance to at least have some kind of career, so- I guess I’ll take it.” “You shouldn’t even have that” Taylor mutters aloud, her comment heard by those currently occupying the stage, “I feel awful for the women that have to suffer with you in the workplace every day.” Deepening the shift in his mouth toward the corner of his face, Nalty takes the comment to heart before letting out a deep sigh, continuing along with the stance he’d intended to make. “You’ve come into your own, Grant. Congratulations” Nalty concludes, shrugging his shoulders as he begins directing his body toward the steps that lead from the floor and to the stage, “I don’t care to do Burt Russo’s bidding for him. I figured that I might as well give you your credit while I’ve got the chance.” Without anything further to add, Nalty’s imposing facade falls as he descends to the newsroom’s floor, keeping his hands to himself as he steps past Taylor, who holds an intense glare at him as he passes. Stepping into the presence of the security standing just beyond the bureau’s front entry, the newest member of the Finley Network departs without a peep, leaving those that call the premises home to stew with his presence in the wake of its absence. = Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward = \ Thursday, January 10th, 2008 / \ 9:38 pm est. - 6:38 pm pst. / “Richardson’s departure from the race comes on the same day one of his now-former opponents across the aisle nets a high-ranking endorsement” Grant carries on, reading from the teleprompter as canned footage of the most-recent Democratic nominee plays as an overlay. “Former Democratic nominee John Kerry- who lost to President Bush in the election of 2004- officially endorsed Senator Obama’s campaign for the presidency” the man explains whilst his executive producer offers direction to his colleague. “Throw it to commercial and regroup as we get Brant Washington in via satellite” Shane remarks, watching the monitor that hosts the view of his hard camera as the female anchor taps her pen against the desk twice. “When we come back, we’ll be joined by Brant Washington to speak with us about the growing concerns that Americans have for the state of the economy” Grant explains, “in addition, we’ll continue our on-going coverage of the other network’s Republican debate.” “We’ll be right back- don’t go anywhere” Taylor finishes off with a smile, watching as the solid, red glow of the light over her specific camera cuts off, signalling the broadcast’s break. “Two and a half until return” Shane calmly remarks, stepping away from the wall of monitors before venturing toward the direction of his office. Seated at the desk of the eight o’clock time slot, Aiden watches the broadcast that succeeds his own from the chair that his anchor would normally occupy, having begun the process of fixing the levels beneath the nine o’clock offices with televisions just as he had years prior on his other show. To the left of LMC’s broadcast resides the one hosted by CSN, where the Republican candidates fighting to succeed Bush as the party’s nominee for president duke it out from behind podiums. Called to answer the device ringing in his pocket, Aiden keeps his eyes glued to the screen not amidst a commercial break and presses his thumb upon the green-coloured button. “Aiden Redwood, executive producer of eight o’clock” he greets, only to hear the ruffling of papers precede his friend’s voice. “Are you coming back to the apartment tonight or should I assume you’ve fully patched things up with Carly?” the nine o’clock producer inquires, still seated at his desk with a passing glance at the television in his office’s corner, watching the same debates as the man downstairs. “Things are going smoothly for the moment. You’ve got the place to yourself tonight” Aiden replies, satisfying the acquaintance that hurries to end the call he’d interrupted his job to make. “Sounds good, have fun” Shane retorts, hanging up the phone just as quickly as he’d dialled his pal’s number, allowing the eight o’clock showrunner to do the same. “Have you finally moved back in with Carly?” Doug wonders aloud, asking from the desk that he occupies away from the corner in which Aiden resides, joined alongside his fellow producers as they collectively oversee the CSN debates. “We’re not putting a label on anything yet” the executive producer answers, sliding his cell phone back into the pocket of his slacks, “for now, all I’m doing is ‘staying the night’ until further notice.” Nodding in agreement, Doug leans back in his seat with one foot kicked atop an empty seat he uses as a stool to rest his limb upon, eyes falling back upon the monitor as the few remaining employees still hanging around the office take toward minding their business. “Hey, what are gonna do about Finley’s show crossing into our time slot?” Colin questions aloud, growing tired of hearing the repetitive cycles that the Republican candidates allow their talking points to create. “Why would we do anything?” Aiden asks back, preventing his eyes from pulling away from the screen as he addresses the question. “Because they’re taking their primetime show against us?” Colin replies, answering the question as asked as if it were warranting a reply. “And that doesn’t scare me one bit” Aiden reassures, one foot resting atop Carly’s workspace whilst the other sits on the ground, his anchor’s seat having been reclined a slight amount for more comfortable viewing, “Finley’s audience is a bunch of older people who find it a necessity to stock up on tin foil. Our audience is old and young, but we’re growing in the latter.” “So, we’re not going to counter-program?” Colin questions back, earning a chuckle and a squint from the executive producer. “The moves that Finley’s making are just petty acts of retaliation against the guys upstairs for stuff behind-the-scenes. His move has nothing to do with us” Aiden clarifies, shaking his head as he reaches for the half-drunk bottle of beer within arm’s reach of him, “he’s just trying to send a message to them. He’ll fail like anyone else that makes business decisions out of spite does.” “I get your point, but that still doesn’t explain why we wouldn’t counter-program” Joey tacks on, only for their immediate superior to answer on Aiden’s behalf. “The Finley Network’s extension of nine o’clock won’t affect us even the slightest amount. They’re trying to send a message and we’re not scared of them” Doug points out, breaking their motivation down into bullet points, “counter-programming is a way of insinuating that we feel their presence against us is worrying. It’s not.” “But our audience is pretty old in some spots too. I mean, we do have three percent more viewers in the ‘49+’ range than their eight o’clock does” Colin corrects, looking at his superior whilst doing so, “we’re making headway into the younger demographic, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we can afford to lose the older audience we already have.” “We won’t” Carly interjects, stepping out of her office with her dark locks of hair tied into a messy bun, approaching the desk whilst wearing a casual t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. “Aside from not necessarily being a bunch of conspiracy hacks, the older group doesn’t just watch me for my journalistic integrity” the anchor clarifies, putting a classy spin on the effect of her appearance’s appeal on the older generation as she steps toward the corner of the office. “We’re not counter-programming their eight o’clock hour because we don’t need to” Aiden explains, leaning further in the anchor’s chair to make room for his girlfriend to take a seat upon his lap. “I appreciate your concern for the work we’ve done thus far, but Colin... you don’t need to worry” the E.P assures, providing the man with a nod of confident reassurance, “Finley’s not going to get anywhere with us.” “I’m not worried” Colin clarifies, the certain tone that he takes in his declaration proving to convince his immediate superiors just the slightest amount. “I’m, or- what I was trying to...” the man explains, only to let his head fall and shake with refusal, “nevermind.” With a curious squint, the eight o’clock producer and the anchor upon his lap bypass the face of Brant Washington as it pops up on the broadcast fed to the nation from a few levels above their heads in favour of their colleague’s own. “No, no... tell us” Aiden assures, offering the man enough of a floor to convince Doug to turn his focus toward the subordinates as well, “we’re all open here. If you’ve got something to say, it’s better said than kept to yourself.” “He thinks that- if he has an idea that sounds stupid or doesn’t work- you’d think he wasn’t good at coming up with new ideas” Joey explains, taking over for the man who fails to find a voice for himself. “Colin and I were brainstorming new ways to connect with the audience we’ve gotten online other than just posting to message boards and replying to them” the associate producer carries on. Staying silent, Aiden joins alongside his girlfriend in carrying their sights toward the subject in question, intrigued by the idea that’s presented. “People throw shit at the wall that doesn’t stick all the time. That doesn’t mean they never get the chance to see what does, Colin” Carly says, resting the back of her head against her lover’s chest, “unless you get a reputation of throwing things at the wall that never stick, we’re not going to take your ideas with a grain of salt.” “Conspiracy theorists or not, we can’t really afford to lose the older audience just yet. We do either have to find a way to keep them around, or to hurry up our in-roads with the younger one” Colin rebuttals, explaining himself as coherently as his social awkwardness will allow him. “I’m not saying we directly counter-program Finley’s show, but we are the only primetime show doing something different with the time slot we’ve got” he carries forward, “why not work outside our parameters while we’re at it?” Hearing the man’s point, Aiden focuses his sight upon the associate producer for a few seconds in silence before glancing toward his immediate subordinate. With a momentary look of intrigue, Doug takes his pupils from the carpeted floor and toward the man and woman on the stage a short distance away, shrugging with a semi-interest in what’s presented. “Alright, Colin...” Aiden responds, reaching toward the remote that had rested beside the beer bottle his girlfriend now takes for herself, muting the Republican debates to bring a substantial quiet upon the bureau, “...what do you propose?” | \ Monday, January 14th, 2008 / \ 11:31 am est. - 8:31 am pst. / “All that I’m saying is that there’s no point in covering the debates any further” Grant explains, seated opposite Shane with a coffee in hand. “We know who the two front-runners are on the left and which guy the establishment wants on the right. We’re wasting our time with this coverage” the man continues, looking toward each side of the conference table that his colleagues line across, “I’d rather devote more time to focusing on the ones that could be our next commander in chief and dissect their talking points and historical stances.” “That’d pretty much be firing Clinton so far out of the race for the nomination that she’d be rocketed into space” Marcus points out, watching the male anchor’s nodding head react to him as he sips at his coffee. “With the kind of skeletons she has in her war chest? Good” Grant replies, setting his cup back upon the table as he continues, “McCain’s not going to win the presidency anyway with how the nation perceives the last eight years of Bush. We might as well tell them exactly who their next president is.” “Obama’s been in the senate for a single term. Clinton’s got so much baggage in this thing that even her husband’s little adventures get lost in them” Olivia points out, resting against her seat with one leg kicked over the other, “like Marcus said- you’d practically be handing Obama the nomination.” “I’d rather take the things I don’t know about Obama than the things that I do know about Clinton” Taylor interjects, standing in the corner of the room with her arms crossed, “I’m pretty sure I’m not in the minority of the American opinion in saying that, too.” “And that’s the point. Americans aren’t stupid enough to blindly vote someone in because they’re a woman. They want a thorough vetting of each candidate and a comfort in knowing that they’re aware of who they’re casting their ballots for” Grant explains, snapping his fingers before pointing toward Shane at the opposite end of the table, “if there’s anything that differentiates us from the pricks over at Finley, it’s that.” “The fact that we’re not going after Democrats for stoking flames of terrorism or whatever the hell they target them for at Finley also helps. Our criticisms are fair” Shane corrects, leaning forward in his seat to take another look at the script sitting in front of him. “With that said, Romney isn’t that far behind from historical precedent and Edwards did still finish second in Iowa- he’s the Democrat’s golden child, after all” the executive producer explains. “I wouldn’t imagine they’d put their chips in his corner after how bad Kerry lost in ‘04, and I doubt they’re investing anything into him now that his affair surfaced” Taylor argues, stepping up to the table to reclaim the coffee cup she’d left beside her fiance’s own, “It’s a race between Obama and Clinton, and since Edwards still finished ahead of Clinton in Iowa- I’m inclined to believe it’s Obama’s for the taking.” “And a good chunk of America is following suit, which is why it’s important to properly vet these candidates” Grant explains, extending his arm toward the monitor with a feed of his former employer, “I don’t agree with their corporate practices, but at least CSN is getting with the same program. They’re ditching Edwards, Romney, and Giuliani in favour of focusing on the main three.” “Alright, alright... fine” Shane concedes, liting one hand to the anchors that fight for the shift in their coverage of the race before extending a finger toward them, “but if this blows up in our faces- it’s on you two.” “This isn’t a hill for us to die on, it’s a speed bump... we’ll take our chances there” Taylor assures, patting the table with the top halves of her fingers with satisfaction, “alright- meeting’s dismissed. Marcus, I want you at the red desk. Everyone else just stays the course.” As instructed, the crew spill out of the transparent box one after another, returning to their duties as the show rolls on, their responsibilities made clear. Being left as the final two to occupy the space, the engaged anchors take seats beside each other without uttering a word at first, simply taking in the sounds of feet storming around beyond their compartment in the name of getting to work. “Are you really not phased by Nalty heading back to T.V?” Taylor questions aloud, lifting the inquiry through the lack of disruption that had unfolded around them. “Why would I be? He’s a ghost of my past that I’ve already put to bed” Grant responds, resting one arm upon his lap whilst the other holds his coffee cup beneath his chin, “what Finley decides to let into their building isn’t up for me to control, so I’m not going to let something beyond my power get the best of me.” With a warming smile, Taylor rests her dominant arm against the table and looks into her fiance’s eyes, feeling the seconds pass as they could physically touch her before guiding her free hand to the man’s face. “I’m really proud of you” she confesses, earning a pleased smile from her lover, their faces being brought together for a kiss to show the male anchor’s appreciation for her remarks. “The fact that you can stomach looking me in the eyes after how we first met tells me all that I need to know that you’re telling me the truth” Grant retorts, following suit resting his hand against the side of his fiance’s face, “I love you so goddamn much.” Taking in another kiss, the anchors continue to remain about their business whilst Aiden watches on, having just entered the nine o’clock newsroom through the front before looking on with a smile. Not wanting to interrupt the anchors’ moment, their former showrunner returns the way he’d arrived and makes for the lift to the eight o’clock floor once more. Entering his newsroom, the eight o’clock producer takes a glance toward Carly’s office with a smile, seeing her silhouette through the frost glass before turning his focus to the two associate producers who’d taken his interest prior to the weekend. “Alright, Joey, Colin, and Doug...” Aiden proclaims, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone, sending a text message to his significant other that had been typed along the journey of his return. Watching the eyes of the three men he’d called out for take toward his direction, the eight o’clock producer dips his cell phone back into his pocket before watching his girlfriend’s figure step out from her desk, approaching the exit to her office upon receiving his message, “...let’s make our pitch.” == Tonight at 9 == |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
March 2026
Categories |
RSS Feed