S4, E4 | Auld Lang Syne (Part II)

\ Monday, December 31st, 2007 /
\ 10:43 pm est. - 7:43 pm pst. /

“I don’t understand what the problem is with some of you men!” Carly explains, standing beside her executive producer’s right hand man as he hunches over his desk with a pen in hand, “we’re entering a brand new year, there are slightly-inebriated women scattered all around this place willing to judge you on a slightly-more favourable scale, and the three of you are sitting at your desks working.”

“We have to oversee the message boards! It’s crucial to connecting with the demographic!” Doug jokes, replying with outright honesty despite carrying a humoured tone to it. Saying nothing, Carly waves her hands toward the man and gestures for him to move aside, “can you film videos and post them to this thing?” she queries.

“Yeah, do you want us to help you with it?” Joey responds from the desk directly opposite Doug’s, standing out from his chair expecting an affirmative response. “No, I want you to show me how to” Carly corrects, pulling up an empty chair from nearby and taking a seat in front of the computer. Taking the mouse into her hand, the eight o’clock anchor directs the cursor toward where her senior producer advises her.

Pulling up a camera feed and instinctively pressing record, Carly takes a sip from her tall glass of champagne and addresses the community they’ve cultivated online. “Hi. It’s Carly, and I speak on behalf of everyone here at On-Air in thanking you for following along with the work we’re doing here at eight o’clock” the woman begins, addressing their online audience whilst the producers who’d helped her navigate to them cross their arms and patiently await the conclusion of her remarks.

“We’re currently in an office party, there are a ton of good-looking women here, they are all drinking, and my crew needs to get laid” she continues rather bluntly, amusing those that stand around within her vicinity. “I’m sure you’ll understand that these opportunities are few and far between, and they need to capitalise on them... Some more so than others” Carly continues with a giggle, passing a subtle head-bob in the direction of Colin, “for the rest of the night, eight o’clock is signing off from the internet. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

As quickly as she’d begun the impromptu address, Carly severs communication with their fanbase and pats Doug on the chest, leaving her seat before passing off her champagne glass. “Start drinking, start socialising, start sleeping around, and leave the hangovers and slut walks to being problems you’ll deal with tomorrow” the anchor carries on, retreating with a smirk on her face, “happy fucking new year’s!”

Accepting the terms in which they’d been freed from their responsibilities, Carly begins wandering toward the office at the back of the newsroom, not even bothering to make a detour for another glass of champagne along the way. “I’m gonna tell you the same thing that I-” she proclaims whilst letting herself into the room, finding the desk of her executive producer stacked with clutter and a lamp that’s always left on without the employee in attendance.

Curiously looking around the room, the anchor takes notice of the mountains of clutter that are always present before stepping forward, advancing upon the desk that still remains as unoccupied as she’d taken it to be upon entering. Confused, she glances toward the room’s entrance once more before carrying on, grabbing a hold of the man’s phone and punching in the number she’d memorised by heart.

“Are you at the office?” Carly inquires once she hears the other line to connect to her desired caller. “No, I’m on the couch at home” Aiden replies with a deeper voice than he’d normally carry, his words slow and sluggish in ways that immediately sound off. “Did I wake you up?” the eight o’clock anchor questions back, noticing the off-nature of her executive producer’s voice whilst taking a seat in his unoccupied office chair.

“Yeah, I’m sick” Aiden answers, rubbing his eyes as he lays beneath a blanket on the chesterfield, only able to make out light through the orange glow of street lamps spilling through the slits of his blinds. “I’d say that I feel like death, but I feel like death would be a lot kinder to me than this” the man explains, clearly backed up and congested as he’s pulled out of his slumber.

“Is there anyone looking after you or are you just up there alone?” Carly wonders aloud, resting her free arm’s elbow against the hardwood desktop as she leans over the workspace. “Shane’s at the office. He offered to stay, but I didn’t want him missing the party because of me” Aiden answers, groggy and exhausted in his delivery as he rolls over in bed, pressing his Blackberry to the side of his head, “I’m just gonna sleep it off and load myself full of drugs if I don’t feel better by tomorrow night.”

“Are you sure you’re alright up there by yourself?” Carly reiterates, staring toward the front of his office as their communication continues, an obvious look of concern carried in her face. “There isn’t anything I need that I don’t have now” Aiden responds, letting out a soft sigh as he sinks into the soft comfort of the couch he willingly sleeps upon, “enjoy the party. I’ll see you Wednesday.”

“Alright” Carly begrudgingly responds, leaning back in her seat with preparations of returning the phone to its holder, “feel better.” Their brief conclusion shared, the anchor’s hand returns the handset to its receiver and pulls back in the seat, visibly displeased with the circumstance that surrounds her executive producer. Looking toward the window in the back of his office, the woman stares at the skyline of New York City as it resides beneath the cover of night, coated with lights of a city that never sleeps- especially on evening’s such as this 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 =

\ Monday, December 31st, 2007 /
\ 11:22 pm est. - 8:22 pm pst. /

“Same plan for the ball drop as last year’s?” Grant questions, approaching his girlfriend with a glass of champagne in hand for her, his free hand sliding behind her lower back as he presses his lips to her cheek. “I don’t see how a rooftop cigar could hurt” Taylor answers, returning the kiss as Abby steps past them, approaching the foosball table that’s been set up atop their news desk’s transparent base.

“Abby-versus-Vince, first to seven wins!” Shane proclaims, standing off to the side of the wooden play station with a glass of sparkling water in his hand. “I wonder how much Vince is going to win this one by” Keith proclaims, watching the man in question point his finger toward him. “Give me a scoreline... Any scoreline” the confident, defending champion commands, watching as the source of the inquiry pauses to consider.

“Seven to four” Keith replies, joined by the anchors of his primetime broadcast and his fellow associate producers in watching on for the evening’s festivities. “Seven to four... works for me” Vince responds, manning his side of the table without much enthusiasm as the ball is dropped in. Fumbling around her posts, Abby makes first contact with the ball as her opponent’s men fail to even move, allowing her shot to easily meet its mark and score the opening point.

“One point to Abby!” Shane declares, presiding over the unoccupied end of the table opposite the gathered crowd as the next ball is rolled in, and the one that follows that, and so on and so forth. Within a minute, the score finds Abby at a four-to-zero advantage, allowed to do so through Vince’s refusal to even put up a convincing display.

“Good start for you, Keith?” the producer wonders aloud, looking at the man standing a few feet off to Grant and Taylor’s side with an eyebrow raised. “It looks like someone’s a little cocky now that Aiden isn’t here to put you to the test” the associate producer in question responds, watching a smile spread from one side of Vince’s face to the other as he replies.

“Aiden? The guy from eight o’clock?” he quips back, playing the man’s presence off as if he’d never met him before, “isn’t that the guy I swept last year?” Rolling in as soon as he finishes the question, the foosball fires off of Vince’s peg player and tears into the slot opposite his goal, scoring him a point for the first time in the match.

To great intrigue, the crowd watch on as the ball continues to roll in, each new start of play resulting in another goal for the defending champion until the desired scoreline has been reached. “Vince’s victory- seven to four!” Shane proclaims to a round of applause, opening the chance for the match’s winner to approach Abby with a purposefully-playful and unintimidating bob of the head, playing the unsportsmanlike winner in a manner that the woman can’t help but laugh at.

“Who else wants a piece of the champion!?” Vince questions aloud, spreading his arms outward like an eagle as he stares at the sea of producers. “I’ll give it a crack!” an older voice proclaims from the back of the bureau, further behind the collective audience that now redirects their focus toward the panopticon’s entrance. Stepping through the assortment of desks that host work responsible for keeping the primetime broadcast together, Vickers draws toward the transparent stage to the cheer of the producers.

“You’re about to get your shit pushed in by the president of the company, Vince!” Olivia proclaims through coupled hands, prompting the audience to erupt into a roar of applause that finally draws the defending champion into focus. “You still want a scoreline, V!?” Keith jokes, injecting laughter into the raucous crowd as the older gentleman takes the opposite side of the stage from his employee.

“It’s Vickers-versus-Vince- first to seven wins!” Shane proclaims, snatching the ball out of the goal that the company president now steps up to defend. Clearly more motivated to win than he had been throughout the entire night, Vince grasps the handles of his players with great readiness as Vickers does the same. Stepping forward with the white sphere in his possession, the nine o’clock executive producer gracefully lets the object roll into the centre of the table and fall into play.

With more intensity than every other game up to this point put together, the two competitors spin the pegs violently as they keep a fierce eye on the ball, following it from one side of the surface to the other before a projectile-like shot is taken into goal for the first point of the game. “One point to Vickers!” Shane proclaims to an eruption of cheers, making it clear that- whilst beloved by his coworkers- the defending champion plays the role of the villain in this defence.

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\ Monday, December 31st, 2007 /
\ 11:29 pm est. - 8:29 pm pst. /

Suffering in silence, Aiden tries his best to disregard the fever dreams that prevent him from earning any worthwhile sleep as he fights between bouts with the sweats and chills. Though distant, the executive producer can hear the jingling of keys in the distance beyond his flat’s front door, unable to keep himself from paying it much of his focus in light of how hard it is for him to properly sleep.

Letting out slow and steady breaths, the ill resident continues to shield himself from the outside world within his somewhat-cosy, New York apartment. Having overheard the distant sound of cars driving by a few stories below and people exiting their flats on the same floor in favour of hitting the town throughout the night, Aiden pays little mind to the ringing pieces of metal until the moment he hears one of them slide into the deadbolt of his front door.

Mustering the strength to squint, the executive producer forces himself to sit upright and reach for the nearby lamp, bathing the apartment in light that takes his eyes a few seconds to adapt to. Successfully unlocking the front door, the soul in possession of the keys pushes the entrance inward and politely steps forward, coming to a stop the moment she sees the light and her coworker sitting upright on the chesterfield.

“Hi” Carly mutters in a subtle tone, not wanting to disrupt the quietness of the air that her colleague’s illness had proved necessary. “What are you doing here?” Aiden inherently questions, fueled by the slight amount of adrenaline that his anchor’s unexpected entrance provides him with.

“Checking in on you- obviously” she replies with a heartwarming smile whilst closing the door and stepping forward, leaving the keys of her producer’s roommate in a bowl atop a table near the corner of the main foyer. “I thought you were at the office party?” Aiden questions back, groaning as quietly as he can whilst rubbing at his eyes, clearly benumbed by the bug that’s brought about his poor health.

“I was. That’s where I called you from” Carly reassures, immediately earning a disappointed togetherness of the man’s eyelids. “I told you to enjoy the party” Aiden sighs, looking way with a disheartened look on his face, “I didn’t want you guys to miss out on the party because of me.”

“There will be more parties” the anchor confidently predicts, entering the adjacent kitchen and retrieving a hand towel, “besides, your producers take after you in getting knee-deep with their work when they really shouldn’t be.”

“We have an important job to do. I don’t blame them” Aiden groans, still rubbing at his eyes whilst his vision adjusts to the light, hearing the water of his kitchen sink begin to run in the near distance. “When the holidays are upon us, they need to get their dicks out and get some steam out” Carly corrects, covering the towel in a coating of cold water before ringing it out, “and I was expecting to tell you the exact same thing until I realised you weren’t in your office.”

“I can’t control when I do and don’t get sick” Aiden responds, hearing the woman’s footsteps approach before feeling the weight of his upper body be gently pushed forward. “I don’t expect you to, but I do expect you to be able to control when you do and don’t surround yourself with work.”

“I’ve got a lot riding on getting eight o’clock working. I can’t risk-” Aiden retorts, falling silent the second the woman takes a seat on the spot of the couch he’d slept upon and presses the cold towelette upon his forehead. “Now’s not the time to talk about work. Now’s the time to let me help you feel better” Carly interjects, pulling the man’s torso into her side with one arm wrapped around his chest, keeping the cold compress resting against his sweaty forehead.

“You should be having fun at the party... not trapped here taking care of me” Aiden rebukes, a comment that his premier anchor refuses to accept as truth. “I’m here now and there’s no point in telling me I should be somewhere else. That party will be long-over by the time I leave here” Carly chirps, gently sweeping the loose strands of hair away from her ex-boyfriend’s face, better clearing his forehead for the cold towel’s embrace, “besides, I wouldn’t have been able to have fun if you weren’t there anyway.”

“Shane didn’t put up much of a fight when I told him to go” Aiden counters, earning a slight chuckle out of the woman that oversees his recovery. “I don’t think you and Shane have the kind of friendship-relationship-acquaintance thing going that we do” Carly responds, aware that- even if he feels bad over her presence- the executive producer’s comforted relaxation insinuates her care is greatly appreciated, “I wouldn’t have been able to have a good time knowing you were suffering over here.”

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\ Monday, December 31st, 2007 /
\ 11:42 pm est. - 8:42 pm pst. /

“We’re tied!” Shane proclaims to a chorus of booing, the energy of the nine o’clock newsroom having proven so palpable that even the eight o’clock newsroom felt compelled to join in on the spectating. “You ain’t taking my crown that easily, boss!” Vince exclaims, earning an amused nod out of the company president as the scores reach the point of levelling.

“It may not be easy, but I’m still taking it from you... champ” Vickers spouts back, throwing his hands out at his sides to loosen up, still wearing the blazer he’d entered the floor wearing whilst his adversary’s long sleeves are rolled upward and the top button of his dress shirt is undone. “Game point! We’re locked up at six-to-six!” Shane declares, reaching into Vickers’ goal to retrieve the white marble that has danced across the table for the last few minutes like a ballroom aficionado, “next goal wins!”

“VICKERS! VICKERS! VICKERS!” the audience howls aloud, backing the man that chooses to have fun with the scene in which he takes part in. Stepping away from the handles of his players, the company president slides his suit jacket off and tosses it into the arms of Grant, who’d approached the transparent platform with the intent of holding onto it anyway.

“Your kingdom’s about to come crumbling down, kingpin!” Vickers remarks, swiping his hands forward to loosen up whilst rolling the sleeves to his dress shirt upward. “This is the champ’s home territory, boss! You ain’t getting my turf without earning it!” Vince retaliates, widening his stance as he approaches the handles once more, prepared for the sphere’s final drop and the game’s final goal.

Matching the man’s posture, Vickers approaches his side of the table and gives a nod to the EP of nine o’clock, assuring him that the final round is ready to begin. Downing the rest of his sparkling drink, Shane places the tall glass onto a nearby chair before walking forward, gently holding the ball over the slot in which it’s meant to roll into play from before releasing his grasp, allowing fate to take over.

Audibly spinning around and colliding with the marble, the wooden pegs spin like horseshoes to a post as their controllers look for the ultimate score. From one team to the next and across the table, the deciding point lingers across the green surface and rolls from one goal and into the direction of the other. Gradually leaning closer toward the table the longer that the final point hangs in the balance, each competitor continues to fight the other’s players until a decisive blow is finally landed.

“Vince’s victory- seven to six!” Shane proclaims to a chorus of booing, the genuine disappointment at the man’s continued success doing nothing to stifle the producer’s celebration. “Ah, damn!” Vickers concedes, playfully swatting at the table as his employee’s hands take toward the sky with jubilation, a victory that he feels had been truly earned finding its way to Vince’s possession.

Keeping his revelry brief, the nine o’clock producer watches the company’s president approach him with a hand extended, the handshake being one that he gladly reciprocates. “I’ll be back for you next year, champ” Vickers declares, patting his employee on the shoulder once he receives a nod, satisfied with the sportsmanship displayed to him before lifting the subordinate’s hand in triumph.

As if given the greenlight to shift their reception, the crowd turns their collective jeering into applause for the performance that the president now sponsors, a hard-fought victory achieved by the man. Handing off the jacket to the hands of its rightful owner, Grant pats his friend on the shoulder and congratulates him on a good performance.

“I’ll get him next year” Vickers playfully remarks, carrying the coat over an arm that he drapes against his chest before taking the glass of champagne from Taylor’s hand and downing it in one sip. “Happy new year’s, you two” the man proclaims, licking his lips to indulge in the sweet alcohol’s taste as he passes them by, amusing all three parties amidst his departure.

“Should we take that as a sign to head to the balcony?” Grant wonders aloud, watching his girlfriend’s eyes collide with his own before she leans forward, planting a kiss on his lips with a sincere smile. “Lead the way” Taylor mutters, letting her hand fall into her boyfriend’s own as they head off, taking themselves in the direction of the same patio they’d welcomed in the new year from three hundred and sixty five days prior.

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\ Monday, December 31st, 2007 /
\ 11:53 pm est. - 8:53 pm pst. /

“We are just seven minutes away from welcoming in the new year, so stay tuned! We’ll be right back!” the television set emanates, affording the party host’s voice to reach the people of America watching at home as they enter their final commercial break of the year. “You’re going to miss your new year’s kiss” Aiden murmurs, keeping himself awake amidst the comfort his anchor provides, watching the screen across the room as it bathes their collective faces in white light.

“I wasn’t going to have one even if I stayed at the party anyway” Carly confesses, unaware of the slight furrowing in her producer’s eyebrows at such an admission. “You’re not seeing anyone?” Aiden queries softly, being caught by surprise at such a revelation, having purposefully kept himself out of the woman’s business well enough to make such an assumption without any means of traditional clarification.

“I haven’t even dated someone- aside from the fake dates with Brant to get Vince that connection- since we broke up” Carly confirms, shaking her head whilst watching the mattress commercial play through the screen. “I wouldn’t be able to anyway. Everything I said to you a few months ago about how much I missed what we had is true” the woman doubles down, “I can’t look at guys like I used to. They always just see me as the pretty chick to have by their side.”

“I’m not the only decent guy in New York City. It’s not hard to find someone who thinks of you the way that I do” Aiden argues, still lacking the energy to put up anything other than a passing defiance to his ex-girlfriend’s claims. “Have you taken a walk through this city? Even if there was someone like you out there, I’d have to walk through eighty thousand neighbourhoods of cat-calling and obsessive paparazzi” Carly retorts, shaking her head with refusal, “it’s not worth it.”

Keeping his thoughts to himself for a moment, Aiden chooses not to speak in lieu of making anything between them awkward, still not having truthfully moved past their relationship in the months that have proceeded it. “Besides, you were right about what you said after I got you out of jail. I never really gave you a reason to trust me” Carly explains, visibly discomforted by the truth behind her statement, “the only defence I can even come up with is that none of them were people I actually wanted to be with.”

“It’s still cheating” Aiden quickly counters, holding firm in the stance that he’d come to months prior, though too sick to stand in any affirmative resistance like he had at the time. “I know. And that fact nullifies any stupid defence I can make for it” Carly assures, bringing the man in her lap something more closely resembling peace of mind than he’s ever taken from their breakup to this point, “if nothing else, I think it’s just hard accepting that my track record should be fair game now that I’ve actually got a reason to care about having one.”

“What do you mean?” Aiden wonders aloud, not sure how to make sense of the latest claim, fighting through his ailment in search of clarification. “Like I said, none of the guys I cheated on were people that I cared to be with. I didn’t love them and I didn’t care about them once I realised they were only into me because I was some attractive girl they could show off to their friends” Carly explains, “I didn’t care if I had a track record because I didn’t care about them. If they found out, we’d break up and that’s it. I didn’t care about them, so I didn’t care about not dating them and gave up on them.”

Remaining silent through the woman’s explanation, the executive producer of her show continues to lay in her arms as the broadcast running before them reaches its final few advertisements before coming back to the air for the final few minutes of the year. 

“But then, I fell in love. And the track record hurt me because it hurt the person that I fell in love with” Carly explains, shaking her head with great disappointment, “and I struggled to cope with the fact that I’d brought it upon myself. I’d finally found someone I was happy with and now it was threatening to ruin that. I was so hurt by that fear that I couldn’t help but try to blame everyone other than myself for the track record that I’d created.”

“Do you mean it?” Aiden asks back, genuinely yearning for an answer to that question as he pulls his head back, looking up at the face of the woman who provides him care, “do you actually love me?” With raised eyebrows and a genuinely sympathetic gleam in her eyes, Carly nods her head without offering a verbal reply at first.

“Yes. I’ve never felt this love for you with anyone else. I’ve never cared about someone the way I care about you” the woman assures, struggling not to smile in the wake of the deeply-rooted pain that they’d lost what they shared. Looking to the far side of the room, Carly thinks deeply about how to phrase the thoughts that flutter around her head, trying her best to offer an explanation that can be considered worth the pain her past actions had served to inflict.

“I think I kind of gave up on love before we started dating. I flirted with you, yeah. But, I didn’t actually expect to find love the way you hear in fairy tales or the movies” Carly explains, shaking her head as she stares toward the corner of the room. “It took me a little while to figure out what I was feeling after we started dating. I’d forgotten what I thought love was” she confesses, furrowing her brows as she recalls the further weeks and months.

“Then I went out that night and ran into Brent. I didn’t know if you’d found out and took it the wrong way, so I froze when I got home that night- when everything started to change between us” Carly carries on, “I was worried that you had and I felt guilty. We hadn’t done anything, but I just felt this immense shame like I’d betrayed you.”

“Why?” Aiden whispers, genuinely curious as the woman’s face falls back toward his own, their bodies painted in the television’s light as it returns to the new year’s eve festivities for the final time. “Because it felt wrong, I guess. I knew that I hadn’t actually done anything wrong, but I couldn’t help but feel that guilt. So, I struggled to speak, or move, or really do anything” Carly recalls, “I can’t explain it. But everything spiralled out of control from there and... you know the rest.”

“Was fucking Brent after we broke up meant to hurt me?” Aiden questions, watching the anchor’s eyes fall again as a tear begins streaming down her cheek, though she remains composed enough to not break down into tears. “I couldn’t handle blaming myself for the past I’d made. I finally found love and had it ripped away. I shouldn’t have blamed you, but I wasn’t in a place where I could blame myself yet” Carly confesses, shaking her head once more, “I just made things worse.”

As the air grows silent, Aiden begins struggling to sit upright once more, keeping his face aimed away from the anchor’s own to prevent what likely chance she already has of catching his illness from growing any further. Nearing the final minutes of the year, the pair continue to occupy the quiet air as Carly takes it upon herself to bring it to an end, speaking through the hush that comes over them and the host’s voice through the distant television set.

“I really want to respect your boundaries, Aiden- but I can’t. If we’re going to keep working together, I need to tell you that I’ll never be okay with how things ended between us” Carly confesses, allowing herself to be vulnerable and threaten the stability of their friendship in the name of honesty and transparency, “I’ve done enough work to accept that we’ll probably never be fully trusting in each other and that’s on me, but I can’t accept how things ended between us. I can’t be okay with giving up on this, or on us, or on you.”

“And we are ready, too. I’m gonna send it back up to the man who’s been doing it all these years to count us into the new year” the interviewing-host explains through the television, “Dick, take it away! It’s your specialty, my friend!”

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\ Monday, December 31st, 2007 /
\ 11:59 pm est. - 8:59 pm pst. /

Whilst illuminating with a deep, red glow through Aiden’s television screen, the falling ball of Time’s Square is watched on by the cigar-smoking anchors of nine o’clock from the LMC headquarters’ balcony. “Happy new year’s, honey” Grant whispers, looking into his wife’s eyes as they set their cigars upon the tray that rests on the patio wall’s concrete top. “Happy new year, my love” Taylor whispers back, hearing the crowd countdown from afar as the magical moment is finally upon them.

From the comfort of the flat and watching along on television, Carly and Aiden bypass the illness that threatens to spread in the name of rekindling their love with a kiss as the new year rings in, the long locking of their lips holding firm as the cheering audience blares through their television set. With their eyes closed, the eight o’clock showrunners embrace each other’s love with locked lips, their feelings strong enough to bring the executive producer out of his ailing exhaustion.

Having leant forward, Taylor gently pulls back as her boyfriend’s face falls from beneath her view, refusing the kiss in favour of descending lower. Following the man’s figure, the experienced anchor at nine o’clock watches Grant lower himself to one knee on the ground and part the lid of a box with an engagement ring concealed within. Smiling as she stares off toward the heavens, the woman laughs just as her lover does, having quietly wondered to herself whether or not this was his plan earlier in the day.

“Ah, I had a feeling!” Taylor giggles, looking back to her boyfriend’s smiling face as he remains intent on following through. “You know me well, Taylor English...” Grant responds, continuing to present the shining, diamond ring to the woman he hopes will finally follow through with the promise she’d been offering him for months, “...now, will you marry me?”

Though flattered by the ring, Taylor’s concerns refuse to rest upon the piece of jewellery as she gently guides the man’s hand toward the ground, dropping to both knees whilst placing the palms of her cold hands to either side of the anchor’s face. Pressing her lips to the man’s own, the blonde woman disregards the strands of her hair that a brief gust of wind sends whipping back, sealing off the kiss by locking eyes with Grant and providing him with the word he’d wished to hear.

“Yes.”

\ Monday, January 1st, 2008 /
\ 12:00 am est. /

== Tonight at 9 ==