Stay Tuned

Chapter 23

“Hey, and don’t let me forget. We have to do something about Judd. He has another ‘issue.’” Drew made quotation marks with his fingers when he said the last word.
    
Our sports anchor, Judd Carol, had some personal challenges. We’d dealt with his over-eating by hiring a professional hypnotist; we’d handled his gambling addiction by sending him to a therapist who specialized in shock therapy.
    
Of course, the “we” usually meant “me” fixing the problem. Or trying to. But before I could ask for details, Drew had summoned the entire staff by loudspeaker to an urgent ratings meeting.
    
“What is it now?” I pressed him.
    
Drew covered his mouth with one hand and grimaced. “Coke.”
    
“What?”
    
“Shh,” he warned and turned his back to grab a folder.
    
That was Drew. Drop a bomb like that and call a meeting.
    
The staff filed in, and one of the reporters threw an admiring glance in my direction. “You look great!” she said. I smiled for the first time that morning, glanced down at the new clothes I was wearing and straightened up taller. Oh, right. The new me.
    
“Love the haircut,” she whispered. A few of the other girls nodded in agreement.
    
“Thanks,” I mouthed.
    
Drew stopped to survey the room then held up the latest viewer ratings book. “Folks, we have to fix this. We’re losing touch with our key audience. DMA ratings for women, twenty-five to fifty-four, have dropped two rating points from November and three points from February of last year. We’re still number one, but just barely.”
    
Assuming Alyssa and Tim were part of the problem, I was anxious to hear his solution.
    
The second hand on the wall clock ticked while he gathered his thoughts.

He whirled around, glaring at each of us in turn, and shouted, “Unacceptable, that’s what it is! Unacceptable!” He lowered his voice to a growl. “But I have a plan. Our viewers will believe in us again.” I almost expected an, ‘Amen.’
    
I’d bet he’d had his speech all worked out nights ago. But Drew was a master at sounding eloquent and off-the-cuff. The temperature of the room seemed to spike twenty degrees. All of a sudden, I was sweating. I imagined my makeup sliding off my face.
  
Drew ruffled papers. “Melissa. We’re making some adjustments for sweeps. The series you and what’s-his-name put together is a concern.”

What’s-his-name being Tim. Drew’s selective amnesia surfaced when someone pissed him off. As for the series, I’d expected a few last minute changes. Too long, too short, too many sound bites—Drew was bound to tweak something.

“Get Out Alive! is scrapped. We’re not running it.”

All eyes in the room landed on me. I flushed red and almost choked. I saw my life—or at least the last month of it—flash before my eyes. Adjustments I could deal with. Giving up the whole idea and starting over was ridiculous.

I focused my emotions and leveled my voice. “Could you explain why?” I did some quick addition. “Between shooting, writing, and editing, we’ve invested more than thirty hours so far. We have promos set to air this week. Besides, isn’t this the series that corporate came up with?”
    
It was a bold statement. I was teetering on the edge of Drew’s last nerve.

Everyone swiveled to stare at Drew. I didn’t know whether to cry or run out of the room. If my math was right, we had five days to pull off a new series, plus the weekend, provided I didn’t end up in jail for killing Drew first.

A knock on the door momentarily saved me from intentional homicide.

Drew cracked the door open an inch, and peeked out as though some deranged maniac was on the other side. Then, he laughed and shook hands with whoever was on the other side.

The whole room erupted into murmurs. What was that all about? Is that Tim? Or Alyssa? What’s going on? How long is this going to take? Joe and I exchanged a look across the room.