As Seen On TV

35. All The World's A Stage...

*Slight profanity/impolite language warning... some characters here (ahem, Veronica) are not at their kindest and make allusions to explicit activities. Proceed with caution.*

I could do nothing but stand there and wait for the bitch to explain herself. Veronica had quickly ushered me to a waiting SUV with tinted windows, and she must have instructed the driver to take such a circuitous route to our destination that, by the time we stopped moving, I was hopelessly turned around. I didn't even know if we were still in California, much less San Francisco.

I emerged from the car to see what looked like an empty, abandoned parking lot. It was sandwiched between two monolithic office complexes. The yellow paint was faded, and the pavement was cracked and lumpy, with scraggly weeds and underbrush growing up between the blacktop. 

It was eerily silent. I couldn't even hear cars from anywhere nearby, so we must have been far from any major roads. We were probably out of the city, then. The dry, searing air beat down on us as Veronica signaled to the driver, who promptly turned and sped out of the parking lot.

I could bear the silence and mystery no longer. 

"Do you plan on killing me off, then? What the fuck are we doing here?"

Veronica turned on me and regarded me with a strange curiosity. 

"You'll find out soon enough, my dear. Follow me."

I didn't see that I had another choice. I willed my legs to stop shaking, so that the only evidence of my fear at what might happen was the sweat dabbling at my brow. For all I knew, she was leading me into a torture chamber and this was the last time I would see the light of day.

We walked across the lot and reached a door to the older-looking office building. I peered around a bit, taking in the outside. It looked completely abandoned, with no identified components anywhere. Veronica punched in a security code to the door, shielding the keypad with her other hand so that I couldn't see it. I followed her in as the door whooshed open.

As I suspected, the building was abandoned. It was a large, empty warehouse. Scaffolding dotted the walls and the only light came from large, open windows near the vaulted, high ceiling. It was dusty and smelled of paint and tar, and rusty tools and buckets were strewn across the floor.

The sound of Veronica's high heels echoed throughout the gigantic empty space. I tried not to trip as I scrambled over the debris and followed her, coughing in the dust that I stirred up.

We arrived at a sort of makeshift cubicle in the back corner of the warehouse, and I peered around as I stepped over the threshold. 

There were two desks lining the unfinished plywood walls, and what looked to be a soundproof recording booth, set up with a microphone stand and a chair, through the room's only glass window. The room was overflowing with camera equipment, everything from zoom lenses to flashbulbs and viewfinders. Two main computer stacks sat on top of the table, and a printer, keyboard, large speaker system, and soundboard took up the remaining space, resulting in a mess of wiring and flashing lights trailing below the tables to an overstuffed outlet.

Veronica gestured for me to sit in the room's only seat, an ancient-looking swivel chair with the padding tearing off of it. I shook my head and crossed my arms.

"Just get it over with. Whatever the hell you brought me here for, I want to hear it. Now. Quit it with the dramatic preamble."

Veronica arched a drawn-on brow.

"I've never observed you to be so forward, Ms. Kennedy. At least, you didn't have such concerns for transparency when you ignored Mr. Miller's concerning past and let him finger fuck you whilst Mr. Hastings saved your life. Let's not play coy. You'll want to be seated when you hear what I have to say."