staring at her BlackBerry as if she could will it to ring for over an hour, and finally, it does.
“
You knew.… Uh-huh … You’ve called all the other channels.… Nothing, not a nibble, no one’s interested? Not to worry, of course not, no. A pet food commercial? National? Oh, tri-state … but not New York. Not definite, a few other candidates … You’ll call.
” Sienna puts down the phone and blows at the foam around the top of her beer. “My agent says that in newscaster years I’m about a hundred and seven. But apparently in Connecticut, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania I might still be young enough to shill Puppy Chow.”
“Old? What are you talking about? We’re the very same age.”
“Right, and over forty is over the hill in the entertainment business.”
“But what about Barbara, Diane, and Katie?” I ask, ticking off the names of three of the news industry’s biggest—and oldest—stars.
“Anomalies,” Sienna says, swirling a finger into her beer to play with the bubbles. “Sure, a few women squeak past the age thing, but the reason that everyone talks about them is that they’re the exceptions to the rule.”
“But that’s nuts. I want to see women my age on TV, and I have the money to spend big bucks on advertiser’s products.” Then I pause. “Well I did, until Peter lost his job.”
“And until I became a
sinking
anchor,” Sienna says glumly. “Jerry Gerard has been gunning for me ever since he came onto the show. He humiliates me every chance he gets, like making me do these dumb soft news spots. ‘Sienna Post Goes Skydiving!’ ‘Sienna Post, Live Today from the Bronx Zoo!’ An elephant’s first birthday and we gave him a party. A party, with balloons and a beach ball for a present and a coconut cake decorated with peanuts! Did you ever hear of a news show giving a beach ball or a coconut cake with peanuts to a
forty-one-
year-old elephant? No siree, you did not! Even the goddamned elephant birthday party is aimed at the youth market.” Sienna wipes tears away with a scratchy napkin.
I never heard of a news show giving a party for an elephant of any age, but right now that seems as irrelevant as Paula Abdul’s praise.
“It’s going to be all right,” I say. “There are all kinds of opportunities, we just have to think outside the box. Molly was reading me something the other day about how stores hire people to shop undercover so they can rate the salespeople.”
“But you have to give back the merch. Besides, it would be like sending an alcoholic to work in a liquor store.”
“Point taken. If you sign up to be a nurse in Czechoslovakia for three years they’ll give you a free face-lift or breast implants.”
“Talk about job perks. But I faint at the sight of blood.”
“And I suppose Molly’s other suggestion is totally out of the question,” I deadpan. “I don’t think my womb’s quite up to the task of being a surrogate mother.”
Sienna pauses. Then she laughs so hard that a spurt of beer trickles down her chin. “I’ve always wanted to try my hand at writing. And then there’s my secret passion—to take up botanical painting.”
“Wow, all these years, I never knew! You’d paint a mean geranium.”
“You bet your ass, I would!” Sienna says. She reaches for the mustard dispenser and starts doodling leafy plant designs on a paper place mat. “You know, work kills,” Sienna says, making swirly flowers now with the ketchup. “I did a story on it. More people die on the job than from drugs, alcohol, or war combined. ’Course most of them are lumberjacks, or fishermen. Did you know that the most dangerous job in the world is to be a crab fisherman in the Bering Strait? We’re lucky not to be crab fishermen. We’re lucky not to be working. We have to get more people not working!” She slams her fist against the table and splatters ketchup-paint on her Armani shirtsleeve. “And we have to get people to stop wearing sneakers,
“
You knew.… Uh-huh … You’ve called all the other channels.… Nothing, not a nibble, no one’s interested? Not to worry, of course not, no. A pet food commercial? National? Oh, tri-state … but not New York. Not definite, a few other candidates … You’ll call.
” Sienna puts down the phone and blows at the foam around the top of her beer. “My agent says that in newscaster years I’m about a hundred and seven. But apparently in Connecticut, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania I might still be young enough to shill Puppy Chow.”
“Old? What are you talking about? We’re the very same age.”
“Right, and over forty is over the hill in the entertainment business.”
“But what about Barbara, Diane, and Katie?” I ask, ticking off the names of three of the news industry’s biggest—and oldest—stars.
“Anomalies,” Sienna says, swirling a finger into her beer to play with the bubbles. “Sure, a few women squeak past the age thing, but the reason that everyone talks about them is that they’re the exceptions to the rule.”
“But that’s nuts. I want to see women my age on TV, and I have the money to spend big bucks on advertiser’s products.” Then I pause. “Well I did, until Peter lost his job.”
“And until I became a
sinking
anchor,” Sienna says glumly. “Jerry Gerard has been gunning for me ever since he came onto the show. He humiliates me every chance he gets, like making me do these dumb soft news spots. ‘Sienna Post Goes Skydiving!’ ‘Sienna Post, Live Today from the Bronx Zoo!’ An elephant’s first birthday and we gave him a party. A party, with balloons and a beach ball for a present and a coconut cake decorated with peanuts! Did you ever hear of a news show giving a beach ball or a coconut cake with peanuts to a
forty-one-
year-old elephant? No siree, you did not! Even the goddamned elephant birthday party is aimed at the youth market.” Sienna wipes tears away with a scratchy napkin.
I never heard of a news show giving a party for an elephant of any age, but right now that seems as irrelevant as Paula Abdul’s praise.
“It’s going to be all right,” I say. “There are all kinds of opportunities, we just have to think outside the box. Molly was reading me something the other day about how stores hire people to shop undercover so they can rate the salespeople.”
“But you have to give back the merch. Besides, it would be like sending an alcoholic to work in a liquor store.”
“Point taken. If you sign up to be a nurse in Czechoslovakia for three years they’ll give you a free face-lift or breast implants.”
“Talk about job perks. But I faint at the sight of blood.”
“And I suppose Molly’s other suggestion is totally out of the question,” I deadpan. “I don’t think my womb’s quite up to the task of being a surrogate mother.”
Sienna pauses. Then she laughs so hard that a spurt of beer trickles down her chin. “I’ve always wanted to try my hand at writing. And then there’s my secret passion—to take up botanical painting.”
“Wow, all these years, I never knew! You’d paint a mean geranium.”
“You bet your ass, I would!” Sienna says. She reaches for the mustard dispenser and starts doodling leafy plant designs on a paper place mat. “You know, work kills,” Sienna says, making swirly flowers now with the ketchup. “I did a story on it. More people die on the job than from drugs, alcohol, or war combined. ’Course most of them are lumberjacks, or fishermen. Did you know that the most dangerous job in the world is to be a crab fisherman in the Bering Strait? We’re lucky not to be crab fishermen. We’re lucky not to be working. We have to get more people not working!” She slams her fist against the table and splatters ketchup-paint on her Armani shirtsleeve. “And we have to get people to stop wearing sneakers,
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