see this shit.”
“E told me.” Just then Esther handed her a cold bottle of water and another tissue.
Pace turned around at the mention of his Esther’s nickname. He caught on to Annie’s blotchy face right away. “Hey,” Pace said as he looked at her carefully.
“I’m fine,” she mouthed back, before she took a rather refreshing sip of water. Pace nodded and turned back to the monitor. He got it and he let it go.
“Okay. Brad, this’ll teach you to ditch me for the fucking Discovery Channel,” he said.
“It was more money,” Brad laughed, winking at Annie. She scowled at him. She just allocated the money; she didn’t fund the shows herself.
“Whatever. Suck my bag. You’re never leaving me again,” Pace replied. “Okay. Watch this. Six years doing this reality shit, and this is the best fucking face-plant I’ve ever seen.”
Annie watched as the unedited clip started up. Just Dance had the second highest ratings of their shows, coming in right behind Single Dads . The show followed Meta Rogers, a J. Lo wannabe who had made a decent name for herself after choreographing a major tour. She was nuts. A complete bitch, a camera whore, and the bisexual Annie never wanted to be. She was ratings gold.
On screen, Annie watched her dancing erratically on a raised block just off the dance floor. A go-go boy in nothing but a pound of Vaseline and some briefs danced behind her, but Meta wasn’t sharing the spotlight. As the camera panned up, Meta’s feet passed out of the frame, but before Pace said another word, Annie could tell that Meta was running out of space on that four-by-four box. Suddenly, Meta slipped. The crowd was already parted to make room for Pace with his camera. There was no attempt to catch her, and BAM! Meta thwacked her face right into the floor.
Annie’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh my God! Is she okay? Why didn’t you guys call me?” she asked as the rest of the crew laughed hysterically.
“She’s fine.” Pace chuckled. Annie watched as a few guys helped Meta to her feet then breathed a sigh of relief as Meta brushed off her jeans and revealed that all her teeth were in her mouth.
“Wait. Pace, you turned in your tapes last night, right?” Annie frowned. As hilarious as this footage was, it should have been on its way to the post-production office a good eight hours ago.
“Busted,” Justin snickered.
“Pace!” Annie nearly popped a blood vessel.
“I did. I did. I just made a copy of this.” He smiled like the network wouldn’t fire his ass then sue the shit out of him if this footage was leaked prematurely.
“Delete it. Now.”
“What’s going on?” Jewel, the office assistant, came flip-flopping into the room. Annie couldn’t stand the twenty-year-old brat, but she was great on the phones, and as long as she was blowing Sergio, their executive producer, she wasn’t going anywhere.
“We’re watching Meta eat shit.” Johnny laughed with an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. Which reminded Annie. She reached into her bag and tossed him a fresh pack of menthols. Amends for the shitty day rate they were getting.
“Ma’am.” He nodded with a smile and slipped the pack into his utility bag.
“This time. In slow motion,” Pace announced, and like that, they watched as Meta went down at a thousand frames per second. It was brutal. “I will delete it. I know legal’ll shit a fucking brick if they find out.”
“Oh, wow.” Annie shook her head while they watched Meta’s face meet the floor again. That had to hurt. The viewing audience would love it. “Where was this?”
“The Maypole, that gay bar over on Crescent,” Jewel answered.
Right, The Maypole, the trendiest gay bar in town. Esther had gotten location clearance the week before, but Annie had been so wrapped up with Miss Fantasy Fulfilled that she’d been letting simple details like where her crew was going slip. All the more reason to wrap her mind around these feelings, toss
“E told me.” Just then Esther handed her a cold bottle of water and another tissue.
Pace turned around at the mention of his Esther’s nickname. He caught on to Annie’s blotchy face right away. “Hey,” Pace said as he looked at her carefully.
“I’m fine,” she mouthed back, before she took a rather refreshing sip of water. Pace nodded and turned back to the monitor. He got it and he let it go.
“Okay. Brad, this’ll teach you to ditch me for the fucking Discovery Channel,” he said.
“It was more money,” Brad laughed, winking at Annie. She scowled at him. She just allocated the money; she didn’t fund the shows herself.
“Whatever. Suck my bag. You’re never leaving me again,” Pace replied. “Okay. Watch this. Six years doing this reality shit, and this is the best fucking face-plant I’ve ever seen.”
Annie watched as the unedited clip started up. Just Dance had the second highest ratings of their shows, coming in right behind Single Dads . The show followed Meta Rogers, a J. Lo wannabe who had made a decent name for herself after choreographing a major tour. She was nuts. A complete bitch, a camera whore, and the bisexual Annie never wanted to be. She was ratings gold.
On screen, Annie watched her dancing erratically on a raised block just off the dance floor. A go-go boy in nothing but a pound of Vaseline and some briefs danced behind her, but Meta wasn’t sharing the spotlight. As the camera panned up, Meta’s feet passed out of the frame, but before Pace said another word, Annie could tell that Meta was running out of space on that four-by-four box. Suddenly, Meta slipped. The crowd was already parted to make room for Pace with his camera. There was no attempt to catch her, and BAM! Meta thwacked her face right into the floor.
Annie’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh my God! Is she okay? Why didn’t you guys call me?” she asked as the rest of the crew laughed hysterically.
“She’s fine.” Pace chuckled. Annie watched as a few guys helped Meta to her feet then breathed a sigh of relief as Meta brushed off her jeans and revealed that all her teeth were in her mouth.
“Wait. Pace, you turned in your tapes last night, right?” Annie frowned. As hilarious as this footage was, it should have been on its way to the post-production office a good eight hours ago.
“Busted,” Justin snickered.
“Pace!” Annie nearly popped a blood vessel.
“I did. I did. I just made a copy of this.” He smiled like the network wouldn’t fire his ass then sue the shit out of him if this footage was leaked prematurely.
“Delete it. Now.”
“What’s going on?” Jewel, the office assistant, came flip-flopping into the room. Annie couldn’t stand the twenty-year-old brat, but she was great on the phones, and as long as she was blowing Sergio, their executive producer, she wasn’t going anywhere.
“We’re watching Meta eat shit.” Johnny laughed with an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. Which reminded Annie. She reached into her bag and tossed him a fresh pack of menthols. Amends for the shitty day rate they were getting.
“Ma’am.” He nodded with a smile and slipped the pack into his utility bag.
“This time. In slow motion,” Pace announced, and like that, they watched as Meta went down at a thousand frames per second. It was brutal. “I will delete it. I know legal’ll shit a fucking brick if they find out.”
“Oh, wow.” Annie shook her head while they watched Meta’s face meet the floor again. That had to hurt. The viewing audience would love it. “Where was this?”
“The Maypole, that gay bar over on Crescent,” Jewel answered.
Right, The Maypole, the trendiest gay bar in town. Esther had gotten location clearance the week before, but Annie had been so wrapped up with Miss Fantasy Fulfilled that she’d been letting simple details like where her crew was going slip. All the more reason to wrap her mind around these feelings, toss
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