5. INTERIOR: HALF-PANELED CLASSROOM WITH BAY WINDOWS. AFTERNOON LIGHT IS STREAMING IN.
A SHORT STAGE AT THE FRONT OF THE ROOM, AND A TEACHER’S DESK IN FRONT OF IT ON THE RIGHT. MR. HUMPHRIES’ IS SITTING AT HIS DESK. BRIAN IS THE ONLY OTHER PERSON IN THE ROOM. BRIAN IS FOCUSED ON WRITING IN HIS NOTEBOOK.

I put the finishing touches on the episode and looked up, satisfied with myself for a job well done. I’d spent the greater part of two class periods and all of detention writing down what I felt was my best episode yet. I just hoped that Paul agreed.

It was about this point that I realized that I was the only student left in the room.

“Done, then, Mr. Metzner?”

“Um…”

“Valerie told me she knew, wanted to know if I did. I actually met you at a gala for the show, so I had to say I did know you, but you probably don’t remember that.”

“I…uh…”

“It’s a good thing you’re better with the written word, Mr. Metzner.”

I chuckled at this. “You will try to keep it a secret, at least from…whomever doesn’t know…”

He laughed. “Just go home, Mr. Monroe. Detention has been over for more than an hour.”

I looked up at the clock, and my stomach fell out. It was after five and I tried to be at the set no later than four. I threw things into my bag, zipped it up, and got up to leave.

“Don’t tell me you’re in a hurry now.”

“I’m late for work.”

“Work? Oh, you mean…”

“Yes, I’m supposed to be on set an hour ago.”

“I have something that I’d like to discuss with you. Could you talk to me before school tomorrow?”

“Sure,” I said as I ran out the door.

The car was waiting for me as I left the school. I thought that a regular sedan was a little less pretentious than the limo I could have afforded. I still had a driver on call, which driver I should have called when I knew I was going to be in detention.

“I’m so sorry, Dean, I should have called you.”

“I called the office when you didn’t show up in your normal five minute window. They told me you had detention, so I took off for an hour. No one told me they’d keep you for two.”

“That’s my fault. I was finishing up the next script.”

He pulled out into traffic before responding, “So, you finally finished it? Congratulations.”

I’m still unsure whether Dean actually likes me, or likes a job where he only has to work part time, but he is good company for the hour it takes to get from my school to the lot.

I pulled out my cell phone and called Francine, Paul’s assistant.

“You’ve reached Francine.”

“If I hadn’t ever reached your voicemail, I’d assume that this was it.”

“Hello, Brian. Glad you could finally call.”

“I got detention from Mrs. Caldecott. I swear that woman has it out for me. The main reason I’m late, however, is that I finished the script for episode eighteen.”

“Paul,” she yelled before removing the phone fully from her mouth. It was a bit deafening, but I was fine with that. The smile that lit my face was blinding and Dean had to drive.

“I hear you have good news for me, finally.”

“Well, I have news, but I’m not sure if it’s good.”

“A script in hand when the episode airs in two months is good news to me.”

“Then it’s great news.”

“I know that tone, Brian. What am I not going to like?”

I spent most of the rest of the hour describing what I had come up with. I told him what was in the episode, and not what was on the elusive video that Whitney watched. This episode was a descent into madness, of a sort. Whitney has no idea who took the video, who knows about it, or even how it was taken. There should have been no way for anyone to put one…there.

And her prime suspect for all of it is Mike who suddenly is nowhere to be found. He spends the entire episode gone. Well, except for the last page and a half. Him alone, answering questions you can’t hear in a sort of monologue.

I read the end to him as I’d written it.

“Well, I’ve got to go tell Jerry that he’s got the day off.”

“Let’s film that first, then you can call him back when we’re ready to film the next episode.”

“While that idea does have its merits, I think holding that bit of information will get a better performance out of Melissa. More believable.”

“You’re the boss,” I said with a smile.

“I am that. So, I take it you’re on your way in?”

“Pulling in now, actually.”

“I see you.”
Paul and Francine were standing outside waiting for me. I handed off the script to Francine who went off to get it typed out, or at least the pages that they would be working on today. They’d been re-running scenes that either William or Paul weren’t happy about, just trying to get that one perfect shot.

Since I joined the show, there were times that the show had been edited and in the can just a week before the show was supposed to air. It was thanks only to the distribution network of EoL that they were even able to get things in at that late date.

Giving all of the credit to EoL wasn’t accurate either. They had a sweetheart deal, or so it seemed, with the Television Network, that went a long way to keeping us in business as well.

I went inside and grabbed my official fake lot Id. My officially fake ID for the lot. The badge I wore so that people assumed that I was just Brian Monroe, gopher. No, the badge had an official job on it, but I’d never bothered to learn what my assumed duties were supposed to be.

“Hey, Brian.”

“Brian, could I talk to you about this line…”

“Brian, my man!”

I waved, talked, answered, and generally extricated myself from the only fans I really wanted. It could be intoxicating, which is why I stopped by Michelle last.

“I hear you finally got off your ass and wrote me something.”

“Hello to you too.”

She laughed, “Thank you, oh great writer for your condescension to we mere mortals.”

I just smiled.

“Hey, what’s up Brian?”

“Nothing.”

“Spill.”

“I already have a sister, Michelle.”

“And the last time that she was here, she said I should take care of you, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“Then why not go on a date with me or something?”

“Because I just turned twenty-nine. Come on, Brian. Sure, you may think it would be cool dating an older woman, but consider me in this for a moment. I’m ten years older than you. You were still in grade school when I graduated high school.”

“The first time.”

“And who do I have to thank for being back in this hell? You, thank you very much.”

“It’s not like you’re actually in high school.”

She just shook her head at me and smiled, “I’m still not going out with you, Brian.”

“I know that, and besides, yuck.”

She frowned at me and looked at herself in the mirror. I really liked Melissa, but she was a bit vain. Ok, so she was a lot vain. She looked younger than most of the girls in my class. Whatever products she was using, they were working.

If I’m being honest, it wasn’t all out of a bottle. She was naturally beautiful. And I’d heard the makeup techs talking about her flawless skin. It’s just that she was a lot older than me. She shouldn’t look like she could be going to my school.

One of the runners tapped me on the shoulder.

“There’s a girl at the gate? Says she knows you?”

“Oh, a girl…” Melissa began with one of her evil grins.

“Did she give her name?”

“Valerie Cartwright.”

“The girl.” Melissa said with the most evil grin I’d ever seen.

“Don’t you dare, Melissa.”

“I want to see the person who’s captured your heart, or has at least invaded your dreams.”

If she saw my scowl, I don’t think that it fazed her in the least.
“Come on, you talk about her all the time, and she’s probably the only person at your school that I could reliably name.”

I continued to glare at her, but she just laughed.

“Come on, Brian; let’s take a look at this girl…”

“Melissa, if you move one step further, I’ll kill Whitney.”

“You wouldn’t,” she said in mock horror. “Why, people love me.” She loved to bring out her southern belle at times like this. No one had the heart to tell her it was completely over the top.

“Then it will have to be an epic death scene, one to be spoken of in whispers until the end of time.”

Her eyes glazed over a bit. Many actors I’d met for the show had a soft spot in their hearts for death scenes. Melissa was almost gothic in her fascination with them. I threatened her with the one thing she wanted whenever I was trying to keep her out of something in my real life. She became so distracted that she’d completely forget what it was she was worried about before.

While she was occupied, I slipped out to the front gate.

“What are you doing here, Val?”

“Val? Did I give you leave to call me Val?”

That threw me aback. I hadn’t given much thought to it. I’d spent so much time crafting conversations with her, in which I’d just automatically dropped into calling her Val, that when I actually started talking to her I’d fallen right into it.

“Lighten up, Brai, I don’t mind.”

“Brai? I’d almost prefer you calling me by my middle name.”

“You have a middle name?” The gleam in her eye was frightening.

“Not that I plan on telling you,” I replied.

She pouted. I mean really pouted. Some girls try to pout. They stick out their lower lip, and look up at you through their eyelashes. It’s obviously fake. When Val pouted, it took her entire face, and it really looked like she was disappointed in me that I wouldn’t give her this one simple request.

“Don’t do that!”

“What? This?” And again, she pouted at me.

“You know, if you keep doing that I’m going to have to kiss you to…um…never mind.” I blushed bright red and she just stared at me, blinking.

“Sorry, that was completely…I’m a writer and…ok, I feel like I know you even if I don’t. I spend so much time imagining what I’d say to you…”

“Have you been writing lines for us?”

“No, I haven’t…wait us?”

She smiled at me, “Look, Brian,” she put special emphasis on my name, letting me know she used the full thing, “if we’re going to hang out, then there’s going to be an ‘us.’ We will end up doing things.”

“Sorry,” I began.

“And stop apologizing. The only reason I came over to your table today, is I was tired of waiting for you to come talk to me. I see the way you look at me.”

A shout came from behind me, “Mr. Metzner, they’re looking for you on set.”

“I’ll be just a moment, George.”

“You know, when I found that notebook in your bag, I was half convinced that this was all a put-on. I mean, not only is Brian Metzner my age, but he goes to my school. I asked for Brian Monroe at the gate and you came out, wearing a badge with that name on it, but he just responded to you when he asked for ‘Mr. Metzner.”

“You didn’t believe I was Brian Metzner?” I laughed at this.

“Hey, it’s not funny. Everyone at school thinks you’re Brian Monroe, straight A student and likely Valedictorian. There are some bright kids in the school, and for you to be the top student.”

“Second, actually. Sydney beat my score by one on the AP Biology test…um…”

“There’s a story there, isn’t there.”

“Maybe…” I said, suddenly defensive. I’d paid attention in class to the areas where Sydney had problems. I made sure to miss the problems that she would have problems with, four in this case, and then added a couple I knew that she would get. Apparently, she missed one of the ‘sure thing’ questions.

“Ok, tell me later.”

She waved and then turned to walk off the lot. It was only after she fully left my view that I realized I’d just confirmed my identity to her.
”ƒ

6 INTERIOR: EOL CONFERENCE ROOM
THE LIGHT IS DIM OUTSIDE THE GLASS WALL. ONLY A FEW OF THE LIGHTS ARE ON, AND THE LIGHTS OF THE CITY CAN BE SEEN THROUGH THE WINDOWS ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE ROOM. A NUMBER OF MEN CAN BE SEEN WITH BRIAN. CRUMPLED BALLS OF PAPER CAN BE SEEN SCATERED ACROSS THE TABLE TOP. BRIAN IS THE ONLY ONE WITH A LAPTOP.

"This is getting us nowhere. Look, I know that you were hired to help, but this series is irredeemable. You can put it on your resume in ten years when you are up for a real writing job."

I glared at him for a moment before I even thought to open my mouth to speak. He wasn't worth it.

"For a show that is 'irredeemable' as you put it, there is still a loyal fan base. It has potential that you and the rest of your team never explored."

"Like this abortion of an idea you have for the final episode of the season?"

My mouth dropped open. It wasn't the worst language that I'd ever heard, but it certainly wasn't something I expected from people who were supposed to be professionals. "Trite, I would accept. Dated even would probably work. Derivative, plagiarized, lacking in real dramatic content, or even simply poorly written, but an insult? And not even an original one at that. How about just calling it a sixteen year olds idea of dramatic conflict? Better yet, how about simply calling it a mary sue, wish fulfillment, or get really creative."

"Really, so, you're the writer, write. You be creative."

"This episode attempts to breathe life into a flagging series, but only achieves a temporary stay of execution through such dated and over used clichés like attempted murder of one of the main characters of the show and a court battle. They would have done better to kill the show than let this example of everything wrong with the genre ever see the light of day. The court scene is derivative and lacking in character depth, as the rest of the show has shown us for the past few years. In addition..."

"He got you there, Jason," one of the other men said while laughing.

Jason just glared at me.

"Now, look, I know that a couple of you are old enough to be my dad, but I am your boss. You may not think me qualified, and may resent that someone as young as me is in charge of this mess, but guys, we're on the same side."

"And what side is that, wunderkind?"

"We're here to fix this show and save our jobs. Now, who has actually read the synopses I sent to you all."

"Um..."

For the first time I really looked around and realized that no one else had their computers. Sure, I was writing on a pad, but I was using my computer for research, and other things. "Don't you guys read your email?"

"Yeah, at home." Jason quipped, smiling, but no one else joined in on the joke. They saw my scowl.

I looked at him in shock. How could he actually continue looking at this like I was just the kid in the room? Sure, I was a kid, but that didn't matter as far as his job was concerned. In fact, I thought he needed a wakeup call at this moment. If I'd been more aware of what it meant to be in charge I wouldn't have said anything, and let him just stew on it, but I being who I was, I couldn't let it continue.

"Jason, how about you just take the night off. We'll finish up without you."

"You can't do that!" He was pissed off, and was moving toward me.

"Jason, dude, he just did."

"You can't send me out of here like a bad child."

"Jason, if I wanted to, I could fire you. I am your boss."

"You're just some snot nosed kid. When you're gone in a week we’ll be back to finishing off the last season of this white elephant. Paul will come to his senses soon enough when you can't deliver, right guys?"

I looked at him in shock. Sure, the process had been painful so far but I'd never thought that these men would be as resentful of my presence as to intentionally sabotage my efforts to actually fix the show. I should have known better. I was taking their jobs after all.

I looked down at the table, and couldn’t look up at the men who were now staring at me. I heard the door open and close.

“I’m sorry…” I began, but looking at the smug faces I stopped. They were looking for weakness in me, and I was about to give it to them.

“I’m sorry you all feel this way. Paul has informed me that anyone not on board with this project can look for work elsewhere.”

You could have heard a pin dropping in the suddenly silent room, and then everyone was clamoring for my attention. No longer were they telling me how this idea wouldn’t work. Suddenly they were offering ideas to make it work better. The areas I could improve were pointed out to me through their suggestions and in a very short time we moved from what wouldn’t work, to what worked perfectly.

“Let’s call it a night, guys, and we can pick this up tomorrow.”

“We haven’t gotten to the best part of my idea yet,” one of the men said. I don’t remember what his name was.

“You want to have Whitney make an appearance in this season in the hospital for some reason.”

“How did you…”

“It’s similar to other things you’ve all written in the past. Whitney stays in the wings until the first episode of the next season. Period.”

There was some grumbling at this, but they all finally agreed with me. We called it a night and I went back to the hotel for a much needed rest.

I never imagined that the first day of my vacation was going to be spent writing for Murray Heights, but here my family was, in Canada, and I was going to be spending every one of the days of my ‘vacation’ in this building. Don’t get me wrong. I loved the fact that I had a real paying job doing something that came naturally to me. I was writing and being paid very well to do it. I was also a sixteen-year-old kid.

On the way back to the motel, I heard a song come on the radio that helped to change my perspective a little. I’d first heard it on Saturday Night Live. The musical guest had been a sixteen year old, and she wrote this song to perform it live for the first time on national TV.

Sure, I was young to be working, but so were a lot of other people. If you were lucky enough to fall into a career that you loved, complaining about it was the quickest way to either lose out on the opportunity, or become so fed up with it that you left it for something you would enjoy less.

I was whistling the tune as I walked through the door.

“You don’t look like any sort of princess to me, let alone daddy’s.”

I blushed at that and my sister laughed.

“Dad, tell me again why I can’t have my own room,” I yelled into the adjoining room as I glared at my sister.

“Because you haven’t been paid yet.”

“What about the commission for the first episode of next season, as well as the finale for this one?”

“In your college fund, dear,” my Mom replied.

Before I could answer my Dad continued, “This time, you were lucky. Next time they will want schooling. You’re going to college.”

This was getting to be an old argument, so I let it drop. I’d figured it out, and if I was careful I figured I could survive for the next twenty-five to thirty years on the money I was making now. Mom and Dad seemed to think that going to college was too important to pass up.

If I was being honest with myself, I agreed with them. But I also wanted to spend some of my money on things like paying off my parent’s mortgage…and a Ferrari.

I wanted a Ferrari or a GTO or a Mustang or something cool. At the time I had no idea what made a car good, I just based it upon what people in the movies thought was good. I would spend it on fashionable clothes, hire a consultant, you know, just the normal everyday rich kid things.

I realize that this wouldn’t have been playing it safe by any stretch. That is what I told my parents to try to get my hands on the money, all the while planning the things I would spend it on. It’s a good possibility that if I’d been sincere about wanting to be careful with my money that my parents might have let me play with some of it.

They knew me too well even then.

I went to sleep that night thinking about the core idea that they’d come up with for the show. They wanted Mark to spend the ending of the season in the hospital. They had some idea of Whitney as a candy-striper or something. While I would have loved to see the actress in that sort of a costume, it really didn’t fit with the character.

What did fit?

Then it hit me. Just because I didn’t want to introduce Whitney yet didn’t mean I couldn’t introduce her younger brother, Tyler. Before that moment I’d never thought too much about Tyler’s character beyond the fact that he was the younger brother. In that moment, I got to know him a lot better. I initially thought suicide, but not only has that been overdone in teen dramas, but I didn’t like what that said about Tyler.

So, I gave him a motorcycle and he crashed it into an embankment. He had a severe head injury, no helmet, and was in a coma. Mark would be put into his room, where eventually Tyler would wake up and they’d begin talking. It explained how Mark would first meet Whitney in the next season, as the two of them would be stuck there until the end of the school year. I’d have to explain Whitney’s absence from the room, but that wouldn’t be a big deal.

And to think, if I’d dismissed their suggestion out of hand I never would have thought to bring Tyler in.

I was ready for whatever would come my way the next day, or so I thought. Nothing prepared me for what actually happened. How could anything have prepared me?