Stephen. He’s in the far rear of a shot, but I notice the look on his face.
He looks hurt. He looks concerned. Was I wrong? Was he telling the truth? The angle shifts and his face is out of my line of vision. I hear my voice again, as Nadia watches on alarmed.
“It’s about... about me.”
I sound selfish, and they’ve got footage of me scrambling around looking for a timer that I was sure I had placed just under my station. Why does that keep happening? I wonder bitterly. The camera moves to Nadia who shakes her head, shrugging to the ‘audience’.
“I’m just trying to help,” she says.
Back to me, cursing as I search for the timer, ever the blundering fool. She’s got her hands behind her back and I find myself wondering what the fucks she’s holding.
The shot whizzes by as I finish my glass, completely slumped into the couch. Stupid Cynthia, forlorn Cynthia, same old schtick. Suddenly there’s a cut to Stephen. It’s a strange cut. He looks like he’s not even in the kitchen.
“She’s a real piece of work,” he says grimacing, and the camera goes back to me shoving past Nadia to find my things. There’s about five minutes left of the episode, but I sit up and press pause, my mouth open in horror. How could he do this to me?!
After I went out of my way to defend him, offering myself up as tribute to the evil editing gods, he goes behind my back and says something so stupid, so cruel?! I’m fucking humiliated! I rewind, staring at his handsome face filling my screen.
“She’s a real piece of work,” he says again and I pause once more on his grimace. Suddenly, my phone starts buzzing, and I’m ready to rumble. Stephen is going to get such an earful, he’ll be deaf for a week!
I find my phone and smash the answer button, slapping it to my ear.
“Just who the hell do you think you are!?” I shout into my phone.
“It’s the fucking Queen of England. Who do you think I am?” Oh. It’s Paulie. Sounding very hurt and annoyed.
“Oh, shit.”
“That’s right, oh shit! Rough day or not, I’m still the best thing to have ever happened to you!” he quips in my ear.
“I’m sorry, I thought… I thought you were someone else.”
“Well, my condolences to whoever it is, I hope they have insurance! Hearing aid prices are on the rise, you know.”
“I said I was sorry,” I mumble into the phone, but he’s on a roll.
“…hollering who I thought I was, who do you think you are, Miss Thing? Some best friend you are, keeping a gal waiting at the bar. Do you know how many free drinks I’ve turned down?”
“What?” I ask dumbly.
“Umm, hello? We were supposed to have drinks! Where are you?”
Oops.
Forty
Stephen
She’s a piece of work.
At the beginning of the show, they always run a little series of ‘sneak peek’ clips of what the audience is about to see. Something to whet the viewer’s appetite, the TV equivalent of an amuse bouche, if you will.
In that little montage, there’s a shot of me saying, “She’s a piece of work.” It’s an odd, poorly lit shot. Seeing it, I’m initially confused. When the hell during filming did I say that? And who was I talking about?
Then I remember lingering outside the office where Tug was editing. I recall him asking me about Nadia. My response — She’s a piece of work. I remember how I turned and nearly smashed my face into…
… a camera.
The sons of bitches. They were filming me as I stood there. That was no accidental near miss. The guy had been stationed there, for me.
I’d been ambushed by my own show.
There’s no way they’re going to use that footage in an innocent way, I realize. So, my stomach is already in knots by the time the opening credits end and the meat of the show begins.
By the second commercial break, my heart is sinking into my shoes. I can tell I failed to salvage Cynthia’s image once again. The episode has been cut together so the scales continue to tip in Nadia’s favor and against Cynthia.
What’s new this episode is that the scales also seem to be tipping against me.
Early in the episode, there’s a sequence where it looks like Nadia is correcting me about a recipe, except they’ve cut out the part where I prove Nadia’s critique is wrong. I just come out looking like a schmuck.
Then, throughout