the ep, the camera lingers on me for several seconds in such a way that it appears I’m pining after Cynthia or something. Later in the episode, they stay on my face in such a way that it seems I’m annoyed by something she’s done.
The problem is, I distinctly remember those reactions. They were all in response to things Nadia said and did, not Cynthia.
It never occurred to me before how some of the guests on my show must feel when they watch an episode air. Generally, I think we’re rather fair to people in the editing room. But there’s no denying we sometimes choose a point-of-view to impose. Sometimes that point-of-view is one the guest, had he or she known about it in advance, might have refused to be a part of.
I always told myself it was OK. It was close enough to what really happened to not be a lie. Besides, the TV exposure is worth it. With the tables turned, my rationalization started to lose their gleam.
Still, I can say for certain we’ve never been this manipulative on a show before now, which means this all smacks of Nadia’s involvement.
The episode eventually gets to the part where Cynthia stands up for me. I’m already prepping for the worst and I’m not disappointed. What airs is even worse than the initial cut I made Tug re-edit. Cynthia looks like a scorned, vengeful bitch who comes after Nadia out of the blue, for no reason at all.
Finally, near the very end of the episode is previously teased footage of me saying, She’s a piece of work. Only, once again, thanks to a trick of editing, it seems like I’m saying it about Cynthia.
The credits are still rolling when I pick up the phone and call Chase.
“Oh, hey, Stephen,” he says innocently.
I reply by intoning his name in such a way that it’s infused with all the spice of my pent-up anger, drawing it out to really make it burn, “Chaaase.”
“Yeah, what’s up?” he responds, still innocent.
“Did you watch the episode?” I ask through grit teeth.
“Um… what if I said that I DVR’d it to watch later without commercials?”
“I’d say you’re going to have lots of time to watch commercials after I fire your ass.”
“Stephen, I don’t know what happened!” he says, coming clean.
“Did you fall asleep while Tug was editing or something?”
“No! I’m telling you – I sat there and watched him put the entire final cut together! It was great. Seriously. Like the show was finally on Cynthia’s side. I was rooting for her by the time Tug was done with the edit.”
“So, then, what happened?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
I believe him. The anger drains out of me. It was a hot, burning fire as the episode ended. Now, without the oxygen of someone to yell at, the heat is dying down, leaving embers of much more complicated, much less enjoyable feelings.
“Do you want me to call Tug and ask him?” Chase offers after a long moment of silence.
“No,” I tell him. “Let me deal with this.”
Sure enough, as soon as I hang up, the complicated emotions begin to flow. I’m trying to decide who to call first – Rachna or Kenny – but I feel stuck. I’m paralyzed by the swirl of thoughts and feelings in my head.
I grab a bottle at random from the wine rack. I pour some red into a pint glass, knowing there’s no point, given how I’m feeling, at pretending toward decorum. Or class.
Still, the onslaught of feelings refuses to relent. I feel betrayal by whoever recut the episode; fearful over the show being taken away from me behind my back; confusion over how things could have gone so awry; worry that Cynthia is being manipulated and set up for failure, when all I wanted to do was help her; and anxiety that she thinks I might be behind this somehow.
Not to mention, the other feeling that has been growing in me regarding Cynthia.
Sufficiently buzzed, leaning toward slightly drunk, I realize who I obviously need to call first. I dial her number.
Forty-One
Cynthia
I rush down the street to the bar. Thankfully, it’s walking — in this case, sprinting — distance of my place. Peering inside the window, I see Paulie, posted up, chatting to a tall burly gentleman with a barrel chest. If I were a real friend, I’d leave him to his pursuits.
I step in and catch his eye, waving sheepishly. He raises a very high eyebrow and whispers something to the man