entered the boardroom. “It’s going to be okay. I can’t believe those girls.”
Her face looked sympathetic. It bore the same expression my mother had after I’d been dumped, or after I crashed my car, both of which, strangely, happened more often than I care to discuss. Naomi truly felt sorry for me. A lump gurgled up my throat as I felt the urge to cry.
“Jane, I want you to meet Karl.” Naomi motioned to a large-set man in a black suit looking very dot.com in Converse sneakers and a Volcom t-shirt peeking out of his jacket. “He’s our official network liaison from CRP-TV and our executive producer.”
“Great to meet you.” I held out my hand for Karl, morphing from poor-me to bright-eyed and professional.
He nodded and pulled his hand from his pocket, about to shake my hand when—
“Danny!” Karl cried, jumping from his seat and embracing Danny’s slender body in a giant bear hug. “Good to see you. I didn’t know you worked here.”
“First day on this show, Sugar Cakes,” Danny responded in delight. “Guess that means, technically, I’m working for you!”
Toni walked in with a tray of organic muffins, coffee, and various other goodies. “Pardon me. Who ordered the wheat grass shots?” She avoided my eyes.
“Right here,” Karl and Danny responded in synch.
“Only if they’re vodka wheat grass,” Naomi laughed. “Okay, folks, we’re just waiting on Lucy. She’ll be here at 11:15. Let’s get started without her.”
My heart jumped at the mention of Lucy. I imagined her entering the room, pointing a long red Cruella de Ville fingernail at me, and shouting: “Off with her head!” before dumping me on the guillotine.
“Apologies for the last minute meeting, folks, but things have been changing, right up to the hour,” Naomi said in her friendly way, “including some staff reshuffling. Welcome, Danny.”
“Yes, and also,” Karl said, nodding to Naomi for permission, “we’re adding a few new Sex Kittens to the show to mix things up a bit. Three or four Purr Magazine girls on a date with our Hollywood IT guy is more exciting than just one.”
“I know what you’re thinking, and yes, Lucy knows,” Naomi continued. “I’ll just say this really quickly. She’s not thrilled about it, but we’re doing it for the show. The ratings are down and it needs a facelift.”
Somehow I knew this wouldn’t be good for my already tattered relationship with our star host.
Karl looked at me as if sniffing out my discomfort. “Jane, you’re our new producer. Have you thought about how you might treat this new format, as director?”
Crap. This was NOT the dog-and-pony show I’d prepared for!
I gulped audibly.
Danny twitched. “This ain’t ‘all sounds welcome,’ Jane.”
Karl laughed.
“Just kidding. Must be all those milky coffee drinks,” Danny said in a motherly I-told-you-so tone.
“Aren’t difficult coffee drinks out?” Karl asked flippantly.
“Yes,” Danny answered as if discoursing on a serious issue. “Wheat grass is all the rage. It’s the new espresso!” He raised his shooter cup of cow’s cud to Karl’s, green swill dripping from the rim. “Kidding, Jane. You got to do what feels right for you!”
Okay, I knew shoes and hairdos go out of style, but coffee, too? My morning pick-me-up was now hopelessly uncool, tossed in the pile of yesterday’s “what’s hot and what’s not” along with Tom Cruise and Jen’s chunky layers. Great.
“Jane?” Karl motioned his hand across my eyes. “What are your thoughts on a fresh look for the show?”
“Uh, well, haven’t had too much time to consider this change.” I knew that was the wrong answer.
“It’s been a week,” said Karl, unimpressed.
“Well, in Canada, we just follow the puck,” I squeaked. “You know, get the story. . . story, story, story.”
Everyone stared and looked confused. It was something we often said at the CBC. It always got a few laughs back in the newsroom.
“That’s cute, Jane,” Naomi interrupted with a chuckle, nodding toward Karl. “It means follow the action.”
Did I really just say “follow the puck?”
“Yes, that’s what I meant.”
“Now, Jane,” Karl said, “I take it you’ve never worked with Sex Kittens. Do you have a style in mind for shooting the world’s most notorious nude models?”
Again on the hot seat. “Well, I, uh—”
Lucy threw open the door and tossed her bags on the table, trailed by her petite pink-haired assistant pushing a rack of the latest designer clothing—only the best for our host. Karl stood up for an air-kiss, then Naomi, then Danny, then Toni, then Karl’s assistant, then Naomi’s assistant, then—nothing. Lucy smiled at me and waved her