whispered to Joe. “Seriously. Now!” Adrenalin coursed through my body as if I had just stolen a purse and was preparing to leave the scene of the crime. I turned to the soundman. “Please tell me she’s miked.”
He nodded.
“Jane, deal with this!” Lucy stomped up to me. “Can you believe her? Look at this hairdo. I’m the host! She’s pathetic, a goddamn amateur. This whole production is goddamn amateur.” She then turned to the PR team as they witnessed the spectacle. “Sorry about this, but as you can see, I work with morons who don’t deserve a job at McDonald’s, let alone on my show!”
“That’s a take,” I said quietly to Joe. I could barely contain my smile. I felt fiendish and wrong but oh-so-good. Everything they said about revenge was true: intoxicating, sweet, satisfying. I couldn’t wait to show Karl.
I suddenly felt a mystery hand on my shoulder. “Jane,” Danny said, handing me his cell. “It’s Karl and it’s urgent.”
Karl began talking before I said hello. “Pop the tape. Let Danny finish the shoot. I need you in my office by ten!”
“Have a seat.” Karl didn’t look at me as I entered his office and sat myself carefully on the edge of his couch.
“Well, um, we got her freaking out,” I said nervously, hoping for approval. “I have the tape right here.”
“Jane!” Karl roared. “This isn’t about that.”
Is this a trick? Am I about to be fired? Will I have to go home to Canada, to Vancouver? No, High River! Oh God, please don’t send me back to report on curling championships or the arrival of bridge girders. Don’t turn Hollywood Jane, Producer Jane, Reality Jane back into Regular Jane, Failure Jane, Jobless Jane. A nothing!
My head spun in fear. I was reminded of one of the most humiliating moments of my career. There I was, a medieval sausage with legs in a tight brown leather jumper, frilly white sleeves sticking out, mindlessly slinging drinks at a pub and working the occasional day at the CBC newsroom, filling in for real reporters, when six former colleagues from the Z-Channel showed up. Naturally, I hid behind the bar, only to be busted minutes later, on my hands and knees, by Chatty-Catty-Kathy of the Z-bunch, and my former home-town rival reporter Katrina. “That you, Jane?” she said. “I thought you were off to make it in a major market?”
After chiding me about my get-up, she finally realized the little wench suit was for real. She proceeded to give me the “you look great” pity eyebrows, which really said, “Can’t wait to tell everyone.” It was devastating to admit that my making it as a reporter in Vancouver consisted of serving ale in a micro-mini and subbing for the very occasional news segment. Part of me felt justified: I’m holding out for my big break. Any day I’ll be asked to anchor the six o’clock news. The other 98 percent of me wanted to be eaten by a hamster.
Where was that bloody hamster now?
Naomi flew through Karl’s door. “Well? Have you told her yet?” She turned toward me enthusiastically. “Jane, what do you think?”
I sat gasping, confused. Naomi was far too jovial for a firing.
Karl pouted as if he hated what he was about to say. “As you’ve probably heard from the buzz around the office these past few weeks, we’re putting together a new reality show. It’s about Dagmar and her boy toy heir, boyfriend, Dominic. This is big.”
“The heiress show?” I said with excitement. “You guys are doing that?”
Naomi nodded.
“You’re the bomb! That’s amazing!”
“Thank you. We are quite pleased,” Karl said.
“Quite.” Naomi smiled, another conquest to add to her list. Soon she’ll be running for President. “But we’ve had to keep it quiet from the press. We didn’t want the premise of the show to get stolen.”
“So what is the premise?” I practically vomited enthusiasm.
“It’s going to be called Marry an Heiress,” Karl began. “In a nutshell, the on-again, off-again glamour couple will tramp around Europe, be tempted by other similarly excessive Eurotrash heir-types who hope to break them up, and blah, blah, blah. By the end of the trip, we’ll have either a wedding or a funeral to shoot,” he snorted. “Whether it’s Dagmar and Dom’s, or Dominic and Doolittle’s, I don’t give a shit. We start filming next week, and this morning, our main field producer dropped out because of a death in the family or something.” He waved his hands in the air, dismissing the would-be producer’s