a plastic factory had thrown up silver beams and orange silks. It had a black hardwood runway for Ricky Dean to move amongst the crowd in his Armani suits. I guessed it would be good for his stay-at-home groupies to see the man in all his manliness strutting up and down the stage, rather than relegated to a center stage couch.
The executive producer, Meg, stood in the aisle in her navy blue DKNY skirt suit, counting heads. At age 40, she was second in command under Ricky Dean—quite an accomplishment after working in TV for only a decade. I hadn’t seen her smile since I started the show—quite unlike the person I met in my original interview. “She’s a model for the ambitious,” the studio’s lawyer had told me when I turned in my signed contract. “Play your cards right, you could be another Meg,” he said boldly.
His comment ignited my growing ambition. I felt I had what it took. Seeing Meg now, I speculated that maybe—in a few years or so—I too could take up the reins. That thought comforted me as I watched her play commander and chief to about 100 willing subordinates.
“Jane,” Meg called, spotting me on the end of a row, “I had a look at your piece.”
My heart jumped. All eyes turned to me. I nodded, hoping for a compliment.
“We don’t do nose rings.” She smiled an un-smile. “You should know that. No interview should come back like that.”
“But the interview was softly lit, nice backdrop—”
“I said no nose rings.” She turned to walk away.
“But she didn’t have a—”
“Your subject had a nose ring.” She stopped walking, and her face looked angry. “It looks cheap.”
I racked my brain. Did she have the right girl? Nose ring? I turned to Corinne.
“It’s true,” Corinne whispered. “It was just a tiny stud on her left nostril. Sort of distracting. Don’t worry. Just make sure you catch it next time.”
“I didn’t even see it! It must have been miniscule,” I whispered back. The auditorium had quieted in anticipation of Ricky Dean’s arrival. “Besides, I have no right to remove that.”
“It’s not a big deal.” Corinne patted my leg. “Here’s the man.”
Ricky Dean walked toward center stage, his dark gray eyes staring out at the crowd. He was a formidable presence: six-foot four, broad-shouldered, black hair that molded to his scalp. His thin lips fit neatly on his face, which was neither smiling nor frowning. After forty-two years of walking the planet, he commanded instant deference. The chatter volume decreased to a murmur, then to nothing.
He smiled. “I don’t want this show to be good,” he said, enunciating every syllable. We all stared at him curiously. “I don’t want this show to be great.”
I cocked my head. Where is this going?
He paused. “I want this show to be excellent.”
Me too! I thought, forgetting about Meg and simply awed by the Ricky Dean.
“And if this show is going to be excellent, everyone in this room needs to be excellent. If even one of us is not excellent, we will fail! And I don’t fail.” He paused again for effect. “All of you are here because you’re the best at what you do. We scoured the nation looking for the best of the best. But I know, as I look around at all your faces, that one-quarter of you won’t be here a month from now. You’ll be gone. Some of you do not have the will to be excellent. And that’s fine. If you don’t want to do what it takes, then go work somewhere else.
“But I know that most of you share my enthusiasm for what we’re creating. Something that television has never done before: change people’s lives. Their LIVES! Now, that’s something. And in order to do that, we have to give this show everything we’ve got. I know some of you have been burning the midnight oil, and trust me when I say, it won’t always be that way. But this is what we need to do now to be excellent!”
He had me. When he finished, everyone applauded loudly.
“Now get to work!” He clapped his hands together.
Meg ran to his side to commend him, her shoulder length fringe-cut swaying in sync. I envied their relationship. She was clearly his confidante, and probably the only person on the lot who regularly had his ear.
We shuffled out like loyal worker bees. I thought about his words. They had struck me deeply. Excellence. I had never considered what excellence really meant