the number, and dialed her cell.
“Naomi here,” she said.
“Hi, Naomi, it’s Jane. It’s so nice to hear your voice. It’s been so long,” I said, speaking as quickly as I could before she cut me off. “Sorry to bother you. I saw you called me back and I tried your office first, but they said you were busy.”
“Jane, I’m in the middle of something.”
“But you called me back and I’m really glad to hear from you. I need to talk to—”
“I didn’t call you intentionally. It was an accident.”
“There are no accidents. You always said that,” I continued with enthusiasm. “You won’t believe it. Today I’m acting supervising producer for Fix Your Life! We’re doing a huge forum in Vegas and I’m in charge. It’s crazy. I could use one of your pep talks.”
“Jane, you don’t seem to need my advice, or anyone else’s.”
“Hey, that’s not true. I’m really grateful to you and—”
“Oh, so grateful that you walked out on a job that I pulled a lot of strings to get you. We needed you to direct that wedding show, and you left us high and dry.”
“No, it wasn’t like that. Working for Danny was humiliating, and I was so surprised that you would—”
“That I would what? Hand you opportunities on a silver platter? Karl gave Danny that job because he didn’t want you. I stood up for you! You know, Jane, you seem to be turning into that opportunistic Hollywood bitch you once despised.”
Click.
“Bitch?” Did she just call me a bitch? She doesn’t own me! Wait! I really like Naomi. How can this be? I felt weak, empty, confused. I hit redial, ready to burst into my sorry-dance, insisting she had me all wrong, when—
“Everything ready to go?” Meg said, strolling up to me in yet another skinny designer pantsuit and four-inch heels, looking flawless next to me in my now boaty Earnest Sewn jeans—no time to shop for smaller replacements—and white button-down shirt with sweat circles the size of flapjacks.
It was 3:30 in the afternoon on a scorchingly hot day in Vegas. As usual, Meg had seemed to appear out of nowhere. She and Ricky Dean had just arrived via their personal helicopter. At ten grand, they could have flown the entire crew plus all of the guests in a private jet.
“Yes,” I said, “I finished up the pre-interviews and the b-roll. The cameras are all set up for the forum. We’ve rehearsed what we can, considering Ashley hasn’t arrived yet. I’ve called her hotel twice. I’m not sure where she is and I don’t have a cell number for her.”
“What? You’ve got to get her over here. Now! We need to roll at four and she needs to be on. Has she been coached?”
“No, uh, not. . . not by me. I’ve never even met her,” I stammered, overwhelmed at the barrage of responsibilities thrust at me.
Meg knew I hadn’t gotten my marching orders until the eleventh hour last night—she gave them to me! Yet, I was magically supposed to have a complete handle on every tiny detail. It felt like my brain might explode.
“Well, you need to. And you need to do it now!” Meg said stiffly. “What about our main guest, Laura? Did she cry in her interview? Did you get her to cry?”
Cry? Say what? My ambitions, including my dream of becoming television producer royalty, suddenly took a back seat to this ridiculous request. Since 9:15 this morning, after a mere two hours’ sleep, I’d managed a five-minute shower, a bowl of corn flakes, a brush through my hair, and a thirty-minute cab ride to the airport, where I simultaneously booked a chopper, did my make-up, memorized the call sheet, confirmed my five camera crews, got myself checked in at United, and picked up a little of my own jet fuel, a triple shot espresso with six sugars and Half and Half. Then, I landed in Vegas at 10:45 and somehow—between the hours of 11:00 a.m. and 3:30 p.m.—pulled three interviews completely out of my ass, which included three different locations/set-ups and extensive b-roll of our main/star guest, Laura. And, all this I managed to do with a semblance of professionalism and skill.
Never before had I shot people eating with such flair: 220- pound Laura eating alone; Laura eating with her husband; Laura eating in the park; close-ups of Laura’s mouth, her fingers, then her fingers digging into a bag of Cheetos, then licking her fingers, then licking an ice cream cone. It was