The Friday Night Show
written by Monochameleon
Chapter 1
Maurice Rodriguez - "Twister" to his friends and some of his colleagues - prided himself on running a great control room. Things might not have been going so well at the Old Nickelodeon Theatre, but the control room was a well-oiled machine, staffed by a group of people who anticipated each other's every move and knew their jobs very, very well.
He was happy with that. A big part of it was that he had kept the co-executive producers out of his control room. They had tried to exert pressure on him to pick up employees they were keen on, but he refused to be swayed, and only brought in people who could actually do the job. And who were fun to be around. It was a comedy show, after all, and everyone should be enjoying themselves.
On this particular evening, Twister was definitely not enjoying himself, and his well-regulated control room was growing increasingly close to a descent into chaos. Everyone was looking to him for instructions and, while he had the script before him and knew the cues, the voice that should have been in his ear was not responding.
He thumbed on his headset mic once more. "Mike?"
But there was no response.
The PA he had sent looking for their errant Executive Producer all but tumbled into the room, breathing heavily. "I've combed the building," she gasped out. "If he's here, I can't find him, and no-one has seen him."
"He's sulking, he'll show up."
Twister turned to face the speaker. "I don't believe," he told the other man, "that you were invited in here."
William Wilson shrugged. "Whatever. He's having a sulk because I told him he had to cut a sketch."
Twister's eyes narrowed. "What sketch?"
"The one with the priests," Wilson said. "I'm from - "
"Standards and practices, yeah, I know who you are." Twister gestured toward him with his right hand, a showy move to distract from the fact that he was left-handed and scribbling a note to Verity, his 2iC, as he spoke. He caught her nod out of the corner of his eye and he started talking as she began muttering into her headset mic. "You cut Baseball at the Seminary?"
"It was inflammatory," Wilson told him. "It was mocking the priesthood."
"It was mocking college sports," Twister said. "Did you even read it?"
"Of course," Wilson said in such a dismissive tone that gave Twister severe doubts. "It was my decision, and he's -"
"Missing," Twister said. "Jessica?"
The PA who had been hunting for Mike, her breath finally back, stood up straight. "Sir?"
Twister refrained from wincing at the 'sir', something he was still trying to train the new staff out of. "Did you find Robbie or Fred?"
She looked puzzled. "Uh, well, no - "
Twister cut her off before she could point out that she hadn't been looking for the co-executive producers. "Well then, as director I am the most senior member of production on site. Jessica, take Mr. Wilson here and deliver him to the hand of the two members of security who should now be outside the control room doors and have them escort him off the property."
Wilson's jaw dropped. "You can't - "
"I can, and I will. You are not welcome in my control room, and as long as I am in charge of the building, you're not welcome in it, either. You've vetted the script, congratulations. Now get out."
"I have to oversee - "
"Your role in S&P does not extend to overseeing my job," Twister told him. "Get out, now."
Wilson glared daggers at him before speaking to the room at large. "Anyone here want a promotion?"
None of the room responded.
He finally gave in to Jessica's urging and followed her to the door, calling back to Twister, "I'll be back."
"You still won't be allowed in," Twister told him.
Once Wilson was firmly in the hands of security, Twister felt his whole body relax. "Alright, we've got to earwig the cast."
"Already got them gathered," Terry, one of his sound techs, told him. "We've got the crew on it."
"Good," Twister said. "Time?"
"Three minutes to air," Verity told him. "Are we cutting baseball?"
Twister groaned. He really didn't want to be responsible for that call. "See what the cast know. If they've been told we're cutting it - "
"Got it," Verity said, and flicked her mic back on, muttering to the newly ear-wigged cast and trying to establish what - if anything - they knew about the situation.
Jessica, the PA, appeared over Twister's station. "Are we all going to be fired?"
Twister finally felt the last of the tension leave his body. His die was cast, but at least it was his die. "No. I might be. No-one else."
A voice suddenly filled his head. "Twister?"
He nodded before realising the person speaking to him couldn't see it. "Liz, can you hear me?"
There was a slight pause. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Liz?"
"At least five more. Did Mike give you guys any instruction as to baseball?"
"Yeah, about ten minutes ago. He came up to us, said it was out and we were doing the dog walking sketch we cut from dress."
Twister groaned. "Well, that'll go down a treat." It was a truly abysmal piece of comedy the way only Robbie knew how to make it, but at least it took the decision of whether or not to defy S&P out of his hands.
"Yeah. What's happening up there?"
He took a deep breath. "Mike's missing, we can't find him. I'm going to run the show."
There was another pause, this one a little longer. "That's not strictly speaking procedure."
"I know. It's up to you. We can tell Fred all about it if you like, and he can run the show."
There was a brief burst of laughter down the line.
"Yeah, that's what I thought." He switched his mic from his private conversation with Eliza to a broad-band communication. "Can everyone hear me?"
An assortment of confirmations came back from the cast and crew.
"One minute to air. Places for the press conference sketch. Eat 'em up."
-*-
The Friday Night Show, Live from the Old Nickelodeon by the Sea
After what had been a fairly calm first week in his job, Arnold Shortman came rather abruptly crashing to earth when his phone rang on Friday night. He was just getting into his car when it happened, and he had barely answered with a quick, "Shortman," before the voice of Penny Proud was very, very loud in his ear.
"What on earth is going on!?"
Arnold instinctively jerked the phone away from his ear, staring at it with concern before making his own offering to the conversation. "I honestly don't know. I'm just on my way to the Old Nickelodeon to meet the Friday Night team. What's happening? News?"
Penny Proud huffed. "No-one has called you?"
Arnold swung himself down into the driver's seat and took a deep breath. "No, no-one has called. What's happened?"
"I've got William Wilson over here, and he's fuming. Rodriguez had him thrown out of the Old Nick. No-one knows where Mike Hillman is, but there's an interview with him circling on line."
"No-one knows where Hillman is?" Arnold asked, putting his phone into the cradle on the dash and flicking on his stereo and Bluetooth connection.
"Yes. Are you nearly there?"
Arnold looked out of the windscreen at the stationary car park wall in front of him. "No, I'm talking to you."
"Talk and drive!"
"I don't talk on the phone and drive at the same time."
There was what sounded like a strangled scream over the phone, and Arnold rolled his eyes. This was not a new reaction: no-one at CTC had understood that one, either. "Whatever. Just get over to the theatre. I am going to find someone and make their life very uncomfortable for this."
Arnold heard the phone click off and allowed himself to slump back in his seat. So much for a nice, easy first week.
"This isn't even television. It's like Reader's Digest abridged novels, only made by people who can't read and are just chopping bits out at random." Merrin looked up from her laptop. "That's a very convoluted metaphor."
"Well, he hasn't been writing well lately," Eliza murmured.
The cast of The Friday Night Show were sat around a large, low table at Redding's Bar and Grill. The wrap party was actually being held at a club a few blocks away, but after the revelations about their executive producer that had filtered down through the show, they had decided discretion was the better part of valour and agreed to meet up and break things down at the smaller bar nearer the theatre.
"He hasn't been writing at all lately," Phineas said, looking up from his phone and running a hand through his hair. "Is anyone else baffled by the baseball thing?"
"That it got cut? That's S&P getting heavy-handed with the scissors again," Fillmore argued, "hardly a surprise."
"That it got written at all," Phineas said. "It had Mike's name on it, but he hasn't written anything that good - or edgy - in years."
"You think it came from the room? Or Robbie and Fred?" Fillmore asked.
Lor McQuarrie outright laughed at this suggestion. "Yeah, right. Robbie couldn't write that on his best day, and he's not having too many best days lately."
"Enough," Eliza sharply cut into the conversation. "Merrin, what else does it say?"
The pale woman shrugged. "Actually, it pretty goes on in much the same vein for the rest of the article. The network are interfering with the show, the show is crap and it's not his fault."
"Think we'll get cancelled?" T.J. asked.
Eliza turned to face the young man. Still relatively fresh-faced, T.J. was new to the show this year and barely spoke at these gatherings. She suspected he still had some kind of stage fright around the more experienced actors, but he delivered on show night and did, at least, show up to socialise. She was fairly sure he would come out of his shell given time and patience.
Time he was clearly worried about not having. "No," Eliza assured him, "we won't get cancelled. The show is a cornerstone of the network. And we won't get fired. Twister might."
"We could threaten to quit if they sack him," Phineas suggested. "Stand up for him. You know he did that tonight for us."
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Fillmore said with a quiet authority. "I'm not saying we shouldn't, but I don't know if it'll do any good. Depends on Penny's mood."
"It's probably out of Penny's hands," Merrin pointed out. "The new network president started this week. Arnold something."
"Damn," Eliza muttered.
"Why is that bad?" T.J. asked.
"The new guy won't want to ruffle any feathers in his first week," Fillmore told him. "By rights, we should expect Robbie and Fred to be our executive producers this time tomorrow."
"Here's to him having good taste, then," Phineas said, raising his glass.
"A network president?" Lor said, scoffing. "I wouldn't count on it."
From the rear entrance, the Old Nickelodeon Theatre looked much like any number of North City's older buildings. Arnold knew that it wasn't much more impressive from the front - countless years of restorations had maintained its classic, low-budget movie theatre looks - but the building's history was much more important than its appearance, and there were few buildings in North City with a greater history than the Old Nickelodeon by the Sea.
Arnold suddenly felt the weight of his new job on his shoulders. He had worked for important companies - Trapper Records, Altered Perception Publishing and the Pacific Television Networks being the three that usually topped his resume - but the Continental Broadcasting Network put all three into the shade, and this building before him represented all of that and more.
Straightening his shoulders and breathing deeply, he pushed open the door and walked in.
To a scene of barely organised chaos.
People were running through the reception area shouting at each other, and he could immediately see why: though there were double doors ahead of him that led to the "backstage" area, the reception itself sprawled out to staircases and corridors in every direction. People were hauling props and pieces of set through them as if they were in a comedy themselves, and he half expected to see people go into and then come out of seemingly disconnected doors.
A light cough somehow pierced the din, and he turned to the reception desk, behind which a bored looking older lady sat in a nice suit. "Sign in, please sir?" she said.
He nodded and walked over, digging his Network ID out of his pocket. "Sorry, I was a bit overwhelmed."
"I can't say as I blame you," she said. "It was a crazy show tonight."
"So I hear," he said, signing in to the register. "Can you tell me how much of the cast and crew are still in the building?"
"Most of the crew are at the wrap party, but I think the cast have gone elsewhere," she said. "Would you like them called back, Mr. Shortman?"
He shook his head. "No, not right now. Sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"Doris Willing."
He stared at her for a second.
"I swear to God."
He continued to stare, before shrugging. "Okay. Well, nice to meet you Doris. Is Penny -"
"Ms. Proud would like you to meet her in the writer's room. I can have a member of the crew take you there."
"Thank you," Arnold said.
The member of the crew in question was a positively massive man who had put down a piece of set decoration the size of Arnold when Doris had asked him to show the network president to the writer's room. He seemed quite subdued as he led Arnold through a maze of corridors and staircases - some of which Arnold could have sworn cancelled each other out - before coming to a door at the end of a short corridor. It was at that point he spoke the only words of their whole trip. "Are we all going to lose our jobs?" came out in an incongruously melodious voice, not at all the bass rumble that Arnold had expected.
Arnold smiled at him softly. "Not if I can help it. Thank you for your help."
"No problem, sir," he said, before turning and racing back to his usual duties.
Arnold let out a heavy sigh before pushing open the writer's room doors.
A long, battered table was packed to the brim with men and women in suits and dresses, some suited to business and others suggesting they had been interrupted from a pleasant Friday's relaxation. At the far end of the table sat Penny Proud, who looked somewhat more dishevelled than he had ever seen her. It was hot - to be expected for Southern California in September - but given the shambles he'd just walked into, Arnold supposed Penny would have been sweating regardless.
"Two shows! We are two shows into the season and we already have this chaos!" An executive Arnold hadn't met yet was ranting - loudly. "This show is and always has been more trouble than it's worth."
"This show has been running for twenty-five years," a rather harried looking woman responded, "which is a damn sight longer than anything else on this network. It's not trouble, it's a flagship."
"Well, it's a sinking flagship," the first exec declared. "If Mike Hillman isn't willing to explain himself - "
"I think," Arnold said, "that he has explained himself." He held up his phone. "I took some time to read the interview before I came into the building. He has some...complaints."
"Well, then, he should have expressed them in the appropriate way, not just walked out of a broadcast he was supposed to be running and given a totally unauthorised interview to some random at the North City News!"
Arnold stared at the red-in-the-face executive. "Sorry, I don't know your name."
The executive looked thunderstruck. "John Ealing. Who the hell are you?"
"I didn't think we'd met. I'm Arnold Shortman, and I'm the new network president." Arnold gave that a moment to sink in and let himself, just a little, enjoy the look of sudden horror on Ealing's face. "Once he quits, I think he's free to talk to whoever he wants," Arnold said. "And I've only been here a week but the word in the industry has long been that The Friday Night Show is a bleak house."
"Are legal looking at this," Penny asked, waving a printout of the interview around at her end of the table. "Surely something in here is actionable."
Someone halfway down the table began to answer with, "We're looking into it - " before Arnold cut him off.
"Nothing in there is actionable," Arnold said. "Nothing he said is untrue."
Penny Proud, who had just a week ago seemed so happy to hire him, glared thunderbolts that reached right down the length of the table. "I beg your pardon? Nothing is untrue? He calls this network - "
"He calls this network 'creatively bankrupt' and says his show has been 'neutered by standards and practices'."
"And you're saying that's not insulting?" Penny asked.
"No, it's very insulting," Arnold said. "But it's also not wrong. You gave S&P creative input on The Friday Night Show?"
A very angry looking man sitting immediately to Penny's right looked down at Arnold. "I was allowed to cut sketches that I deemed inappropriate. It's a completely normal - "
"How do you deem them inappropriate?" Arnold asked. "You say 'this you can poke fun at, but this you can't?' Is that how it works?"
The other man sniffed indignantly. "Something like that."
"That's no way to run a comedy show. The sketch that was cut tonight - Hillman says you cut a sketch called The Seminary Baseball Team. Why?" Arnold asked the man.
"It made fun of priests and people trying to become priests," he said.
Arnold sighed. "Well, leaving aside that mocking the clergy is a long-standing and relatively harmless tradition, the contention seems to be that you didn't cut it because it made fun of priests, and that in fact it didn't even really make fun of priests."
"Have you read - "
"You cut it because it makes fun of the College Sport Association and this network wants the Spring Championships on its air."
There was silence at the table.
"Tell me I'm wrong," Arnold said.
Still no-one broke the silence, until Penny finally sighed. "You think we're wrong to keep the CSA on side?"
"I think the CSA deserves to be made fun of," Arnold said, "but that's not the point. The point is that Mike Hillman called this network out for sacrificing entertainment for commercials, and I think he's going to be found correct by both the court of public opinion and - if you are serious about legal looking into this - probably an actual court."
"You've been here a week." That voice Arnold knew: the head of PR, Ruth Willis. "You think you know better what's going on than anyone else here?"
Arnold took a deep breath. "Yes. Perhaps because I've only been here a week, or perhaps because I was hired specifically because I did know better than anyone else what was going on here. This network went from being second and challenging for first to having a weekly scrape for fourth with a network that no-one took seriously as recently as five years ago. And the beginning of the decline can be traced to events like the firing of Foutley and DeVille, the increase in the presence of S&P in creative departments, and the uptake of reality TV on this network."
"Advertisers respond well to all those things," Willis pointed out. "We have to think of our audience."
"You just said it, though: we're thinking of advertisers. They're not our audience. And pretty soon advertisers aren't going to care if we run a 100% by-the-book organisation that produces cookie-cutter inoffensive TV: if no-one watches, the advertisers will go elsewhere, anyway."
"Alright," Penny said, raising her voice and standing up. "Shortman, come with me. All of you start thinking about damage control."
Arnold followed her out of the room and into the corridors, which she navigated with aplomb. Arnold still wasn't completely sure he'd be able to find his way back to the entrance he came in.
Without waiting for them to arrive wherever it was they were going, Penny began talking. "That was some pretty bold stuff to be saying for someone who started on Monday."
Arnold shrugged. "Well, I'm here to run a TV station, not to mince words."
"You're not worried that the CSA will turn us down for the Spring Championships if we run a sketch mocking their practices?"
"I think that if the CSA is that sensitive about their practices being mocked then they're being run by the wrong people," Arnold told her. "And any idiot can see the corruption in the CSA. It's a professional sporting league insisting that its atheletes shouldn't be paid. The coaches and schools are making millions and the athletes aren't getting an education, and everyone knows it. It would be irresponsible of a showrunner on The Friday Night Show to not make fun of it."
Penny groaned. "You're going to have to learn how things have to work around here."
Arnold shook his head. "I really don't think I will. When you lured me away from Reveille, you did it because Reveille was a succes and CTN is struggling. You wanted to know why, well: this is why."
"People are on streaming services because they're watching less TV," Penny argued.
"I never bought that argument. People want to watch TV shows - the viewing figures of the on-demand services prove that. The difference is that streaming services are still willing to show programming that the networks are too terrified to create."
"And you're going to change that?" Penny asked him, pushing open a door that led into a small dressing room. She looked around and seemingly decided that this room was as good as any. "How?"
"I'm going to put quality programming on this network. I'm going to remind people that shows used to have writers because well-written shows are much more worth watching. I'm going to remind S&P what their actual job is and make sure they're doing it for the right reasons. And I'm going to revitalise The Friday Night Show."
Penny raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn't respond to Arnold's mission statement. "And how are you going to do that, Moses?"
Arnold rolled his eyes. "Well, to start with, I'm going to hire Phil DeVille and Ginger Foutley to run Friday Night."
"Absolutely not," Penny said. "We will not have them back at this network."
"That's my call, not yours," Arnold pointed out. "It's an CBN produced show, and I'm overseeing CBN Productions."
"I am the chairperson of CBN and -"
"And nothing," Arnold said. "You don't want to hire them because you personally don't like them."
"Damn right I don't. Do you know why they're not with the network any more?" Penny asked.
"Yes," Arnold said. "And the final poll of public opinion was that the move to sack them made the network look bad. They went on to huge success, and the show plummeted in quality without them."
Penny absorbed this for a second, but apparently felt that she was still winning the argument. "Fred Benson and Robert Shapiro are next in line for the show - "
"No," Arnold said. "Just...no. There's no way that Benson and Shapiro are taking over Friday Night. They will actually finally kill it off, and I'm trying very hard to save it."
"The joke was anti-Semitic," Penny said. "Phil DeVille - "
"Is not anti-Semitic and you know it. The joke was about a guy who had got caught doing something stupid, not about what his religion or race was. Hell, half the comedy on television is tearing strips off the President of the USA, does that make comedy writers anti-American?"
"It's different, and you know it," Penny growled.
"It's not, and you know it," Arnold returned. "Penny, you and I can make this argument go around and around all night, but the fact is that you're just trying to make the fight go on because you're trying to go by the book."
"And what if I am?"
"I've known you well enough for long enough to know that you think the book is a bad story," Arnold said. "You hired me because I did great things at Reveille and you want me to repeat that success here. I can't do that if you don't let me."
Penny stared at him for what seemed like a full minute, before her entire posture somehow seemed to shift. It was subtle, but it was there, and in that moment, Arnold knew he'd won. Maybe not the war - though he had no doubt that given enough time and enough arguments he would - but at the very least, this battle. "DeVille and Foutley don't even work together any more."
Arnold shrugged. "A minor inconvenience. We'll get them back together."
"Just like that?" Penny asked. "You'll convince two people who haven't worked together in three years - and haven't worked here for five - to just...come back."
"Definitely."
"How?"
"I don't know yet, but I imagine large truckloads of money will be a factor."
"Alright, folks, that's a wrap," Jesse Creek said to the assembled cast and crew. "Thank you all very much, have a great weekend."
Even before the word 'folks' was out of his mouth, Phil DeVille already had a bag slung over his shoulder and was making for the door. In the chaos of cast and crew disassembling, Phil dodged through everyone toward the exit.
"Hey," Jesse said, chasing him down. "You aren't sticking around for the edit?"
"No way," he told his colleague, "I've got plans and we've already run deeply overtime."
"Technically, I think the director should probably be around for the edit. And who do you have plans with at," Jesse looked at his watch, "11.45pm?"
"This is a TV city, Jess," Phil said. "It doesn't sleep. A friend of mine is in town and I want to try and catch up with her."
Jesse looked at him in something resembling disbelief. "Booty call?"
Phil rolled his eyes. "No. Just catching up for a drink."
"A drink and then - "
"And then nothing."
"Phil DeVille," a voice broke over the PA, "phone call. Line 11."
Phil's eyebrows shot into his forehead and he turned to Jesse. "We expecting a call from someone?"
Jesse shrugged. The exit door was right in front of them, and next to it was a phone with one blinking light. The temptation to walk straight past it and out the door was huge, but Phil's curiosity got the best of him. Dropping his bag to the floor, he lent against the wall and picked up the phone, hitting line 11. "DeVille?"
"Phil, it's Simon."
Jesse mouthed, 'Who is it?' Phil responded, 'My agent' in the same fashion.
"Why are you calling me on the set phone?" Phil asked.
"You always forget to turn your phone off silent after shooting. I took a chance you were still there."
"What do you need that can't wait until Monday?" Phil asked.
"Did you hear about what happened on The Friday Night Show tonight?"
"No Simon, I've been filming a show myself tonight. Haven't really had time to watch the competition."
"Well, I think you might find tonight's interesting."
Ginger Foutley looked at her watch, and then back at the TV, where Merrin Cooper was wearing a leotard and - she was pretty sure - that was the entire joke. "Robbie hasn't gotten any less perverted, I see," she commented to her partner.
Darren Patterson shrugged. "I think it's kind of funny."
"I think it's working too hard," Ginger said.
"Why are we watching this, again?" Darren asked. "You watch The Friday Night Show like, once a year."
"I guess it's the move," Ginger said. "I'm back in North City and feeling nostalgic."
"I know you didn't want to come back here, babe," Darren said, looping an arm around her and pulling her closer to him on the couch. "But my job - "
"I know, I know," Ginger said. "I have nothing against you having a successful career. I just...I hoped I was done writing in television."
"Just because we're back in TV town, doesn't mean you have to start writing for TV again," Darren pointed out, he thought not unreasonably. "You wanted to write a new book."
"Yeah, but as soon as it gets out that I'm here, I'm going to be getting offers."
"Well, if you get any that really tempt you, come to me and I'll remind you that you've been looking really forward to working on a new novel."
Ginger shrugged and finally gave into his embrace. "I guess." She checked her watch again.
"You got somewhere else you needed to be?" Darren asked.
She sighed. "No. Well, yes, but no."
"Want to try that again?"
She groaned. She had really thought that Darren would be out tonight, celebrating his move with his new colleagues at the Southern California Crushers, not in with her watching a truly abysmal episode of The Friday Night Show. And then they could have avoided this whole mess. "I told Phil I'd be in town and that we might catch up for a drink."
Darren tensed up a little. The subject of Phil DeVille was still a slightly touchy one with her boyfriend. "Really."
"Yeah."
"You didn't tell him we'd moved back to the Bay?"
"At the time, I didn't think we had," Ginger told him. "I knew we were coming out here for your negotiations."
"And you wanted to catch up with him?" Darren asked. His voice hadn't changed, but Ginger could all-but feel him drawing away from her.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Ginger pulled away from Darren and stood up. "Because, Darren, I haven't seen him in a year and I wanted to catch up."
"Right. Okay."
Ginger threw hear head back and groaned in frustration.
"What?" Darren asked.
Ginger rolled her eyes at him. "What?" She imitated. "This jealousy thing with Phil has to stop."
"It's not jealousy."
"It's so jealousy. He was a part of my life in the time you weren't and you've never been able to deal with that," she told him.
"He doesn't like me, either," Darren pointed out.
"Yeah, and that's something I hold against him, too, so don't get on your high horse about it." Ginger shook her head. "We moved back to the city where one of my best friends lives and you didn't think I was ever going to want to see him?"
"Not on our first night back in town."
"I thought at the time that it was going to be our only night in town, and then I thought you'd be out with the Crushers having a good time."
"Well, I decided to stay in with you," Darren said.
"And do you see me leaving?" Ginger asked.
"No, but I'll tell you - " The ringing of Ginger's phone cut Darren off. "You have used that same ringtone since high school."
"It's a classic," Ginger told him. And it was. The harsh ring of a Model 500 was something she'd always like for its cut-through, and as someone who tended to zone out while writing, that was important. She scooped her mobile up from the coffee table and answered it. "Ginger Foutley."
"Hi, Ginger, it's Ellie."
Ginger's eyebrows shot up into her hairline. "Ellie? I haven't heard from you in - "
"I know, I know. You went all east coast on me babe, I thought you wouldn't need a Hollywood agent any more."
"I don't," Ginger said. "I'm writing a book at the moment."
"Well, let me ask you this. Is it true you moved back to North City?"
Ginger pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it for a moment. Darren looked on, face seemingly impassive. "Uh...yeah. Today, as a matter of fact. How did you - "
"I got a call tonight, well after hours. And it was a job offer for you."
"How can anyone be offering me a job in town? No-one even knows I live here again yet."
"I don't know," Ellie said. "I would have hoped that I would get a call to let me know my favourite client is - "
"I'm really not interested in working in television at the moment, Ellie, thanks though."
"Don't you even want to know what the job is?" Ellie asked. The ring to her voice was the agent's oh-so-familiar 'I've got a good piece of gossip' lilt that Phil had based a character on during their time on The Friday Night Show.
Ginger didn't want to know, really, but decided to humour her former agent. "All right, I'll bite. What's the job?"
Ellie told her.
Phil stared up at the Old Nickelodeon Theatre and wished, very hard, that he could get his stomach to settle down, and his hand to stop twitching for his cane, which he had left in the car. He had good reasons for having done so, but he now couldn't think exactly what they were.
He had shot Ginger a text telling her that something had come up and he wouldn't be able to make their drink, but that he would call her in the morning and hopefully catch her before she left.
And then he had come here. To tell Arnold Shortman, in person, that he couldn't - and wouldn't - do it.
Phil breathed in for a five count, held his breath for five, and realeased over five seconds. It was a technique he had been taught at some point when his doctor was worried he was getting too anxious, and it had never really left him. He couldn't meditate but dammit, he could breathe.
"Strength of my convictions," he muttered to himself, before stepping forward and pushing through the doors.
And into a rush of memories.
As much as the world changed around it, the Old Nickelodeon never changed. Not really. The carpet of the foyer was a royal blue now and not the forest green he seemed to have burned into his memory, but the familiar shapes of the snackbar, the staircase up to the theatre floor and the other one that led down into the bowels of the theatre and the backstage area, the picture frame on the wallpaper to no obvious purpose...it was all so achingly familiar.
"Mr. DeVille?"
His nostalgia was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice, and he turned to face a slightly shorter-than-average blonde man wearing a suit and a smile. "I'm Phil DeVille. And you are?"
"Arnold Shortman. I'm the new President of the Continental Television Network."
"I see," Phil said. "You just started this week, yes?"
Arnold nodded. "Quite a week."
"I was going to ask if I should take Mike walking out of his show and contract as a sign of your quality as a boss."
"I hadn't actually met him yet," Arnold told him. "I was meant to come to the show tonight and meet everyone then. I still haven't actually met anyone from the cast or crew."
"Well, you could save yourself time and axe the whole thing," Phil suggested.
"I've got a better idea," Arnold said, leading him toward the steps into the theatre. "Come with me."
Phil looked at the steps and felt his hip begin to ache, but he had committed to this stupid charade, so he was going to have to stick with it or look like an idiot.
"I have a fairly good idea of what's going on here," Phil said, following slowly and trying not to look like he was too obvious in leaning on the guardrail. "And I can tell you now it's not going to happen."
"You haven't even heard my offer yet," Arnold pointed out.
"Unless it's a whole lot of money - "
"It's a whole lot of money," Arnold assured him. "And it's creative freedom."
"Yeah, right," Phil scoffed.
"I'm serious."
"Do you know why I don't work here anymore?" Phil asked.
Arnold nodded.
"I'm not an anti-semite," Phil said. "If anyone else had done something like that, I would have made the exact same joke, written the same sketch. But the second it's a Jewish guy - "
"I know," Arnold said. "And I agree with you."
"Well, Penny Proud didn't."
"It's my call now, not Penny's," Arnold told him. "And my call is that I want you."
"You don't want me," Phil said. They were now standing at the top of the staircase, but neither was making a move to go into the theatre. "You want me and Ginger. But that's not going to happen, for a variety of reasons. And I'm only half a team."
"You've been writing and directing all over town for the last three years," Arnold pointed out. "Without her."
"And I've sucked," Phil said. "TV's standards have just gotten lower."
"I would contest the former part of that statement," Arnold said. "You won the Baird Award for that episode of Isolation last year."
"It was a gimme," Phil said. "Comedy writer branches out into drama and produces one great episode - "
"You're a good writer and director and what I need for the show," Arnold said. "And while I imagine you could do it without Ginger, I know you'd like to work with her. If I can make that happen - "
"You can't."
"- then I will." Arnold smiled at him. "I've got a few people to talk to, and then I'll be back with you. In the meantime, have a walk around, check things out. For old time's sake, if nothing else. Maybe see some familiar faces." He indicated the theatre door. "I'll find you in a little while."
With that, Arnold descended the staircase, then down into the under-stage, and Phil was left staring at a door and trying to build up the courage to step through it.
Arnold breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the doors open and Phil walk through into the theatre. He had been nervous the other man would just leave, and he still had some work to do to finalise this deal. He walked away from where he was listening out for Phil and down toward the office where he had asked a security guard to take Ginger. Until he had the idea planted in her head, he couldn't afford to have the cast and crew find out she was here. Rumours could kill this deal faster than anything else.
He pulled open the door with what he felt was probably just the right amount of dramatic flourish. "Hi. Ginger Foutley, right?"
He knew what Ginger looked like, of course, but they hadn't met and he was trying to be polite. She stood up out of the chair she had been waiting in and shook his hand. She had long red hair tied in a ponytail behind a curious expression. She was wearing casual, relaxing clothes - she had probably come straight from a quiet night in and was apparently not too worried about impressing him. All good signs, he decided. Or hoped.
"Arnold Shortman, I presume," she said. "Can I call you Arnold?"
"Of course," Arnold told her. "I'm here to offer you a job as Executive Producer of The Friday Night Show."
Ginger snorted. "Yeah, okay."
Arnold held his hands up in front of him. "I'm 100% serious. Mike Hillman quit tonight in rather spectacular fashion and I need a new team for next week's show. I want to get it done tonight."
"Aren't Robbie Shapiro and Fred Benson your co-execs?" Ginger asked. "Why aren't they getting offered the show?"
"Because I don't want them as executive producers. I want you."
Ginger looked at him for a moment, seemingly gauging his seriousness. "Penny Proud won't like this."
"I agree, but it's ultimately my decision, and not hers."
"I'll bet she could test that theory."
Arnold laughed. "Maybe. But I'll cross that bridge if we come to it."
Ginger shook her head. "No, sorry. I can't."
Arnold nodded. "Is it because of Mike?"
Ginger looked puzzled. "Pardon? Because of Mike?"
"Yeah, Mike Hillman. Is it out of loyalty to him?"
"I read the interview, and it might be out of loyalty to his cause," Ginger told him. "But no, I'm not particularly loyal to Mike."
"He hired you," Arnold pointed out.
"Actually, it was David Walker who hired and trained Phil and I, not Mike," Ginger said. "We were Mike's co-execs after David died, but we were never especially close. That said, I can't believe he just walked out during the show."
"Unprofessional?" Arnold asked.
"I'm willing to bet provoked," Ginger said. "I read the interview while waiting for you, and William Wilson peering over my shoulder sounds like a bad way to work."
"I have relieved Mr. Wilson of that particular post," Arnold told her. "I'm a big believer in producers knowing what lines they should and shouldn't cross."
"And if they cross them anyway?" Ginger asked.
"Then they get fired," Arnold said, shrugging. "If people break my trust, then I have no use for their talents."
"I think that's reasonable," Ginger agreed.
"So, you'll do it?" Arnold asked.
"I didn't say that," Ginger told him. "The truth is I wouldn't take the job out of loyalty to Phil, not to Mike."
"Because Phil was let go by the network after the Rosenberg joke," Arnold asked.
Ginger nodded, slowly. "David Rosenberg trying to hide behind his religion was stupid and we called him on it, and Phil gets labelled an anti-Semite. And despite the fact that we were clearly - and provably - right - Rosenberg's in jail, for crying out loud - the network showed us the door. So yeah, I'm a bit gun-shy."
"And I don't blame you," Arnold said. "And as for loyalty to Phil, I think I can fix that for you."
"You're going to call him and get his blessing?" Ginger asked.
"I won't have to," Arnold said. "He's wandering around the building."
Ginger's eyes went very, very wide. "Phil's here?"
"I made a very similar offer to him about five minutes ago," Arnold told her. "That's why I was late to come and talk to you."
Ginger schooled her face into a completely impassive mask, or as close to it as she could manage. "And what did he say?"
"That he wouldn't be able to do it without you."
Phil had worked his way tenderly down through the stage, more open to leaning on the guardrails and walls now that Arnold wasn't around to see him. He stepped into the backstage area, which was eerily quiet. He supposed after a show that was highlighted by the executive producer quitting, everyone would make tracks as quickly as they could, but even so, this was unusually empty.
"Phil?"
Albeit not as empty as he thought.
"Oh my god, it's you," he heard from behind him, even as a body collided with his before he had turned all the way around. A pair of arms wrapped around him. "What are you doing here!?"
He finally completed his turn and returned Eliza Thornberry's warm hug. "Good to see you too, Eliza," he said. "I don't know what I'm doing here."
She pulled back slightly and looked at him, puzzled. "Are they offering you the show?"
He shrugged. "I met briefly with Arnold Shortman. I think he's hoping I'll take over as exec, but I don't think - "
"You've got to take the show," Eliza said. "You know they're going to stick us with Shapiro and Benson if you don't?"
"Yeah, so I hear," Phil said. "I won't lie, it's tempting. But the idea of doing this without Ginger..."
"I get it," Eliza said. "Think she'll come back from the East Coast if you offer her Mike's old office?"
Phil snorted. "I'm taking Mike's old office. She can have Dave's."
"How about I flip you for it?"
The new voice interrupting the conversation sent Phil completely rigid, while Eliza squealed in joy and brushed past him. He followed her movement and turned himself, in time to see her hug Ginger.
He hadn't seen Ginger Foutley, in the flesh, in over a year - since their 10-year college reunion, for which he had made the trip out to Maine. But she hadn't changed. He had known her since they were both eighteen, and in the decade and a half that they'd been around each other he had seen her grow from a slightly shy, intimidatingly intelligent young writer into a confident, just as intelligent woman that he was proud to call his best friend and creative partner. The years had been very, very good to her.
He, on the other hand, felt like he was losing touch with whatever talent he'd had. He was pretty much just glad he wasn't going bald.
He was dimly aware that Eliza and Ginger were talking, but he wasn't really taking any of it in, instead just contenting himself with staring at the tableau before him and allowing himself to fantasise about it being five years ago: before he wrote a sketch that lost him the best job he'd ever had, before Ginger had followed Darren back across the country to New England, before creating television felt like work instead of just what he wanted to do.
He wanted that feeling back. Desperately.
"Phil?"
He realised belatedly that Eliza had been calling his name, and he snapped out of his reverie. "Hmm?"
Eliza chuckled before turning back to Ginger. "I think you'd better bring him around. Good to see you both. And I hope I'll see you Monday?"
Ginger smiled at her, but looked at Phil before responding. "I imagine you will," she told Eliza, "but keep it under your hat, huh?"
"I am the spirit of discretion," Eliza said, before turning back to give Phil a kiss on the cheek. "Love you guys. It's going to be great."
And then she was gone, out a side door that Phil hadn't even realised existed, and he was alone with Ginger.
"You're here," he said.
"So are you," she returned.
"I live here," he pointed out. "What are you doing here?"
"Darren got a job. Offensive coordinator with the Socal Crushers," she told him.
"Ah. Good for him," Phil said, and tried really hard to mean it. "And you're moving back here?"
"I was going to tell you tonight," she told him. "Until today, I wasn't sure if this would be a visit, or permanent, so -"
"I get it," he assured her. "You guys got a place yet?"
"No. Living out of one of the team owner's houses for the moment, but we're looking," she said.
"You guys engaged yet?" Phil asked.
She glared at him sharply. "You don't think I'd tell you something like that?"
He shrugged but offered no other explanation.
"Do you really want to do this?" Ginger asked, gesturing at the theatre around them. "We're going to be responsible for the employment of something like a hundred people. If you're going to hold my leaving against me -"
"I don't hold you leaving against you," Phil said. "I never did.'
"Oh," Ginger said, looking suddenly deflated from her ramp-up to a really good fight.
"But that doesn't mean it didn't hurt."
She nodded slowly. "I know. It hurt me, too."
"You went from being a daily fixture of my life to a phone call once a week, then a phone call once a month, then an e-mail once in a while - "
"I get it, Phil," she said sharply, cutting him off.
He sighed. "But the times I spent with you in this theatre..." He looked around himself before looking back at her. "I know they say you can't go home again. But boy I'm tempted to try."
A little bit of a smile broke through her stern expression. "Me too."
"So...we're going to do this?" he asked.
"Well, there was this book I was going to write," Ginger said, "but I suppose I could be tempted to put it off for a while."
Phil laughed, one short sharp bark of laughter, and then they were both suddenly in the centre of the room, arms wrapped around each other and Phil lifting her just a little off the ground. "Damn I missed you, Ginger."
She settled into his embrace. "I missed you too."
They stood like that for a long moment and neither let their hug slacken until a quiet cough came from behind them.
"I'm really sorry to interrupt," Arnold said, "but I'm hoping this means good news."
"Depends on your perspective," Ginger said, turning to face Arnold but not stepping away from Phil at all. "What kind of deal are we getting?"
"Creative control - which I trust you'll not make me regret," Arnold said, ticking points off on his fingers. "Salaries will be generous, but I've already got HR drawing up contracts which I hope your agents will be willing to negotiate over the weekend - "
"If you want that, they may have to be extra generous," Phil suggested. Arnold noted that he also hadn't moved, and the pair were still very deep in each other's personal space.
That was interesting. He had never heard of the two of them being partners in anything other than entertainment, but maybe it was just a really well kept secret. Their body language suggested a physical intimacy that he wouldn't have expected from anything but the very closest of friends - or lovers.
"You'll get a certain degree of control over staffing, but I can't offer you complete control."
"Who do we have to keep?" Ginger asked.
"Fred Benson and Robbie Shapiro have a year left on their contracts," Arnold said, waiting for the inevitable explosion.
"Are you kidding?" Phil groaned. "I don't want Robbie near anything to do with the show if I can avoid it."
"Well, he and Freddie are your co-execs. You can take their work or not, if you like."
"So the network is happy to waste money week by week, just not all at once?" Ginger asked.
"I can show you the graphs," Arnold said.
"Pass, thanks," Ginger told him. "When are we taking over?"
"Monday, I hope," Arnold said. "I want next week to be your first show. Make no mistake, I'm turning this network around whether it wants to be turned around or not, and you guys are a big first step in that direction."
"Well, that just fills me with the warm fuzzies," Phil muttered. "Isn't that putting an awful lot of faith in two people?"
"Not if they're the right two people," Arnold said. "Which one of you wrote the Seminary Baseball sketch?"
There was a long moment of silence.
"I did," Ginger finally said.
"It's good. And timeless. Never would have been able to tell it was five years old."
"Well, the problems in college sport haven't gone away. Sadly."
"I look forward to seeing it on the air on Friday," Arnold told them, before looking at his watch. "Alright, it's 1am. We're going to have a press conference on Monday morning at 9am to announce the two of you as show-runners."
"Do we need to synchronise watches or something?" Phil asked.
Arnold smirked. "Nothing quite so dramatic, Phil. Just show up on time, look professional, and be prepared to meet your cast and crew immediately afterwards. I'm reaching out to agents to try and assure everyone that the show will still be going on Monday, but we can't really say too much about your hiring until you're actually, well, hired."
"Eliza Thornberry saw us here, together," Ginger said.
"I'll have a word with her," Arnold assured her. "Have a good weekend, and rest up. I look forward to working with you both."
"By the looks of things, I can safely say the same," Phil said. He finally stepped out from behind Ginger and reached out to shake Arnold's hand.
"I will try to guarantee it," Arnold told him, before turning to offer Ginger his hand as well.
"Try?" she asked, taking it.
"Well, I'm a president, you're EPs. I'm sure we will come to blows eventually."
"Truer words," she said, "were never spoken."
After Arnold was gone, Ginger turned on Phil in a flash. "Alright, we've had the deep and meaningful, we've negotiated terms. Now where the hell is your crutch?"
Phil flushed red. "I don't need it anymore."
"Bullshit," Ginger stated with authority. "So, what, didn't want to look weak in negotiating with the new network president?"
Phil scratched at the back of his head. "Something like that."
"Left it in the car?"
"Yeah."
"Your hip hurt?"
"Like you wouldn't believe."
"You're an idiot."
"Tell me something I don't know."
Ginger sighed. "Lean on me, you dope. We'll get you to the props room."
"Why?" Phil asked, shuffling closer and letting Ginger reach up to wrap an arm around his shoulders.
"There's bound to be a cane or crutch or something in there," she told him.
"Just as likely one that explodes on every alternative tap," Phil muttered.
"Keep that in mind. Might make for a good sketch," Ginger suggested.
"I'm glad my physical incapabilities amuse you so," Phil told her.
She reached up from her grip on his far shoulder and smacked him on the back of the head. "They don't amuse me in the least, and you know that perfectly well."
He sighed. "I do know. Sorry."
"Well, don't do it again. You're impressing no-one with macho displays."
"In all fairness, I can't remember the last time I was described as 'macho' in any context."
They were silent for a few moments, just limping toward the prop room like some strange two headed monster, before Ginger finally said something. "Do you really think we can do it? Turn the show around?"
Phil seemed to think about it for a moment. "I think we can."
"And what make you so confident of that?" Ginger asked.
"Because the last time I enjoyed working was when I worked with you," Phil told her. "And I miss that. I miss enjoying my work. And I'm going to do everything in my power to ensure that we stick this one out. And if that meanst turning this show around, then that's what we'll do."
Ginger grinned. "Just like that?"
"Just like that. Now. We're going to be taking all night getting to the prop room. How about a piggy back ride?"
Author's Notes:
So, I watched Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip again recently, and this idea has not let me go. The fic is obviously quite inspired by the show, and elements of it will be very recognisable, but I'm hoping to develop it into very much its own thing.
Casting has been tricky. Trying to find the right characters for the right roles was interesting. Arnold was an obvious and immediate choice for President of the CBN, while several different characters held the position that Penny Proud now occupies (most notably, Nigel Uno, but he didn't seem right and I wanted to free up the possibility of KND characters in other roles). Initially the E.P.s were going to be Phil and Lil, and Ginger was going to be one of the actors, but something about making the free-wheeling Phil and the more by-the-book Ginger creative partners really appealed. Filling out the cast of a sketch comedy show was also a challenge. Eliza was always going to be part of it, and Lor struck me as a natural as well. Phineas Flynn is a bit of a bold choice for me as I don't have the same history with him that I do with many of the other characters, but he seemed right for the part. Bringing TJ in as an insecure rookie and Fillmore as an experienced old hand also adds new characters to my paintbox, but possibly the biggest challenge was finding the sixth character. Merrin Cooper is not a familiar name, but I've based her character on the idea that the Teen Titans cartoon was a live-action show in this universe, and she played Raven in it. So, if you're looking for the image for that character, that's what I'm aiming for. Robbie and Fred come from Victorious and iCarly, spreading out the universe a little wider, and old-hand cameraman Twister was the obvious choice of Director. Other characters from other shows will come in over the course of the story. I do have some plans, but I'm always looking for guest hosts and musical hosts, so if you have suggestions, by all means, let me know.
This is the first fic I've written in...well, I don't know how long. It's the first time I've been sufficiently inspired to actually sit and write something where it didn't feel like I was forcing it. I hope that continues, and I am really, really keen to hear what you think of it, and where you think it might go in the future. Feedback is always more than welcome.
Thanks for reading.
Dramatis Personae:
Arnold Shortman - president, Continental Broadcasting Network
Penny Proud - chariperson, Continental Broadcasting Network
The Cast and Crew of The Friday Night Show:
Ginger Foutley - executive producer
Phillip DeVille - executive producer
The Cast:
Eliza Thornberry
Lor MacQuarrie
Cornelius Fillmore
Merrin Cooper
T.J. Dettweiler
Phineas Flynn
The Crew:
Maurice "Twister" Rodriguez - control room director
Robert Shapiro - co-executive producer
Fredward Benson - co-executive producer