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587 Words
ALEX ONLY BECOMES CLEAR on what he’s gotten into when he gets back to set in skintight jeans and a shirt he would never wear. His buddies on the crew start ribbing him immediately. They only eventually shut up because there’s work to be done. But the hundred extra bucks to do a cross and react to one of the principals reacting to him is hard to argue with no matter how many times he’d almost gotten his balls caught in the zipper back in wardrobe.
The backstage spirit that permeates The Fourth Estate’s narrative isn’t that different from the atmosphere that permeates Alex’s working life behind the scenes of the show. The dramas of a ruthless, dysfunctional, c***k team of reporters differ only in degree from the bullshit of a set for a highly rated nighttime TV drama. The problem isn’t even Fourth; it’s that L.A. people work long hours, are casually cruel, and relentlessly judgmental.
No one tells him is that the line meant to reference him is Who’s the twink? Alex isn’t supposed to engage with the line so the words aren’t supposed to matter to him. But when Liam (who plays James, a former field reporter turned anchor) tosses it to Natalie (Marjani, James’s co-anchor, ex-lover, and frequent rival) after the cross, Alex can’t help but retort. Because not likely.
He realizes his mistake immediately but waits until they call cut before he puts a hand to his mouth to apologize. He’s been on sets long enough to know better. “Sorry, sorry, I know...I’m sorry —”
“No.” A voice drawls the word loudly from somewhere behind the monitors.
The objection belongs to Victor, their showrunner. Alex wants to fall through the floor. Among other things, he would really like this day’s double paycheck situation not to end in no paychecks.
“I am so —”
“Shhhhhhh.” The shushing sound reminds Alex of a snake. “Keep doing exactly what you’re doing,” Victor says.
They reset the scene and go again. This time, when Alex retorts, Liam — James — breaks off from the cross to get in his face. They start bantering. Alex has always had a retort for everything, and there’s no reason for that to change now that there’s a camera on him.
Alex isn’t sure if Liam’s words are angry or flirtatious — or quite how in character any of this is — but Liam’s attentive blue eyes keep him anchored in the strange moment. In Alex’s peripheral vision Victor holds up his hand and makes a looping motion. Keep going. Alex doesn’t know if it’s meant for him or Liam or the camera operator. He keeps talking.
They do several takes. Alex keeps wondering if this is what happens when you’re dead: Your life, exactly as you’ve always known it, turned on its ear and set in endless repetition.
Between the third take and what’s apparently going to be a fourth, Victor points to him and suggests he join him in his office when he’s done.
Alex nods. You don’t say no to Victor Salcido Santillan. Ever. Even when you really, really want to. Although, in this moment, Alex is not sure he does. He’s just been effectively given a line. Or several. And that could mean far more than a hundred bucks. It could mean this month’s rent, although only because he lives in a shithole apartment with a roommate. But he still thinks he might be in trouble.
“We’re going again,” Gary shouts as Alex rubs his sweaty palms all over the pants the wardrobe department provided.
Everyone resets as Victor walks away. As he goes, he calls out fondly to Alex over his shoulder, “Don’t ever wear cargo shorts again”.
Alex stands there feeling lost and cursed.
“It’s okay,” Liam says, with a glance towards the departing Victor. “Everything’s going to be great.”
—
- Writer
