Well,Dad.
I don’t know why I hoped he’d be anythingbutDad. After all, Dad is ninety-five percent of the reason I never contacted Chris after that week inDaytona. Hopelessly trying to win the man’s love and approval has consumed my life.
That afternoon, I’m hauled into a stylist’s office by my new producer, who’s been at the network since the start and is a fixer of sorts, brought in when shows need overhauls. The next thing I know, Kevin Ryan Markos 2.0 is born, complete with the shitty blue contacts I absolutely despise.
Meanwhile, Lauren’sbeen filming packages, too, forTOBPand others, even appearing as a correspondent on some of the weekday morning and afternoon shows, when she’s not filming for mine.
Lauren gets me her agent’s number that afternoon, because I now need to negotiate a much more complicated contract, not just as talent but as executive producer. From that point on, I’m officially on-air talent.
Apparently, Ialso have a girlfriend. Lauren cooks me dinner that night to celebrate. After plying me with two glasses of wine, she leads me to her bedroom and we end up in her bed, with her on top of me and ridingmelike a pony.
Maybe that’s why I go along with it.
I guess.
I mean, besides the crushing loneliness in my personal life, and my grief over walking away from Christopher. Because she isn’t aball-buster, but she’s definitely intense in work mode. She’s driven, decisive, take-charge.
Two months into me hostingTOBP, late one Sunday evening I suddenly get a call from the network, asking me to guest-host the six p.m. hour on Monday, because that host, Colin Borenstein, unexpectedly goes “on vacation.”
Which I find out later is code for trying to save his marriage with two intense weeksof couples’ therapy at an expensive and exclusive resort set up for that very thing. This coming after getting caught at a hotel, by his wife, while he’s with his mistress.
Fortunately, an incidentnotcaught on camera.
The only problem is that it’s aliveshow. Yes, like other shows they use packages as supplements, but there are guests, and interviews, and a fluctuating storyboard becauseof breaking news throughout the day. What starts out as the plan at nine in the morning can be ripped up and rewritten ten times or more before going on the air. It airs live in all continental US time zones, meaning it airs at three p.m. on the West Coast. A taped encore airs at one a.m. Eastern, and do the math for the rest.
Prime time airing on West Coast television sets.
Vague terror setsin, but with Lauren talking me down, I dig in and get busy Monday morning with the existing production staff and writers.
I’ve never hosted a live show before. This is a huge break, and I know it. Despite how nervous I am by the time we go live, I throw myself into it. Lauren stands in the back of the studio, behind the cameras but wearing a headset so she can hear and communicate with the controlbooth. She smiles and nods to encourage me while I’m filming.
Tuesday morning, when I’m called into the VP’s office, I’m convinced I’m going to get chewed out for screwing up. I refused to check my e-mail or look at numbers overnight. I spend it at Lauren’s, terrified I’d fucked up my career, despite how she reassured me I was great.
It’s not a chewing out I receive. In fact, what’s shockedeveryone is not only are my numbers every bit as good as Colin’s—who’s held that time slot for four years as of my substitution—but a little better. And viewer comments and hits on the website on my episode are already far higher than expected. So instead of a one-night fill-in, I suddenly find myself the new six p.m. host, while Lauren’s given a bump to a permanent co-host position on a weekday morningshow.
The network’s PR branch immediately brands Lauren and I as a “power couple.”
For the first time in my professional career, my father calls to congratulate me and gush how proud he is of me, so it further cements my acquiescence.
It feels like my future is out of my hands, so I hold on tight and ride it, hoping to last a full eight seconds.
