Part One
Prologue
“We have to be industry-leading here,” Kirsten half shouted, letting the palm of her hand fall heavily onto the boardroom table. “Anything less is off the table.”
“Well, there are,” someone else spoke up, “there are other solutions. Giving the public a feel-good, happy…”
“We’re not daytime TV. Nobody wins awards for feel-good and happy, Alastair.”
“But –” Alastair’s mouth was still hanging open as Kirsten waved her arms in frustration.
“What was it that dreadful talk show host called us? Wrung out and washed out? All our ideas poached from others and…”
“Divorce Medid well.”
Did it? Honestly, I wasn’t sure it mattered anymore, and the entire room seemed to let out a collective eye-roll. Well, most of the people in this room, me included, had already started polishing our meagre CVs, discreetly removing any reference to our current projects, and putting our names down with the usual employment agencies.
OnPoint Productions was doomed. Kirsten was right about the options having run out, because. Yes.
Save the Date!A copycat reality show, apparently our trademark specialty, and something that once again would place us firmly in a space full of ridicule, viral memes and finally land us in a courtroom where we wouldn’t win. We’d been there once or twice already, paid off those fines and apologised publicly. I’d memorised the introductory company leaflet as well as the company's slightly sordid online presence. Yet, here we were again.
“Any news from legal with regards to making these marriages legally binding?” Kirsten droned on.
“We don’t want to go there.” Alastair tapped frantically at his laptop. “Completely unnecessary.”
“Makes for great follow-ups. Just imagine, one year later, battling it out in court, the cameras right there. We will tie it into the contract, of course.” Kirsten was delusional, but in her defence, she had made some mind-blowing television. Risqué perhaps, but yes. She was right about one thing. Viewers needed drama. They needed to gasp and hide behind their cushions in second-hand embarrassment. They needed shouting and slagging off, and more than anything, they needed to believe there was hope. That these incredibly mismatched individuals would just turn around and instantly fall in love.
“At least we have Gina DeSanto on board.” Alastair sighed. “Gives us some credibility.”
“She’s a Z-lister. We need someone with more clout,” someone moaned.
“It’s a reality show, not ‘celebs go dating’,” Kirsten spat out.
“Still, we need all the help we can get.”
I sighed. Again.
“I’m changing the concept. The first time the couples will meet? Are we ready for this?” Kirsten clapped her manicured hands, like this was children’s TV.
The absolute silence in the room was answer enough.
“The whole thing is solid. No wriggle room for lawsuits this time,” Kirsten stated, like it was a fact, as Alastair looked slightly green.
“Until someone jumps off a roof.”
“He was only injured.” Kirsten snorted.
Cold. Indifferent.
Desperate.
“We’re not that desperate,” I tried, feeling the cold stares hitting me from every angle. An obvious lie. Wewerethat desperate. And I blushed, because what did I know? First job. Green as anything in the industry.
Desperate.
The word tasted bitter in my mouth as I spoke it.
“Listen to this.” Kirsten made a grand gesture with her arms, like she truly was some kind of magical showgirl. “The contestants’ first time making eye contact will be when they wake up in the same bed. Two camera teams in place. Hidden devices everywhere. How fabulous is that? We’ll play along the lines of waking up married in Vegas, and the shock of finding themselves stuck with that person for weeks. It’s deliciously wicked. We have a winner here, I’m sure. Anyway, Angela will notify everyone today and get that last contract adjustment signed off. We start filming in less than a month. George, get that schedule pencilled in, and don’t get soft. The script is king. Don’t let me down.”
