Blind Ambitions

by Lolita Files

  “You did alright,” she said.

  Devin grinned, thinking he’d finally gotten to her.

  Bettina leaned back against the couch.

  “I think you’d better be going now,” she said.

  Devin frowned.

  “What’s that? I thought we were going to talk.”

  She glanced over at him. Her left brow was raised.

  “Talk about what? There’s nothing left for us to talk about. Devin, I’m not changing my mind. Sure, I was wrong in how I handled you Friday morning. I apologize for that. But I made some personal decisions that I’m sticking to. There’s no way I’m going to turn back now.”

  Devin felt his blood begin to churn. He’d done all this for her, and still it wasn’t enough.

  Forget it, he thought. Ain’t no bitch worth being sweated like this.

  Bettina saw the fire in his eyes.

  “Remember …,” she said, “you told me you wouldn’t come over here and start no mess.”

  He got up from the stool and walked towards the door.

  “I’m not about to,” he replied sharply. “I just wish I’d known you were gonna pull a stunt like this.”

  He grabbed the door handle.

  “I would have just stayed my ass at home.”

  He opened the door and slammed it behind him.

  “Well,” Bettina said, kissing the check, “on behalf of me and this money, we thank your ass … most graciously!”

  She threw her head back and kicked her feet in the air, giddy with glee.

  PITCHING A FIT

  And she has already committed to the show?”

  “Yes, she has. If you look through the packet, you will see a signed letter from her stating such.”

  Randall was speaking now, after Steve had been holding court for more than ten minutes.

  They were at the NBC offices in Burbank.

  The two executives, Chase Carmichael and Vivian Starks, flipped through the proposal for Ambitions. Steve, Randall, and Jet sat patiently, in wait for any further questions.

  “This is pretty impressive,” said Chase, a twenty-something wunderkind whom Randall knew from his earlier days at the network. Chase was the one who shepherded Westwood through when Massey-Weldon originally pitched it, so he was already familiar with Randall and Steve as award-winning writers. “A show like this has the potential to straddle lines and garner several different demographics. It could also give our lineup another dimension. Viewers are open. Look at what happened with Providence.”

  “I agree,” Vivian said, studying a page. She was a thirty-three-year-old, tall, intense redhead with a hard-line approach. “It’s great you did so much homework on this and addressed it all in your proposal. It makes it that much easier when we take it to the top.” She flipped another page. “Out of curiosity,” she probed, “why didn’t Massey-Weldon get behind this project? I’m assuming you approached them with it.”

  “We talked to Meredith about it, but she couldn’t see its viability,” Steve replied. “That was one of the reasons for our departure.”

  “I see,” Vivian said.

  “We really believe in this show,” Jet said in his booming voice in an attempt to move the dialogue in the room back to a positive note. “And you know these guys. Their writing has already proven itself.”

  “Oh, I don’t question that in the slightest,” Chase remarked. “Westwood has dominated the Nielsens for two straight years. I don’t know what’s going to happen to it now that you two have walked.”

  “You can bet that Wade and Anna are putting together a new team as we speak,” Randall said.

  Chase stood up, walking around the room. He took a deep breath, then let it out.

  “This is where the dilemma arises,” he said. “You know you’ve put us in a precarious position, right?”

  Randall said nothing. Jet crossed his legs.

  “They’re not happy at the top about you guys walking off Westwood,” Vivian said. “Not happy at all.”

  “But that’s an internal thing,” Steve said. “It directly relates to how Massey-Weldon treated us as a writing team.”

  “But it also affects this company’s bottom line,” Vivian replied. “What was going on over there is really, when you get down to it, of no relevance to us. As a production company, Massey-Weldon provides us with high-quality product, according to the deal we negotiate. We expect them to keep providing that same high-quality product. There was no notice of a change in writers. There was no action plan. It’s the new fall season, and there are more episodes that have to be written. We can’t afford to lose ratings on a show as popular as Westwood.”

  “Then it’s up to Massey-Weldon to maintain that high quality,” Jet interjected. “We have our own production company now, and you know from experience that we can provide the high-quality material you’ve come to expect.”

  The atmosphere in the room had become thick. Tense.

  “So how do we resolve this?” Randall asked. “We’re not going back to Massey-Weldon, so that’s pretty much the same as saying we’ll never write for Westwood again.”

  Chase cleared his throat.

  “You can’t be so black-and-white about this, Randall,” Chase said.

  “I don’t get what you mean,” he replied.

  “He means you have to be open,” Vivian said. “Is there no way you can work out some kind of deal with Massey-Weldon where they can commission you to write a few more episodes? It would be easier, if new writers are going to come on, for it to happen after hiatus, not at the start of the season with just a few episodes in the can. It gives us more time to work out the transition.”

  “Something like that would come at a serious premium,” Steve said.

  “Which could only be to your advantage, don’t you think?” Chase returned.

  “Are you talking about enough episodes for the rest of the year?” Randall asked.

  “That would be ideal,” Vivian said.

  Randall and Steve searched each other’s eyes.

  “It’s not our decision,” Steve finally said. “Wade and Anna might not want us anywhere near the project anymore.”

  “But we have to know that you’re at least willing to come to the table,” Chase said. “That makes it easier for us to take Ambitions in and sell it to the boss. It’s better than me and Vivian going in there trying to sell the company on doing a deal with two high-strung Emmy-winning writers who just walked off one of our top-rated shows, leaving us sucking wind.”

  “It doesn’t sound good when you put it like that,” Jet commented.

  “And we’re not high-strung, Chase,” Randall said, “and you know it.”

  “Exactly,” Chase replied. “It’s all in how we’re able to couch it. You see, it’s a whole other ball game when we go in there and say, ‘Look, Boss. These guys were getting screwed over at Massey-Weldon, but they’ve got a great work ethic, and they’re good guys. They’re willing to finish out the season with Westwood and give us the rest of the episodes, if Anna and Wade let them. On another note, they’ve formed their own production company, and they’ve got this great new show that we want to talk to you about for next year’s lineup.’”

  “Sounds much better, don’t you think?” Vivian commented.

  Steve, Randall, and Jet couldn’t help but agree.

  “So what you’re saying is, you’re willing to take this project on?” Randall asked, leaning forward in his chair. “You see its viability.”

  “We definitely see it,” Vivian replied.

  “And we’re willing to go to the top with it,” Chase added. “But there’s a certain amount of compromise that has to come with it. This can work for you and for us.”

  “Makes sense,” Jet said.

  “Good.” Chase smiled. “Then we’re all in agreement?”

  Everyone affirmed.

  “Alright. Vivian and I have a meeting at one-thirty with the boss. We’re going to talk to him about it. I’m going to spend the
next couple of hours reviewing everything in this packet. It’s my intention to give him the hard sell.”

  “Actually,” Vivian said to Chase, “Anna and Wade are coming in at two. That would be a good time for us to feel out their position on Westwood.”

  “Good idea,” he said. He clapped his hands together. “Alright, guys!” Chase got up from his chair. So did the others. “We’ll take this thing to the next level. We’ll give it a good fight.”

  “That’s what we want to hear,” Randall replied.

  “This is making the rounds, right?” Vivian asked.

  “Yes,” Jet answered. “We have three other meetings scheduled after this one.”

  “But we’re the first.” This came from Chase.

  It was a rhetorical statement.

  “You’re the first,” Steve replied.

  “And if you had your druthers …?” Vivian asked.

  “You’re good, Vivian,” Jet said with a laugh. “We’re not crazy enough to answer that question.”

  They all laughed.

  “Alright, guys,” Chase said. “Give us until late this afternoon. We’ll have some feedback for you, one way or another.”

  “Great,” Jet replied. “We’re looking forward to hearing from you.”

  Everyone shook hands. Steve, Randall, and Jet walked out of the room.

  They were halfway down the hall before any of them spoke.

  “And if you had your druthers?” Steve asked.

  “I’d ruther be here, wouldn’t you?” Randall replied.

  Jet put his arms around their shoulders, and they wended their way out of the building.

  “And that’s the storyline for Native Suns.”

  Anna smiled as she closed the proposal. She had studied it thoroughly the night before, and delivered it with aplomb. She was prim and poised in a red business suit, her lipstick and nails an exact match.

  Chase, Vivian, the head of Programming, the Entertainment president, and the president of the company, each with a proposal in front of them, looked on in horror.

  “What’s wrong?” Anna smiled, observing the uniformity of their expressions.

  “Anna,” the president demanded, “what’s going on here?!”

  Wade interrupted.

  “This is a new show. We think it’d be great for the network. We’re working out the situation with Westwood, and we also wanted to talk about this.”

  The president angrily pounded the table.

  “This show was just pitched to me a half an hour ago,” he said, flipping through the proposal. “Only it was under a different name. Ambitions. It came from your former employees, Randall James and Steve Karst, and their new production company. It’s the exact … same … show. So would somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?!”

  Anna’s face flushed to nearly the color of her suit. She stood before them, her lips pressed tight.

  “I’m waiting for an explanation,” he reiterated.

  Anna’s pager vibrated. She usually kept it in her purse, but today it was on her hip, in anticipation of a response about new writers.

  “Excuse me,” she said, and nervously checked it.

  Feel stupid yet? was the message she saw.

  Anna’s fingers trembled as she held the pager in her hand. Wade could tell there was something seriously wrong.

  “I think there’s been a big mistake,” she muttered.

  “What we want to know is,” Chase said, “does this proposal really belong to you? Randall and Steve said they pitched it to Meredith, but that she turned it down.”

  “Can I make a quick phone call?” Anna asked, mortified.

  “Make it quick,” the president said. He turned to Wade. “Now, what are we going to do about this mess with Westwood?”

  Anna stepped into the hall. She dialed Meredith’s number.

  “How does it feel to be humiliated, you bitch,” Meredith said when she answered the phone.

  “How could you do this!” Anna demanded. “You made me and Wade look like idiots in there!”

  “You wanted to present the idea. See what happens when you get what you want?”

  “You know you’re fired, right?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ve had my fill of your company, and your husband. You’re welcome to have both of them back.”

  She clicked off the phone in Anna’s ear.

  Anna stood in the hall, so angry she couldn’t stop trembling.

  The limousine made its way down Pico, back towards the building in Century City.

  “So we pay them to write the remaining episodes,” Wade said. “There’s no way around it. That’s the only way that we can save face.”

  Anna sat beside him, seething.

  “What’s your take on this, honey?” he pressed.

  Anna exhaled sharply.

  “You allowed me to put myself in a situation that challenged my entire integrity,” she said with gritted teeth. “My integrity, my ethic, that’s all I had left.”

  “Anna, I had no idea that Meredith—”

  She slapped him. Hard. The blow sent his face slamming into the seat back behind him.

  “If you ever utter her name to me again …,” she began.

  Wade’s left cheek bore a visible handprint. He stared at his wife.

  “I’ve endured fourteen years of you fucking her, taking her away on trips, padding her salary, and me turning a blind eye to it,” she snarled. “I’ve borne the brunt of this town’s scuttlebutt and ridicule, and smiled in the face of it, supporting you. I will not endure a moment more.”

  “What are you saying, Anna?” Wade asked nervously. “We can work this out.”

  “There’s nothing to work out,” she replied flatly. “I want a divorce.”

  The three of them were riding in Jet’s limousine, on their way back to Vast Horizon’s offices, when Randall’s cell phone rang.

  It was Chase.

  “What’s the good word?” Randall asked.

  “Looks like we have a go,” Chase said. “Even better. The boss wants to talk about a development deal.”

  “You’re shitting me, right?”

  “I shit you not,” he replied. “Can you guys be here for a meeting tomorrow morning at ten?”

  “We’ll be there first thing.” Randall grinned. “Good looking out, Chase.”

  “Good writing, Randall. Keep it up. We’ll be expecting it for quite some time. Come ready to talk about more ideas.”

  “Yeah. You got it. See you tomorrow.”

  Randall pressed End and dropped his jaw.

  “What just happened?” Steve asked.

  “Yeah,” Jet boomed, “what’s the skinny?”

  “They’re talking development deal. They want us back in their offices tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

  “Oh shit!” Jet bellowed. He high-fived Steve.

  Randall dialed a number on his cell phone.

  “Who are you calling?” Steve asked.

  “Desi. I told her I would give her an update on things.”

  Desi sat beside Sharon’s hospital bed. She was holding three copies of her contract with Vast Horizons in her lap. Glen, who was sitting in a chair on the other side of Sharon’s bed, had already reviewed them.

  “So everything looks good,” Sharon croaked sleepily.

  “I think it’s really happening, Sharon,” Desi said, beaming. “I’m so excited. I could just jump out of my skin!”

  “Goodness,” Sharon chuckled, “please, don’t do that! I’ve had enough drama, don’t you think?”

  “Ha, ha, very funny.”

  “Funny hell. I’m just not in the mood to see no skin being jumped out of, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “Randall says they have another meeting scheduled tomorrow morning. NBC is talking a development deal. Can you believe that?”

  “You know what, Dez?” Sharon commented. “I’m getting to the point where I can believe anything.”

  Glen snickered. Sharon rolled h
er eyes at him.

  “Did Randall call you at all?” Desi asked.

  “No,” she said, “but he sent me those flowers yesterday.”

  She pointed at a large bouquet near the door. Desi smiled.

  “He’s a nice guy, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” Sharon replied. “He’s straight.” She paused, then said it. “Did he ever come straight with you?”

  Desi’s brows knitted.

  “Come straight with me about what?”

  “Did you tell Dez the news?” Glen asked, interrupting. Sharon turned towards him. He cut his eyes at her. Sharon got the message.

  “She’s only been here for five minutes, Glen. Give me a chance to open my mouth.”

  “What news?” Desi asked.

  Sharon clucked her tongue.

  “He just wants you to know that he’s moving in with me,” she replied with mock annoyance.

  “Oh, Glen, that’s great!”

  Sharon snickered.

  “You say that, but you’re not the one who’s going to be living with him.”

  Desi shook her head, chuckling.

  “Glen, don’t mind her. She’s probably so happy about this, she can’t stand herself. That’s what’s wrong with her, you know. She can’t ever admit when something really makes her happy.”

  “I know,” Glen said. “I’m going to break her out of that.”

  “You’re not breaking me out of anything,” Sharon grunted. “I know how to say when I’m happy.”

  Desi and Glen stared at her, waiting for the words.

  “So I’m happy, alright?!” she snapped. “Damn! A person can’t even enjoy feeling good without people fucking it up.”

  Desi laughed.

  “Help her, Glen,” she said.

  “I’ll do my best,” he replied, his eyes meeting Sharon’s.

  Desi was back at home, sitting in her burnished leather armchair.

  “Is there something you need to come clean with me about?”

  “What do you mean?” Randall asked, sitting on the couch across from her.

  The contracts were spread out on the coffee table in front of him.

  “Sharon mentioned something about you needing to come clean.”

  Randall’s eyes widened. Desi hadn’t signed the contracts yet. He hesitated.

  “Aw, fuck it.” He sighed. “I’m tired of dancing around this thing. If I don’t tell you now, it’ll be hanging over me forever.”