by Sue Watson
I stopped talking. The air was thick with silence. Hermione backed away, a look of horror on her face. Her chin was trembling and a voice in my ear was whispering something very quietly. “On air, Tanya. We’re live on air.”
Suddenly everything snapped back into high definition. “Jesus. My mic was on!” I said, looking towards the studio audience who were all staring, open-mouthed.
“We’re on air, we’ve been on air for 40 seconds. Apologise, apologise, Tanya,” Judith’s voice said urgently in my ear.
“Apologise Tanya,” I repeated, my mind blank as I tried to gather my scrambled thoughts. What had just happened? Then slowly it revealed itself, the true horror of what had taken place – the ad break was over, it had been over for several minutes and my swearing rant at Hermione had just been broadcast to several million viewers.
TWEET: @TanyaTruth Gr8 show today! Sad 4 Britney + Craig.but we care @TruthWithTanyaTravis #Incest #Aftercare #WhenYourLoverIsYourBrother
11
Ray’s Roof Garden Revelation
The shame, revulsion and self-loathing felt by those two poor incest survivors on my show that day was nothing compared to mine. I fled back to my dressing room as soon as the show was over, with Astrid hot on my heels. I dialled Nathan while sweeping along the corridors, desperate to hear his voice. The phone rang and rang, then went to voicemail.
“Nathan? It’s me. Something terrible happened on the show today. I know you are angry with me but this is an emergency. Please call – I need you.” I said, holding back tears.
“Nathan toss-face will not be calling you” said Astrid sadly, with a shake of her head, as we reached my dressing room. “He is selfish wanker. You need help. You need to speak to the bitchy American.”
She was right so I called Donna, who had seen the show and was already on her way to the studio. She clearly couldn’t wait until we were face to face, so spent much of her four-hour journey ranting over the phone.
“You Kamikaze!” she barked as I lay on the sofa while Astrid dabbed my forehead and rubbed my shoulders with something Swedish to calm me down.
“Donna, it was partly Hermione’s fault.” I began. “She was behaving like a spoilt brat. She shouldn’t have even been there and I don’t like her, she was making me worse...”
“Tanya. You are not in some US reality show – she’s not Melissa to your Joan Rivers, Ozzy to your Sharon. The viewers want the entertainment from their pond-life. Not their freaking presenter and her staff!”
“Thank you Donna, I get it...”
“So tell me, Tanya. If you get it, why did you lose it, live on air?”
“Pressure, Donna. I’ve had a terrible time this week... I’d had the morning from hell before I even arrived at the studio.”
“Yes, riding on an electric gate – I saw it on YouTube.”
“Oh Christ! It’s on there already? The gate thing isn’t all... Nathan isn’t speaking to me, Judith’s losing her job and I might be losing Georgina.” I said, my voice cracking.
“Whoa. First, I need you to rewind the gold-digger bit for me. Nathan’s been sowing his seed round London and getting your name in the papers and it’s him not talking to you? Nice. Ooh don’t let HIM go HE’S a keeper.”
“It hurt him that I didn’t trust him.” I said, ignoring her sarcasm and feeling stupid.
“Aw, poor old Nathan. Jeez, Tanya. And he didn’t hurt you by getting another woman pregnant? Does he know about the problems you’ve had in that department?””
“He doesn’t need to know thank you, we don’t want children anyway” I said curtly.
“I don’t know what I can do about this, Tanya.”
“Donna, you said you’d out-snake the snakes and as long as you were my agent I was safe!”
“Tanya, the snake analogy is hardly fucking relevant now you’ve had a breakdown and used the F-word on air... But hey, every cloud....you’ve made Mama a very proud agent today, two hundred thousand hits on YouTube – and counting... and you’ve finally trended on Twitter, hashtag: ‘TanyaTravisLosesIt’.”
“So, you’ve got your dream, Donna,” I sighed, clicking open a browser on my laptop to see what she was talking about. “Christ, I’m more than trending, I’ve gone bloody viral!” Every website, tweet and YouTube post was bursting with my ravaged old face caught mid-rant, either on air or on a gate, take your pick. I turned it off, unable to look at the videos, photos or vile comments. I was devastated, too distraught to cry. I just felt numb.
“So, here’s the thing, my little whack-job. Fancy Pants Big New Boss Dickie Truelove isn’t answering his phone and Ray the fucking job fairy has gone into hiding.”
“Oh, God.”
“The press are going bonkers, the phone lines are jammed, Facebook is awash and Twitter is alive. As for Instagram, well you’ve knocked Rihanna off the top slot... mind you she wasn’t photographed straddling a gate at 6am this morning shrieking ‘fucking give it to him’.”
“Ohhhh.” I put my head in my hands. Astrid tutted and pummelled my shoulders in what can only be described as a Swedish massage mugging.
“So. First you bring me an ‘engagement special’ that doesn’t exist, your lover makes another woman pregnant and if that’s not enough, you provide dinner and a show from astride a gate followed by a screaming meltdown, live on air. Mama has her work cut out this week, don’t she?”
“I’m sorry, Donna. I don’t know what to say. What would I do without you?”
“You without me would be crap. Give me lemons, I grab salt and tequila.”
Even in my emotional and physical quagmire I could tell Donna was almost getting off on it all. She loved a client challenge, it gave her something to work with, get her teeth into – usually someone’s ‘ass.’
“Oh no, Donna,” I said looking at my Blackberry to see if Nathan had called me back and discovering a reminder text from Ray. “Ray wants a frothy mind-mapping session on his refreshed roof terrace.”
“I’ll give him fucking frothy refreshment, the spineless little shit. Don’t go anywhere near him without me, I want to do a ‘mapping session’ on his smug face. Sit tight, Mama’s on her way.”
* * * * *
When Donna arrived, we didn’t have time to talk or make any kind of plan, instead we went straight up to see Ray.
“He’s going to sack me isn’t he? I’m over Donna, aren’t I?”
“Fuck knows,” she snapped as we walked from the lift.
Ray’s secretary, Charles, greeted us, ushering us outside to the garden where Ray was enjoying the early Autumn sunshine and panoramic views of Manchester at a small, wrought-iron table. I spotted the tuft of his hair amid the various green fronds and as we approached he stood, holding a clipboard in one hand, a frothy latte in the other and wearing a pair of ridiculous sunglasses on his head.
“Tanya and the fragrant Donna! I wasn’t expecting you too” he said, eyeing her apprehensively. “Welcome to my little Eden.” He put down his latte and waited expectantly for air kisses. Neither of us obliged.
“No bullshit, Ray – we need to know where we stand.” Donna’s tone was clipped and business-like, but it didn’t mean that she wouldn’t punch him if he said something she didn’t like.
Ray gestured for us to sit and Donna promptly opened up her leather folder, laying her Blackberry carefully on the table. She was about to hold a War Cabinet on Ray’s fancy garden furniture and there was no time for small talk.
Charles delivered my latte and I grimaced, taking tiny, scalding sips so I could enjoy the pain, which took away the searing numbness I was feeling. “Ray, I’m sorry about what happened on the programme today,” I started. “I’ve been under quite a lot of strain.”
“Oh Tanya, you haven’t had a day off in fifteen years. It’s only to be expected that things will... pile up.”
“Yes, thank you for being so understanding.” Donna shot me a look.
“So what’s the story, Ray?” she was, as always, to the poi
nt.
“Erm... what can I say? I know Tanya’s under pressure from her personal life, a daily show etc. But today’s ‘performance’, if I may call it that, was extraordinary and gives Dickie no option but to reconsider her future with The Tanya Travis Show.”
“Yada, yada, Ray... Are you saying she can’t continue to present the show named after her, the one she created, developed and gave her life and child-bearing years to?”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it quite in those terms...”
“I don’t suppose you would,” snapped Donna, taking out her Gitanes and allowing Ray to light one for her.
“Look Ray, is there anything I can do to keep my show?” I said, my heart hammering in my chest.
He shook his head slowly. “Ladies, it’s a sad fact, there were exciting plans in the pipeline for our Daytime Diva, but after today...”
“I could make an on-air apology, Ray. Let’s not hide our flaws, that’s what Oprah would say. I could take out an ad in every tabloid if it would help, a Tanya Anger Management Special? ” I said, trying not to sound desperate. I had sacrificed so much for this show, and I felt sick at the thought of losing it.
“I don’t know, Tanya. I am under pressure from the fourth floor. It didn’t help that your meltdown was aimed at Dickie’s daughter, my love.”
I cringed. “I know, Ray. But I was the ‘Darling of Daytime’ until today. I guarantee your ratings, every single morning. Surely you can fight my corner with the fourth floor?”
“I’m not sure I can, my dear. I’d have to go head to head with Dickie and that’s a round in the ring I don’t want to have. After all, how can I convince him that you won’t once again ‘lose it live’, as they are calling it on Twitter?”
I could feel myself getting angry now.
“One mistake, Ray, just one, in all the time we have worked together. Surely that’s worth a ‘round in the ring’ with Dickie?”
I was facing Ray, eyeballing him, my anger rising at his weakness but Donna touched my arm. “Tanya, stay calm, this is business... So let your agent handle this in a dignified, calm and business-like way please.” Standing up, she slowly leaned forward, grabbed Ray by the lapels and shook him, hard. “Listen, you little shit,” she spat, “fifteen flawless fucking years she’s given you. Fifteen years of early nights and early mornings knee-deep in pond-life and sexual deviants. Then one fucking morning, Tanya Travis has ‘a moment’ and you dump her like... like a ... like a filthy nappy... a used syringe...”
I didn’t like the analogy but I was more worried about Ray. Donna was in his face, nose to nose – and given that she was a foot taller, his feet must have been off the ground.
“She’s spent her youth turning your grotty little Daytime slot into pure gold,” she hissed into his face, “and now you’ve taken everything, you aren’t going to fight for her? Well, let me tell you mister, if you take out your tiny dick and piss all over her, guess who’s gonna be pissing right back at ya?”
I kept quiet. I wasn’t quite sure whose piss she was threatening him with but now wasn’t the time to ask.
“Oh dear... No, no, no-one will be pissing on anyone ...not here on the designer roof terrace, it’s Astro Turf you know, and any kind of bodily fluid would just...”
“I could kill you on the spot, you weak little tosser,” Donna snapped, plonking back down onto her seat and letting Ray go. “Tanya Travis is flesh and blood. She’s not perfect, she’s not young and gorgeous, her love life’s pretty shit... Hell who am I kidding? It’s a fucking plane wreck. Consequently, amoeba-brain, the audience can relate to her. She has all the pressures our viewers struggle with. Any TV company worth its salt would use it to their advantage – it’s fucking publicity Ray. Let’s do this. Let’s make it work for us...”
“Sorry... No can do.” He moved his chair back, lest she be tempted to lunge for him again; one of his eyes was twitching and his arms were ready to defend his face at any moment. “There’ll always be room for a taste of Tanya somewhere on the channel, Donna. After all, a spicy, sizzling dish can be too rich and we’ll always want a good old reliable baked-potato on the side.”
“For Christ’s sake!” Donna glared at Ray. “I can see what’s really going on here. You aren’t kidding anyone Ray. The fourth floor don’t want anyone on screen over forty, including the presenter.”
Ray shifted awkwardly. “Look Donna, Tanya just needs to take a holiday. Some resuscitation here, a little defibrillation there; it’s not a job for Intensive Care ... just a patch up in A & E.”
“Ray, I’m tired and I don’t want to have to shake you again. What the fuck are you talking about? What’s the bottom line – does she keep her show, or not?”
“Er... as a result of today’s little problem, a decision has been made to ‘refresh’ the Daytime brand,” he said, cringing, waiting for the blow. “Though no-one’s saying anyone’s too old or past-it or whatever the phrase is, if you know where I’m coming from?”
“Yes, I know exactly where you’re coming from, Ray” said Donna, stubbing her fag out in his empty latte glass, “and I know where we are going, too... To the papers. We will hang you out to dry, you little worm. See ya there.” Donna grabbed her file and nodded at me to get up.
Devastated, I stood on wobbly legs intending to walk away but had to hold on to Donna so I wouldn’t fall. Ray stared intently down at his drained latte in silence as we started to walk towards the door. Everything was hazy; I just propelled myself forward and gripped Donna very tightly. As we reached the door, I could see Ray’s assistant Charles answering the phone in his office, probably booking him some expensive lunch with bloody Dickie. And then I saw something that stopped me in my tracks. Realisation snaked down my throat and entered my bloodstream along with the hot skinny latte. In Charles’s office, stacked neatly against the floor-to-ceiling window were thousands of white mugs and Frisbees. As I looked closer through the glass, I saw that there was a face printed on each mug: a caring, beautiful face, smiling out in empathy. Under the face, the caption ‘Time for Truth” was emblazoned in red. It was the branding I had been so resistant to, that I had argued with Ray about. And there was another problem – the face on the mug wasn’t mine. The beautiful, caring face smiling out at me was – Georgina’s.
“Do you see what I see?” I almost whispered in shock to Donna, who was open-mouthed.
“Assholes. They were planning to dump you all along. What happened today gave them an excuse to terminate your contract, but honey, those mugs weren’t made this morning. You were already on the way out.”
I turned back towards Ray but he couldn’t meet my eyes. Donna spun on her killer heels and stepped towards him. “I’ll make him wish he was never born, the little tosser!” she snarled.
I put my hand on her arm. “Don’t, Donna.” I said quietly. “It’s done now. It’s over.” My eyes were wet and despite wobbly legs and blurred vision, I walked away from Ray, away from the show and away from everything I’d spent my life trying to build. And at exactly 4.17pm, for the last time, Tanya Travis left the building.
GOSSIPBITCH: Which Daytime Diva is joining her former guests in the benefits office after being sacked by both her boyfriend and her show? How will she pay for all those expensive facials and Botox now she can’t even pay her mortgage?
12
Viral Cellulite and a Promise of Prime-Time
“I did this to myself,” I said to Donna as she, Astrid and I stepped into the waiting car, reliable Arthur as quiet as ever in the driving seat.
“No, it’s not completely your fault. You know me, sweet-cheeks, I’m nothing if not honest and if this was all your doing, I would have had you strung up. The truth is the fucking fourth floor probably started looking for a younger presenter on your fortieth birthday and whatever you say, THAT was quite a few years ago, honey. Georgina fits the package and it was a matter of time before you were dead meat. She’s young, beautiful, blonde, intelligent...”
“Thanks” I said
tartly, cutting her off. “And I’m only 41.”
“You crazy fool, you lie to yourself.” Astrid was sat between us, handbag on her podgy knees.
“She’s right,” Donna nodded. “Moving on is part of life and you have to face it.”
“I can’t believe that Georgina would go along with this.” I said, shaking my head sadly.
“Georgina-schmina,” Donna lisped (it didn’t really work but she let it hang). “It’s life honey. As my mama always said, what goes around comes around and it does. You screwed another forty-something just like you once upon a time.”
She was right. All those years ago, when Good Mornings with Jenny Randle became The Tanya Travis Show poor Jenny must have felt just like I did now.
Donna was now checking her Blackberry for emails, texts, trends and tweets and suddenly sat bolt upright, staring at the screen.
“Tanya, my little nut-job, please can you tell Mama why the hell you’ve just tweeted the whole world a picture of your big old fanny?”
My mouth went dry. “What?”
Astrid looked over at the phone in Donna’s hand and shook her head.
“You shit-face Americans, you don’t speak the English properly. This is not her fanny, it’s her ass. With the orange peel.
I snatched the Blackberry and stared at the screen. There was no dialogue, just a big old picture of me baring my big old cellulite-covered, English arse.
“How the hell...where’s this come from?” I started, but then I remembered. The night Nathan and I rowed about the issue of Hello! I’d emailed that picture to Georgina and asked her to make me a lipo appointment. As I watched, it was followed quickly by another tweet.
TWEET: @TanyaTruth Oops! Meant for my surgeon. #Embarrased #NeedAtkins.
“That bitch!” I exploded. “She’s got access to my Twitter account and she’s tweeted a picture of my cellulite to the world then tried to make it look like a mistake! I’ll kill her, I’ll...I’ll...” But what would I do? What could I do? I dropped the Blackberry into Donna’s bag and stared out of the window.
