Transition

by Henry Charles Mishkoff

  Jillian has to do some fancy footwork to avoid tripping over a tangle of cables that crisscross the floor like electronic tentacles. On the other side of the studio, Jillian catches a glimpse of a wall-sized photograph of a city skyline studded with tall buildings. A small desk sits in front of the backdrop; there’s a single padded armchair behind the desk and smaller chairs to each side.

  Sunshine sits primly in the chair to the left of the desk, her hands folded neatly, a picture of propriety – or, perhaps, discomfort. Dressed in a flowing, white, robe-like garment, she looks almost sickly in the harsh glare of the powerful lights. Her carrot-red hair adds the only dash of color to her otherwise washed-out appearance.

  “Jill!” Sunshine’s expression brightens as Leida drags Jillian closer. She jumps to her feet and reaches out for Jillian…

  “Oh no, girls, please, not now.” Leida is frantic. “Sunshine, please, sit, we’re on in one minute.”

  Sunshine sinks obediently back into her chair, clearly disappointed.

  “You’ll have plenty of time to talk after the show,” Leida says. “Jill, over there.” She points to the remaining unoccupied chair and waves an arm frantically as she circles behind the desk. “Jimmy, mic her.”

  “It’s so good to see you here.” Jillian leans toward Sunshine, trying to make herself heard over the hubbub. “You disappeared so fast, I never really had a chance to thank you back there.”

  “Miss Kendal, lean back, please,” requests a voice from behind her. Jillian turns her head, and there’s Jimmy, holding a small lapel mic attached to a thin cable. “I need to wire you for sound,” he adds, grinning. She recognizes him from the transition area. She remembers thinking at the time that he was a fat, greasy blob. Up close, he looks much worse.

  She leans back in the chair, and Jimmy reaches around her to fasten the mic to her GoldenGirl warm-up jacket. His aroma is unpleasant, and she doesn’t like the way he’s fumbling at her chest. “I’ll do that,” she snaps, and she snatches the microphone, brushing his hands out of the way.

  Momentarily nonplused, Jimmy instinctively reaches to retrieve the mic. “No,” he says, “I need to…”

  Jillian knocks his hands away again. “I said, I’ll do it,” she hisses, as she fastens the microphone to her jacket. “Keep your hands off of me.” You fat slob, she nearly adds – and judging from Jimmy’s sharp intake of breath, you’d have thought she had actually said it. She’s aware of his hulking presence behind her for a few seconds. Then, she hears him moving heavily away, muttering.

  “Thirty seconds, girls,” Leida says, with a thin smile.

  “How long is the show?” Jillian asks. “Are we live?”

  “Yes, we’re live,” Leida says, sounding annoyed. “It’s a half-hour slot. Didn’t anyone even brief you?” She makes it sound like an accusation, as if somehow it’s Jillian’s fault that she doesn’t know what’s going on.

  “Sorry, honey,” Jillian says, touching Leida’s arm lightly. “Nobody said a word to me.” She sees a flinch in Leida’s eyes, and she smiles sweetly. Jillian discovered years ago that some Yankee women don’t like to be called “honey,” and that they don’t much care for physical contact during conversation. Too undignified, she guesses. And so, when she’s outside of Texas, she reserves the term and the gesture for those special occasions when she wants to get under somebody’s skin.

  Leida turns away from Jillian and looks directly into the camera. To Jillian’s amusement, Leida plays with several expressions in rapid succession, as if she were trying on clothes in front of a mirror. First, a broad, beaming smile. Then, a serious, almost somber, flat gaze. Finally, she settles on a professionally cheerful half-smile.

  “Five seconds.” The technician brings his arm down, points significantly at Leida, and nods.

  “Good evening,” Leida says, in her best neutral talk-show-host voice, “and welcome to Sports Night. I’m Leida Andersen, sitting in for Max Maxwell who’s on vacation all week. We have a couple of special guests here in the studio tonight…”

  Jillian sinks back in her chair and looks across the desk at Sunshine, who sits stiffly, looking straight out into the studio. Why is she wearing that bizarre white outfit? Is she in some kind of religious cult? As far as Jillian can tell, Sunshine doesn’t appear to have enough enthusiasm to be a wild-eyed religious fanatic.

  Jillian shifts her gaze back to Leida, only to find Leida staring at her, expectantly. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Jillian says. “I must have been daydreaming.”

  “I was just congratulating you on your thrilling victory today, Jill.” Leida’s half-smile is still painted on her face, but her eyes shoot daggers at Jillian. Pay attention, she seems to be saying. “You made it look so easy,” she says.

  “Thank you, Leida.” Already, the familiar banality of the conversation is becoming oppressive. “And, yes,” she adds, matter-of-factly, “it was pretty easy.”

  Leida has already started to turn to her other guest, but the unexpected response draws her up. “Do you mean,” she asks, turning back to Jillian, “that nobody really challenged you in the entire race?”

  “I mean that nobody ever really challenges me in any race.” She realizes how conceited that sounds as soon as she says it. But there it is. “I’ve won every triathlon I’ve ever entered,” she points out.

  “But I understand that you did have a serious challenger for a while this afternoon,” Leida says, as she turns to the far side of the desk. “Which brings me to my other guest, a native New-Englander who was born and raised not far from here and who now lives nearby in Connecticut. A young woman who competed in her very first triathlon today – and gave an excellent account of herself, from what I hear. Miss Sunshine O’Malley. Thanks for joining us, Sunshine.”

  Sunshine’s face fills a nearby monitor, and Jillian can see Sunshine’s eyes flicker anxiously as she thinks about her response. She opens and closes her mouth quickly a few times, like a feeding fish. “I’m a little nervous,” she finally confesses, in a half-whisper. “I’ve never been on TV before. Thanks for inviting me.”

  Great, Jillian thinks, looks like we’ve set the tone for this interview: I’m the stuck-up overconfident snob, and Sunshine’s the poor innocent little lamb.

  And I don’t trust this Andersen lady, not one bit. She’s going to stir up some kind of shit just to liven up the show, I can feel it. She’s going to try to get a rise out of somebody – and I have a hunch that it’s not going to be Sunshine.

  This, Jillian thinks grimly, could turn into one hell of a long half-hour.

  1.2.3: Sports Night

  Leida: Jill, can you explain the triathlon to our viewers at home who may not be familiar with it? What are the events and the distances, that sort of thing?

  Jillian: Well, Leida, as the name implies, the triathlon is three events rolled into one – just like the pentathlon is five events and the decathlon is ten events.

  Leida: And the events in the triathlon are swimming, biking, and running, right?

  Jillian: Well, usually – although there are all kinds of variations. I’ve heard of triathlons that have canoeing or skiing or even weightlifting. But you’re right, the most common combination is swim, bike, and run.

  Leida: And let me see if I have the distances right: first you swim two-and-a-half miles, then you hop on your bicycle and ride…

  Jillian: Actually, the distances vary from race to race. The triathlon that we had here today was an Ironman. But most triathlons are a lot shorter than that. The Olympic distance is probably the most common right now, it’s a one-point-five-K swim, a forty-K bike, and…

  Leida: Whoa, slow down, put that in English for those of us who don’t know what a K is.

  Jillian: Sure. That’s about a one-mile swim, about a twenty-five-mile bike ride, and a little over a six-mile run.

  Leida: Compared to… how long is the, what did you call it, the Ironman, like we had today?

  Jillian: An Ironman is a little less than a two-and-a-ha
lf-mile swim, a one-hundred-and-twelve-mile bike ride, and a full marathon run, a little over twenty-six miles.

  Leida: Wow. Golly. I don’t know about you folks at home, but I get tired just thinking about that. I know I couldn’t even handle an Olympic triathlon, much less an Ironman. Which distance do you like better, Jill?

  Jillian: Oh, I don’t even bother to enter anything except an Ironman.

  Leida: Not enough of a challenge?

  Jillian: No, actually it’s the other way around. There’s no way I could win at a shorter distance. I’m not a very good swimmer, and the Olympic distance doesn’t give me enough of a chance to catch up. And I’m not going to enter a race if I don’t think I can win. I mean, what’s the point?

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  Leida: What were you thinking about when you were out in front today, Sunshine? Did you think you had a chance to win?

  Sunshine: I wasn’t thinking about winning or losing, Mrs. Andersen. I was just…

  Leida: Miss Andersen. But please, just call me Leida, okay? Mrs. Andersen. I was looking around to see if my mother was here.

  Sunshine: Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way!

  Leida: Oh no, it’s alright, I was just kidding. But please do call me Leida.

  Sunshine: Okay, sure. Ummm… now I forgot the question. I’m sorry.

  Leida: I was just wondering if you thought that you had a chance to win today, and I believe that you started to say that that you weren’t thinking in those terms.

  Sunshine: Yes, that’s right. I don’t believe in competition. Competition is an ego thing, and I’m working on getting rid of my ego. I was just trying to do the best I could and have a good time. Basically, I guess you could say that I was out there to absorb the experience.

  Leida: But Sunshine, if you don’t mind my asking, whatever led you to enter the race in the first place? I mean, if all you wanted to do was to have a good time, you could have gone off to run in the woods somewhere by yourself. Am I right?

  Sunshine: Well, yes, I guess you’re right. Actually, I didn’t really want to do it at all. But Nathan wanted me to do it, so I did it. He knows what’s best for me.

  Leida: So, I guess the obvious next question is: Who’s Nathan?

  Sunshine: He’s my guru. I live in his ashram.

  Leida: Well, that certainly clears things up. You mean a real guru? Like one of those swamis?

  Sunshine: I don’t know what you mean. What’s a swami?

  Leida: You know, the guys with the turbans and the snakes and the flying carpets and the white robes. Sort of like what you’re wearing. Is this Nathan fellow an Indian person? You know, from India?

  Sunshine: No. He’s a Jewish person. From New York.

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  Leida: Jill, how do you feel about what Sunshine said before the commercial, that competition is an ego trip?

  Sunshine: Oh, no, that’s not what I meant. Not an ego trip, I didn’t mean… I meant that wanting to win, wanting to be better than somebody else, it’s a manifestation of your ego. And Nathan teaches us that we must rid ourselves of our egos. That’s all I meant.

  Jillian: I don’t agree with that at all. I mean, sure, there’s a lot of ego gratification involved in winning. I’m not going to deny that. But a little healthy competition can motivate you to do your best. You never know how good you can do until somebody’s really pushing you. I mean… Sunshine, didn’t you feel anything when we were having our little race today? Don’t you think that you were running faster because you were trying to beat me to the aid station? I flat-out guarantee you that you wouldn’t have been running that fast if I hadn’t been right on your heels.

  Sunshine: I… I probably shouldn’t have done that. Or maybe… I don’t know, I’m still trying to figure out what the purpose of that experience was. I think it was to show me that I wasn’t really doing the best that I could do. But the point is that I should be able to do my best without having to compete with someone else. It should be something that comes from within me. I shouldn’t have to depend on external stimulation. I’m still trying to sort it out. But when I tripped over the camera, I think that was to tell me that I shouldn’t have been competing with you in the first place. It was a mistake.

  Leida: Well, Sunshine, I’m not sure that I understand all of that. You certainly do look at things a lot differently than most people do.

  Sunshine: Thank you.

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  Leida: And here you are – look at monitor two, the one over there, that’s right – it looks like you’re about fifteen, maybe twenty feet from the camera. From this angle, it’s hard to tell who’s ahead. But that’s a remarkable shot. The determination on both your faces is pretty awesome.

  Jillian: I think Sunshine may have been ahead of me here. I just barely did manage to pass her right at the end. It’s amazing that these pictures came out at all. The camera hit the ground pretty hard. At least, that’s what it sounded like. I didn’t stick around to find out.

  Leida: Weren’t you worried about Sunshine? I mean, she was running pretty fast when she fell. Didn’t you feel like you should stick around and see if she was okay?

  Jillian: Leida, I was in the middle of a race. Accidents happen all the time. Not so much on the run leg, but on the bike leg people wipe out all over the place. You can’t stop every time somebody takes a spill. They’ve got medical people to take care of things like that. And there couldn’t have been a better spot for it to happen, right there at the aid station and all.

  Leida: What if you hadn’t been at an aid station? What if you had been out in the middle of nowhere? Would you have stopped to help her?

  Jillian: That question doesn’t make any sense. I mean, on the run, you’re never more than something like half a mile from an aid station. But the point is that this is a race; the reason that we’re all out there busting our butts is to try to win, not to be good Samaritans.

  Leida: Sunshine, what about you? If it had been Jill who had tripped, would you have stopped to help her?

  Sunshine: Oh, of course. I mean, it’s only a race. People are more important than races. But I embrace the fact that other people may not feel that way.

  Leida: So how do you feel about Jill not stopping to help you?

  Sunshine: I… Leida, I feel like you’re trying to get me to say something bad about Jill. But there really wasn’t any reason for her to stop. I wasn’t really even hurt or anything like that.

  Leida: Don’t be silly, why would I want you to say something bad about Jill?

  Jillian: Liven up the show a little? Goose up your ratings?

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  Leida: Well, tell us, Sunshine, are there any triathlons in your future?

  Sunshine: I don’t know. I hope not. I’ll have to talk it over with Nathan.

  Jillian: Sunshine, I… listen, you’ve got a lot of potential. I mean, it was pretty gutsy what you did out there today, especially for your first race. If you got yourself a decent coach, you could really be something special. I mean it. You need to dump this Nathan dude and get somebody who knows what he’s doing.

  Sunshine: Jill, you don’t understand. I guess there’s no way you really could understand. You’re talking about triathlons, and I’m talking about… well, I’m talking about my life. Nathan teaches us that it doesn’t matter whether we win or lose, that life isn’t some kind of contest. We’re all just people. We all just have to do the best that we can. We’re all in it together.

  Jillian: Sunshine, no offense, but that’s a load of… that’s nonsense. Anybody who tells you that winning doesn’t matter isn’t helping you. I mean, this “do your best” shit may be okay for…

  Leida: Jill, please, we’re on live!

  Jillian: Sorry. But I feel really strongly about this. The way you approach the triathlon – any race, really, any competition, not just the triathlon – the way you approach it says a lot about the way you ap
proach life. Either you’re a winner or you’re a loser. That’s the way it is in sports. And that’s the way it is in everything else, too. But going around saying that you’ve done your best so it doesn’t matter whether you win or lose is just… well, it’s just a cop-out. You always have to try to do better. That’s what life is all about. Not everybody can win, but everybody can at least try to win. I think… I remember Daddy telling me that from the time I was like four years old, as long as I can remember. He said that if you’re not going to play to win, you shouldn’t be playing at all. And I believe that. I believe it with all my heart.

  Leida: Well, then, I guess that’s why it’s so frustrating for you when you run into problems out there that get in the way of you doing your best, isn’t that right?

  Jillian: Well, you always run into problems. But that’s no excuse for giving up.

  Leida: But what happens if the course is marked so badly that you keep getting lost? Or what if the volunteers are trained so poorly that they keep getting in your way?

  Jillian: That doesn’t happen very often, Leida. I guess you heard about some of the problems I had today. And sure, it’s better when everything runs smoothly. But like we say in Texas, you play the hand you’re dealt.

  Leida: But what do you think about a race director who doesn’t know what she’s doing? What would you call that kind of person?

  Jillian: Leida, you’ve got to… Let me put it this way. Being an RD is a tough job. Especially in an Ironman. You’ve got to cover hundreds of miles, and all of those volunteers, and the race marshals, the aid stations, refreshments… And then all of the triathletes. And all of the spectators, maybe thousands of them. You can’t expect everything to be perfect every time.

  Leida: Jill, I have to tell you, I’m surprised that you’re so… forgiving. If some race director did a sloppy job and messed me up, I’d probably have to say that she was a moron.

  Jillian: I… I can’t believe you said that.