by Lucy Score
He shrugged, all innocence. “I had donuts to pick up.”
“It’s the first day of shooting for the season, and you’re already torturing poor Paige,” Cat complained. “Why do you mess with her?”
“She’s too buttoned up. One of these days, I’m going to push her over the edge, and she’s going to have to scream at me and call me an asshole to my face instead of saying it in her head and pulling the ice princess routine.”
“You’re totally into her,” Cat accused.
“I am not!” He wasn’t. His gaze tracked to Paige where she had her head together with the local contractor they were using for the project and a production assistant. Her hair—a rich brown cut in a chin length bob—was pulled back in a stubby ponytail and fed through the back of a battered ball cap. She wore jeans, work boots, and a shapeless windbreaker probably over one of the tshirts she favored.
Cat raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s probably a good thing if you’re not. Looks like the contractor’s son has the hots for her, and I’d love to see her get laid.”
Gannon’s head whipped around on his neck as if it were possessed. He zeroed in on the lanky guy in ripped up jeans and a Clawson Construction fleece who strutted up to Paige and the GC. He couldn’t hear what he said, but the guy had Paige laughing and looking up at him like he was a fucking comedian.
“Yep. Good thing you’re not into her,” Cat said, hopping off the chair and patting his shoulder.
Muttering under his breath, Gannon decided to muscle in on their little pow-wow. He was the host of the show. He should know what was going on. He stepped over cables and around one of the two production assistants their little crew boasted.
“Hey, Mike, right?” he said offering his hand to the burly bearded contractor. “I’m Gannon. We talked on the phone.”
Mike’s ham-sized fist closed around his in a hearty handshake. “Good to finally meet you, Mr. King” Mike said with the quick grin of an actual morning person.
“It’s just Gannon.”
“I was just telling Paige here how excited we are to get started. The Russes are personal friends, good people.”
“Well, Paige will make sure we do a good job for your friends,” Gannon promised, sliding an arm around Paige’s shoulders and hauling her up against his side. She stiffened under his touch. “She does a great job puppet mastering chaos.”
“We’ve certainly been impressed so far,” Mike agreed. “This is my son, Brandon,” he said, jerking his thumb at the guy in the fleece.
“Brandon,” Gannon offered his hand. He put a little extra power into the shake. “Paige and I are looking forward to working with you both. Clawson Construction has a solid rep.”
“What the hell was that?” Paige hissed, sliding out from under his arm when the Clawsons headed over to talk with their crew.
“What was what?” Gannon asked, all innocence.
She didn’t answer him. Someone needing something chirped in the earpiece of her headset. Paige adjusted the mic and told them she’d be right there. “Behave yourself,” she said, pointing a warning finger at Gannon.
––—
They had a pre-shoot meeting for the production team and both the Clawson and the King crews. Director Andy Sanders walked everyone through what they planned to accomplish that morning and then Paige took her crew aside to cover the finer points. It was a good, solid team. Traveling reality shows couldn’t afford the expense or headache of large crews, which meant much of their team played two or three roles to cover all their bases.
They had three camera operators, Tony, Ricardo—Rico for short—and Louis. Felicia was the sound mixer knocking on twenty years of experience. Mel and Sam were the fresh-faced production assistants who doubled as camera assistants and generally indispensable gophers.
Paige covered all the loose ends that were left over acting as production coordinator and assistant director. Andy liked to joke that she knew more than he did and should have been named director. It wasn’t really a joke, though. It was tough to break into the boys club, not that Paige would let that stop her. She had plans to get there.
The sun was up, the Russes and their extended family had arrived on site, and they were ready to roll. Satisfied that everyone knew what his or her job was, Paige did one last checkin with the family. They were clumped together in the Russes’ living room, nerves evident on all the adult faces. Trevor was in tears. “But I wanna wear it!” His wails added to the tension.
“What the hell’s going on in there, St. James? Stop pinching the kids,” Andy’s voice crackled in her ear.
“Gimmie a minute,” she murmured before cutting her mic. Trevor slid out of his mother’s arms and stomped over to Paige.
“Hey, buddy. Are you ready for the big day?” she asked.
“Mom says I can’t wear ’dis but I hafta!” Trevor ran his little hands over the toy tool belt he wore on his hips. “I’m gonna help build Pop-Pop’s house!”
“Wow, you came prepared,” Paige told him.
“He hid it under his jacket,” his mom sighed, running a hand through Trevor’s hair. “We’ll make sure he doesn’t wear it on camera.”
That statement started the tears again.
Paige dropped down to her knees on the orange shag carpeting that was in its last hours of existence. “This tool belt is awesome, and I think Gannon is going to be really impressed.”
Trevor wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and leaned morosely against his mother’s leg. “Yeah?”
Paige nodded. “Definitely. But listen, since we’re supposed to be surprising you, you have to pretend that you didn’t know we were coming. So you wouldn’t have your tool belt on yet.”
He frowned at her, his blue eyes thoughtful.
“But when we give Gannon and Cat the tour of the house, I think it would be awesome if you put the belt on to help show them around.”
Trevor’s eyes lit up, and his mother muttered an “Oh dear God” under her breath.
“Does that sound good?” Paige asked.
Trevor nodded emphatically.
“Great! So why don’t you give me your belt now, and as soon as we reset for the tour I’m going to have you put it on, okay?”
His little fingers worked the belt free, and he all but threw it at her. “Woo hoo! I get to help! Hey, Molly!” He ran off in search of his sister.
His mom sighed after him. “Thank you for that. Really, if it’s a problem at all—”
“A face like that showing Gannon King his tool belt?” Paige shook her head. “What a way to kick off the season.”
She moved on down the line to Phil and Delia who perched on the faded yellow and brown sofa where their oldest son was comforting them. Delia held a fistful of tissues. “How are you two doing? We’re just about ready to get started,” Paige promised.
Delia blew her nose mightily. “It’s hard to believe this is the last time we’ll all be in this house as a family.”
Smiling sympathetically, Paige sank down on the couch next to Delia. She’d dealt with this exact reaction from nearly every family the show had helped. It always amazed her, the connection that people could feel to a house. She’d never experienced that in her mother’s sprawling Long Island Tudor. Sure, she’d grown up there, but it had never felt like home. She put her hand on Delia’s.
“I promise you that Gannon and Cat and all the people on Clawson’s crew are going to make sure this stays home. We’re just going to make it more functional and safer for your family. This is just the beginning of the memories you’ll have in this house.”
Delia squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Paige.”
“Get your ass out here, St. James,” Andy ordered good-naturedly in her ear. “We’re ready to roll.”
CHAPTER FIVE
There was nothing like the first “action” of the season. They all felt it, the crew, the contractors, the family. The excitement of a new beginning for all. At its heart, what they were doing was storytelling, Paige
thought as she watched Gannon and Cat roll up into the driveway in the tricked out Chevy, a stipulation of the very generous advertiser.
That storytelling, the validation of each family and their contributions was the reason Paige had stuck it out on the show. While the network and advertisers chipped away at the basic joy of the job, the families and volunteers and contractors they worked with made it bearable.
Gannon gave his trademark honk with the horn, and the Russes poured out of the front door with the enthusiasm of an elementary school recess. Andy was grinning, and that was a good sign.
They shot five more takes getting different angles before Andy was satisfied and they reset for the interior tour.
Brandon broke away from where he was sequestered off camera with the rest of the Clawson team and joined her under the awning. “You ready to get started?” Paige asked him.
He grinned down at her and patted the hammer on his belt. “I was born ready.”
Trevor ducked out of his mother’s grip and rushed up. “Paige! Is it time?”
“Perfect timing, Trevor.” Paige pulled his tool belt off her shoulder and helped him secure it around his little waist.
“Hey! Mine’s just like yours,” Trevor announced to Brandon.
Someone from the construction crew called Brandon’s name. “Sorry, kiddo, gotta go,” he said, ruffling Trevor’s thick hair, and the little boy’s face fell.
Paige spotted Gannon frowning over blueprints at a folding table under a pop-up tent. “Hey, how about we go tell Gannon you’re going to help with the tour,” she suggested.
“Yes!” Trevor grabbed Paige’s hand and together they scampered over to the man. Gannon King could be an ass with most people, but hand him a kid and he was charming, sweet, and funny. It was one of his very limited redeeming qualities.
“Hey there,” Gannon said, when Trevor stopped just short of running full speed into him. “Are you with Clawson Construction? Because I have a question about these blueprints.”
Trevor, eyes bigger than a Japanese anime character, shook his head.
Amused, Gannon raised an eyebrow at Paige. Too bad labor laws didn’t allow them to cart children around on set with them all the time, she mused.
“This is my friend Trevor,” Paige said, introducing the momentarily shy kid. “He’s going to help give you a tour of the inside of his grandparents’ house.”
Trevor found his voice and launched into an explanation of every plastic tool on his tool belt. Gannon listened intently, nodding without interrupting.
Sam’s Southern baritone came through her headset. “Okay, Beast Mode, your presence is requested inside and bring that handyman.”
Paige touched her ear and nodded toward the house telegraphing to Gannon it was time to wrap it up.
“You know, bud. I think your belt is missing something,” Gannon told Trevor.
Trevor immediately twirled the belt on his little hips looking to make sure he hadn’t lost any tools.
Gannon produced a carpenter pencil from behind his ear. “You’re definitely going to need one of these.”
“Whoa!” Trevor accepted it with the excitement of Christmas morning. “Hey! Mom! Look! Gannon gave me a pencil!” He took off at a sprint toward his parents.
“Thank God you didn’t give him something sharper like a chisel,” Paige breathed.
“Come on, princess. I believe we’re needed on set.”
––—
The first day of shooting went as smoothly as reality TV could. The Russes had been perfect on camera with their sincere combination of excitement and nerves, and Cat had glamorously made the same promises to Delia that Paige had. They would return to a family home ready to house decades’ more memories. Trevor leading Gannon around by the hand with his new pencil tucked behind his ear was guaranteed to melt hearts across the country when the episode aired.
They finished filming the tour by four, and Paige handed the family over to the production assistants to send them off with final reassurances. The Russe kids and some family friends had all kicked in to send Phil and Delia on a seven-day cruise.
By six, Paige was going over the demo plans with Mike Clawson while an army of volunteers packed away the rest of the family’s furnishings and belongings into storage pods.
“We can’t touch these rooms because we need the light to shoot the demo, and they’re usually the biggest bangs for the buck,” Paige told Mike, indicating the kitchen and bathroom. “But whatever your crew can do in the two guest bedrooms and the downstairs powder room overnight will help keep us on schedule.”
“I’ll let you know if any of our inspectors find any bad news when we start poking around,” Mike promised.
“I appreciate that. You have my cell, right?”
He did. And her email and her hotel room just in case.
Paige cut Tony and Louis, checked tomorrow’s call sheet that she’d distributed after lunch, and had Sam set up the interview “booth” before sending him and Mel home for the night. Rico and Felicia would stay and help her get a couple hours of volunteer interviews. She consulted her list. She had ten interviews to do. She liked to start them on the first night when everyone’s energy was high. That way if she uncovered a story that deserved more screen time, they had the rest of the shoot to work it into the storyline and expand upon it. It always made for a long day, but the end results were worth it.
She set up shop under a pop-up erected outside the craft services and show sponsor tent. She found that shooting at night gave the feeling to the audience that everyone was tired and more vulnerable than in the bright light of morning. She was just getting ready to track down her first interview when Gannon stormed up.
“What the hell is this?” he demanded, shaking papers in her face.
She took them from him, perused them. “It’s tomorrow’s call sheet.”
“Why aren’t we having Clawson demo the main bath tonight?”
“Because of the magic of TV,” she said calmly. It was an old argument. Gannon was an actual contractor, which meant the ass backwards timelines of shooting a TV show about home renovations was ridiculous.
“We’d be a hell of a lot farther ahead in the morning if we have them demo it tonight. Do we really need to see Cat carry out another leaky toilet or me break another fucking mirror?”
“If you wouldn’t do such a good job at it, the audience wouldn’t want to see it. The Kings doing demo is a highlight of the show, and for continuity’s sake it looks better in the episode when we do the tour, and it looks like we start the demo immediately after.”
“It doesn’t make fucking sense to shoot it this way.” Gannon’s contractor sensibilities were officially in a bunch, but Paige had no sympathy.
“If you would look at the call sheet when it’s distributed, maybe we could do something about it, but since you can’t be bothered to review it in advance, this is what happens.”
“You’re just a network kiss-ass. You don’t care about doing things right, you just care about cutting corners and manipulating ratings. This is a waste of everyone’s time.”
Nose to nose now. “No, this is a waste of everyone’s time.” Paige was the epitome of calm on the outside. On the inside, she wanted to take the hammer out of his tool belt and smack him in the forehead with it. “Either shoot the scenes the way we planned, offer up a goddamn solution, or go throw your temper tantrum somewhere else so we can continue. We’re all on the same team, and we all work long hours, and holding up production doesn’t help anyone. Now if you’ll excuse me, some of us still have a couple hours of work to do.”
That was as good of an exit line as she was going to have. Paige turned and stalked away from him. Rico let out a low whistle as he playfully filmed her storming off.
“Yeah, go ahead,” Gannon called after her. “Walk away and find someone else to exploit, princess.”
She heard a thud and knew he’d thrown his tape measure into the tent wall. For whatever reason, his tantrum made
her smile. Every time he broke and she didn’t, she counted it as a victory.
She busied herself with the remaining items on her to-do list and promptly forgot about Gannon and his asshole-ish tendencies. Darkness fell, and Paige blew through the interviews with a speed and efficiency honed by years of experience. She’d gotten her start as a production assistant on a dating reality show. She knew which questions to ask that would get emotional answers and build good stories. Most of it was a ratings ploy. Taking exhausted volunteers who had strong feelings for the family they were helping and pushing a few buttons guaranteed tears.
Paige’s personal challenge wasn’t to deliver the drama, it was to deliver the truth. It always rang differently than a Frankenbite story that post-production cobbled together. Tonight’s volunteers were more than happy to sing the praises of the Russes, and with the family’s background there was no shortage of backstory.
She sat off camera while Mariel, a woman who had been homeless for two years before the Russes coaxed her into the soup kitchen and then their job placement center, made herself comfortable on the stool. She wore her bright green Kings of Construction volunteer shirt over a sweatshirt to ward off the evening chill. Her dark hair was pulled back in a stylish bun—her work hair, she called it. She clutched a tissue in her hand. “For the inevitable waterworks,” she told Paige.
“Well, let’s start there. What about helping the Russes makes you emotional?” Paige began.
Mariel rolled her dark eyes heavenward. “What about the Russes doesn’t make me emotional? I was a very young mom, and when my children’s father left, he took every dime we had in our checking account. I had no savings. I was working part-time as a cashier in a drug store. It wasn’t enough to support me let alone me and three children. We were evicted from our apartment and living in our car when one day Phil Russe saw us in the library. It was cold, and we were trying to stay warm, and the library was quiet and safe. He asked if we were hungry—” Mariel’s voice broke, and Paige gave her a moment.
“My little boy, God bless his heart, said ‘Yes, sir. We’re always hungry.’ And my heart just shattered into a million pieces. My children were hungry.” Tears glistened in those beautiful dark eyes. “I was failing them. They should have been happy and warm and safe, and I was failing them.”