Nailed It!

by Mel Campbell

  A few dozen people were gathered around the whiteboard. Most were standing; others were perched on the edges of desks. Some were holding sandwiches, bottles of water or takeaway coffee cups. They had their backs to Rose, but she instantly picked out the contestants from the tradies and producers. For a start, their clothes looked too new. They looked tradie-ish, but their T-shirts were bright white, their pants were stain-free, and their boots were stiff and shiny. Everything was a little too fitted, a little too fancy.

  And the female contestants’ hair was styled in lustrous waves. Rose self-consciously touched her own dishwater-blonde hair. Today, it was tied back in a loose bun. She’d done it in ninety seconds at a traffic light on her way to work.

  A little white dog scampered through the door behind Rose. She bent down to pat it. ‘Hey, buddy,’ she murmured as the dog nuzzled her hand, wagging its tail. It wandered away towards the whiteboard, where a middle-aged woman scooped it into her arms. Quietly, Rose moved up to stand on the fringe of the group. Bernie was standing by the whiteboard, talking.

  ‘And finally, everyone,’ he was saying, ‘we’ve got the first sinking at the end of this week, so the safety team will have to go over each of your boats. Have a look at your roster – there won’t be any filming while they’re checking your boat.’

  ‘Um, sorry,’ one of the contestants said, lifting his hand. ‘You know how we had that trouble earlier on? Are we going to lose any fitout time if the safety checks run long?’ Beside him, a well-groomed woman nodded.

  ‘Yes, that’s part of your storyline,’ Bernie said. ‘If the safety checks run long, you’re just going to have to deal with it.’

  ‘More camera time for you!’ chimed in another contestant, and they all laughed.

  ‘Right,’ said Bernie. ‘Now, we’ve got a night shoot on Friday, but the council noise regulations mean we can’t use any power tools. So make sure you get all your drilling and sanding done in daylight hours. But save something speccy for the evening. We’re not going to film you guys just standing around patting each other on the back.’

  Dan stepped forward. ‘And our trade support team aren’t getting paid any overtime, so if you get into trouble at night, you’ll just have to wear it. Plan out what you’re doing, so that you’re finished with us by six o’clock Friday.’

  Another contestant raised her hand. ‘I just want to say we’re really thankful for all the hard work the tradies have been putting in for us,’ she said, as several of her colleagues made sounds of agreement.

  ‘Absolutely,’ added a third contestant. ‘You make us look great out there, and we totally couldn’t do it without you. Round of applause for Dan and the guys!’

  The contestants all clapped. The tradies looked embarrassed. ‘Just doing our jobs,’ Dan said. ‘We’re all in the same boat.’

  Bernie raised his voice over the mix of laughter and groans. ‘Okay, okay, that’s all for today. Everyone back to work. Jo and Luke, Trang and Minh – I need you guys to stay behind for a minute. We’ve got to go over some of your rigging choices.’

  The group dispersed – the tradies heading to the back of the shed, and the contestants ambling towards the door. A pair of contestants came directly at Rose, lost in their own conversation. She quickly stepped aside; her job was to be not heard and not seen. But the pair stopped and smiled at her. They were a man and a woman, the guy in his mid-twenties, the woman maybe a decade older.

  ‘Are you new here?’ the man said, holding out his hand. ‘Hi, I’m Marlon.’

  ‘Rose,’ she said, shaking first his hand, then the woman’s. ‘And yes, I just started yesterday.’

  ‘I’m Laura,’ the woman said. They both had a presence about them that Rose couldn’t quite pin down. They didn’t exactly look more attractive than regular folk … well, they certainly weren’t as hot as Dave from Mansions in the Sky. Marlon was kind of a surfer type, while Laura would have been at home on a cattle farm, but they somehow seemed just that little bit more interesting than your average person on the street. Charisma, Rose thought. That must be what you needed for television.

  ‘How are you liking it here?’ Laura asked.

  ‘It’s great,’ Rose said, ‘it’s a really good opportunity for me.’

  They both nodded. ‘I think that’s how all of us feel,’ Marlon said. ‘This is such a huge break for everyone.’

  ‘Are you guys professional renovators?’ Rose said.

  ‘Nah,’ Marlon said, ‘I’m here because my girlfriend wants to get into home decoration and I don’t mind getting handy.’

  ‘Don’t sell yourself short,’ Laura said. ‘My husband and I are here because we love being on the water. We have our own yacht.’

  ‘So you two aren’t a team?’ said Rose.

  ‘Oh no,’ Laura said. ‘David is out working on our boat.’

  ‘And Kikki is getting supplies. In the meantime, Laura’s giving me some advice on weatherproofing.’

  The older woman nodded. ‘It’s really easy to overlook that stuff when you’re tied up at dock. But sea trials are only a few weeks away.’

  ‘If we even get that far.’

  ‘Don’t be silly – you guys are doing a great job.’

  ‘Not compared to you,’ Marlon said. ‘Your boat is amazing.’

  ‘Yeah, well, the decorating stages are still to come. That’s where we’re going to struggle.’

  ‘You can always ask Kikki and I for help there, you know that.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Laura said. ‘We’re definitely going to need it!’

  ‘Well,’ Rose said, ‘if there’s anything I can help you with …’

  ‘Oh no,’ the contestants both said at once.

  ‘You guys already do too much,’ Marlon said.

  ‘You tradies are amazing,’ Laura said.

  ‘Go on,’ Rose said. ‘Seriously, don’t stop.’

  The pair laughed.

  ‘I’d better get back to it,’ Rose said, ‘amazing doesn’t just happen.’

  ‘Good luck,’ Laura said as they walked away, ‘I’m sure you’ll be great.’

  ‘Same to you,’ Rose said. She hadn’t met people that nice on the job since … since before the Old Steve days, and maybe never. Nicola was definitely not going to be a fan of this show; if everyone was so nice, and got along so well, where was all the drama going to come from?

  That Thursday night, Rose’s family put aside their small screens and gathered around the big TV in the lounge to watch the current season of the show she was now working on. It was strange to see a commercial TV broadcast coming from a screen that was usually alight with Criterion Collection Blu-rays, downloaded prestige dramas, or at its most plebeian, the ABC. For once, Rose hadn’t had to bring dinner home; to celebrate her new job, Alan was in the kitchen cooking up what smelled like … well, it mostly smelled like burning, but Rose hoped something edible would emerge at the end of it.

  Tonight’s episode of The Dock began with a handsome Nordic man striding purposefully along a dock that Rose realised was not the one where the boats were moored, but another far more glamorous structure. He had a close-cropped beard and piercing blue eyes. His shoulder-length blond hair tousled in the sea breeze.

  ‘That’s Thor Thorsson, the host,’ Rose told the room. ‘He was a famous solo yachtsman in the ’80s. He said hi to me once.’

  ‘Famous in the ’80s?’ said Renton. ‘Sounds like he’s washed-up.’ He looked around, eager for a reaction. ‘Get it? Washed-up!’

  ‘Shut up, Renton.’

  ‘Ah, the sea,’ Thor rhapsodised on screen. ‘Bringer of life, mother of us all. But what it gives,’ he raised a tanned, clenched fist to the sky, ‘it can also … take! My Viking forefathers knew this – now you know it!’

  Swelling music introduced a ‘Previously On’ montage, which mainly involved people being bitchy to each oth
er. They refused to share tools, dismissed each other’s ideas, and stole each other’s materials.

  ‘I haven’t seen anything like this,’ Rose said. ‘They’re all really nice in real life.’

  ‘You [bleeping beep],’ one of the contestants was saying. ‘I can’t [bleep] you [bleep] shit!’

  Alan pointed at a blonde smudge in the background. ‘There you are! That’s the back of your head!’

  ‘They filmed this episode six months ago!’ Rose said. ‘I just started this week.’

  Renton leaned forward. ‘It’s hard to say at this size, but I think that’s Thor.’

  ‘No! It’s Rose’s hair!’ Alan insisted. ‘She made it on air!’ The figure turned around. ‘Oh, it is Thor.’

  Rose couldn’t believe how much drama the show was managing to wring from activities that were really quite sedate. Not much actually happened; instead, the show obsessed over things that had happened in the past, or were yet to happen.

  The episode cut between scenes of desultory handiwork and studio interviews with the contestants, who narrated their own thoughts and emotions for the camera as they laboriously carried out small tasks. They all seemed to say the same things, but in slightly different ways.

  ‘It’s 5 p.m. already, and I’m worried we’re going to lose the light.’

  ‘I’ve sent Bryley for more nails, but did she get enough?’

  ‘How do boats even, like, float?’

  The mundane activities being shown seemed at odds with the prevailing atmosphere of aggressive tension, and Rose saw how the show was confecting interpersonal drama between the contestants by making them compete for resources. She knew there was a whole warehouse full of timber, but each team was only allowed a limited number of planks for their deck. If they made mistakes – and they all did – the only way to get more materials was to win them in a series of challenges that seemed ridiculously easy to Rose, but that puzzled and frustrated the contestants.

  Whenever The Dock returned from a commercial break, Thor would recap what had been happening just a few minutes earlier.

  ‘We saw that already!’ Rose said. ‘Tell us if the pump was actually fixed in time!’

  Thor was regarding two contestants with the sorrowful but dignified air of an oncologist. ‘Jonquil,’ he said gently. Then, turning to her partner: ‘Blair. As you know, the pump has been causing you problems. But with the next elimination sinking just days away, of course all must be shipshape for the judges.’

  A slow zoom on the contestants’ faces. Blair and Jonquil nodded, funereally. A shot of their hands, tightly clutched, white-knuckled. Thor continued. ‘We’ve checked out the pump …’ ominous music swelled under his words, ‘… and it’s fine!’

  The music soared as Thor broke into a goofy grin. Blair’s shoulders slumped in relief, and Jonquil hugged him, squealing.

  ‘This soundtrack is very didactic,’ Sarah said.

  ‘It’s like they’re taking us on a journey,’ Renton said wisely.

  ‘Why are there so many ads?’ Sarah complained as the show went to another break. It felt as though nobody on The Dock could even complete a sentence before the show would cut to the commercials. Rose might not have shared her family’s tastes in entertainment, but she wasn’t a big commercial TV watcher, either – and she was astonished at the kinds of products being advertised in The Dock’s prime-time slot. Everything was gambling, or pain relief, or prepaid funerals … She shuddered to remember the one that managed to depict pain, loss and death.

  ‘Tomorrow, on Mansions in the Sky,’ the promo announcer’s voice boomed from the television, ‘Dave flies off the handle!’

  ‘What?’ Rose said, incredulously. ‘I met him! He seemed really nice.’

  On screen, a hammer slipped out of Dave’s hand. It probably fell harmlessly to the floor but it was impossible to tell: the picture froze and the camera rapidly zoomed in on the hammer while the screen turned red and some kind of screeching noise blared.

  ‘I can’t believe you [bleeping bleep beep],’ Dave said, looking off-camera. Again, Rose thought his tone sounded calm enough, but the volume had suddenly rocketed up to make it sound like he was shouting – and there was that screeching noise again.

  ‘Wow,’ said Renton, ‘I thought you said everyone on these shows got along.’

  ‘I did,’ Rose said, stunned by what she was watching. For some reason there were machine-gun sound effects blaring while a contestant she didn’t know directed a horrified look at something off screen.

  ‘Pics or it didn’t happen,’ said Renton.

  ‘You’re not online now,’ said Sarah sternly, thumbing through her phone.

  The promo suddenly cut to a dark-haired woman. ‘I can’t go on like this,’ she said, and this time Rose was certain she was just closing a door normally but the picture had been sped up and – yep, a loud slamming sound effect had been added.

  ‘Tensions are at boiling point!’ the announcer shouted, ‘and the only way they’re going to cool off is when one of the houses falls down!’ They’d added an echo to ‘down’ so it kept on going while one of the houses had a clearly fake explosion superimposed over it.

  ‘Kill,’ the woman said, then another edit. ‘Dave.’

  ‘I’m sick of [bleep bleep],’ Dave said, picking up the hammer. ‘It’s [bleep bleep]. Pass me the [bleep] gun.’

  ‘Who will survive and what will be left of them?!’ the announcer yelled. ‘Tomorrow night on Mansions in the Sky!’

  ‘You didn’t say people get shot on these shows,’ Renton said as the television started showing a perfume commercial featuring a model wearing a bedsheet in a hurricane. ‘What kind of body count does your show rack up?’

  ‘I’m sure no one gets shot,’ Rose said.

  ‘I guess with all those power tools handy, most of the kills on your show were up close and personal,’ Renton said. ‘The saw is the law.’

  ‘No one got sawed!’ Rose said loudly. ‘We followed all the occupational health and safety regulations!’

  ‘How do you explain that promo then?’ Renton said smugly. ‘I saw at least two decapitations.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rose said. ‘That’s Mansions in the Sky. Everyone on The Dock seems so nice and friendly. No blood.’

  ‘But you did say you were working in a shed,’ Renton said. ‘So it’s possible all the murders were happening outside.’

  ‘There! Were! No! Murders!’ Rose shouted.

  ‘Did you count everyone coming in and going out?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘So there could have been literally dozens of fatalities. In fact, unless you can come up with another theory to explain what we just saw, I’m going to have to assume that you’re basically working on a snuff film.’

  ‘Editing,’ Rose said. ‘Clearly they edit and manipulate the footage to create tension and drama where none exists.’

  Renton thought for a moment.

  ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘If a boat exploded outside the shed, I think I would have heard it.’

  Renton shook his head. ‘As a student – nay, a master – of cinema, I think I can tell when so-called editing “tricks” are being used to try and deceive the viewer. And as someone who has seen all six seasons and the movie of Generation Boner, I am more than familiar with the tricks of reality television. These reality shows are clearly just slaughterhouses.’

  ‘You’re an idiot.’

  ‘What’s the alternative? That people are actually watching a television show that’s just about fixing up houses and boats?’ He snorted. ‘Not when they’re up against a new series of The Language of the Burden of Existence.’

  ‘Guess you’ll have to shoulder that burden on your own,’ Rose said.

  ‘Dinner’s ready!’ Alan said, coming out of the kitchen
holding a tray aloft in triumph. Or that was what Rose initially thought; it rapidly became clear he was holding it up in an attempt to clear the thick smoke still billowing off whatever lay under the thick, black layer of charcoal that encased his cooking.

  ‘Thai?’ Sarah said after a minute.

  ‘I’ll get my credit card,’ Rose said.

  The episode kept going, but Rose’s attention was wandering. She was frustrated by the endless shopping excursions, and the actual handiwork being done wouldn’t have challenged a first-year apprentice. Fortunately the Thai arrived during the final judging, and she lingered in the hallway after she’d paid the delivery man, until she heard the end credits music.

  ‘So, that was … good?’ said Sarah as the Endeavour Productions logo came up on screen.

  ‘It would have been better if we’d seen you, Rose,’ Alan said as Rose spread the plastic containers out across the coffee table.

  ‘You’ll see me in six months.’

  ‘Maybe we should call the producers now and tell them to give you more airtime,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Mu-um!’

  ‘Don’t worry Rose, I’ll give you a five-star review on my website,’ Renton said around a mouthful of green curry. ‘I’ve got a new one called The Stained Couch. It covers TV … from a Backed-Up Toilet perspective.’

  Rose was silent. ‘Thanks for your support, guys,’ she said eventually, ‘but I’ve got an early start tomorrow. Lots of work to do before the first boat-sinking on Sunday.’

  ‘But you haven’t even had anything to eat,’ Sarah said.

  ‘That’s okay, I’m not really hungry.’

  Rose closed her bedroom door behind her, flopped on her bed and opened her laptop.

  Nicola was quick to answer Rose’s Skype call. ‘You still at work?’ Rose said, noticing the office background.

  ‘Yeah, the team is monitoring the latest software update to the love robot and they need me here to translate the English language results. So, you watched the show – what did you think?’