John Keats 02 Paper Moon

by Dennis Liggio

  Meredith met me outside. She walked me into the building, using her badge to unlock the door. The studio leased the entire building, so only PBS employees could get in.

  "Are you ready for this?" she asked.

  I shrugged. "It's just an interview. For a job I don't care about, which doesn't sound like much to begin with."

  "Don't let the grips hear you say that, they take their jobs very seriously." She paused. "Well, they don't take their jobs that seriously, but they take people suggesting that their jobs aren't much very seriously. It's a touchy subject around here."

  "Workplace drama, I remember that."

  "I think the bigger concern is Adele."

  "That's the person I'm interviewing with, right?"

  Meredith nodded. "She's the studio head. And she's..." She paused to look both ways, in case someone might overhear. "She's kind of a hardass. And she's really good at knowing when people are lying. So try not to lie."

  I cocked my head. "Try not to lie? You do remember the reason I'm here, right? It's not for the job."

  "I know," she said, pursing her lips. "But Adele seems to always know when something off. She gives you this feeling, and you get all guilty."

  "Is she your boss or your mom?" I said with a little exasperation.

  "Neither, really. Technically, she is the head of the studio. She controls budgets, personnel, and everything else. But she's neither creative staff or production. Her job is to make sure the place runs, but she's not head of the project or the one to decide direction. She's business, not project - if that distinction makes sense."

  "Yeah, I guess I do. But she still matters, right?"

  "She absolutely matters," said Meredith. "Especially for getting you hired. So don't lie if you don't have to."

  "I'll try not to," I said. This was my general policy. When designing a cover story or a manageable excuse, I tried to keep lies and other dissentions from fact to a minimum. Deceit is more palatable when it is close to the truth. Wrap a lie in lots of verifiable facts and it's often ignored. Other times, it's just a matter of taking the same facts and spinning a different story from them. And of course, fewer lies meant whatever cover I was using was easier to keep in my head. More lies meant more I'd need to remember, which meant I was more likely to get tripped up. Keep lying simple, stupid.

  "You're not using your real name, right?" said Meredith. It was something I had warned her I'd be doing and to react appropriately.

  "Half of it," I said. "I'm still John, so that part won't change."

  The problem with my own name was that someone could Google me and find a John Keats in Austin. Maybe. They'd have to dig through lots of pages about the historical Keats first. But even still, there was a possibility of them finding John Keats the private eye, and that was no good for me. So I was using an assumed last name. This time I was going with John Morrison. Loveably generic, but I felt it rolled off the tongue well. It also felt like it held a particular gravitas that would be important for hiring someone who was going to be lifting heavy objects.

  Meredith wished me luck as she directed me to Adele's office door. She then turned and walked off. I knocked and a stern voice told me to come in. Beyond the door was a smallish office, the gray desk which dominated the room covered with a computer, a phone, and endless papers. Sitting behind the desk was Adele.

  Adele was, without any oversimplification, a big black woman. Big and powerful. She wasn't just physically big, though she was tall and very wide. Her presence was huge and powerful. There was something about her that threatened to overflow out of the room. Her voice was stern, but measured and exact. Her hawkish eyes scanned a person for every detail and her gaze could be icy if she needed it. I didn't think she was by nature mean, but get on the wrong side of what she needed done and her wrath would probably be severe. I could see how she could keep things running for the whole studio, wrangling both creative and technical types.

  The interview started with a handshake and was mostly like any other interview I had ever had for an office job; the questions had nothing in particular to do with being a grip, they were just getting the feel of me as a worker. Like Meredith suggested, I kept my answers to the point and tried not to lay anything on thick. My lies were minor, and I kept up the persona of someone who just needed a job and wanted to work.

  "Why do you want to work for PBS?" she asked.

  I knew this question from other jobs. It's where you're supposed to either show your passion for what the company did, show off that you had researched the company well, or give you a chance to blow a severe amount of smoke up the interviewer's ass. You weren't supposed to answer that you just needed the money, that your ideal place wasn't hiring and this was your second choice, or that your friend who had a job there said it would be easy. But in this case, I didn't think those would work. I actually didn't care about PBS and Adele had too good a bullshit detector - I had already seen it a few times in the interview where she narrowed her eyes at me but had said nothing. So I tried to use a version of the truth and hope it paid off.

  "To be honest - I don't care about PBS," I said, but I didn't pause long enough for her to try to say something, rolling on with the rest of my reason. "I'm looking for a job as a grip, which sometimes is hard to find in this town. So I don't care about PBS, as long as I can do this work."

  Adele paused and stared at me for a long moment, then nodded, jotting something down on a piece of paper. "I appreciate your candor, Mr. Morrison. It's true that your love of PBS is not as important as your enthusiasm for your grip duties. I hope that you can bring some of that enthusiasm to our current staff, should we hire you."

  "I hope so," I said.

  "So Meredith tells me that you need to be paid off the books," she said with the cautious friendliness of a spider welcoming a fly into its web. "Is that correct?"

  That was something I had Meredith bring up with Adele ahead of time. Obviously they couldn't get my real name, my social security number, or run a background check. So I couldn't legally get paid. That could be a problem, but I figured with the type of work I was doing, they could find a way to pay me off the books. It would also mean I would be non union, which might be something the studio would appreciate, assuming the current grips didn't cry foul.

  "Yes, ma'am." She really felt like a Ma'am, and this seemed about the point to show the most deference to her.

  "I am generally opposed to such an indiscretion, but Meredith recommended you highly and noted that you might be interested in the job even if the employment was short term, which fits our current needs." She paused and leaned forward. "Mr. Morrison, I need some honesty from you, particularly if we are going to be employing some gray area practices to hire you. Normally I would not ask such personal questions, but I believe we have the right. You see, in a case like this I still find myself wondering just why you need to be paid off the books."

  "I just need to make some money that isn't noted or otherwise touched by the government," I said.

  "Why? Are you a sex offender? You can't and we won't let you work here if you are. And we will find out if you are, Mr. Morrison."

  "Oh, no, it's nothing like that," I said. "It's just that my wages are currently being garnished, and I would rather keep all of the pay so I can actually make rent."

  "Debt?"

  "Alimony," I said flatly.

  "You wouldn't be evading child support, now would you, Mr. Morrison?"

  "Oh god no! I count my blessings every day that her and I didn't have any little demonspawn."

  "Don't like kids, Mr. Morrison?"

  "Love kids, but if you met her, you'd expect them to be demonspawn too."

  She made some facial movement that was as dangerously close to as a smile as she got. "I will be checking into that, Mr. Morrison."

  "Of course."

  "But otherwise I think you will serve our purposes. You have the job. I believe Meredith said you could start immediately, yes? Do you want to start tomorrow, or can we go
over things to get you started today?"

  "I have no problem getting started now," I said. "Sooner working, sooner paid, right?"

  "Yes, well," she said, unenthusiastic about my flippant joke.

  Adele then talked over all the pay concerns as well as making sure I was informed of all their office policies (generally don't be a dick, don't harass people, don't make racist/sexist jokes - y'know, all the stuff normal people learn in kindergarten, but some rare employees still struggle with). Then she reached across the table and shook my hand. "I'll introduce you to our grips now. But I'll be checking up on you. I'm not sure if I entirely trust you, Mr. Morrison. I just don't have enough reason to refuse your help when we need it. But I'll remind you that Texas is an At Will hiring state, and since you're off the books, I can and will fire you at any time if I have cause, or even if I don't. I'll have my eye on you."

  I nodded. "Yes, Ma'am," I said solemnly, internally glad I didn't actually care about this job.

  The employment formalities finished, she pulled herself out from behind her desk, something that took at least twice as long as it would have taken a normal person. We left the office and headed down the corridor. She vaguely pointed at rooms like the break room and rest rooms so I knew they were there. A door opened down the hall. Meredith and another woman came walking down the hall past us. Meredith's facial expression was tense and tightlipped. The other woman was blonde, maybe in her early forties, but had spent a lot of time on makeup, hair, and the gym to try to look younger than that. She had the look of someone who wasn't willing to let go of youth, as if it hadn't given her all it had promised and she was trying to hold it to those vows.

  As we passed, I noticed the blonde woman made almost an exaggerated movement of looking me up and down. When they were farther down the hall, she said in a voice that was hushed but perhaps intentionally too loud, "Looks like we got some good new meat. I'd let him grip me." She laughed, something that felt more off color and forced than mirthful. I did not hear Meredith laugh.

  Adele spun around immediately, turning to glare at the woman, but she and Meredith were already going through another door, using that as a cover to pretend they did not see the look.

  "I apologize, Mr. Morrison," she said, a touch of frustration seeping through her controlled demeanor. "Such behavior shouldn't be happening here. There's some stress because of our deadlines which has made some act strangely, but such behavior is simply inexcusable no matter the cause."

  I just nodded. I wasn't going to make a thing out of an HR issue, especially as the "off the books" guy. I needed at least a day in this place to find out what I needed, not an immediate termination.

  I followed Adele through a labyrinth of corridors until she finally brought me to the grip room. There was a professional sign that said "GRIPS", but someone had taped a sheet of paper that said "LAIR" after that. Behind the door was a poorly lit room full of metal shelves on which a variety of items sat. Many were parts and wires, but I saw a few cameras and fully assembled items. This was the lair of the grips indeed.

  Adele introduced me quickly and succinctly, leaving at the first opportunity. Based on her demeanor when she said their names, she carried low opinions of them. Terry was the taller of the two. He had black curly hair kept short, dark frame glasses, and a pretty impressive beard. Ben had a five o'clock shadow and a stained Led Zeppelin shirt. Terry was thin, Ben was overweight. Neither was older than their early twenties, probably relatively recent college grads. Their words were slurred like they were currently or recently stoned. I later learned that those words described their usual state.

  "Whoa? We got a new guy?" said Ben after the door swung closed behind Adele. "I didn't think we had enough work for a new guy."

  "Remember Ken transferred to Boulder?" said Terry. "We don't have a Key Grip anymore."

  "Oh shit," said Ben, staring at me. "Are you our new boss?"

  "I'm not your new boss," I said. Note to self, check with Adele and make sure she doesn't consider me their new boss. "I'm just the new guy. Here to help out as needed."

  "Oh..." said Ben. "But like, we don't really have that much to do. Ken did all the major shit. Right now we just make sure stuff is on their marks and the lights work. I mean, I had like more shit to do on my last job - this is nothing. It was Nick who wanted all the crazy lighting, so we don't have any of that anymore. Deb is fine with pretty basic stuff."

  "Deb does keep asking you to change some stuff," reminded Terry.

  "True, but I keep ignoring her and since it hasn't been an issue, she seems fine with the current setup," said Ben with a toothy grin.

  I shook my head at their antics. Time to dig. "Who's that guy Nick you mentioned?"

  "He was like the Dude." said Ben.

  "The dude?" I said.

  Ben was excited. "Like, the Main Dude. The Main Man Dude. The Dude, man, The Dude!"

  I was lost wondering if this was a very obscure movie reference until Terry jumped in to explain. "He created the whole show. Hornswaggle was his idea, so were all the characters. He had the whole idea to make it a show, what they should look like, how they moved, the voices."

  "Sorta," broke in Ben. "Nick needed help. Without like Deb and Adele, it wouldn't have made it this far."

  "Well, yeah, Deb is the Producer," said Terry. "She needed to produce it. But Nick designed it all. He created it. There wouldn't have been much to produce without him."

  "Yeah, so Nick is like the Dude," said Ben with triumphant finality. After a pause and a look at us both, he doubled down: "Well, he was."

  "Was?" I prompted.

  "He like took off and shit," said Ben. "Flew the coop."

  "Huh?" I said.

  "He like disappeared," said Terry. He looked at Ben. "I think officially, he quit. Deb says that legally, Nick abandoned his job when he didn't show up for work for like three days without calling."

  "But?" I prompted.

  "The Dude is not gonna bail on his Thing," said Ben. "When a Dude's got a Thing, he doesn't bail on it. It's his Thing! You don't bail on your Thing! You just don't."

  "It was kind of weird when he just stopped showing up," said Terry. "Deb claims he had mentioned leaving, but nobody else heard anything."

  "I'm getting that Deb and Nick didn't get along," I said.

  "Not at all, dude," said Ben. "They fuckin' fought all the time! I kept saying that they shoulda just knocked boots and got the tension over with."

  "Dude!" said Terry reproachfully. "I told you before. She is like twice his age."

  "Yeah, a cougar," said Ben. "A hot cougar. Rawr! I'd get mauled by that wild cat, you know what I'm saying!"

  "Dude!" said Terry. "Adele can't hear you talking like that!"

  "Adele's not going to hear it!" said Ben. "This is our lair, our fucking domain! She's not going to just randomly show up! Besides, this dude knows what I'm talking about, am I right?" He gave me a leeringly toothy grin.

  I admit I did have an amused smile, though more from Ben's craziness than his cougar banter.

  "So Deb runs things now?" I asked.

  "Sort of," said Terry. "She's a Producer, but Meredith is an Associate Producer, so she has some pull, but not as much as Deb. Besides, Meredith is young and inexperienced next to Deb. Adele is the final say on everything, though she typically sides with Deb because Deb is usually on the side of staying on schedule. I mean, if Boulder gets ahead of us, it's bad news."

  "Dude, what do we care about Boulder?" said Ben. "That's their boogey man. Doesn't matter to us. There's other jobs."

  "Then what about Ken?" said Terry. "Ken went to Boulder."

  "Ken wasn't cool!" said Ben. "I know you liked him, but he wasn't cool. He totally wasn't! He didn't appreciate any of our green breaks. When did he ever hangout and just, like, chill?"

  "He made sure we got the job done," said Terry.

  "And we still get the job done," said Ben, "just we're way more mellow and grooovy when we do it now."

  "It is true
we don't work as hard without Ken around," conceded Terry. "And the rest of the studio seems to get along fine. Maybe because there are less of the finer details that were requested by Nick. That guy had a vision. Real specific and detailed, but a vision."

  "A Dude Vision," said Ben.

  "So what is that you guys actually do around here?" I asked.

  "Y'know, stuff and shit," said Ben. "The same shit, different day and stuff."

  "We carry stuff, tape things, move the cameras, that sort of thing," said Terry. "You'll see pretty soon."

  "Actually," said Ben, a grin breaking out on his face, "I think our new buddy here needs a new assignment. To break him in."

  "What? All of today's requests are done," said Terry.

  "Oily Doily," said Ben with a knowing smile and a tone of finality.

  Terry smiled. "Oily Doily," he echoed.

  "What the hell is Oily Doily?" I said.

  "That's awesome," said Terry.

  "Shh, shhh, shh," said Ben, "don't spoil it." He cleared his throat. "John, your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to recover Oily Doily from the Creature Room."

  "What the hell is an Oily Doily?" I asked again.

  "It's a puppet," said Ben.

  "How am I going to know which one it is?" I said. "You guys have a bunch, right?"

  "They're all labeled, so you'll know which one," said Terry helpfully. Then he looked at Ben and they both laughed.

  "I have a feeling I'm being set up," I said.

  "No, it's cool, dude, it's cool. It's going to be awesome, you'll see, you'll see," said Ben.

  Grabbing Oily Doily sounded like a stupid hazing assignment for the first day on the job, but it was helpful in trying to find Nick. Oily Doily was being kept in the Creature Room, which as Meredith mentioned was the playful name for the puppet storage room. That was the last place anyone had seen Nick and my main reason for getting this job. Now I had an excuse to go there alone, though it seemed a stupid excuse.