Back After the Break

by Anita Notaro

  ‘But will it affect my shots on camera one for the interview?’ she enquired nervously.

  ‘No, we should be able to get the tight shots from a different position, I can show you as soon as we have pictures.’

  On and on it went and suddenly one of the techies turned up to let her know that the problem was solved. Lindsay sprang into action and it all started to come together and before she knew where she was the final credits were rolling. It had all gone reasonably well.

  The sex therapist was a huge hit and lots of the audience asked questions, some serious, some downright kinky, but the guest, a calm, middle-aged woman, had heard it all before and turned the tables on one or two of the audience themselves, much to everyone’s delight. The gay man sparked an interesting debate with a couple of people whom Lindsay had ‘planted’ in the audience. Tempers flared when they appeared to be biased against gays in general and wanted them all thrown out of Ireland. It was a very lively fifteen minutes. The music was fab and some of the audience spontaneously started dancing, which added to the whole ‘live’ feel. When she saw the final credit ‘Produced and Directed by Lindsay Davidson’, she felt like bursting into tears. Of course it would never be transmitted but she’d done it, put together a half-hour programme and carried it through to fruition, from her first scribbled notes to a completed tape for posterity. It was a good feeling and she desperately wanted the chance to do it for real. The bug had bitten.

  As soon as the music died she thanked everyone and invited them for a glass of wine in the hospitality room to celebrate her first programme. There was no budget, but she had decided to buy a couple of bottles of red and white wine, some beer and nibbles out of her own money, in order to say thanks to the crew. Debbie and Tara had been offered the very glamorous, two-euro-an-hour jobs as hostesses and when they all trooped into the room, she was amazed for the hundredth time that day. Debbie had cornered Jonathan and persuaded him to find a few balloons and candles and bits ’n’ bobs, so that the room looked super. Everyone clapped as she came in and she almost burst with pride. She felt elated. Michael Russell, the Course Director, came in to shake hands and offer his congratulations.

  ‘Thanks, I nearly didn’t get going at all, we had a technical problem,’ she burst out, absolutely brim full of the whole thing.

  ‘I know; I arranged it.’ He grinned.

  ‘What?’ She couldn’t believe her ears and stared at him stupidly. Why would he, of all people, cause her a problem?

  ‘We wanted to see how you coped with a technical problem first thing,’ he laughed at the look on her face, ‘and I must say you handled it exceptionally well.’

  ‘You bastard.’ It was out before she could stop herself. She burst out laughing. ‘There was I thinking I was just the most unlucky person in the world and you tell me it was deliberate.’

  ‘Afraid so, but well done again and this’, he indicated the room ‘was a very nice touch and should have the crew loving you forever. People in this business, especially programme makers, expect a lot and some of them don’t know how to say thank you. Although I don’t know how you managed it on your budget.’ Lindsay said nothing, just smiled at him innocently but somehow she knew he knew. There wasn’t a hope in hell of providing hospitality on the meagre amount they’d been given – she could barely afford to pay people – but as far as he was concerned she’d delivered the programme within budget and that was all that mattered.

  Tara appeared as if by magic. She had no idea who Michael was but guessed he was important and came to offer him a glass of wine and some food. Lindsay left them deep in conversation and devoured a couple of sandwiches and some sausage rolls, followed by a large glass of chilled white wine. Heaven. She positively glowed and smiled at everyone. It had all been worth it. Now all she had to do was wait for the end-of-course assessment, to see if her best had been good enough.

  After an hour or two people began to drift off and everyone wished her luck as they left. Lindsay was absolutely dead on her feet. Her funky, chunky boots were pinching, her bra suddenly felt too tight and she ached to be in her fleecy pyjamas. The girls, however, had other ideas.

  ‘Come on, into town for a few drinks, maybe on to a club.’ Debbie had been chatting to one particular cameraman for an hour or two and was in great form. Lindsay hadn’t the energy to resist so they all piled into a taxi and headed for one of the coolest bars in town. Over a bottle of champagne, they caught up.

  Tara thought Michael was really nice and seemed to have found out his life story in half an hour. Apparently, he’d recently separated from his wife and the training course had been brilliant because he’d had no time to think. Tara thought he was very cute, which surprised the other two because he definitely wasn’t her normal type.

  They slagged Debbie about the cameraman but apparently he was getting married shortly so that ruled him out.

  ‘You know, being in there with you made me realize how exciting this whole thing is.’ Tara was thrilled for her friend. ‘And it couldn’t have happened at a better time.’

  ‘I haven’t got the job yet.’ Lindsay felt her insides lurch.

  ‘OK, tell us exactly what happens now.’ Tara, practical as ever, her legal brain needing to file it all away.

  ‘Well, as soon as everyone has done their project, a group of media people get together and assess them for content, quality, ideas, etc. Then the three main course leaders give their reports on our performances throughout the period, Michael consults with the Head of Programming and they decide how many will be offered jobs and where they will be assigned.’

  ‘Pretty nerve-wracking. When will you know?’ Debbie just wanted this next messy bit out of the way and then they could really celebrate, hopefully.

  ‘Should be end of next week. I’m on clear-up duty from now, putting through paperwork, returning tapes, writing thank-you letters, etc. Officially the course ends next Friday so everyone says that’s the day we find out. I really don’t know what I’ll do if they don’t offer me a job. Over the last few weeks, and especially today, I realized that this is something I really want to do. It’s like a different world, interesting, exciting, challenging and terrifying. I desperately want to be part of it.’

  ‘Don’t even go there, girl,’ Debbie warned. ‘I will not entertain any negative thoughts on this one. You are going to get that job. I can feel it.’

  ‘You know, after the interview, if I hadn’t heard from them, I’d have accepted it, especially given the state I was in. But now, they’ve let me in for a sneak preview, to see the rehearsals, and I really want to play the leading role. But, of course I’d settle for a place in the chorus. Hell, I’d even sweep the stage floor.’ Lindsay grinned and they thought they hadn’t seen her looking this animated for ages.

  ‘You shall go to the ball, darling.’ Debbie jumped up. ‘Meanwhile, back in the real world, let’s go work off some of this energy on the dance floor.’

  ‘What energy?’ the other two shouted but she was gone, leaving them no choice but to keep her out of trouble.

  They danced themselves silly, laughed till they ached and drank far too much expensive cheap wine. No one came near them; they looked far too formidable, far too confident for most of the Irish men who watched them that night.

  ‘That’s it, my gym membership starts tomorrow,’ Lindsay giggled as she got out of the taxi at three-thirty a.m.

  ‘Tomorrow, definitely, absolutely – see you there at seven,’ they laughed back and sped off into the pitch-black winter night.

  Chapter Nine

  THE PLUMPEST, JUICIEST snail in Lindsay’s garden moved a hell of a lot faster than time over the next few days, although she did everything possible, including clearing the leaves from her garden with gusto and disturbing the slimy creatures, to make it pass more quickly.

  She tried to work, tried not to worry, struggled with her gym visits, had no struggle with her weight because she was too uptight to eat and generally waited for the call.

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nbsp; Everyone else was exactly the same. The initial elation had worn off and they all felt that their own final projects were rubbish, especially when they heard some of the other ideas and the clever ways they had been executed. They moped around the Training Centre trying to look busy. They scanned the faces of the course leaders endlessly, looking for a sign and reporting each nuance to the others, over long coffee breaks in the TV canteen, the only place where they could pretend to be part of the circus. They watched jealously as programme teams had irate meetings, smiled at everyone just in case they were important and prayed to be part of all the madness someday. Even the ones on the course who had started off so cool were now reduced to a state of acute paranoia.

  By Thursday lunchtime, Lindsay couldn’t stand it any more.

  ‘That’s it, I’m going to the gym to do a hundred press-ups,’ she told a deflated Carrie, who had only ever managed fifteen and that was after she’d been going for six months. ‘Then, I’m bringing Charlie for a five-mile walk, having a bath and even if I have to munch a handful of sleeping tablets I’m going to bed at ten. Otherwise I won’t survive until tomorrow. Quite honestly I’ll simply expire.’

  She’d just finished her toughest gym session yet and was pulling in to the car park on the beach with Charlie, about to walk for Ireland, when her mobile rang.

  ‘Lindsay, are you on the campus, by any chance?’ Michael Russell’s calm voice asked, giving no clue.

  ‘No.’ Lindsay couldn’t lie because the violent sea was crashing angrily in the background and Charlie was licking the phone – and her ear – to death. God knows what Michael would think she was up to. She pushed Charlie off her lap with all the force she could muster and tried to get out of the car, whereupon he climbed all over her, knocked the phone out of her hand and growled furiously at it, nearly giving Lindsay a hernia trying to rescue it and sit on him at the same time.

  ‘Hello?’ Michael’s voice sounded puzzled.

  ‘Sorry, no I’m not on the campus at the moment,’ Lindsay sounded winded, ‘but I could be there in half an hour.’ She flung her jacket on top of Charlie to try and muffle his excited yelps.

  ‘Where are you?’ Michael laughed. ‘You sound like you’re trying to put an animal into a washing machine. Very worrying.’ He’ll wish he was anywhere else, even in a washing machine, by the time I’m finished with him. Lindsay made a final lurch at Charlie, who barked delightedly. Honesty was the only way out.

  ‘Actually, I needed to clear my head and I’ve just finished my post production, so I nipped out for a walk on the beach with my pet gorilla who masquerades as a dog.’

  Oh God, ten points gone, Lindsay thought, cringing, glad that the videophone wasn’t a realistic option yet.

  ‘Very sensible,’ Michael stated matter-of-factly. ‘No problem, I’ve lots to get through. Could we meet in my office at, say, nine-thirty in the morning?’

  Lindsay quickly agreed and hung up, furious with herself for not considering that he might want to see her today. She might even know her fate by now, if she’d stayed around. Damn.

  She jumped out of the car and Charlie, in his haste to escape, head butted her in the behind, sending her flying. She recovered quickly, partly because of the group of school kids who were laughing hysterically at her with her bum in the air, and stormed off at a furious pace, not caring whether Charlie was following. She’d deal with him later. The walk was a dream of travel and adventure and romance and excitement. Oh, the possibilities created by one phone call!

  Two hours later, just as she arrived home with a filthy, happy dog, her phone rang again.

  ‘I’m in, I’m in, I’ve got a job.’ Carrie’s screams could be heard in Liverpool.

  ‘Oh my God, tell me everything.’ Lindsay didn’t care that Charlie was streaking up and down the carpet. ‘Where are you going? What did he say?’ Lindsay was just as loud as she pulled off her wet jacket and boots.

  ‘Sports,’ Carrie laughed hysterically, ‘and I don’t care a bit, I’m just so glad I made it. Although, they must be mad, I don’t know the difference between soccer and squash, but at least I should get to meet a few real men on this one.’

  ‘Oh, that is such good news, congratulations, you really deserve it.’ Lindsay knew how hard her friend had worked. ‘I was the first in, so I’ve no other news to report. By the way, we’re all going out tomorrow night for champagne and chips in that new bar off Grafton Street. It’s really cool, so get your glad rags ready, girl. Now, I’m off to phone my mum, who’s been doing a daily Novena for months.’

  Lindsay’s heart was beating furiously. It was getting closer. Please God, let it be OK, she prayed as she filled a piping-hot bath and added some calming essential oils, having promised to ring Carrie immediately she’d heard. She watched TV but didn’t see a thing and fell asleep thinking about the incident with Chris Keating and hoping it wouldn’t go against her.

  At exactly nine-thirty next morning Lindsay took a deep breath, said a quick Hail Mary and entered the Course Director’s office. She looked down just to reassure herself that her heart was definitely not visible through her thin white cotton shirt, because it was banging on her chest so hard that she feared it might just suddenly pop out. She wore black, fitted, pinstripe trousers and had pulled her hair back severely in an effort to look businesslike, adding only a sheer, creamy foundation, terracotta blusher, lashings of mascara and a translucent lip potion. She smiled brightly at the man behind the desk, knowing she wasn’t fooling anyone.

  ‘Sit down, please.’ He gestured to a soft leather chair. ‘I’ll get straight to the point and put you out of your misery. We took a chance including you on this course, in fact you were probably the least experienced participant overall and we did worry that your lack of understanding of the television medium would prove to be too much of a disadvantage. In the early stages there were one or two incidents that almost convinced me we were right to be concerned, so I have watched your progress very carefully indeed. I was particularly interested to hear the report of the other tutors and get a reaction to your final project.’

  Lindsay now feared her heart had given up the ghost altogether. She suddenly felt very cold.

  ‘I must tell you that you can feel very proud of yourself because the feedback has been almost entirely positive and your programme was in the top three most-promising ideas. Congratulations, we’d like to offer you a contract.’

  The coldness disappeared and she was on fire. She knew she had tears in her eyes and couldn’t do anything except bite her lip and try not to sniffle.

  He went on to give her detailed feedback but Lindsay didn’t hear a word. She struggled to hold it together.

  ‘We’ve thought about your assignment carefully and we’d like you to work on Live from Dublin.’ She stared at him stupidly.

  ‘How would you feel about that?’ He paused. She nodded even more stupidly.

  ‘I realize we’re taking a chance putting someone so inexperienced straight in at the deep end on our top-rated entertainment show, but I’ve spoken to the executive producer and he really liked your project and feels they need some fresh ideas, especially ones aimed at a younger audience. They were quite taken with your handling of the sex therapist item and are keen to have you on board. It’s a very prestigious assignment, so I hope you’re happy.’

  He talked a little longer about how he would keep in touch and also about a review of her performance in six months but she could barely hear him. She’d gone through every scenario in the last twenty-four hours, from outright rejection to scraping through to getting an OK reaction but never, ever, in her wildest dreams did she imagine that she would pass with flying colours and be sent to work on the best TV show in the country.

  She stood up quickly as she realized Michael was standing over her with his hand outstretched. ‘Congratulations, you did very well, we’re all delighted.’

  He had to usher her out because she was suddenly incapable of any movement.

  She remember
ed walking slowly to her car, calmly getting in and then suddenly screaming.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes. Yeeeeeees.’ She burst out laughing, thumped the steeringwheel, banged her feet and tried to do a little dance – sitting down, on her own, in broad daylight. She had to tell somebody.

  Debbie. Voice mail.

  Carrie. ‘The Vodaphone customer you are calling may be out of—’

  Tara. In a meeting.

  Her mum. No reply.

  She panicked and rang Tara’s secretary back. ‘Please can you disturb her? It’s urgent.’

  ‘Lindsay, are you OK. What’s up?’ Tara, at last, sounding concerned.

  ‘I got it, I got it. Can you believe it? They thought I did brilliantly and they want me.’

  Tara screamed, oblivious to the stares of her poker-faced colleagues. ‘Oh my God, that is so cool.’

  ‘Sorry, I just had to tell somebody.’ Lindsay couldn’t stop laughing.

  ‘I’ll call you the minute I get out of this, but well done, babe, that is just the best news.’

  For an hour Lindsay sat in her car until she got everyone. Debbie couldn’t really hear her but screamed anyway, picking up the vibe, and her mum sounded a bit teary, which was most unusual. Carrie couldn’t believe her assignment. Her sister Anne said she never doubted it. Lindsay had a slight moment of regret that she didn’t have Paul to share it with but she pushed the thought firmly away. This was her moment, only hers, and nothing was going to get in the way of this feeling. It was a once-in-a-lifetime achievement, against all the odds of the past few months and she intended to savour it, revel in it, indulge herself like never before. Best of all were the emotions it brought back that she thought had been lost forever – confidence, the feeling of being wanted, even of being worthwhile. It was a blissful moment and it gave her an incredible high.

  She raced to reward herself, facial, eyebrow trim, nails, even deciding to have the famous St Tropez, a fake tan treatment beloved of Posh Spice and Kylie Minogue and a myriad other celebrities, if you believed the hype. Then she pulled her hair out of the rather severe knot and had it blow-dried so that it cascaded like crumpled silk around her. Next stop Grafton Street, where she bought an amazing outfit – coffee-coloured, silk, laced bodice with a sheer, long, plum-brown, chiffon almost-see-through skirt and a soft, oversized, unstructured, velvet jacket that had no buttons and wrapped itself around her. A truck load of new make-up from Mac, Eve Lom cleanser and the sexiest flesh-coloured underwear completed her purchases. She refused to feel even slightly guilty over the amount she’d spent in a couple of hours and sent up another prayer of thanks to her father for leaving her so well provided for. She felt simply amazing. She was heading for the car park when Tara called back.