How to Get Ahead in Television (23 page)

‘And that's all we've got time for today!' said Les, winding up the show, taking another swig from his coffee mug as the credits rolled.

I assumed the show would be deemed an unmitigated disaster, and everyone would be tearing their hair out as soon as we were off-air. Les had thrown to a break when there wasn't one, fallen asleep on air, and asked the interviewee precisely one question, but as soon as the show was over, I heard Trey say, ‘Great show, everyone! Great to be back on the air!'

Everyone started congratulating each other. Les and Kel hugged and began chatting away to the studio audience as though they were the best of friends.

After the show, I was sent to take the presenters lunch in their dressing rooms.

‘What the hell is this?' Kel shrieked as I presented her with the pizza she'd ordered.

‘Um, your pizza? Pepperoni with low-fat cheese?'

‘Do I look like someone who eats pizza?' Kel snarled.

‘You definitely asked for pizza…' I trailed off, just as a large sloppy pizza slice hit me in the jaw.

‘Get out!! GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!!!' Kel screamed.

Downstairs, I tried to explain the situation to Trey.

‘Kel definitely asked for pizza, I promise you she did, but then she threw it at me and said she didn't.'

‘Hmmm, yeah, she does that. She's got a split personality when it comes to food.'

The production manager got off the phone and had a quiet word with Trey, who pulled me to one side.

‘Um, that was Kel's agent. I'm afraid you can't work on the show any more.'

‘What? I'm fired?'

‘Not fired
as such
. Kel just doesn't want you around. Don't worry about it, you lasted longer than a lot of other runners.'

‘But I lasted less than a day.'

‘You lasted a whole show! Don't worry about it, Poppy. Do you want this pizza, by the way?'

STEP 38 – RESPECT THOSE WITH MORE EXPERIENCE THAN YOU

TO
: POPPY

FROM
: MUM

Poppy, see
Telegraph
today, page 5: good article on prolonging fertility into your 30s. Are you eating enough eggs? Not smoking? If you are being sexually promiscuous – using protection? (STDs very bad for fertility!) Love Mum

I
SLUNK BACK
to the office feeling deflated. However much Trey had tried to reassure me, it didn't look good being asked to do a two-week placement on a production and then being asked to leave after one morning. The whole incident shone a little light on JR's behaviour, though. If he was still seeing Kel, it explained his low tolerance for melodrama. Still, I couldn't help but feel disappointed; disappointed that people really behaved like that, cheating so unashamedly. I was also depressed that JR, the man I'd looked up to, had turned out to be so unworthy of my admiration.

Back at RealiTV, the reception was bustling with all sorts of random people. They had to be here for some kind of run-through; they didn't look like telly people. Half of them were wearing suits, while the other half looked like people who didn't have jobs and had nothing better to do than help out on yet-to-be-commissioned TV shows. I recognized Arnold
from the
What Do They Know?
run-through, back in my first week working here.

‘Oh hi, Pam,' he said when he saw me. ‘Are you here for the run-through?'

‘No, I work here,' I said. ‘What show are you here for?'

‘Something called
Banker's Bonus
,' he said.

Banker's Bonus
? Was JR workshopping my show idea without me? I hurried downstairs to the studio and found him setting up desks with Jude.

‘James, can I have a word?' I said.

He turned around and looked momentarily thrown when he saw me.

‘I'm a bit busy, Poppy.'

‘I can see that.'

JR paused and took a deep breath. ‘Jude, give us a minute.'

Jude left the studio, giving me a little wave on her way out.

‘Listen, Poppy,' JR said in a patronizing tone. ‘You're upset that I don't want a relationship, I get that, but you need to be professional, you need to be able to separate that disappointment from your work life, okay?' He reached out and held my shoulders with both his hands, looking down into my eyes. ‘I can't have your feelings disrupting me at work, Poppy.'

‘I'm not!' I shrugged off his hands. ‘This isn't about last night I… Why are you doing a run-through of
Bank My Bonus
without me?'

‘Poppy, Poppy, Poppy, I'm doing a workshop day, which means trying out all sorts of ideas,
one
of which is
Bank My Bonus, IF
I have time for it after all the other ideas. You should be pleased I'm progressing your idea.'

I didn't know what to say. I bit my lower lip, wondering if I'd overreacted again.

‘Didn't you say you were working on a production this week?' JR asked.

‘Yes,
Les and Kel
,' I said, watching his face for a reaction.

It only lasted a split second, but I saw it before he managed to compose himself: a fractional flash of panic.

‘You didn't say you were doing that?'

‘Didn't I?' I paused. ‘Kel's interesting, isn't she?'

‘Don't get jealous, Poppy.'

‘I thought you weren't seeing her any more?'

JR sighed. ‘Don't involve yourself in things you don't understand. It's complicated. I'm not seeing her but she's an old friend, we've known each other for years.'

‘She threw a pizza at me.'

‘Well, I obviously have a penchant for women who throw food.' JR raised an eyebrow at me.

‘That was different. You deserved that,' I said, hand on hip.

I wasn't going to apologize any more, he
had
deserved it, and if I had a vat of soup with me now, I'd soak him all over again, the two-timing scumbag.

‘You've changed your tune. Poppy, I really need to get on with these workshops.'

‘Will you at least let me know if you get to
Bank My Bonus
?'

‘Yes, I'll give you a call if we get to it,' JR said, patting me on the back as I left.

‘Don't touch me, please,' I said testily.

Something didn't feel at all right about this.

I headed upstairs to find Dominic and explain that I'd miraculously become free to work on something else.

‘So you met Kel then,' Dominic said, when I explained that I'd been dismissed.

‘Um, yes. But I swear, I didn't do anything, she's a total—'

‘I'll stop you there, Poppy. Trey called. I've already sent Rhidian to replace you.'

Great. Rhidian to the rescue again.

STEP 39 – IF IN DOUBT, GET A SECOND OPINION

‘S
O HOW'S LONDON
life going?' my sister Clemmie enquired. We'd met for a bracing drink in an old-man pub on Newman Street before embarking on the onslaught of a family dinner. ‘How's this placement going?'

‘I'm not sure,' I said, swirling the dregs of my half pint of shandy. ‘I don't think I'm going to get the job, I'm broke, I'm having to get my student sister to buy me a drink, I'm out of my depth in terms of dating, and, to top it all off, I'm starting to wonder whether TV isn't all just a load of old bollocks.'

‘So good, then.'

‘Yup.'

‘Why out of your depth in terms of dating?'

I don't usually talk to my sister about anything boy-related, but we appeared to be having a rare ceasefire in our usually fractious relationship.

‘Oh, I've just been a bit of an idiot over this guy at work. It turns out older guys are a totally different ball game to university boys.'

‘Maybe not all of them: this guy might just be an cock.'

‘That is true.'

‘And why is TV all a load of old bollocks?'

‘I don't know, just a lot of the shows I've been working on, I don't think they're very good, Clem, and the presenters
aren't very nice. This week I was helping out on
Les and Kel
and they were doing an item on “things to have on toast”. I mean, seriously?'

‘Yeah, but Poppy, isn't that one of the most popular daytime TV shows? We always watch it at uni – it's crap in a reassuring way. When I'm hungover, “things to have on toast” is about the level of intellect I want to engage with.'

‘That's what's so depressing. All the shows RealiTV make are really successful, but it doesn't necessarily mean they're any good. I mean, is this what I really want to spend my life doing? Earning shit money, fighting with Mum and Dad, just to make crap TV about toast toppings?'

Clemmie finished her wine and got the barman's attention to order two more drinks.

‘Do we have time?' I asked.

‘Yes, it's just around the corner, we'll be fine. Look, Poppy, what did you expect? I mean, you're not going to be making sweeping, epic documentaries about the meaning of life or the plight of single mothers in Mogadishu when you're working for RealiTV, are you? It's a foot in the door, that's what you said.'

‘I guess so.'

‘You pay your dues, then you can work on decent shows later. It's like my friend Marjorie. She didn't go to uni. She knew she wanted to be a journalist so she just went for it. She aspired to write serious opinion pieces, but the only gigs she could get were puff pieces for fashion mags like “how much prettier does mascara make you on a scale of one to ten” or “which beauty product would you take to a desert island?”.'

‘Conditioner.'

‘Obviously.' Clemmie started to pile her curls of hair up on top of her head into a giant bun. ‘Anyway, three years later and Majorie's got this column writing about politics. See, all it takes is a bit of perseverance and you can carve your own path, Poppy.'

‘Is that your friend Marjorie who writes the column for
Stylish
on Westminster fashions?'

‘Yes… Okay, so it's not
exactly
about politics, but she's definitely headed that way.'

‘I know you're right.' I shrugged. ‘What a wise little sister I have.'

‘Quite honestly, Poppy, what else are you going to do? I mean, you're hardly going to go and get a job in a bank or become a doctor, are you?'

‘Hey!'

‘Well, are you?'

‘No.'

‘You've always been creative, Pop. Remember all those plays you used to put on for me with your stuffed toys when we were kids? Of course you were going to end up working in theatre or TV.' Clemmie laughed. ‘I remember you putting on a production of
Romeo and Juliet
on my bed, with all the Capulets played by your Puppy Pals and the Montagues played by my Care Bears. You know, I never told you this, but your production was way more entertaining than the
Romeo and Juliet
I got dragged to the National for by school.'

‘Oh, I remember that!
Bonio and Juliet
.' I chuckled.

‘
Bonio and Juliet
, that was it. And your ending was so much more fun than the gloomy old original.'

‘I don't remember.'

‘Well, Bonio didn't kill himself in the tomb, he revived the drugged Juliet with a delicious packet of Monster Munch.'

We both laughed.

‘I had totally forgotten about that.'

‘So you see, Poppy, if TV is a bit shit – it needs you.'

‘Thanks, Clem,' I said, rubbing her arm affectionately.

‘Well, I don't usually blow smoke up your arse, but seriously, one of us has got to follow in Aunt Josephine's footsteps, and it ain't going to be me.'

‘Speaking of which, we'd better go. They'll be waiting.'

We left the pub, shuddering as cold drizzle hit our faces. The restaurant wasn't far, so we picked up an old paper from the bar to cover our heads from the worst of it.

Mum and Dad rarely came to London, but when they did, they wanted to eat in the same place they always ate – Mallories. Mallories was a small family-run Italian in Soho that had been around for decades. The service was dreadful and the menu hadn't been updated since the seventies, but our parents had a strange attachment to the place. I think Dad used to come here when he worked in London, or maybe he and Mum had come on a date here once. Every year they reserved the quiet table downstairs in the basement and Aunt Josephine made her annual outing to visit us from the Welsh commune.

‘Ah, there you are, girls.' Mum bustled around the table to greet us, while Dad waved at us from the bench seating, indicating that he couldn't easily extract himself from behind the table to hug us.

‘Happy birthday, Mum,' Clemmie said, handing her an envelope. ‘This is from both of us.'

‘Yes, happy birthday,' I said.

‘What is it?' Mum asked sceptically.

‘Well, open it and see,' said Clemmie.

‘It's a spa day,' I said. ‘We thought you and Dad could make a day of it.'

‘Don't ruin the surprise.' Clemmie prodded me.

‘I'm not sure your father will be on board with a spa day, but very nice, girls, thank you. Perhaps I'll take Lorraine-next-door instead?'

‘Good idea,' I said, mouthing, ‘I'll pay you back' at Clemmie.

We sat down and looked at the menu. I didn't need to, as I knew the best dish they did: aubergine Parmigiana, caked in oregano and bubbling with cheese.

‘So, Poppy, when do you hear about your placement?' Dad asked.

‘In the next two weeks, I think.'

‘Does it pay better if you get the permanent contract?' Mum asked.

‘I'm not sure, and it's not a permanent contract, it's a year's contract.'

‘Well, that's no good!' Mum cried.

‘That's a very long time in TV, trust me. Most people are freelancers working very short contracts.'

‘So what's the Plan B?' Mum pressed.

‘Mum, let her have a drink first,' said Clemmie. ‘Seriously, can't we have a nice family meal without the career-drilling beginning before the starters have even arrived?'

‘Good idea,' Dad agreed.

Sometimes I could kiss my sister.

‘Well, it's all right for you, Clementine, little Miss Lloyds Bank!' said Mum, clapping her hands. ‘At least we don't have you to worry about.'

‘What?' I looked to Clem.

‘Oh, it's nothing. I just lined up some work experience through Ian for the Christmas holidays.'

‘You didn't say anything,' I shot back. ‘I didn't know you wanted to work in banking?'

‘Well, I've got to grow up and make a living sometime, don't I?' Clem shrugged.

‘Exactly! Poppy, you could take a leaf out of your sister's book,' said Mum.

Sometimes I could kill my sister.

Just as the waiter arrived to take our drinks order, Aunt Josephine arrived. When we visited Aunt Josephine on her commune, she didn't appear quite as extraordinary as when you saw her in London. Perhaps it was because her fellow commune dwellers dressed in an equally eccentric manner. Whenever she left the confines of ‘The Village of the Mind Beyond Materialism, and The Dwelling of the Peaceful Spirit' (or, as my mother called
it: ‘La La Land'), she never failed to cause a stir. Aunt Josephine had waist-length grey hair, which today she was wearing half up in a tie-dyed pink headscarf. Two green feathers poked out of her hair in a strange bird-like garnish. She wore a dash of bright orange lipstick, which clashed hideously with the headscarf, then a strange ensemble of druid-esque kaftans and bits of brightly coloured fabric (indistinguishable in themselves as items of clothing) draped around her shoulders and arms. She looked like a rotund mermaid, emerging from a sea of fabric with an enormous splash.

‘Aunt Josephine,' I cried, leaping up to greet her.

‘Hello! Oh, what a journey. How you deal with so many people everywhere, I have no idea.' Aunt Josephine floated over to give Clemmie and I both a hug.

‘Barbara, happy birthday,' she said to my mother, blowing her an air kiss across the table.

I could see my mother looking Aunt Josephine up and down, trying not to let the disapproval show on her face. In my mother's opinion, having ‘family fall-outs' was not the done thing, so she always made every effort to make it appear as though she and Aunt Josephine had a perfectly normal sibling relationship.

‘Lovely to see you, Jo,' said my father, again making his ‘I can't get out' mime about having been made to sit against the wall in a space that was too confined.

‘What a treat to see you all,' said Aunt Josephine. ‘My, my, it feels an age since I've left the village. Though it's almost worth leaving just to remind myself how hectic for the soul the outside world can be.'

‘Ooh, Aunt Josephine, I should suggest to my work that they make a documentary about your commune. People would love it,' I said.

‘Ah yes, Poppy, congratulations on your new job. My niece, the television producer. We don't have a television at the village, but Eskabell has a sister in town who's promised to record anything you make.'

‘Eskabell?' my mother muttered under her breath.

‘Yes, he's the pagan druid. You met him last year. Lovely man, very into runes.'

‘I don't think I've worked on anything worth recording yet,' I said.

‘That's because you're a worker bee, dear. Once you're Queen Bee, you'll show them what's what,' said Dad.

‘Worker bees can never be queen bees,' said Clemmie.

‘What?' I asked.

‘Well, they can't. You're born a queen bee, you can't become one. Sorry, it's just not a great analogy, Dad.'

‘She's right, you know,' said Aunt Josephine. ‘We have beehives in the village and Dandelyon tells me a lot about bee behaviour.'

‘Dandelyon?' mumbled my mother.

‘And where are you living, Poppy?' asked Aunt Josephine, ignoring Mum.

‘In the basement at my friend's parents' place in Greenwich. It's… well, it's not a long-term solution, but it's a start. It's quite tricky not having any idea whether I'll still have a job in two weeks, so I can't commit to anything more permanent.'

‘It's not a very secure career path Poppy has embarked upon,' my dad explained.

‘It will all end in tears. We won't be bankrolling this madcap career plan, that's for sure,' said Mum.

‘Yes, as you've said. Let's not talk about it all again now,' I sighed.

‘Ah, it reminds me of my first few years in London,' Aunt Josephine said wistfully. ‘I lived in my friend Ray's basement with four other artists, in a studio full of paint, plaster and potter's wheels. Oh, I'm sure we all got high sleeping among the paint fumes, but it was one of the most creative periods of all our lives.'

‘I doubt it was just paint fumes making you high,' muttered Mum.

‘Enjoy this part of your life, Poppy,' Aunt Josephine went on. ‘You'll have no money, and no idea whether the art you
are making is even any good, but my god it's glorious. Youth and passion and colour and sex – oh, lots of sex!'

Clemmie and I blushed at Aunt Josephine mentioning sex.

‘Finding your creative voice in the world, fighting to be heard, building yourself from the ground up… Oh, it makes me almost sentimental to think of it. I am envious, dear girl!' Aunt Josephine clasped my hands together in excitement.

‘I don't know if working in TV is quite like being an artist in the seventies, Aunt Josephine,' I said. ‘I'm mainly photocopying and making people coffee.'

‘Ostensibly that might be true, but inside you are crafting the person you want to be. You are carving the imprint you want to make on the world. Art is life, life is art – it's all the same thing.'