Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [65]
“Let it go, Josh,” appeared on the screen, but it wasn’t clear who’d said it. It was even less clear whether anyone could slow him down now that he’d opened the floodgates.
I admit it—my mouth felt dry, gummy. Surely the director or producer or someone would pull the plug at any moment, but when I looked at the monitor again Josh was still holding court and the camera operator was either too shocked or too traumatized to change the shot. Since no one else seemed able to take charge, I took a deep breath and hurried to the edge of the set, waving my arms frantically. From his place in the middle of the sofa, Ed peered up at me with the widest eyes I’ve ever seen. He watched carefully as I flattened my hand and placed it against my neck, then moved it sideways like I was slitting my own throat. Would he understand that I wanted—no, needed—him to bring the interview to a close?
Ed shook his head mournfully from side to side. Apparently he’d already completed the transition from frightened to petrified. Great.
And he wasn’t alone either. The oldest members of the studio audience seemed intent on hailing the nearest security guard, like they were seeking protection in case the impending riot somehow extended to them.
I felt Selina’s hand clasp my shoulder, but I brushed it away and held her off with my outstretched arm. At that moment I didn’t give a damn that her job was on the line too; I just needed to stop the wreckage. My pulse was racing. Sweat trickled down my forehead and back, and I wasn’t even the one under the blazing studio lights.
I looked at Josh, studied his lips to confirm that he was still monologuing on his new favorite topic: “The point is, none of us need some stuck-up bitch acting like—”
“Shut up, Josh!” This from Will, not only stirred to action, but shouting loud enough for me to hear clearly. I’d never known him to be so assertive, but it was too little, too late.
I’d seen enough. If the whole crazy ride was ending right there, I was going to have my say. Maybe I was being egotistical, utterly irresponsible, but if the band was about to flame out, it was sure as hell going to be me holding the match.
I took in a final view of them on the sofa—my five flavors of Dumb—and saw the pain and disappointment etched onto the faces of everyone except Josh. Surprising myself, I actually managed a melancholy smile, blew them a kiss, mouthed the word “good-bye.”
Then I walked onto the set just in time to see Tash launch herself along the sofa, her hands poised to strangle Josh on live TV. Fists flew. Bodies tumbled to the floor. And at the bottom of the scrum lay poor Ed, our own version of Switzerland. By now Donna was freaking out—she jumped out of her seat and scampered offset, almost knocking me down in her haste.
“They’re lunatics!” she screamed. “What the hell are they doing on my show?”
I strode onward. The red lights above the cameras showed they were still filming, catching the dying embers of the band’s impromptu beat down. Frankly, I didn’t care. I didn’t even hesitate when uniformed security guards joined the fray like they’d waited their entire lives for the chance to throw a few punches in the name of keeping the peace. There just wasn’t room in my racing mind to contemplate any of these things.
Ten yards from the melee I narrowed down my choices to breaking up the fight, rescuing Ed, or unleashing a well-aimed shot to Josh’s private parts. But then Kallie struggled from the sofa and stumbled toward me. Tash extricated herself too, and grasped Kallie’s hand like she’d just appointed herself bodyguard. I looked to see whether Ed was still breathing—he seemed to be—then braced as Tash and Kallie stood before me. I wondered if they’d scream at me, and realized I couldn’t blame them if they did. A manager was supposed to prevent situations like this. Instead they moved to either side of me, locking my arms with theirs, and I knew they didn’t blame me at all.
Just then, Ed was rescued by one of the older and kindlierlooking security guards, who’d clearly identified him as collateral damage. Ed