Up & Out - Ariella Papa [8]
“You may have the animated aspects intact, but you don’t have a live action host yet. The show is called Gus and the Gopher. Without Gus, it’s just a gopher.”
“Right,” Don says. He is preparing to use a lot of words to say nothing. “Well, we are in the process of casting at this point. The animation is going to be a lot harder to deal with than the host.”
“Can we see who you’ve narrowed it down to?” Cheryl asks. She definitely has an attitude.
“I really don’t feel comfortable sharing that with you yet, but I can assure you we’ve narrowed it down to three terrific personalities. They are going to be like nothing kids have ever seen.” They are doing a complicated dance. Don was hired away from the Cranium Network to create a kids’ show that looked like all the ones he had already produced for Cranium. No one seemed to notice or want to admit that Gus and the Gopher sounded a lot like Bob in the Barn and Amy’s Animal Adventures.
“Well, get us a tape as soon as you can,” Cheryl says. Programming always wants a tape.
“Well, I have a three o’clock,” Sarah says. She is another programming henchman. “I think that’s all for today.”
We file out of the conference room. I race to the bathroom on my floor. All the programmers will be in theirs. The problem with seeing them in the bathroom is that they try to talk about work and get you to agree to do things for them when you just want to pee in peace.
It’s almost three o’clock and I still haven’t had lunch. I have a four-thirty meeting and I was supposed to complete segment two of episode ten so Janice and John could work on it. We have a process of getting episodes in and approved, so we can start doing the voice-over. I don’t want to be the one to get us off schedule. I also have to get something to wear tonight.
I grab some free coffee in the kitchen and add a ton of sugar. I open one of my drawers looking for a snack or a fabulous outfit I forgot about. I find some microwave popcorn and the spare pair of underwear I keep in my desk, just in case. (There haven’t really been any “cases” lately.)
I bring the popcorn into the kitchen and start making notes on the script while it heats up. Jen wrote this script and I’m impressed. I like getting a fresh perspective on Esme. It was hard for me to accept that other people were giving her a voice, or a look, like Janice and John have been doing with their animations of her.
“Hey, you.” I look up to see Claire Wylini, Director of Production Budgets, smiling at me. She is so flaky; Miss Nice-Nice—until you go a dollar over budget. Then she stops smiling.
“Hi.” She points to the clock.
“It’s almost time for our meeting.” She speaks in the singsong voice you might use to talk to a preschooler. She has a four-year-old and a two-year-old and each of them has their own nanny. Her children give her a certain amount of credibility.
People who work for kids’ TV are always trying to figure out ways into the minds of children. It’s kind of sick. Of course the further up the ladder you move the less in touch you are with kids. People tout that childlike creativity, but basically we’re adults trying to sell a product. Anyone in children’s television who has kids likes to reference them constantly. It’s some sort of badge of honor. They feel that their opinion is always correct and defend it with things like, “Well, my five-year-old would love that.” I suspect that some people have kids as a type of business insurance.
“Oh, yeah. I’ll be there. Just finishing up a script. Popcorn?” I hold the bag out to her and shake it.
“No, thanks. You’re sweet. Okay. I’ll see you in the meeting.”
“Okay, see you. Bye-bye.” Bye fucking bye? I’m even talking like her. Who am I turning into? The day is mostly over and I haven’t done anything but go to meetings and comment on other people’s work. I’ve created nothing. I’ve done nothing.
Jen pokes her head in. “Mmm, that smells good.” She grabs a handful of popcorn. “Oh, you’re reading my script. How is it?”
“Really good. You did a terrific job. I only have a few more notes to make.” She grimaces. “Not big