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Celebrity Death Watch
Current mood:  accomplished
Category: Writing and Poetry
Celebrity Death Watch
Countdown
"One minute people!"
"I couldn't get the spot out," an intern said holding a blue sports jacket.
"Why didn't you bring me another one?"
"What other one? He only has two, the other one is at the cleaners."
"Great time to send it out to the cleaners!"
"Get him a bib and I wont have to send one out everyday. Or better yet tell Jimmy just to drink the vodka and lay off the orange juice, that breakfast of champions shit isn't fooling anyone."
"30 seconds, people."
"Shit! Not a problem, I tell the control booth to shoot him in medium shots, it's not like the world is dying for one more close-up of Jimmy Fontaine."
Jimmy emerged from make-up continuing his unbroken litany on the subject of incompetence: outstretching his arms for Margot to put on his sport coat. An assistant executive producer continues to take the abuse, watching as the production assistant counts off the time now on his fingers. 8…7…6…5…
A seedy looking paparazzi hands Jimmy an 8x10 envelope of pictures that Jimmy thumbs through on the way to the soundstage.
"Look I told you I wanted pictures of Angelina's cellulite! America is crazy for this broad. Angelina this, Angelina that, they want to see her goddamn cellulite."
"She doesn't have cellulite, that is why she is Angelina," the paparazzi said.
"Bullshit! Everyone's got cellulite."
"I don't have cellulite Jimmy," A cute young PA chimed in.
"Then get a picture of her doing something stupid!"
"You know what I got? I got pictures of her getting into limos, and I got pictures of her getting out of limos, that's it! That is all she does, in and out, in and out! What do you want me to do wait for her to trip on a banana peel?" the paparazzi said, realizing that once more he is going to get stiffed by Jimmy.
"In and out, huh, get me a picture of her getting the 'in and out' and I will make you an executive producer"
"Come on Jimmy we're on," Margot said, pushing him through the hall towards stage 12. Grips, secretaries, anyone that Jimmy could fire parted the way as if he were Moses, all of them giving him a "break-a-leg Jimmy" that he really liked—behind his back it was, "Break-a-hip Jim".
Showtime
You couldn't exactly call it routine; monotonous was a better word. Camera 2 shot low and across from stage right, giving the set the appearance of being much more expansive than it was. Camera 1 and the mike boom were pulled out of the shot as Jimmy took the stage. Camera 2 craned up for as high shot before the control booth switched to Camera 1 for the medium shot.
Jimmy claimed everyone ripped him off, but in fact he had stolen it 20 years ago while he was a weatherman on WCCO, a local Minneapolis station that had the distinction of being the first to go to a three camera set up in the Twin-Cities area. It was pretty standard now; even the 5 O'clock news would use it in about 4 hours. The fact that the grips from the news department would be rolling off their sets, and sending the studio audience home was the only thing that gave the crew of the Jimmy Fontaine Show its sense of urgency.
"Good evening ladies and jerks," was how Jimmy always started—still signaling to the band that had been cut from the budget about 6 years ago, for a rim-shot.
"Welcome to the show that shows the stars for who they are…the behind the scenes that will make you scream…"
(Audience shouts) "That's not attractive!"
"That's right welcome to the show, I'm your host Jimmy Fontaine. We have a great studio audience here with us tonight…"
It was always a great studio audience; in fact it was great to have any audience. It had become increasingly difficult to give away the tickets to fill the few seats they had.
"Jesus look at all the gray hair, it looks like Robert Frost's funeral out there," Margot said. She was up in the control booth with Derek the Assistant Director, who was now the de-facto Director; Jimmy had fired the last Director and the network, as both a punitive and cost saving measure, refused to hire another. "Are they running busses out to the old folks home again?"
"It will be the insane asylum next," the AD, said.
Giving it to him straight
Jimmy's office was an example of the clout he used to have. A big desk with a view of Downtown L.A. Bookshelves with broadcasting awards, and a sitting area with a large couch for conferences with young female interns. Jimmy was in such a hurry to get to the bottle in his bottom drawer that he didn't notice Jack Mosier, head of programming, sitting on his couch.
"Looking for this?" Jack said. Jimmy was more startled than annoyed.
"You've seen to many movies, you know that?" Jimmy said, straightening his tie, and whipping a few beads of sweat from his cosmetically designed hairline. "If you came in here to bust my balls about my drinking, I'm not in the mood."
"I just got off the phone with the network, I needed a drink myself, and your office is a lot more conveniently located than Kelly's Bar." Jack picked up the store brand vodka, examined it, and then gave Jimmy a familiar look of disappointment. "I used to be able to count on you having good taste in booze at least, what happened to you Jimmy? This stuff tastes like aluminum."
"I don't suppose the network was calling to find out if I received the flowers and chocolates they sent, because I haven't."
"Funeral flowers maybe?"
"That bad huh?"
"That bad."
"Did you tell them I'm doing 32 shows? Nobody does 32 shows, it's like goddamn fifties around here."
"That's always helped you in negotiations, but they aren't negotiating anymore." Jimmy pulled out some orange juice from a mini-fridge and sat down on an easy chair opposite the couch.
"I suppose your going to tell me now how you went to bat for me but it was just no use?" Jimmy said, falling back on sarcasm, his weapon of choice.
"No I didn't, not this time."
"Well honesty at last," Jimmy said, to agitated to sit, he began pacing in front of the big L.A view. "I pushed to have my executive producer be named head of programming so that I would have a man in my corner with the network."
"I have never denied publicly, or privately, that you got me my job, but that was 9 years ago, I must have made a few good decisions along the way or I wouldn't still be here, you don't swing that big a dick anymore my friend."
"The ratings have been down before, we always bounced back, hell I've been on 12 years, there is bound to be some peaks and valleys, don't they know that?"
"The sales department calls the ball now, they don't know programming, they don't have any instincts of their own, there bottom-liners everyone of them. Their idea of taking a risk is wearing a flowered power-tie."
"Well the sponsors aren't going to be happy," Jimmy said, not sounding all that convincing even to him.
"We lost Deacon's furniture."
"What? When? Who was handling him? I'll strangle him!"
"I talked to him myself, he just wouldn't re-up that's all."
"Christ! What am I teaching the business to an intern? He always plays hard to get when its time to sign a contract. He just wants a couple of hookers in his room when we send him to Vegas."
"You taught me, and I learned from the best. I ran your whole playbook but it was no go. I even upgraded to a suite at the Bellagio. I don't have to tell you what an act of desperation that would have looked like on a expense report."
"I'll talk to Deacon," Jimmy said, with that nonchalant attitude he had when he wasn't really listening any longer. "I'll talk to the network too, everything will be alright, just let ole' Jimmy smooth em' out; I'll pick up the ratings a few points, I got some ideas, you'll see."
"We're 124th, we could drop off the planet and no one would notice."
"I told you, I got some ideas cooking."
"Like what, the psychic double mint twins again? You had them in cheerleader outfits the last time, really made me proud to be associated with the show I can tell you."
"They were reenacting an event from high school."
"The Network wants to go another way, you could pull a 20 share at this point and it wouldn't matter."
"Then what do they want?"
"You know as well as I do, it is this reality television, it's ruining the business for guys like us."
"It's just a fad, see where they are 12 years from now, no one will even remember they were on, Christ! Any Ken doll can do one of those."
"Exactly. That's the point. They don't want to deal with TV personalities anymore; they don't want stars, they want dollars. How much do you think you have to pay a Ken doll? Hell most of the shows coming out don't even have hosts. Why do you need some talking head coming on and telling you what your going to see with your own eyes 30 seconds later for anyway?"
"People want a figure head, Cronkite, Edward R. Murrow, people want someone there comfortable with, someone they can trust, they always do, and the audience will come back, just watch and see."
"Cronkite and Murrow? You're putting yourself in with some heady company don't you think? When did you ever see Cronkite doing a show on people that were abducted by angels?"
"Laugh all you want, we swept that week."
"Yeah you did," Jack said, toasting Jimmy with his glass of liquid aluminum.
"Reality fucking television, it's the decline of the Western civilization I tell you. The Romans had the gladiators, we've got car chases, shoot-outs, and trailer trash domestic disputes: sociological poison spoon-fed to us between the Prozac commercials."
"What ever it is the people have spoken, the numbers don't lie, and the networks are tickled to death. It's cheap television. News department footage that was gathering dust yesterday is being recycled into gold. That's why I am telling you its over."
"I appreciate you coming over to give it to me straight Jack. If you were worried you were going to have to have security 86 me from the premises, you needn't be. Jimmy Fontaine has class. Jimmy Fontaine doesn't need to be shown the door." Jack knew from experience that when Jimmy started to speak in the third person, The chip on his shoulder had become a large, dangerous chasm that a man could stumble right into and never be seen again. Jack wished he didn't have one more confession to make.
"I am afraid that isn't the worst of it. They called me an hour ago to give me the news. Didn't even ask for my input. There going with a mid-season replacement."
"Fuck me! Those ungrateful cocksuckers! I'll sue! They think they can sweep me under the rug like some burn-out rehab case!" Jimmy was pacing around furiously. The office, which was bigger than most luxury apartments didn't seem large enough to contain him now. He splashed his glass with vodka again in one of his many revolutions around the room. All Jack could do is sit back and wait for Jimmy to tire himself out like a wound up toddler. Jimmy picked up his Emmy off the bookshelf and began walking around the room with it, finally deciding it looked best front and center on his desk like a hood ornament on a big Cadillac Eldorado. "Do they know what this is?" Jimmy said, holding up the Emmy again. "I didn't get this at a souvenir shop on Sunset you know."
"I hated like hell to have tell you, but I thought you should know. You really ought to send that lawyer of yours a case of good scotch, that double pay out clause for mid-season replacement really kicked them in the nuts."
"Ha, Hah! Touché!" With an invisible sword, Jimmy mocked a deathblow to all the titular kings of network television.
"You’ve got 8 weeks at the most, if you have any rabbits in your magic hat I suggest you produce them."
"With Jimmy Fontaine gone you'll have some pretty big shoes to fill. How do you imagine you'll get along with out ole' Jimmy to kick around?"
"I don't, I am pretty sure after they let me do their dirty work, the only slot I am going to fill is the one behind you in the unemployment line." That slowed Jimmy down for a minute. Jack had been a good friend to him; loyal even through his three divorces, and the flat spin he had been in with cocaine.
"You? You're sure? Why?"
"Pretty sure. I haven't heard much; it's when you don't hear anything that you have to worry. They don't even try to be clever anymore."
"Geese Jack, I'm sorry. I feel like I drug you down with me."
"Ahhh, don't sweat it, this quit being fun for me anyway. I've seen it coming, I've been careful, done what I could to protect myself. I got some put away, and Carolyn is doing great now. She's been after me to use that teaching credential, I've had some offers."
"You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?"
"I never wanted to be one of these corporate ass-lickers, afraid to do anything if it hadn't been done a hundred times."
"You were never one of those Jack. You got balls. You green lighted stuff no one else would have, and it paid out like a slot machine. They'll be making money off your stuff in syndication long after we're dead and buried."
"Anyway, that's it I guess. Like I said, 8 more weeks. Any idea what you're going to do? Are you going out audacious? Dignified? What?"
"Like I said, I got a few things cooking. Don't go packing yet." Jimmy had that devious little boy grin that was charming enough for a cereal box.
"Ok Jim, I wont."
When Jack got up to leave Jimmy walked him half way to the door. He kicked off his shoes; the feel of the thick pile carpet was like a hand-job for his feet. He loved this office. The big house in Brentwood was gone, as well as the time-shares in Tahiti, Tahoe and Mexico. His office was the last of the trappings of his success. No one knew that he had taken a small studio apartment in North Hollywood, where he had the distinction of being the only white man that came home in a suit and tie: and worse yet he was unrecognized. An apartment with a view of an alley, in a city that seemed to be nothing but alleys: save one tarnished gold boulevard. Jimmy started to feel like Cagney in "White heat", but this wasn't going to be the end of Jimmy Fontaine! He wasn't going to have an ignominious end on a lonely water tower. He had to come up with something. He had to hold on. He was at his desk dialing the number even before he knew to what lengths he was prepared to go.
The Button Man
Patrick O'Darcy looked at his caller ID—Mr. Show Biz calling. He didn't feel inclined to take the call. Today was supposed to be his day off with his girls. His "Little Colleens," he liked to say. When the news of God's blessing reached his ears, he decided right then if he had a boy, he should be named "Patrick Jr.", and if the child be a girl, he would name her "Colleen" in the Irish way, but as nature would have it, he had two—twins—who he instead named Mary and Margaret. He took this as a sign that it was God's will that he should have twice as much of everything.
Patrick inched his black Lexus-LS up the line with the other parents waiting to pick up their children from the Mount St. Mary's Elementary. Ordinarily this sort of waiting would have drove him half-mad, and compelled him to do something rash, but the better angels of his nature cooled the corrie from boiling over. He pulled the ankle holstered .38 snub from the glove box and strapped it on. In his line of work there was truly no such thing as a day off.
Vows or not, the younger sisters of Mt. St. Mary's couldn't help notice the dapper gent that he was, in his tailored suit from the East—on chill days the full regalia: matching overcoat; hat and gloves. The patient and doting father to beat all fathers. Mother Marie, who above all else: looks after the children; the school; and propriety itself, was not fooled, she, possessing a preternatural sense for wolves in the glen.
When the girls had been loaded and buckled, the usual barney arose over what was to be done with the day. Patrick endured it all with a patients that anyone that knew him in a professional capacity would have thought impossible. When the cell rang again, the girls quieted down a few decibels.
"Jimmy, why am I speaking to you today? You aren't due for a payment till Friday, so for the life of me I can't fathom why I need to be talking to you on a Monday?"
"I need to see you right away," Jimmy said.
"Right away Friday I hope you mean?"
"No, I need to see you now!"
"I am in the family way today Jim, as you can certainly hear," Patrick said, turning around to give the girls a beatific smile.
"This is important, I really got to see you."
"Listen on me Sonny Jim, you have to entertain the idea that what may be important to you, is but a trifle to me, compared to spending a fatherly day with my girls. Not being a family man yourself you may not grasp the significance."
"Look goddamn it, I need to see you! Do you think I would be calling you if it weren't important?"
"Jimmy, has there been some miracle of nature? Have you gone and all spontaneous-like, grown yourself a pair of hairy ones? I think that is grand Jim, I do. A word of guidance though, don't let those new found juices cloud your senses, you might find they'll shrink on you at the most inopportune moments, like for instance, when I come at you the crasher." Jimmy unwisely lit a cigarette rather than pay attention to the distress signals his heart was sending.
"No, look, we could meet at the zoo, we could talk while the kids looked at the monkeys and giraffes and whatever?"
"The zoo! That's quaint Jim, which picture was that? 'Three days of the Condor', or was it 'The spy who came in from the cold', I can't remember, can you?"
"I, I don't know?"
"Christ, it going to bugger me all day."
"Please, I am going out of my mind here, you don't realize the position…"
"Understand me Jim, my darlings are at an impressionable age. I couldn't very well expose my girls, in the blush of their innocents to the likes of you. You with your boozy pallor, and your gaunt, desperate, coyote-like stare. What would they think of their father for having such associations? You're a trauma Jim." In the back seat the girls were chanting "the zoo, the zoo, daddy, daddy, the zoo. "Well it seems we've come to agreement after all, 4 o'clock then?"
"Where do I meet you?"
"At the tiger pens of course. If we're lucky we'll catch them with the feedbag on. Good bye Jim."
In the backseat another row had broken out over where they were to lunch. Patrick weighed in on this one. If it was going to be a workday after all, then it would be Mc Dougall's rather than Mc Donald's, for a bit of potato and sausage coddle, and while there, settle up on the Celtic's game from the night before. It shamed Patrick a bit to profit at the teams expense, but Boston he told himself never was his town.
The Zoo
At 4 o'clock Patrick's phone rang.
"Where are you?" Jimmy said.
"Where I am supposed to be, where are you?" Jimmy, who had been distracted all day, realized he was looking at lions and not tigers. It wasn't hard for Patrick to spot Jimmy, sore thumb that he was. He admonished his girls to keep their ground, while he had a chat with a long lost uncle.
"Lovely day to be alive eh' Jim?"
"I wish I were as sure as you," Jimmy said.
"Isn't that the suit you wear on the tele? Looks even more bashed in person. Do wear it everywhere hoping to be recognized? I am a bit disappointed, expected you in a raincoat, cloak and dagger and all."
"I didn't have time to, ah, I really don't see how…"
"Get to the tip of it Jim, why are you here?"
"They're canceling my show, I have eight weeks, and they won't even negotiate."
"I think what you do is a blight Jim, I do, but I can see how this affects our partnership. How are you going to pay the vig?"
"I don't see the point of playing games, you know I won't be able to, I'll be washed up."
"Washed up? I have never understood that expression. Doesn't seem to have anything to do with being clean? Or is it more like 'marooned', like on some godless rock in a sea of desperation? Yes I like that, Poetic, wouldn't you say?"
"The way I see it you can either protect your interest by helping me, or end it, either way you'll be doing me a favor."
"That's the problem Jim, I've been doing you nothing but favors since the start of our associations, but still when you hand over your sweaty envelope you look upon me as some monster of Greek mythical proportion." Jimmy knew from experience that Patrick could not be hurried, anymore than a cat can resist toying with a mouse that it had by the tail.
"Maybe because you take all my money?" Jimmy said, testing the waters for sarcasm.
"Money has been the source of all your grief Jim. When it comes to coin you're like a fat boy with chocolates. You made yourself sick with excess. You don't know it, but it was you're lucky day when you brought your book to me; it was the craggy finger of Providence that pointed your way. You don't remember hiding in your office, afraid to go out to your car for fear of getting clipped, owing every book, and drug dealer in town? I consolidated your debts. Set you on the path of right living. I ask you, are you cured you of your gambling? Are you released from your bondage to the white powders?"
"You stuck a gun in my mouth and threatened to blow my brains out!"
"Well Jim, I think we both know a 12 step program wouldn't have done the tick, not with the likes of you. Perhaps your mother's milk was curdled in her breast? I don't claim to know the reason. There are just some blokes, you being one of the unfortunates, which go through life crashing head long to a troubled end. That is of course unless there is one like myself around that can take a firm hand in things."
"Look, I'm at the end of my rope here, I've got nothing left but my show. I just want to know if you are going to help me or put a bullet in my head?"
Patrick did most of his talking with his back to Jimmy. Watching over his girls, following a safe distance behind as they ran to the monkey house, and then on to make faces at the gorillas, and back again. Patrick offered Jimmy a peanut from the little sack that he had bought so the girls could feed the elephants. Jimmy ignored the peanuts.
"You television folks always get it wrong you know."
"How's that?"
"On the tele you always see a bloke using a gun. I would never shoot you Jim."
"You're trying to tell me you wouldn't kill me? Somehow I don't believe you."
"Don't be daft Jim, of course I'd kill you. It's just that you don't have to shoot a lot of blokes before you begin to see what a wasteful, and time consuming enterprise it is. Think on it Jim, you go to trouble and expense acquiring a firearm of a quality, fit for a proper villain. Carry it a while, getting a bit sentimental over it. You've shown it off to your mates to see the gleam of envy in their eyes, and then what? Throw it in the drink? And for what, some pavi bastard that won't pay when Manchester United looses? You do somebody you can't well keep the shooter as a souvenir. Then you have to take to carrying two guns like some cowboy. You have to be fleet of foot in this business. You can't well be that, carrying more iron around then a tinker's cart." It was as much morbid curiosity, as it was Jimmy's understanding the need to play along at this point that prompted his next question.
"Then how?"
"I find a good ball-peen hammer does the tick. Done proper, the same result is assured, like the old slaughterhouse boys used to do. A good smite between the eyes and it is good night Kathleen. You only need to carry one when you know your errand is a bloody one, and who could get sentimental over a hammer? Keep in mind though that a gun is still essential, particularly for those unforeseen moments of do or die. And of course one can't stick a hammer in a bloke's mouth and threaten to hammer his brains out. It doesn't pay to be unorthodox when clarity is what you are after" Jimmy couldn't tell by Patrick's satisfied smile, if thought he was genuinely passing along some insightful life lesson, or if he, without it being necessary, were reminding him of what a dangerous man he was.
"I thought you might use your powers of persuasion on a few of the network execs, they'd be pissing their pants," Jimmy said, not quite unable to mask his pleasure while he reveled in the idea.
"This is a bit above and beyond the call Jim. Might well be that the best course of action would be to close the book on you and count me losses. On the other hand, you are like an annuity that I have stuffed away for my little darling's education. I wouldn't be a proper father if I didn't provide for their education, now would I?" Jimmy didn't answer, knowing the question to be rhetorical.
"These executives are in New York are they not?" Patrick asked.
"Yes, if it is a matter of traveling expenses?" Jimmy started, but Patrick waved him to a stop.
"You know the old expression 'You can't go home again'? I'll never see the green hills Eire Jim. I suppose the Black Hand touches us all from time to time. A misunderstanding over some explosives that belonged to a flatmate of mine."
"I'm not asking you to go to Ireland."
"Here is the rub Jim, I can't be perceived as trying to exert influence in New York, not even by proxy. It could be seen a move on my part to return to the old bloody days. Carefully arranged, and long standing agreements may be toppled."
"There's got to be something?" Jimmy bit off his words, not wanting to sound like a man pleading from the gallows.
"Here there Jim, don't loose heart. I have to tumble the idea a bit. Leave us now, and wait for my ring." Patrick gave Jimmy a couple of light slaps to his jowls. As he walked away he turned and tipped an invisible hat as a way of farewell. Jimmy watched as girls took Patrick's hands as they walked off to see the elephants.
An alley in 3 nights later:
"I mean yeah, sure Patty, if you say so, I mean I'm gonna square it up with you, " Dre said. He was nervous. And unsure exactly why it was that Patrick had followed him to an alley behind a motel in North Hollywood. Andre was Originally from Detroit; he had a sentimental weakness for the Pistons. In California he had made himself a nice little business circulating the clubs, taking orders, then delivering to the near by motels just off the strip, where the after parties spilled out of the rooms into the parking lots. As always there was a room, for which he always had the number, where his arrival was met with sweating anticipation. Being half-Chinese on his mother's side he made his way through the alley entrances of the bars and restaurants of Hill St. He could for the connoisseur, deliver the "China", his client list included record execs, musicians, and movie stars. For the rest—Mexican brown would have to do.
"You didn't have to come way uptown to see me, I'd have come by, don't I always…" Dre said, clearly confused.
"Yes, you have, and it is appreciated, only the vig is gotten a bit large these days, and it is causing me some concern," Patrick said, straitening out Dre's Jacket, and then looking at him as if to assess if anything could be done to make him look presentable.
"I can raise it, tell me how much? I got some on me, a down payment." Dre started into his Jacket but stopped cold when he caught the glint of Patrick's nickel-plated revolver.
"Steady their Andre. I'm not here for a shakedown. It's a business proposition that I have. I'm going to be coming in with you, a limited partnership you might say."
"I'm listening," Dre said, more suspicious than nervous now.
"Good, that's a start. That long hair, the one in all the newspapers, that is who you are off to see, no?"
"Yeah."
"I'll be making that delivery for you."
"And the vig?" Andre asked.
"You've got a good head for business Andre. You pay down the principle, and we'll be square as you say." Patrick took the narcotics from Dre's jacket pocket.
"Which room?"
"102."
"Good lad," Patrick said, beginning to walk away.
"I don't get it?"
"What's that?"
"Turk, he don't lay bets, any money comes his way either his manager or I get."
"Best not be the curious cat Andre."
"If you say so Patty. One thing though, and you remember I told you. He wants it to come down. He's wired to the ceiling; paranoid too, last time I seen him he had a shotgun."
"Thank you Andre, you're a gentlemen," Patrick said, tipping the brim of his imaginary hat, in his familiar way of goodbye.
The Collaboration
It was an hour before Fridays taping, Jimmy was in his office when Margot came in.
"We have to go over these changes Jimmy," Margot said. She was a bit wary knowing that Changes threw Jimmy. Jimmy's phone rang. He ignored it at first, but then remembered that the network had terminated the services of his secretary.
"Jimmy Fontaine," Jimmy answered.
"Hello Jim," Jimmy grabbed up the papers Margot was pushing in front of him, and with some effort, waved her out of the room.
"Yes, I'm here."
"I've come across a solution to our problem."
"Is this a solution where I go on living?" Jimmy said, as he crossed the expanse of the office to the bottom drawer of his desk.
"You see Jim it's really quite simple. If you want to keep your show, you have to be number one. They can't cancel you if you're show is number one."
"That's it? That's all? Christ why didn't I think of that?" Jimmy said, pouring a double.
"I don't know Jim? I wondered that myself. You're going to have to put yourself in my hands now Jim. Great deeds to be done, we can't shrink from them now."
"What do you mean?
"I'm going to give you an address, and you are going to send a camera crew there. Tell them you got an anonymous tip that Turk Bianco has blown his brains out in a motel."
"Turk…what? How?"
"Just get ready to go live. And hurry Jim. We don't want the maid finding him first."
"I can't…that isn't going to be easy…ah"
"There is only two ways for you Jimmy, my way, or my way. I know you don't want me closing the book on you, so straighten up, you're going have the top ratings in you're time slot today, next week, and all the weeks after, I'm going to see to it."
5 Years later:
"One minute people!"
"I wasn't sure which to bring?"
"He said he wanted the blue one"
"Which blue one, he has 8 blue ones?"
"Never mind, this is fine."
"30 seconds, people."
Jimmy outstretched his arms for Margot to put on his sport coat, watching as the production assistant counts off the time now on his fingers. 8…7…6…5…and…
"Come on Jimmy we're on," Margot said, pushing him through the hall towards stage 13. "The new set is perfect, just remember to walk around a bit more to show it off."
Camera 2 dollied in across from stage right. Camera 1 and the mike boom were pulled out of the shot as Jimmy took the stage. Camera 3 craned up for a high shot before the control booth switched to Camera 1 for the medium shot. An offstage announcer introduced Jimmy.
"Welcome everyone to America's favorite show, Celebrity Death Watch, and here is your host Jimmy Fontaine!"
"Hello Ladies and Jerks, welcome to Celebrity Death Watch, the show that asks and answers the question everyone wants to know…"
(Audience shouts) "Who's Next?"
"Later on our show, author, journalist, Bob Wardwood is here to talk about his new best selling book, 'Turk Bianco: The first victim.' But first I am going to turn it over to Cliff Simms at the Celebrity Death Watch news desk for the latest updates. Over to you Cliff." Cliff Simms appears on a giant video monitor.
"Thanks Jimmy. Last night the stars were out, but security was tight, not even the press were allowed to attend a closed session of the 84th Academy Awards presentation, the results of which have not been made public until the families of the winners could be notified. Sources inside the Academy of Motion Picture Sciences have informed Celebrity Death Watch that 'Eddy', not surprisingly, has taken top honors, with the best actor nod going to Matt Damon who portrayed actor Edward Norton who was brutally slain 2 years ago. Matt Damon was unavailable for comment.
"In other news, Angelina Jolie came out of hiding briefly to give a deposition in Los Angeles County Superior Court in the wrongful death suit filed by Alma Martinez, the widow of 27 year old Alfred Martinez, who was gunned down earlier this year by security forces in Jolie's motorcade. Footage obtained from a storefront security camera shows Martinez, a pipe fitter for the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power, being gunned down without warning, by automatic weapon fire, from the security forces of the ITCS, an Israeli private security company, when it was believed that the 3 ½ inch pipe on his shoulder was a RPG—a rocket propelled grenade, aimed at Jolie's customized armored personnel carrier…
9:49 PM
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