I’d been stuck at work for three nights getting Roberts’ pieces done, and then for the following two weeks, I’d been running late leaving because of a really bad commercial they were trying to save. Sorcha and I had found each other quite literally banging our head on our respective soundboards over the thing.
I found her singing a mantra as she did. “This sucks, this sucks, this sucks, this sucks.”
“Does it suck?”
She looked up at me. “It feels like I’m in a vacuum pressure system and someone keeps flushing the toilet.”
Pausing, I considered her words. “Impressive metaphor. And completely correct. Why does this suck so much? Why are we both dying slowly here?”
“The content, the product, the acting, the cinematography,” she grumbled. “Honestly. It’s like an eight year old produced this. Two weeks is too long for a thirty second spot.”
“I think you’re insulting eight year olds,” I said. “I also think that the fact they keep sending us a new version of it we can’t sync old sound to is a big factor.”
She tapped a sheet of paper. “I have a damned spread sheet of the times for the sounds, and theynever sync.” She flipped the end of the paper over and it cascaded off the desk. “See? Every rework. Nothing the same.”
I plunked into the chair. “We need to talk to Jerry about this contract. We need to put them on a finalized footage only rider from now on.”
“Goddddd, yes,” she moaned.
“Editing break. I need your opinion on something totally unrelatedly related.”
“Was that phrase even allowed in the English language?”
“Don’t care. I owe my neighbor big time. He rearranged his house to accommodate my dog, and now he’s been walking him every night when he gets home so I don’t go home to a pissed up house.”
“Lord, man you do owe him.”
“I think I came up with a way to pay him back. He has a little shrine to the Cubs in his living room. Bedroom. Whatever room that is now. And I was thinking, the Mets play the Cubs, and there’s a three game series coming up next week.”
“Get the man tickets, and take him to the game!”
Grinning, I nodded. “So you like the idea?”
“I think that’s the perfect way to pay him back for all this dog walking.”
“Good. That’s what I’m doing then. We’re going to see the Mets play the Cubs. I’ll hop on the computer tonight and get the tickets.”
She elbowed me in the side. “Getgoodones, Marc. Really good ones if they’re available.”
“Oh, I know. Wait, you don’t think I’m asking him on a date, do you? I don’t think he’s gay…I’m the only fool who outs themselves in the hallway.”
“No, I’m not saying it’s a date. I’m saying you need to get him good seats because you owe him. Big time.”
I nodded. I did. It wouldn’t hurt to get to know the guy who had the hot ass next door, either.
Straight. Don’t go there.
Standing up, I grabbed her hand. “Come on. It’s three-thirty on a Friday, and we’re staring at another two hours of work each. Let’s go find Jerry and talk to him about this. I don’t want to be here any later than we have been.”
“What’s Jerry going to do? We have to finish these—”
I yanked her down the hall. “We’re going to make him aware of how much time we’re each putting into these damn things.”
Jerry was sitting in his office, looking at his screen with his expression of deep concern. I knocked and walked in, but it took him a minute to look up.
“Hey, Marcus, Sorcha. Uh, are you two anywhere near done with your commercials? I have a backlog we need to tackle, and the delays on those are making me nervous.”
“Well, we’ve been working on them,” Sorcha said. “But they keep changing the finals. Not a lot, but—”
