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“Now that we’ve got our initial bases covered so well,” Nadine continues, once again emphasizing that same word, “we’re going to shift course. Add a little conflict to the love story, to make all the sweetness and happiness feel all the more special for the audience.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck!
In a flash, I know Aloha was right. We’ve given the suits too good a love story, right out of the gate, with nowhere to go but a live birth in the finale . . . or, in the alternative, a little trouble in paradise.
Nadine leans forward in her armchair. “Remember how you two were at each other’s throats during our very first conference call? That’s the dynamic we want to see during the last batch of auditions tomorrow, and then during Draft Day and Mentor Day, too. Sound good?” Her question is rhetorical. She barrels ahead without pausing. “During our break for the holidays, my team and I will pour over all the footage while editing together the first batch of episodes, and at that point, we’ll decide what direction we want to go next during the ‘live’ singing competition.”
I look at Savage, my heart crashing and my eyes wide with panic, and discover he’s every bit as poker-faced and cool as a cucumber as I am freaking out. Which makes sense, I suppose, since he has no idea about the early termination clause in my contract. To him, this is all white noise. A request he isn’t going to grant. While to me, this is catastrophic. Plainly, the producers are trying to figure out the best storyline for The Savage and Laila Show—which actually means, when you boil it down, they’re trying to figure out if maybe The Savage and Laila Show should become The Savage Show, sans Laila, like they’d initially wanted in the first place.
Nadine says, “We want to see ‘hate-lust’ from you guys! We want to see the same ‘I want to fuck you to death!’ energy that was in your famous meme! Bring us some of the fire from that viral video of you two fighting on the sidewalk. Bring us heat. Anger. Danger!” She chuckles with glee. “We want sniping, banter, and combativeness—the kind of hostility that’ll make our audience imagine you fighting at the judges’ table by day . . . and having angry but amazing hate-sex by night!”
My mouth hangs open. “But . . . Nadine, we don’t hate each other anymore. We did all that stuff when we did.”
“I never hated you, Laila,” Savage says, speaking for the first time during this conversation.
“It doesn’t matter what you feel. Fake it! The truth is that every passionate relationship straddles a thin line between love and hate. Or lust and hate.” She raises an eyebrow, letting us know she thinks the word “lust” is a far more appropriate descriptor than “love,” when it comes to Savage and me.
“But . . .” I say. I look at Savage again, but he’s no help. So, I return to Nadine. “Are you sure that’s what the audience will want to see from us? During that first conference call, you said it was your top priority to make sure our romance was totally believable. You wanted something that would make the audience ‘swoon.’ And I think we can agree that’s what we’ve delivered.”
“Absolutely. Although, to be clear, our top priority was never making the romance believable. That was a means to an end. Our actual top priority was, and still is, and always will be, supplying a show that captures maximum ratings. Now that we’re confident the initial footage we’ve gotten will convince everyone your relationship is real, we feel the next batch of episodes should offer a plot twist that will keep viewers glued to their TVs and coming back for more. We want the audience to worry a bit that your relationship might be on the rocks. We want them rooting for you to find your way back to each other—and tuning in, breathlessly, each week, to see if, in the end, you two make it to a happily ever after.”
I press my lips together, feeling flabbergasted.
In the face of my silence, Nadine addresses Savage. “Do you understand what we want?”
Savage snakes his arm behind me on the couch in an apparent show of solidarity. His jaw muscles pulse briefly, before he licks his lips and says, “I understand the meaning of your words, yes. But as far as I’m concerned, Nadine, I’m contractually obligated to be a judge on a reality TV singing competition and Laila’s devoted boyfriend. I’m not, however, contractually obligated to become, nor am I interested in becoming, a pawn on a dating show. I’m not a contestant on The Engagement Experiment, Nadine. That was never the deal.”
Nadine’s dark eyes flicker. “You both signed on to ‘sell’ the romance to a television audience. And, trust me, I know better than anyone on this planet, literally, how to do that. Based on my expertise, I’ve determined the audience will enjoy a bit more ‘Vintage Savage and Laila’ for a few episodes, as a foil to the ‘Blissfully Happy and In Love Savage and Laila’ we’ve come to know and love these past few weeks.” She flashes me a pointed look that telepathically screams at me to convince Savage to pivot with me. “You get it, don’t you, Laila? This is reality TV, not reality. We need to keep the audience entertained.”
