On Air

ON AIR

By David Neill

I walked out of my dressing room, the television in the corner still
playing
behind me and headed down the corridor. It was like any other
non-descript grey
corridor in any other non-descript grey office building save for the
photos that lined
the wall: rock stars, movie stars and television stars smiled and
pouted at me as I
strode down the corridor and I felt glad to be among them.

I passed a few busy looking people on my way and I took the time to
give
them a nod or a wink, flash my smile and say hello and received the odd
'good luck'
or 'knock 'em dead' in return.

Once I reached backstage a make up girl swept in and started padding
powder
onto my face. My skin glowed a healthy brown, maintained by a regime
of
moisturisers and sun lamps and my silver, perfectly coiffed hair and
recently
restructured teeth shone brightly. Then I heard my introduction and I
stepped out onto
the stage.

I strode out confidently into the heat and glare of the studio and
smiled and
waved as I made my way to my seat. The television screen back in my
dressing room
would show me crossing the neutral, brown and cream coloured stage,
walls arching
up behind me about ten feet, the soft contours and tones designed to
make the guests
feel safe. But what the screen did not show was the few hundred faces
that stared at
me, showering me with their applause, or the cameras and lights that
pointed at me.

My host Nora stood to greet me and I stooped to kiss the air beside
each cheek
then after shaking hands we took our seats, the applause prompters
winked off and the
audience quietened.

Nora said, "Thanks so much for coming on the show Barry."

"It's a pleasure to be here," I replied, both of us grinning at each
other like old
friends.

"Since launching onto our screens six months ago your show has
steadily been
rising up the ratings and you're now one of the top rated shows on TV.
That's got to
feel good right?"

"Second highest in the country now. I believe your show is the only
one rated
higher so, yeah, that feels great."

I paused a moment while the audience applauded my success. Nora was a
long
established talk show host and in just six months I had taken a hefty
cut of her ratings.
I was gunning for her position at number one and it was only a matter
of time before I
overtook her to become the most popular talk show host in the
country.

I had to admit to being surprised when she contacted me to appear on
her
show since I was now her main rival, but I agreed. I had a suspicion
she was planning
to cut me down to size in some way but I knew I could handle anything
she had to
throw at me, the same way I knew that if I charmed the pants off her
audience my
share of the ratings would only get bigger.

When the applause died I added, "I'm just grateful that the people out
there
have got behind the show and keep tuning in every week. I owe all of my
success to
them."

I actually owed all of my success to talent, hard work and
determination but
there was no harm in letting the people feel appreciated. A little
false humility can go
a long way.

"So what do you think it is that makes your show so popular?" asked
Nora.

"Well it's the people isn't it?" I told her earnestly. She stared into
my eyes and
nodded with extreme interest while I spoke. "You see we feature real
people on my
show with very real problems and I think that's why people tune in.
They can relate to
the situations my guests have found themselves in."

"So you don't think it has anything to do with the frequent bad
language and
the fact that your guests have a habit of fighting and throwing chairs
at each other?"

Here we go, I thought, she was setting her stall out early. Luckily I
was ready
for her.

"I won't lie to you," I told her, "Of course the audience tune in to
see that but
what they're also tuning in to see is real people acting like real
people. My show isn't
some watered down, PC version of real life. It is real life. My guests
behave the same
way they would if they were out in the street without any cameras
present. The
audience relates to the fact that people can say or do anything they
want on my show
because unlike certain other shows we don't censor or restrict our
guests in any way."

I paused for a second before adding, "Although we do take away any
weapons
they may have on them before they enter the studio."

I turned and smiled at the audience who laughed warmly. It was like
taking
candy from a baby.

"And what about the accusations that the show is fake and that you
hire
actors?"

"That's ridiculous. There's plenty of people out there with real
problems,
there's no need to make it up," I eased back into my chair, looking
relaxed and at ease
with myself, "Besides, we only done that a couple of times,"

I threw a wry glance at the audience and got another big laugh from
what they
assumed was a joke.

"You say that these are real people with real problems and if that's
so aren't
you exploiting these people and their problems so you can profit from
their misery?"

"Not at all because they want to be there. I don't drag them into the
studio,
these people come to me because they want to be on television, they
want their fifteen
minutes of fame. If they want to air their dirty laundry on television,
who am I to stop
them?"

"I see," nodded Nora. She was trying her best but she just couldn't
rattle me
and I had the audience eating out of the palm of my hand. The fact that
it was her
audience just made it so much sweeter.

Nora turned to the audience and said, "Well in the spirit of your show
Barry
we have a very special guest this evening. Ladies and gentlemen please
welcome
Christine!"

The audience applauded on cue while I sat there with a smile plastered
on my
face, exuding confidence while I wondered what the hell was going on.
Then I saw
my wife walking towards me from the wings. I laughed, roaring in my
seat before I
got up and went to her. I took her in my arms and hugged her tightly,
grinning like a
maniac, genuinely surprised and frankly, a little rattled. I'd seen
Christine only an
hour ago and she'd said nothing about coming on the show.

"Welcome to the show Christine," said Nora after we'd taken our seats.
An
extra seat had materialised beside mine to accommodate Christine.

"Thank you."

"So you're married to this fine figure of a man, huh?" asked Nora
chummily.

"Yes I am Nora," I nodded and smiled and gave Christine's hand a
squeeze,
"We've been married now for twenty five years and we have two wonderful
children
together."

"It's true," I agreed, still nodding and smiling.

Nora said, "Twenty five years. Wow, that's incredible."

"Especially in this business right?" I injected, "But it's easy when
you love
each other as much as we do."

"I'm sure it is," said Nora, "But Christine you're here tonight
because you
have something to tell Barry don't you?"

Uh-oh. I'd said those words I don't know how many times in the last
six
months and it never ended well.

"That's right Nora," said Christine then she swivelled in her seat to
face me.

"Barry I'm here to tell you that I know about the prostitutes."

I felt like all the blood suddenly drained out of my head and sank to
my toes
but I stared at Christine blankly, smiling slightly, betraying no
emotion. Holy crap,
where the hell did this come from? How did she know? And more
importantly, why
the hell was she doing this on television?

"Honey, what are you talking about?" I asked, shrugging
innocently.

"There's no point lying to me Barry. I know. I know."

How? But the answer was obvious. Nora had a warm, kind hearted,
butter
wouldn't melt public persona but you couldn't get to her position
without being a cast
iron bitch and here was the proof of that. Okay, she had rattled me, I
admit, but it
wasn't over yet, all I had to do was deny all knowledge. After all they
had no proof
and the people loved me. I had a face an audience trusted.

"Look Christine, honey, that is completely ridiculous. Believe me you
have
nothing to worry about. There's never been anyone but you." Then I
turned to Nora,
half laughing and said, "Good one. Very clever, you had me going for a
second
there."

"So you haven't been sleeping with prostitutes?" she asked.

"Of course I haven't," I declared.

"Ladies and gentlemen please welcome Amanda to the stage."

That was when my mask finally slipped, just for a second. Who the hell
is
Amanda? I wondered with a bemused, frightened expression that I
quickly
camouflaged with a smile. A girl walked out and took another seat that
had been
placed onto the stage. She wore fishnet stockings, a short leather mini
skirt and high
heels. I recognised her but she was dressed a lot trashier than usual,
they'd gone out of
their way to make her look sleazy, and I'd had no idea her name was
Amanda, she'd
told me it was Candy.

"Welcome to the show Amanda. So could you tell us how you know
Barry
here?"

"I was introduced to him at a party about a year ago and he paid to
have sex
with me. I've been seeing him ever since."

"Let me get this straight. Barry has been soliciting sex from you on a
regular
basis, and this has been going on for a year?"

"That's right."

Nora spun on me and said, "Yet you claim you don't sleep with
prostitutes."

I continued to smile but now I just looked nervous, my previous
confidence a
distant memory. I wracked my brain to come up with a credible defence
but I was
alone on a stage with three women who all said I slept with
prostitutes. I was shocked
and humiliated and angry and guilty as hell but this wasn't something I
wanted to
discuss in public so I got to my feet and said, "Bleep this, this show
is bleeping over. I
know what you're trying to do you bleeping bleep and you can stick your
bleeping
show up your bleep 'cos you're not going to bleep me on national TV you
bleep."

"But Barry," said Nora, "nobody dragged you into the studio. You
wanted to
be on television, you wanted your fifteen minutes of fame didn't you?
And if your
wife wants to air her dirty laundry on TV who am I to stop her?"

"You listen to me you bleep, if you even try to air this programme I'll
sue
your bleeping bleep for everything you're bleeping worth,
understand?"

"But Barry, this is a live show."

I turned and looked at the camera, the red light glowing on top while
the black
void of the lens stared at me, with millions of eyes invisible behind
it.

Suddenly the studio lights seemed to be blazing. I stood there
sweating,
exposed beneath dozens of miniature suns, feeling like an ant under a
magnifying
glass. Millions of people were out there waiting to hear what I would
say or do next,
while I stood petrified, searching for a sensible, civilized way out of
this awful
situation until after several long, painful moments I done what any
other normal,
rational person does in a situation like that. I picked up my chair and
launched it at
Nora.

Nora was out of the hospital a few days later and her show is still
number one.
The rerun of my appearance on her show knocked her ratings through the
roof and
she's now enjoying her highest ever audience figures.

As for me I present a half hour morning show on a cable channel that no
one
watches but at least I'm still on TV. At least I'm still enjoying, well
experiencing, my
fifteen minutes of fame.